Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5)

by Shirley Hailstock

  Erika looked at the letters on her desk. Most of them were marked Personal. She didn't recognize the return addresses. Taking a letter opener, she slit the first one and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It was a proposal. Someone actually asked her to marry him. How on earth had word gotten out so quickly? Then she remembered television. She'd never turned the set on yesterday.

  The second letter was an attack on her and Michael. It was unsigned. The next one held another proposal, this time for Michael. She put that one aside to give to him. The mail didn't surprise her. She'd gotten the same kind of mail after Bill Castle jilted her. Proposals, attacks, people telling her she was the real winner in that triangle. Except for the ones addressed to Michael, she dropped them all in the trash and decided to go for coffee before reading the other newspapers.

  The small kitchenette was crowded with people discussing the day’s news when she walked in. Her entrance ended the conversations, each person suddenly remembering a previous engagement requiring their immediate attention. Filling her cup, she knew it was time to do damage control. Michael might not have wanted to go on a site visit, but it was time she left her ivory tower and returned to the trenches.

  Back in her office, she saw the Inquirer had been kinder to her. Financial Wizard Has Hollywood Past, the banner over the two columns read. They'd put her story on the financial page, listed her training, her previous work experience, her history with Graves Enterprises, but had led with her broken engagement to Bill Castle. Michael's had been about the same as hers, with the exception related to his being Carlton's grandson. Frank Mason Lawyer Heir to Graves Enterprises topped his story.

  Sipping her coffee, she dropped that paper into the waste-basket, too, wondering if Michael had seen them yet. They seemed to be on different schedules. He wasn't at breakfast and she thought he might need the rest after spending yesterday at the hospital. He still looked tired and he was obviously worried about his friend. She wondered if he were still having nightmares.

  A tap sounded on her door. She looked up as it opened. Michael strolled in, looking refreshed, better than she'd seen him since they met. He came straight toward her, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  "Have you seen the papers?"

  "Yes." she nodded, glancing toward the trash basket.

  "The stories could use some editing, but the photos were good." He made light of the misleading facts.

  "You're in rare form this morning. I suppose you're going to tell me it'll pass in a few days."

  "It will." Michael lounged in the chair. "Something else will come along and we'll be old news."

  "I certainly couldn't tell by that pack of wolves that met me as I drove out of the gates, and the one that met me at the elevators."

  Michael held his cup in both hands and drank, but his eyes were trained on her. Erika wanted to smile, but forced herself to keep a straight face.

  She changed the subject. "How's Malick this morning?"

  "He's wide awake and talkative."

  Erika understood Michael's mood. Yesterday his friend had been close to death, but today Malick was recovering. She'd gone through the same stages with Carlton, but in the end Carlton had died. A sudden emptiness developed in her. She missed Carlton. Her talks with him were some of the best. Michael had the same kind of relationship with Malick Wainscott. She envied him.

  "Are you leaving to go see him?"

  "I'll go tonight. I thought I'd stay around here and settle in. I see my desk is piled high with books about the company."

  "I hope you don't mind. I think it helps when you know the history of where we've been and where we plan to go."

  Michael nodded.

  "Because of the newspaper reports, I think it would be a good idea to take a stroll through the company. Would you like to come with me?"

  By mutual consent they left Erika's office and began a slow process of walking through the various departments. Michael had met most of the vice presidents, but he didn't know the majority of the people who made Graves Enterprises a successful company. Erika introduced him to most of the people they came into contact with, taking time to answer their questions and concerns about what they'd read in the papers. This was so much more personal than calling a conference. Erika truly liked the people who worked for Graves. She knew most of them by name, and with some she even knew their family’s names.

  Michael was charming, answering questions in a quiet, non-confrontational manner. Erika noticed he had a wonderful memory for names. When introduced to a group of people, he managed to remember all their names and address them that way. She heard positive whispers each time they passed from one department to another.

  The damage hadn't been as bad as Erika thought it might be. The publicity department staff was doing a fine job of answering questions and issuing press releases about the direction of the company. Michael had calmed the fears of the people they talked to. All she had to do was keep a calm head, no matter how much she disliked being the center of media attention.

  The tour ended in Jeff Rivers' area. The usually smiling face of the chief financial officer was grim this morning.

  "I need to see you, Erika," he said after he'd shaken Michael's hand and introduced him to some of the members in his department.

  Erika stared at him. His blue eyes had a nervous look. Erika walked into his office. Michael and Jeff followed her. They took seats at the conference table, which sat in the corner between two sets of windows. The day was bright and sunny, but Erika knew the coming news wouldn't be good.

  "How many more?" she asked.

  "Ten thousand," Jeff answered.

  Erika stared at him.

  "Ten thousand what?" Michael asked.

  Erika turned to face Michael. "Shares of stock. For the last several months there's been increased activity in the number of shares of Graves stock trading the market. Jeff seems to think there could be a takeover in the making."

  "Who's it registered to?"

  "We don't know. The shares are made to companies that collapse, and then are transferred to another name. As soon as we find them, they move. It's as if someone is making a job of keeping us out of the loop."

  "Do they have enough shares for control?" Michael asked.

  "Not yet."

  "Can you counter them by exercising options? I remember the lawyers saying something about that."

  "We're locked out. Until our year is up we can't exercise any options, sell any current shares, or buy any more on the open market."

  "I don't understand. Why would Carlton do that?"

  "Money, Erika, like poverty, is one of life's true burdens."

  Michael looked confused.

  "It was one of Carlton's favorite sayings," she explained. "He felt that too much money too soon didn't give a person enough time to learn how to handle it. By preventing us from using too much power, he took out our ability to amass large amounts of cash."

  "It's also a safeguard," Jeff explained. "Carlton ran this company for decades. He knew his death could trigger all kinds of stock activity. To prevent you two from creating a decline in stock value, he took the options out until you were fully aware of the ups and downs of the market."

  "Unfortunately," Michael said. "He didn't consider that by tying our hands he might make it easy for someone else to step in and take over, while we stand by helplessly."

  "They won't be able to take over—" Erika explained, "between us we have control of the company—but unexpected activity can create either good or ill."

  "How so?" Michael asked.

  "An unwanted shareholder can force his way onto the board, and once there create havoc by arguing against programs, swaying other board members, holding up discussion, being generally disagreeable," Jeff answered.

  "But whoever it is can't really do anything?"

  "That's correct," Erika said. "On the board he can't do anything, but the activity in the stock market could cause the stock to drop in price."

  "Wouldn't it cause it
to go up, if activity is suddenly increased?"

  "Maybe," Jeff said. "The market is so fickle that it's difficult to predict what will happen. Even with the solid foundation Graves Enterprises has, people are still uncertain about its continued success since Carlton's death. Sudden activity in the market and rumor could cause our customers to begin buying from our competitors."

  "So even if this phantom stockholder isn't trying to gain access to the board, he could erode market share and ruin the company."

  "Exactly," Erika said.

  "So what are we doing about it?"

  "First, we don't even know if there is a real threat. If we're wrong, we want to be on the cautious side."

  Michael nodded.

  "We have a broker tracking the buying and selling," Erika went on. "So far the number of shares moved in one day clouds the fact that a single individual is buying in great numbers. We don't want the information to get out to the financial community, or it could create the very thing Carlton wanted to avoid."

  "You're not going to be able to hide this for long," Michael told them.

  "I'm surprised we've been able to keep it covered this long," Erika agreed. "Stock analysts are very astute. Graves Enterprises is no mom-and-pop operation. Like those reporters yesterday, there is some smart analyst out there tracking the buying and selling patterns, looking for his chance to be the next financial wizard on Wall Street. With the introduction of you, as Carlton's grandson, and me as. . .as part of the Hollywood scene, they're probably going to keep keen records on transactions as a measurement of our ability to run a company this large."

  "How much time would you estimate we have?"

  "Two weeks," Jeff said. "Three, if we're lucky."

  ***

  The thought of a possible takeover was still on Michael's mind when he walked into the hospital later that day. He wanted to talk to Malick. SEC regulations weren't in Michael's area of expertise, but he knew that he and Malick could come up with a plan to uncover the culprit.

  The arrows on the wall ended and Michael went toward the room where Malick had been the night before. The nurse pointed him to another room. No longer in ICU, Malick looked much better when Michael walked saw him. He was awake and sitting up in bed. The clear tubing still supplied him with oxygen, and fluids passed through other tubes, to disappear under adhesive tape that covered his right hand.

  "You look much better," Michael said, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed. "How do you feel?"

  "Much better." Malick's voice was stronger than it had been the night before and his coloring, though still pale, had begun to return to the red, ruddy color that often made Michael think of people who try to tan their skin in one day and wind up burning instead. Malick's skin tone looked even more striking against his silver-white head of hair and the stark white sheets.

  Michael felt relief at Malick’s condition. He'd had a real scare when the hospital called, and now he felt as if Malick would recover.

  "Have you talked to the doctor today?"

  "He was here about an hour ago."

  "What did he say?"

  "The usual stuff they tell heart patients." He waved his hand as if it meant nothing.

  "What would that be?"

  "That I need to take it easy, avoid stress, eat better, and get plenty of exercise. He even suggested that I take up golf." Malick frowned. Michael well knew Malick's view of golf. It was too quiet for him. While he often went to the games in person, most of them he spent as a very vocal television spectator. You couldn’t scream at a golf game.

  "That's good advice, Malick."

  Malick stared directly at him. "I know its good advice," he said harshly, but Michael knew he didn't mean it. "But who ever does what's good for them?"

  "You're going to have to."

  Malick sighed, then shook his head in agreement. Then he sized Michael up, and he suddenly had a cord of fear running down his back.

  "What?" he asked.

  "I need you to do me a favor."

  "Anything," Michael said.

  Malick raised his left hand, favoring the right one, which had the IV needle hidden in it. "It's a big favor."

  Michael leaned forward. "Go on," he said.

  "I need someone to take over my class—"

  Michael was out of his chair. "Malick, you know I can't do that!"

  "Why not?"

  "I can't go back to the law. I want nothing to do with it." He'd sworn after the Mason children died he'd never go back. It was because of him they were dead. If he hadn't been there, the children would be here today, with their lives in front of them. Michael wouldn't, couldn't, go there.

  "Michael," Malick interrupted his thoughts.

  He could hear the fatherly nature of Malick's voice and knew what was coming.

  "I'm not asking you to return to practice, just to train some first year law students. I have coverage for the day classes. It's only the one night class I need you to teach."

  "It's too much." Too close, he thought. First year students were the most eager. They knew nothing, but argued every point as if they were before the Supreme Court. He didn't want to stand in front of them as they hung on his every word. And quite possibly they'd know about the Frank Mason case. Was there anyone in America who didn't know about it, with the possible exception of Erika? He doubted it.

  "Michael, don't make a decision now. Think about it. Weigh both sides of the argument and make a decision then."

  How often had Michael heard Malick say that to a class where he was the student? "I'll think about it," he said.

  ***

  Erika preferred the library as an office to the upstairs study Carlton had used. As a child she'd spent hours in there doing her homework and reading. The leather-bound volumes along three walls had been her friends during many sleepless nights after she first arrived. She only occasionally suffered bouts of insomnia now.

  She sat in the library, papers spread around her, as she waited for Michael to return from the hospital. She couldn't believe he'd only been here a few days. It seemed that so much had happened, and was happening—the press conference, his friend's heart attack, and the conglomeration of reporters that camped outside her walls. She stared unseeing at the pages before her—numbers of shares of stock sold in the past month. A graph of the amounts going to the top fifty purchasers lay in a blur on top of the desk.

  The door opening aroused her attention. Then Michael's footsteps across the tile foyer. She smiled, recognizing the rhythm of his steps. Her heart thumped in anticipation of seeing him. She'd left the door open and the lights on. Standing, she waited for him to come into the room.

  "How is he?" she asked when he appeared in the doorway.

  "He looks a lot better and he says he feels better."

  "Don't you believe him?"

  Michael nodded.

  "Then, why do you look like someone died?"

  Michael slipped his overcoat and suit jacket off. Coming forward, he hooked them over the back of one of the leather chairs before the massive fireplace and sank into the soft cushion. Carlton had often sat there, and in this light Michael reminded her a lot of his grandfather.

  She left her position next to the desk and came to perch on the end of the chair next to him.

  "What happened?" she asked quietly, forgetting the stock papers on the desk and her own set of problems.

  "I'd do anything for Malick," Michael said. He stared blankly into the unlit fireplace. "He asked me to take over one of his classes."

  "Michael, that's wonderful!" Erika slipped onto the seat. "I taught briefly right after college and I loved it." Erika didn't think Michael shared her enthusiasm. "Are you worried about being away from Graves Enterprises?"

  "It's only one class and it meets during the evening. There won't be any effect on Graves Enterprises."

  "Then what's the problem?" She tried to keep her voice level and nonthreatening.

  "It's teaching the law," he said after a long pause.
/>   "Don't you think you know it well enough to teach?"

  He looked into her eyes. She didn't see doubt there about the subject matter, but she did see fear.

  "I can't teach law."

  His statement seemed final, as if it were explanation enough. It wasn't enough for Erika.

  "What does that mean? I think it's wonderful he has enough confidence in you to ask. He didn't impress me as a man who does things without giving them sufficient thought."

  "You're right," Michael agreed. "Malick thinks through all his decisions."

  "You should be honored he asked you."

  Michael looked at her with no enthusiasm in his eyes. "You think I should do this?"

  "I can't decide for you, but you did go to law school, and I can't believe you can turn your back and walk away from something you studied for years and were apparently very good at." She paused. "And it will help Malick, take some of the worry away from him until he's out of the hospital."

  "I told him I'd think about it."

  Erika could tell he'd been thinking of nothing else during his drive back to the house. She wondered if the real problem was that he really wanted to return to the law, but had told himself he shouldn't. If he truly wanted no part of the law, why was he wrestling with Malick's request?

  "If you really don't want to do it, you must know other lawyers who'd be qualified to take over one class. Why don't you suggest this to Malick? Either way, the pressure of trying to find solutions for things beyond Malick's control will be removed."

  Michael leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He looked tired. "I'll think about that, too," he agreed. "What did you find out about the stock?" He changed the subject.