by Wallace Ford
It turned out that I was right in that everything did work out for us. Things worked out for Sture and me, but certainly not in the way that I expected. The several months after Gordon’s revival produced surprise after shock after surprise.
CHAPTER 47
Paul
Here Comes That Rainy Day
Looking back on the events of the several months following that late night/early morning at New York Hospital, I wouldn’t blame someone for thinking that they were a work of fiction, if they weren’t so true. The major thing that happened was that Diedre, Jerome and I decided to let Gordon rejoin Morningstar, although it became my job to structure the terms and conditions and penalties that Gordon would have to accept if he was going to get back on the team. I couldn’t believe my amazing good fortune.
After that pivotal meeting, which didn’t take long, Ray Beard and Jerome met in what I later understood to be a very direct and to-the-point encounter. It didn’t take long for either of them to say what needed to be said, and the upshot was that Ray Beard was slated to join Morningstar, effective immediately.
Gordon effected something like a reconciliation with Kenitra. Not that they got back together or resumed a relationship. Not at all. Instead, Kenitra later told me that Gordon called her several times, apologizing and asking for her forgiveness, and that he promised her that he was going to dedicate his life to being a good person in an effort to make up for all the terrible things he had done to her and to so many other people. She told me that she was so stunned that all she could do was accept his apology and his promise to leave her in peace and to never try to see her or contact her unless it was a matter of urgent importance.
Quincy Holloway took the videotape of “The Resurrection of Gordon Perkins,” as he liked to call it, and sold it to CNN. Somehow, he also managed to sell the same tape to BBC, Fox News and CBS, keeping the several payments and not getting sued. He truly was a miracle worker.
The Mighty Reverend also took advantage of his latest chapter of fame by marketing himself as a combination faith healer and spiritual guide. Within no time, he was appearing in packed arenas and stadiums and convention halls, healing the sick and preaching a very special message about the power of prayer and its direct connection with success in the material world. Borrowing heavily from the theories expounded by John Calvin a few centuries earlier, Quincy featured a series of sermons that basically told his listeners that if they prayed the way that he taught them to, with an accompanying fee to maintain the good works of his ministry (including his suite at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel), they would get rich.
I would never have believed that there would be hundreds of thousands of reasonably intelligent people who would feel that praying with Reverend Quincy Holloway would make them rich. But that turned out to be the case. Combined with his faith-healing routine, which worked best on those with psychosomatic illnesses, Quincy Holloway became an even greater force on the faith circuit.
Jerome, as a romantic, turned out to be hilarious and entertaining at the same time. After Morningstar started to operate on its new basis, with Gordon and Ray Beard both contributing their special brands of talent and genius to help the firm achieve even greater success, he let me know over drinks one evening that he had started dating Domino Oakley. For someone who usually tried to come across as phlegmatic and impassive, Jerome was positively beaming when he started to talk about Domino and how happy he was to be seeing her. It would turn out to be a very interesting relationship.
Diedre and I continued trying to be good parents and decent spouses. Fortunately for PJ, we were good at the former. The stresses and strains of work and unrealized ambitions and just life in general made our relationship increasingly tense, although there were still those times when the magic between us was more than reminiscence. But those times were getting fewer and fewer, and by September 2001, we had even discussed the possibility of seeking some kind of couples counseling to find out if there was some kind of way that we could get along better instead of separating or divorcing.
As things turned out, our need for marital counseling would turn out to be the least of our problems.
CHAPTER 48
Jerome
Everytime We Say Goodbye
The day after the night and morning of Gordon’s return to the land of the living turned out to be pivotal in so many ways. First, of course, there was the slight matter of all of us having to deal with a living, breathing and soon to be walking Gordon Perkins again after a three-year absence. Then there was the matter of Paul, Diedre and me deciding what to do about his request to rejoin Morningstar.
Not only that, but while I had decided in my mind to accede to Ray Beard’s request to join Morningstar as well, I had not seen or spoken to Ray in the three years since his departure, and our meeting later that day was another hurdle in a steeplechase of a day. And finally, last but certainly not least, I decided to try to reconnect with Miss Domino Oakley so that we could further discuss the principles of bifurcation—hopefully over drinks and dinner.
When I returned from speaking at the New York City Partnership luncheon, there was not a lot of time to prepare for the meeting with Diedre and Paul regarding Gordon. As it turned out, the meeting was, under the circumstances, surprisingly brief. Paul, Diedre and I sat on the sofa and armchair in Diedre’s office.
“In my view, there really isn’t a whole lot to discuss if you want to stick to the business aspects of this whole matter concerning Gordon.” Paul was the first to speak, and, as usual, he quickly and efficiently framed the issues at hand. “We all know that Gordon is a liar, a schemer and, in so many ways, a low-life son of a bitch. Of course, he was all that when the three of you decided to merge firms in the first place.”
Diedre and I sat calmly, acknowledging the obvious and waiting for Paul to continue.
“The thing is that Gordon is also an exceptionally brilliant low-life son of a bitch. Furthermore, for all of his plotting and scheming, it may be in your best interests to have him and his conspiratorial ways close by, so that you can keep an eye on him. Furthermore, if you join his interests with yours sufficiently, he will be cheating himself if he tries to cheat you.”
“Paul, you will have to outdo yourself as an attorney and advisor to come up with a foolproof arrangement that will give us the kind of oversight and control over Gordon that we need.” I knew that I was stating the obvious, and I hated to put that kind of pressure on Paul, but it had to be said.
Paul nodded in acknowledgement, and then Diedre let out a deep, long sigh and spoke in that very direct, almost stern manner that she adopts when she wants to be very clear on a point.
“Look, I know that I am always the one who insists on staying focused on the business aspect of whatever matter comes over the transom. And I will be the first to say that the idea of having Gordon rejoin Morningstar almost makes me sick to my stomach.” Even though she never raised her voice, the tension that she was experiencing in her effort to control her emotions was obvious to Paul and me as she pressed on. “I should have my head examined for saying this, but I still think we just have to bite the bullet and find a way to work with Gordon.” As she said “find a way,” she looked directly at Paul as a way of reiterating what I had already said.
“Okay, okay, you don’t have to hit this mule over the head too many times. If you want Gordon in Morningstar, there are a number of conditions and controls I can put in to make sure that he will be tied down, as much as the law will allow.” Paul paused and looked at both of us for a moment before continuing. “Just remember that this is Gordon Perkins we are talking about. We all know that he will continue to plot, he will continue to lie and he will continue to be someone that you will have to monitor twenty-five hours a day, and that probably won’t be enough. But if you can use Gordon and his skills and his contacts for a couple of years, you can employ an exit strategy at your option— which I will put into the partnership documents—and get him the hell out of the firm.”
“Well, then, I guess it’s a done deal, as the saying goes.” Diedre let out another deep sigh and leaned back on the couch. We all felt some kind of relief at the fact that we at least knew what we were going to try to do.
The devil was going to be in the details. And the details were going to be Paul’s personal project for the next few weeks. I didn’t envy him his job in all of this. Actually, at that moment, I was feeling only relief and not much in the way of exhilaration. And that was the beginning of Gordon coming back to Morningstar. It was that simple.
Paul excused himself and went back to his offices. After a few minutes of going over some Morningstar administrative matters, I also left Diedre’s office and headed down the hallway to my office, knowing full well that the next item on my agenda was not paperwork. It was Ray Beard.
CHAPTER 49
Gordon
Criss-Cross
As soon as I floated my “proposal” to Paul, Diedre and Jerome, I knew that they would accept. I just knew it, because the fact that they would even listen to me after all that had transpired told me that there was a way to work out a deal, and if there was a deal to be made, I have always found a way. As soon as they left the room, I started to think about three things that I knew I would have to do.
First, I knew I had to listen very carefully to the doctors to find out how I could get my black ass out of the hospital as soon as possible and get back on my feet again. Dr. Krishnamurthy had already explained to me that I was lucky to be alive, and that I was going to have to commit myself to intensive rehabilitation if I wanted to get back to anything like normal.
Second, I needed to come up with a plan to settle my accounts with Kenitra and Sture—as well as to sort out my plan of action for when I returned to Morningstar Financial Services. I knew that motherfucker Paul Taylor was going to come up with all the belts and suspenders and bells and whistles that he could think of to try to tie me down when I did get back to Morningstar. I had no intention of playing second fiddle to Jerome or that bitch Diedre, or to anybody else. But I was willing to sign off on any arrangement they proposed just so I could get my feet on the ground. But there would come a day when they would learn once more that it made no sense to fuck with Gordon Perkins.
Third, I had to figure out a way for G-Perk to monitor and manage his new business arrangement with Duke and Ernie Argentina and the rest of the crew. I knew that the distribution and sale of cocaine would not necessarily be compatible with my reprise as an investment banker and partner in Morningstar Financial Services. It was going to be a delicate balancing act, to say the least. I needed to strategize with the Dark Lord, and the sooner we talked and came up with a plan, the better.
But first things had to come first. And getting out of that hospital and back on my feet again was going to require a lot of willpower and dedication. I had no doubt that I was going to fully recover in record time, and over the next few weeks, I continually amazed the doctors and the nurses and the rehabilitation specialists and the therapists as I regained my strength and the full use of my faculties.
The doctors in particular were absolutely certain at first that there was no way that someone who had been in a coma for three years could fully recover from its effects in less than six months. They had too much data, too much research and too much knowledge to even consider the possibility that they could be wrong.
But they didn’t know me, and I managed to tell them to take all that fucking data and research and knowledge and stick it up their asses by eating full meals within a couple of days of waking up. I was walking to the rehabilitation center in the hospital within a week.
The rehabilitation therapists and specialists were accustomed to so-called miraculous recoveries. But even miracles didn’t begin to explain why I didn’t have to relearn walking and talking, and why, within just a few more days, I was able to go online and access bank accounts of mine that neither Paul Taylor nor any of Jerome Hardaway’s security geeks had been able to locate, recalling all the passwords and complicated protocols as if I had just awakened from a thirty-minute nap instead of a lengthy coma.
Instead of the guarded estimate of three months for my departure from the hospital, I was back in my Park Avenue home within three weeks. I made arrangements for home-care attendants and a private physical therapist to greet me upon my arrival. Having given my personal attorney the authority to negotiate my return to Morningstar with Paul, I was back at a desk, working the phones and getting back into the world of investment banking and corporate finance, within two months of my awakening. It was like I had never been away.
It turned out that, if the truth be told, Jerome and Diedre had done a masterful job at running Morningstar since my departure. They were incredibly professional at bringing me back into the fold, and I did everything that I could to make sure that they had no reason to doubt their decision. I did everything that I could to avoid making waves in those early months, and I kept myself focused on renewing contact with my network of bankers, corporate officers, politicians and appointed officials all over the country.
Soon, I was able to start bringing deal opportunities to Morningstar, and after my first few closings started bringing in fees—some municipal and some corporate—I could sense that my new former partners were starting to get comfortable with my presence. It was exactly what I wanted.
All the time that I was working on rebuilding my banking career and getting into a comfort zone at Morningstar, I was also plotting out my own course. Years earlier, I had set up two separate identities for myself, complete with social security numbers, passports, credit cards and fully funded bank accounts. Absolutely no one knew all the details about these identities and their appurtenances.
That was why, after my misstep in New Orleans, Paul figured that he had found all the money that I had stashed away when he found the offshore accounts that I had set up in Kenitra’s name. Even though it cost me ten million dollars, it couldn’t have worked out better for me because, once Paul found those accounts and could locate no others that could be traced to me, he stopped looking.
At the time I set up these rather elaborate backup personas, I didn’t have a particular plan in mind. But I knew that it was a poor rat that had but one hole, and I was never going to be that kind of rat.
Using passwords and some other elaborate protocols that I had established with some banks in Switzerland, Grenada and Costa Rica, I soon had access to all of the cash that I needed to put the next aspect of my plan together. It was a plan that started coming together as soon as Paul, Jerome and Diedre walked out of my hospital room, and every day that I worked on it, I was sure that it was a plan that was going to rock their little world.
CHAPTER 50
Jerome
Boplicity
I learned very early in my professional career that the small things can count for a lot. That is why I have always dialed my own phone calls rather than having an assistant or secretary make the call, with the recipient of my call waiting until I can be brought to the phone. The direct touch, and the absence of presumption in such a simple act can elicit a positive response, and it’s really so simple.
It has also been the reason why, when guests come to visit me at my office, I have never, ever had a secretary or assistant come out to escort them to my office. I have always taken the time to demonstrate a little bit of personal courtesy by coming out to the reception area and greeting my visitors and bringing them into my office or the conference room myself. It can be the little things that can sometimes mean a lot.
And that is how I happened to walk right past Ray Beard the afternoon that he came to my office. When my assistant, Berta, let me know that he was waiting in the Morningsta
r reception area, I quickly concluded the phone call that I was making, put on my suit jacket and headed down the hall to greet Ray. I had already made up my mind to follow Diedre’s advice and stay focused on the business aspect of his coming to work at Morningstar.
I was so focused that, when I walked into the reception area, I was surprised when I didn’t see Ray. I thought that he might have gone to the men’s room, and I started to pick up the phone to ask Berta if she knew where Ray might be.
But I suddenly froze as I was about to dial Berta’s number. In the corner of the reception room was a gaunt, almost frail man struggling to raise himself on a cane so he could greet me. I was more than stunned. The last three years had taken a toll on Ray Beard, and at that moment, it was clear to me that, if he had committed any sins in leaving my firm or hooking up with Gordon, he had paid for them many, many times over.
He must have lost at least fifty pounds since the last time that I saw him, and I guessed that he had probably gained some weight in his recovery. Ray was tall, well over six feet, and he had always had an athletic build and an erect, confident carriage that had helped make him the object of attention whenever he walked into a room. He had always been clean-shaven, but now he had a beard and a mustache, and he wore his hair long and pulled back in a kind of Japanese samurai ponytail. He also wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses. The broken man who was struggling manfully to get up from the chair in which he had been sitting. It was Raymond Russell Beard III, returning from a six-month coma, brought on by a massive stroke occasioned by a cocaine overdose and followed by almost two years of physical therapy.
