by Lynn Steward
Brett shrugged. “Bureaucratic, but it still sounds rather routine.”
“This is where it gets even more interesting. There’s only ten million dollars in this Responsible Use account.”
“And the other eight million dollars?”
“It’s been deposited in a discretionary account at Hartlen Response.”
“Meaning Jack’s company can do whatever the hell it wants with the money.”
“Not according to Ralph. He pointed out that the letters of intent specify Hartlen Response to be its subsidiary in all matters pertaining to environmental responsibility. It’s in fine print, to be sure, but it’s there.”
Brett swiveled, a puzzled look on his face as he leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “I’m still not following. Hartlen Response is all about clean-up and safeguarding the environment. If I’m Ralph Hartlen, I’d hand the football to junior and let him dole out the funds anyway. It’s the most logical thing to do.”
“True, but I looked very carefully at the name of the account to which Hartlen Oil is transferring these donations. Hartlen Response simply calls it Hartlen Discretionary. Pretty vague.”
“And the feds are interested in all of this because … “
“Hartlen Discretionary only has a million dollars in it. Seven million are unaccounted for.”
“What does Ralph say about this?”
“Says he wasn’t aware of the discrepancy until a few days ago. He claimed that Jack told him that the money is being invested in order to give the environmental groups interest only in order to safeguard the principal.”
Brett smiled. “If there’s nothing in the partnership agreements giving Hartlen Response that kind of flexibility, then … “
“Then Jack Hartlen is violating federal laws protecting charitable and philanthropic donations. Hence, the FBI and IRS are sniffing around. Ralph has referred their inquiries to Hartlen Response, which apparently isn’t giving the feds satisfactory answers.”
“What’s your take, Wade?”
“I think Ralph and Hartlen Oil are on the up and up. Ralph trusts his son. Thinks it’s all a big misunderstanding.”
Brett thought for several seconds and looked at the investigator. “Great work as always, Wade. I’ll be in touch. I may need you to do some legwork here in New York at Hartlen Response.”
Forrester nodded and left Brett’s office.
Brett felt confident he had Jack in his sights once again. He was willing to bet that there were no investments being made from Hartlen’s discretionary fund. His gut instinct was that, whatever Jack was calling the account, it was an auxiliary monetary fund. A lot of companies had them. They were also known as slush funds, and companies used them for a lot of off-the-book activities.
Corporations could do a lot of creative bookkeeping with their internal funds, and it was often difficult to trace where money was flowing. But when you started to be creative with charitable donations, that was a different matter, and it raised eyebrows very quickly. If the federal government had gotten involved, Brett felt certain that someone had blown the whistle on Jack, someone who knew where the money was really going. Money was going from donor to Hartlen Oil to Hartlen Response to unspecified investment funds. The feds didn’t like such paper trails, especially when the money was not generated by regular corporate activity to begin with.
Brett broke into a laugh. He owned Jack Hartlen, pure and simple. Details would follow, but he could already see Jack signing the consortium agreement within the week to make Davis, Konen and Wright happy. He would have bet his partnership on it.
Chapter Seven
Dana awoke on Friday morning in the familiar surroundings of her 1863 carriage house in Sniffen Court, a landmarked cobblestoned mews on East 36th Street in Murray Hill. Lifting Wills, her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel snuggled at the bottom of her bed, she walked out to the book-lined landing overlooking the living room and twenty feet of leaded glass windows. She may have left the sights and sounds of London but her charming home was as aesthetically pleasing to her as the historic Lansdowne Club or an English cottage.
As Dana dressed, she was surprisingly calm and optimistic as she faced her first day back at work, a day that should have been filled with anger and frustration. There was no doubt in her mind that the kindly Father Macaulay was the reason for her tranquil mindset. He had not expressed condemnation or judgment about her situation, only listened with a patient ear. He’d given her sound advice that most people paid for dearly while lying on leather couches in richly- appointed offices with diplomas hanging on the walls. Aware that the daily pressures of her New York lifestyle would soon descend upon her at lightning speed, she was determined to maintain the balance that she discovered in London. Even the phone calls from Johnny and her mother, which she’d received within an hour after arriving at the carriage house the previous evening, had momentarily pulled her away from her peace of mind, but she’d listened to them patiently and told them how much she’d enjoyed herself. They were ostensibly calling to see if she had arrived home safely, but she knew that both were, in reality, still checking up on her.
Dana arrived at B. Altman at 8:00 A.M., ready to see what had piled up on her desk in her absence. As expected, she had to return a dozen phone calls and get up-to-date on the previous week’s sales reports from the branch stores. And there were the usual memos from department heads—they seemed endless—that she received on a daily basis.
By midmorning, Dana knew there was no putting off seeing Helen any longer. She had already decided that she was not going to charge into Helen’s office and contest her decision, as she had implied in her overseas call to Andrew. She would stay focused and consult Helen about the direction she wanted her to take with the spring accessories buy and the display of Nantucket-labeled accessories in a corner of the department. Whatever Helen said would be accepted without challenge. Dana had her sights set on much larger matters since revisiting Jaeger, not that Nantucket would be neglected. She would segue into what she’d seen on her trip, broaching the idea of a free-standing boutique from a different point of view. Helen was more than familiar with Jaeger’s long history, success, and stellar reputation, not to mention its relatively new Madison Avenue store. Helen would have a frame of reference this time for what Dana was suggesting so that her idea would not be discussed in a vacuum.
Dana found Helen in the conference room on the fifth floor, where the executive suites were located amid wood-paneled corridors. The middle-aged woman was a portrait of concentration, her blond hair pulled behind her head as always and secured with a black velvet ribbon.
“Yes?” Helen said, looking up from a stack of papers on the conference room table. There was no “Hello” or “Welcome back,” which wasn’t that unusual. Helen was perfectly capable of pleasant conversation, but at work she was all business. Over cocktails in the evening, she would surely have asked Dana to describe her time in London.
“I made my spring line selections, and I thought you’d want to see them before I place the orders,” Dana responded, not mentioning that Dawn had already approved the merchandise before she left for Bergdorf’s.
“Schedule an appointment with Clare for next week,” Helen answered, not looking up from her files. “Clare Bradley is my new assistant. I want to have an all-buyer meeting before I look at spring buys.”
Her strategy thrown a curve, Dana paused, swallowed, and proceeded to the subject of the cancelled boutique. “Andrew called me in London to inform me that the Nantucket build-out has been scrapped.”
“I had no doubt that he would,” Helen said without looking up.
“Actually,” Dana continued as she slipped into a chair a few feet from Helen, “I agree with your decision and your original idea to simply use Nantucket hangtags and to merchandise the items in a corner of the department. I think there’s a much better way to utilize the space, one that can tie in a few of your departments.”
Dana succeeded in getting Helen’s attenti
on. Helen leaned back, removed her glasses, and turned her head towards Dana, eyebrows knit. “Really now. And to what do we owe this epiphany?”
“While I was shopping at Jaeger’s, I realized that smart merchandising is as important to success as the beautiful fabrics and designs.”
“And?” Helen impatiently asked, not acknowledging that what Dana said was true.
“And I think we should explore a free-standing boutique of coordinated separates and matching outerwear with a British country look. I know our customers will appreciate not having to travel from department to department to find matching pieces.”
Helen put her glasses back on and looked again at the papers on the conference table as she spoke. “I’m against a boutique regardless of whatever concept it espouses. And I’m certainly not interested in constructing a Jaeger knock-off.” Helen frowned as she uttered the last few words. “Dana, you shouldn’t be so impressionable, influenced by the latest trend on the street. This year it’s in-store boutiques. Next year it’ll be something else.”
Dana would normally have gotten upset at the mild insult, but she wanted to maintain an even temperament. Letting Helen know that she was aggravated would send the wrong signal.
“Helen, we’ve already spent time and money since Mark has cleared the space and begun the first stage of the build-out. And more money will have to be spent to redesign the area. Why can’t we simply look at it as a test? We can be up and running by Thanksgiving. I think it’s a perfect concept to market for holiday selling since the matching items will lead to multiple purchases. Dawn told me that she heard Bloomies is opening five new boutiques for the holidays.”
Dana immediately knew that injecting Dawn’s name into the conversation was a mistake.
Helen removed her glasses again and looked Dana directly in the eye. She spoke with a hard edge in her voice, as if correcting a child who has not assimilated what she’s been told. “Let’s be clear about this, Dana. Dawn isn’t here anymore, and while I admired her very much, you’re well aware that I never approved of the Nantucket boutique. I’m in charge of the matter now, whether you like it or not, and my decision stands. Yes, we started the build-out, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to throw good money after bad. It will be less expensive to have Mark convert the space to something more conventional—something, I may add, that will actually turn a profit for the store. I know you had your heart set on this trendy idea, but I strongly believe that it would be a poor business decision.”
Voice level, Dana tacked in another direction. “Helen, think how this shop would appeal to Grace Mirabella! It’s exactly the look she wears and loves, and tailored separates are on the editorial pages of Vogue every month. As the editor-in-chief of Vogue, Grace just might do a spread on the merchandise and the boutique!”
“Dana, you’re a dreamer. Women have been coordinating their separates for years, and our sportswear business has never been better.”
“Helen, it’s not just putting pieces together. Jaeger’s success is in their dyed-to-match woolens and yarns. Knitwear matches perfectly with wool trousers and skirts. Monochromatic separates are more formal and sophisticated for work and evening. It’s a great marketing story, and no store in town is selling it that way!”
“Well, Dana, there’s your proof,” Helen said with a sarcastic smile. “No one is selling it because there is no value or story in a coordinated separates boutique with a tony British style.”
Dana’s mouth was dry from nervousness, but she retained her composure and continued.
“Helen, I’ll do all the legwork. I think it’s a perfect fit for B. Altman. Remember, we already have Fortnum & Mason on the eighth floor.”
“Dana, I’m not ready to consider the boutique concept. The answer is no.”
Helen opened the spreadsheet in front of her, and Dana got up to leave.
“Thank you, Helen,” Dana said. “I’ll see you at the buyers meeting.”
Dana returned to her office and sat glumly at her desk. She had prepared herself for resistance from Helen, but Helen’s tone of voice, her stubbornness, her body language—it all added up to more than a “no.” It was akin to a personal assault. Why couldn’t Helen at least engage in a productive discussion on the pros and cons of an issue rather than summarily dismissing an idea outright? How could she ignore that Grace Mirabella would like the merchandise and the boutique? It was, after all, her signature style. There were so many factors to consider. Bob, Ira, and Dawn—they all knew that change was inevitable, but Helen was simply too comfortable with the tried and true. She was highly effective in her job, but she didn’t possess the vision that a store’s management needed to compete in the marketplace in the long term. Dana believed that unless Helen became more attuned to the changing winds of fashion and women, she might be harming herself as well as the store. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but for now there was no alternative route for Dana. Helen was the boss.
The day dragged on, and Dana went through the motions, exhibiting little enthusiasm.
“I can tell you spoke with Helen today,” Andrew said while Dana was gathering her things and preparing to leave for the day.
“Yes, but I’d rather not talk about it now if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Andrew said. “Go home and get some rest. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”
Dana kissed Andrew on the cheek and left. She recalled Father Macaulay talking about how he used a punching bag to get out his pent-up frustrations. Dana, who’d started jogging again after filing for separation, decided to have a run along her favorite path in Central Park. It might clear her head and help dissolve the funk she found herself in after her first day back at work.
• • •
Dana halted at the end of a gently-curving path, bent over, hands braced against her knees. She’d run three miles and was breathing fast and shallow. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal as she walked across the grass, noting people enjoying the spring weather of an April evening. Dogs chased Frisbees, and young couples sat on blankets, talking and looking at a sky that still had streaks of orange and yellow blending into the deeper blue overhead.
Dana took a breath and realized that she did indeed feel better. She was no longer angry, but neither did she possess the unbridled enthusiasm that she’d brought back from London. The run notwithstanding, she felt frustrated. She knew that Helen was dead wrong about the boutique, but for now, there was nothing Dana could do. With Dawn having left, Helen was holding the reins, and her response had been unequivocal: there would be no boutique of any kind within the walls of B. Altman.
Dana’s thirtieth birthday was the next day, but she didn’t feel like celebrating. She planned on spending most of the day reading one of the books she’d purchased at Hatchards, have an early birthday dinner with Andrew, and go to bed early. There was a family celebration at her parents’ home on Sunday. The less fanfare about turning thirty, the better. She didn’t think she could muster a smile even if forced to by her family and friends.
For the time being, the only way to stay grounded was to read and stay secluded. She thought Father Macaulay would approve of her distance from the madding crowds.
Chapter Eight
Dana spent her birthday as planned, doing a few errands before enjoying a quiet afternoon reading Henry James’ The Outcry. The novel was a lighthearted story about a British lord’s decision to sell a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds to an American billionaire. The plot hinged on the patriotic outcry in the British press with the lord’s decision to ultimately keep British treasure in Britain. Dana appreciated the book despite its obscure references—it wasn’t for the average American reader—because she was so emotionally invested in English art as well as the manners and proprieties that accompanied the British mindset. Reading the book was like being in England again or listening to Basil Trivett’s lecture on portrait miniatures. Spending the afternoon within the pages of a book that took her back to England for a few hours was ju
st what she needed. Father Macaulay had told her in so many words that she needed to find a way to relieve the pressures of work, and she hadn’t thought of Helen all day long.
The phone rang at four o’clock. It was Andrew, reminding her that he would pick her up for their dinner date at the French restaurant La Grillade. Throughout the day, Dana had considered calling him to cancel, but she knew he would never let her be alone on her birthday, especially this one, her thirtieth and the first one in eight years without Brett.
Dana sighed and decided it was still worth a try. “Andrew, you’re a sweetheart as always, but may I have a rain check? I’m still a little jet-lagged and would love to call it an early night. Trust me when I say that I don’t have the birthday blues.”
Andrew didn’t hesitate for a second. “Sorry, kiddo, but you’ve had your heart set on La Grillade since Nina told us about it. It took me a month to get the reservation. You can cloister yourself another time. I’m picking out a suit as I speak. I suggest you do the same. I’ll be over at seven thirty. Be ready.”
“But I’m really kind of tired, and—”
Andrew had hung up.
Well, I did indulge myself all day by reading, Dana thought, consoling herself. And I do love being with Andrew. He’s expecting an update on my meeting with Helen, and I might as well tell my tale of woe over a good bottle of French wine.
• • •
Andrew arrived ten minutes early, and to Dana’s surprise, he insisted that she change from the black suit. “Dana, you’re not having dinner with an English gentleman. Hey, it’s me—Andrew. Come on! Find something a little less serious.”
“What are you talking about, Andrew? It’s my new dinner suit. A birthday gift to myself—an extravagant one, I might add. I bought it at Jaeger’s. Perfect for La Grillade.”
