by Emma Lathen
“So Becky is he planning to run this out of his back pocket?”
“It would appear so, yes.”
With that John signaled Albert who got him a tall scotch to get through this. Albert had one too and looked at Becky, who didn’t wave him off. So they sat there companionably sipping their scotches for a few minutes.
They waited for John to speak and he did: “I take back my hunch he is in Canada. I’ll bet he has prepared a hidey hole in the US and has dug deeply into it. Smart. Moving feels right, as animals do, like squirrels that run in front of your car. But the risks are higher.”
“No, I’d bet he is still here, probably in Northern New England where he would feel comfortable. People in New England forget the latitude in Northern New England is similar to Algonquin Park, north of Toronto since southern Ontario dips down substantially versus New England. As a Park guide he would feel comfortable in the familiar landscape of Northern New England.”
“And Becky, I don’t think the Sloan should help further to find him because you may well have him be willing to do a make good for our investors.”
“Yes, I can see that. He might give up some money to our investors who got hurt on the dip that he benefited from. By my analysis as I said before, our people lost $1 billion at the $20 billion valuation. At $10 billion $500 million, I think he would be amenable to that since that is what our agreements with the investors said they had to sell at. That should work.”
“Really,” said Albert. “Some guy.”
“Yes, Albert, some guy. You got it exactly right. I don’t think he had any interest in taking our people down. Even our funds. He had and has worked with us and was loyal to us. Is for that matter; so we can reciprocate.”
John said, “Becky, how do we do this? I think I see where you are going. Let me try,” as she nodded. “$500 million though a ton of money to most is less than a year’s profit and cashflow to him,” as she nodded. “Solidifying the deal with us would certainly be worth it to him.” She nodded again as he went on, “And now I think I am on the right track here, he isn’t really such a money oriented guy. I am seeing this.”
“In fact he reminds me of one of our entrepreneurial successes who said to me once in confidence, as if he were giving up a deep dark trade secret, ‘John, it sounds wimpy to say but after a certain amount of money it is only a question of how much more one gives to charity.’”
“Yes, that seems to be him except he isn’t a charity type guy. He is a loner, a guide. He doesn’t want to go to black tie parties to impress people; he has no wife to push him to do so, which is the more common reason billionaires do that.”
“Also, you have shown a new light upon the man,” as her eyebrows went up. “Yes, he realized that he couldn’t escape Jack other than to kill him. I’ll bet he tried many ways to escape short of that and failed,” she nodded twice at that. “Yes, I see that. Jack was getting increasingly imperial as those types do; as we know, the Napoleonic tendency was not limited to Napoleon. Chuck was undoubtedly cornered into killing his partner, and he did do it in the gentlest way possible.”
“Self-defense, in fact; not technically, but that is what it amounted to,” John concluded. Once again Elizabeth and Albert were stunned about the way John cut through the fog to the heart of the matter.
Elizabeth, and that was how she was thinking of herself now, not Becky, remembered John’s classic quotation from Dr. Johnson, “Nothing is quite as innocent as a person seeking money.” They aren’t perfect doing so but the motives were better than others, which was a stunner to her at the time and had proven to be right to her over and over again since then.
Chuck just wanted enough of it. Jack wanted so much more like Alexander the Great. Jack was the dangerous one as Dr. Johnson had noted in the 17th Century. Jack cornered Chuck and would have edged him out and possibly have him killed as Alexander the Great put 100,000s to the sword as a matter of routine when taking over a town that opposed him initially by requiring a siege to seize it which he would have done to Chuck for resisting him.
Elizabeth interjected, “One thing is clear. The police won’t see it our way. So what do we do in a few hours?”
“Nothing is best,” Albert said.
Elizabeth continued, “Yes, Albert, nothing is best. But I don’t think we will get away with nothing. If we try, the shift will be too dramatic. George is too smart and Joyce will pick up on it too. No, we must be helpful.”
John then said, “But from behind, not leading the charge. We do have a fiduciary duty on our side, especially if Chuck agrees to Elizabeth’s $500 million proposal. I think Elizabeth, if you can see your way to it, you should email the offer now. If you get agreement from Chuck, we know what to do. I assume he is quick with you, knowing you like that as he evidently does too,” and she nodded.
“OK. That’s the plan,” John Putnam Thatcher concluded as Chairman of the Board.
It felt like they were synchronizing their watches, which, in a way, they were.
Chapter 16
Thatcher II
Every day I try to figure out what is going on
The Thatchers and Albert were dreading the dinner George and Joyce were looking forward to so much. At a minimum they would have to dissemble, and it would get worse from there.
As Elizabeth had thought, Chuck’s email agreed to her proposal. He suggested the Sloan find a way to skim off, as he put it, the $500 million in such a way as not to raise red flags to any outsiders such as the tax authorities but to be sure it was tax correct and in no way tax avoidance.
So cautious; exactly like Chuck and why she liked working with him. It was always better to have a client more cautious than you so you could nudge them along towards risk versus having to always restrain them, and fearing one day you might fail and disaster would ensue, as it so often did with those types who pushed the envelope.
Elizabeth was pleased. She agreed, sent Chuck a confirmation email, and said she would work out the details. Chuck wrote back, evidently because it was not a personalized email, that this should serve as his authorization to do so and he would follow events as they unfolded.
She told John and Albert. They were more pleased than they expected to be and said so. John went on, “Elizabeth, Good of you to solve this one.”
She had figured out how to handle it. She would let the shareholders know she had recaptured their money in a private settlement after she got the money, with the primary provision is it be kept secret.
She would pass this along to Everett, VP of No, who would surely approve of any financial repatriation for any sin. That could wait until the smoke cleared a bit more.
She asked John about this, “Yes, Elizabeth. You have the agreement; why not start taking the money and put it in a sinking fund. That is totally reasonable. Then you can decide in 30 days what you want to do next including staying quiet about it. Less said, soonest mended, etc. and so on.”
Albert nodded. They had their plan and now would wait a few hours for Joyce and George. John suggested they take a walk; they did so. It did them good. They got back about 4:30 PM and waited for their timely guests who were primarily on business but with a social side to it.
When they arrived, some congenial drinking began. George had decided to wait until John or Elizabeth brought up the subject before leaving the social for the business. He would have a long wait because Albert called them to the table for dinner without the business being raised.
This forced George’s hand because, as he started to realize, the Thatchers were waiting him out. He suspected they could wait right through dinner, after dinner drinks, and goodbye.
So George launched in, “Well, what did you learn?”
“Nothing really,” John said, taking a sip of his Scotch to bolster his flagging spirits having to dissemble with George who he liked and Joyce who he had come to like as well.
George thought that sounded like a Jim Johnson answer. He followed up with, “Did you learn anything?”
George interjected, “Yes, we learned that too. I am sure you were apt to get a warmer reception than we did,” George added.
“Not really. We represent New York and we might as well be the police in their minds, which is understandable from their perspective,” John added to fill up the conversational space as the main course was finishing, Albert and Elizabeth had stood up, and they cleared the table. John had given Albert the high sign to have no dessert and John led the way to the living room for after dinner drinks.
John had put out the brandy as a signal. George picked up the signal but had a brandy anyway though it moved things along faster than he otherwise would have liked; but he knew the brandy would be magnificent and was. The differences in wines or beers were no big deal in his mind; but ah, brandy. He enjoyed his brandy quietly for a few minutes and let the silence embrace and mellow them, which it did with brandy at hand and a wonderful dinner eaten.
In short it felt a bit like a prisoner’s last supper, George thought. Well, if so, it was a darn good one, he would give the Thatchers and Albert that.
“John, you don’t seem as talkative as last night.”
“Probably my New Hampshire roots. When I have nothing to say I try to say nothing. I guess the real story is the trail is getting cold; we didn’t pick up anything at the bank,” as Elizabeth nodded. “We didn’t pick up anything in Tucson. So where else would we look? What do you think? What would you like us to do?”
John had him cornered. George didn’t know either. He thought it prudent to say that and did. There was a pause. Joyce stepped into it, “Well, we will let you know how we are doing and ask you to do what you can when we know more. We will leave you to it as they say,” and got up to leave.
George noticed that Albert was instantly on his feet trying to be helpful as John and Elizabeth held their ground, slowly standing up to say their goodbyes, trying to curb their enthusiasm rather successfully he thought.
When they were out and on the street George said, “That was the bums’ rush.”
Joyce said, “Yes, the uptown bums’ rush. I thought it best to leave to fight another day.”
George grimaced and said, “Will we have another day with them? Will we? I smelled Jim Johnson in there.”
Joyce was almost crushed by the comment. As she started to recover she said, “Was I wrong?”
“Yes, my dear, you were. You let the hospitality absorb you. I was wrong too because I was your partner in crime on that one. Thatcher is a deep one; he always has been; hand it to him. We will have to think about it. But it was the bums’ rush and I don’t know if we will get back in again, ever.” He would be right.
Chapter 17
Commissioner
Less is more in most things
The Commissioner had called a second meeting to update him. While not necessarily a good thing, his meetings got you noticed. Every previous meeting had led to something good for George, large or small. The meetings themselves were fairly grim though. He expected this one would be as well.
He thought about warning Joyce about this but realized she was more of the Commissioner’s class than he was so was probably better suited to it than he. And she was better looking; and the Commissioner did notice such things.
At 10 AM the next day the meeting commenced. They were again led into a large corner office, more familiar to large investment firms than police stations. The regal secretary was regal again to make the point that they were going into anointed chambers. George had always found the reminder helpful; not everyone did.
With no amenities they just sat down. The Commissioner had several assistants in the room including a stenographer, intimidating in and of itself. He only did that when politics were involved, when he was less interested in the facts than the appearance of them. George took the point and prepared himself to give the kinds of answers appropriate to that circumstance.
“Well Parsons. Give us your report,” the Commissioner was in his regal last name, “we”, and “us” mode not the “I” and “me” one which he was equally skilled at. He had made his point and looked sharply at George to be sure he took it. Being satisfied with that, he nodded and George began.
George recounted the story, largely full of negatives of course. He was candid, clear, and crisp in his answers. The Commissioner was always a good guide. If he did not like the way a political discussion was going, he would make a nonverbal gesture; he had not done that so George believed he was on the right track or at least not on the wrong one. He was right about that.
At the end of the story the Commissioner asked a simple yet crisp question, “What now George?”
“I am not sure. What would you suggest, sir?”
The Commissioner clearly did not like being put on the spot; but being a fair man, which he was, he understood it was not an unreasonable question. What should he say was written on his face. He paused and said truthfully, “I am not sure. What are your thoughts and those of Officer Allison?”
Joyce answered this time: “We discussed exactly that before your first meeting with us and again last night with the Thatchers. I think we must wait on this one. No one involved seems to be left in New York; all of the party goers were hired by IBM and moved virtually instantly to Arizona.”
“The old office was let go and another firm, BOA, now occupies it. The owner condos similarly were sold and let go; now a reclusive hedge fund guy owns and occupies both. Quite simply, nothing and nobody is left in our jurisdiction. So what do we do about that? That is the question, sir.”
George left Joyce’s question on the table without comment. He truly did not know either and thought it best to throw the mess on the table for all to see. The Commissioner saw that; all he could think of is that he shouldn’t have called this meeting in the first place. He had been cornered in his own office.
The hot potato had been thrown back to him. Being an honest man he admitted to himself that this was only fair. So there it was. They sat there for a minute looking at each other. The good thing about transcripts is they only recorded words, not silences like the moment they were having.
It became clear to the Commissioner that they were waiting for him. They would not be provoked into an answer. Wise of them he thought; not that he found that idea comforting or helpful. It was what it was and they had helped him reach that point. He believed they had opened the bag, with nothing left in it to chew on. At least for now. He was appreciative of their clarity as he always was with George and believed he would be of Joyce now and in the future. He would be right about that.
So he answered, back on a more cordial first name basis, “Thank you George and Joyce. We will get back to you,” and that was that as the meeting ended.
George complimented Joyce on the way out. “We did that well; we held our ground. We did not advance or retreat. Good work, Joyce.”
“Thank you, George. The Commissioner was fair about it wasn’t he? He handled it well, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Best Commissioner we have ever had. Does his job properly; doesn’t blame the underlings. He took our measure and that of the situation. That in and of itself was helpful. I have never known him to give suggestions, instructions, or a next meeting date just to hear himself talk, as so many political appointees do. That was a message in and of itself. In short, he, too, knows we have to wait out events with every witness now out of our jurisdiction.”
And that was that as they went their separate ways home.
Chapter 18
Back Story
Most answers are in history
Some things come to a quick conclusion, others a slow one, and a few drag on. Unsolved murders drag on because there is no statute of limitations on
them. A cold case is forever capable of being activated. But there needs to be new proof to activate it. And none of the parties that might provide proof, or pointers to the proof, were in the New York City jurisdiction now nor were likely to be anytime soon, which was no small thing. This was a local not state or federal crime. Other cities and states had their own issues; this was not one of them.
Chuck stayed deep. After some thought he had decided that a first step was to make good on the Sloan investors as Elizabeth suggested. The quid pro quo subtlely stated was the Sloan and their talent would then leave him alone. That was definitely a big factor in his decision, though not the only one. He had meant no harm to those investors and thought it fair they be compensated for Chuck’s untimely death and resulting hit on the stock price.
Chuck would stay deep until they were repaid the $500 million. He calculated that would take about 300 days; he would mark them off on his calendar as the money was repaid because he liked counting. In fact he chuckled; he lived by counting, whether it was numbers, calories, books he owned or anything else. It was a fetish he knew, but not a harmful one he thought.
So with regard to the Sloan, each day that passed reflected a reduction in his obligation of a third of 1%, 3 days would be 1%, and so on and so on until the obligation was retired. He appreciated that Elizabeth would handle matters on the Sloan end without involving him further. She was expert at this and he was not.
As he contemplated this last part of discharging the old company problems, he recognized that he liked everything that was available on his Newport property. He had a lake, hiking trails, wilderness without scary animals that might eat you, no poisonous snakes and such, and the 4 seasons to enjoy and complain about as New Englanders enjoyed doing. He never did; but he also always enjoyed the moment: the promise of spring; the hot days of summer; the colors of fall; and the clarity of winter. All good, each in their own way as most things were he thought. Well, he was getting contemplative, wasn’t he, he thought. Yes, but now was the time for it after a lifetime of straight ahead work. Ah, he said; I’ll have to get used to this.
