The Twelve Apostles, page 43
“That’s why I think we should have the meeting. I called Scott and he’s agreeable. He’s going to push their faces into the dirt. He’s the kind who enjoys that sort of thing. “.
“Anybody else?”
“Yes. I thought we might ask the new Apostle who was responsible for our victory.”
“That makes sense.”
“Also, Edwards tells me Dowd would like young Michael Collins to attend. We sent him to Ireland to talk to Dowd in the first place.”
“I remember. It seems he must have made quite an impression on Dowd. He may be worth watching.”
Ainsworth allowed himself a small smile. “He is. I selected and recruited him myself.”
Solomon chuckled. “The young man will be in for a treat. He may witness financial history made tonight. Do you think?”
“Anything is possible,” Ainsworth Martin said. They proceeded into the dining room. The others were all there, and the room was filled with laughter and conversation. There would be no great battles this time over who was to be selected. Ainsworth Martin had polled all the Apostles during the morning and had found rare agreement.
Martin nodded to Roosevelt Smith. “Roosevelt, you can begin to serve.” He turned to Solomon. “We might as well get this little luncheon and ceremony over quickly. We have a lot to do.”
Christina had sent out for a turkey sandwich, but she was much too nervous to eat. Her floor had been filled with the sound of hushed voices as the baleful noon hour had come. Upstairs, the main partners were having their lunch and presumably making the selection. Additional word was out that Jeffrey Rowe and Andy Perkins had entered the race for the two slots. Both men were from good backgrounds, and were experienced trial men. If Dan Spencer didn’t get it, either of them would be a logical candidate. The head of litigation had always been an Apostle.
She heard the elevator door open. That usually unnoticed noise had taken on a whole new meaning. It could announce the summon from on high. But so far it had been the staff and clericals coming on to the floor. No one had yet come from the dining room above.
She turned and looked out the window, trying to calm herself. It was tradition for candidates to stay alone in their offices on selection day, so she hadn’t joined Dan Spencer. She wondered what he was thinking, whether or not he was nervous or was as cool as he appeared to be. She wondered if he thought about the possibility of losing.
She again heard the soft whooshing of the elevator. Win or lose, it wouldn’t be long now. She remembered when Seaforth Russell and Philip Crawforth had been picked. Although the selection had been a few months apart, the timing had been the same.
“Christina.”
She jumped at the sound of her name, turned in her chair, and found Ainsworth Martin standing before her desk. “Christina, I wonder if you could spare a few minutes and come upstairs.”
Her heart was beating wildly. “Y-yes, of course,” she stammered.
She tried not to rush. They walked together in silence to the elevators. Ainsworth Martin continued to say nothing while they waited for the doors to open. He silently escorted her off the elevator, down the long hall, then into the sacrosanct dining room.
Everyone stood as she walked in. Katherine Thurston, usually so very regal, swept over to her, clasped her in a strong bear hug, and whispered, “Congratulations.”
Ainsworth Martin indicated an empty chair at the long, gleaming table. She walked down toward it, past the smiling faces, and took that place.
“Mrs. Giles, the main partners have voted to offer you a full partnership in Nelson and Clark.” Martin sounded like a preacher speaking in church. “Do you accept?”
She was afraid she was going to cry, but fought against it. “Yes, I do,” she managed to say.
The others all applauded.
“There are some rather mundane things that have to be taken care of—contracts and so forth,” Martin said. “And as soon as we’re through here, you and I can sit down and complete them. Is that agreeable?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Please sit down.” Everyone was smiling, even old Asa Chamberlain, whom she had never seen look even pleasant until this moment.
“Now, we are in a bit of a bind as far as established protocol is concerned, Christina,” Martin continued. “We met and voted on the two people to be selected as main partners. There was some discussion, but we reached a unanimous agreement. That was when there were ten. Now we are eleven. We’ve never before had two vacancies at once. We think it proper that you have a chance to express your opinion of the other candidate. You are now a full-fledged Apostle. You can nominate anyone else, if you care to, but I would like to have your vote recorded. It makes everything legal,” he said, pausing for a laugh. But everyone remained serious.
“We have picked Jeffrey Rowe to be the other main partner.”
It was as though her heart had stopped beating. She wondered if in her excitement she had heard correctly.
“Basically, it was between Jeffrey and Andy Perkins, both exceptional men. I think, capsulizing our debate, the majority opinion was that Jeffrey, although of less seniority, would do a better job than Andy in projecting the qualities that we try to present to the public as main partners of Nelson and Clark. Andy seemed too preoccupied with office politics.”
She glanced from face to face. They were waiting for her to speak.
“What about Dan Spencer?” Her voice trembled. “I thought he was a candidate?”
For only a moment did Ainsworth look surprised, then his face regained its normal, bland expression. “Mr. Spencer resigned from the firm this morning. I think it safe to say he would have been selected without exception, but he chose to leave the firm. Didn’t he tell you?”
She shook her head. Again she felt close to tears.
“So, Christina, that’s the choice upon which we’ve agreed, pending your approval. Is Jeffrey Rowe acceptable to you?”
She didn’t even bother to think about it. She liked Jeffrey, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
“Yes, Jeffrey is an excellent lawyer,” she said, trying to keep her voice audible.
Ainsworth Martin again managed a slight smile. “Well, that’s settled, then. I’ll get Mr. Rowe, and if he accepts, which I think is probable”—this time there was a laugh—“we’ll break out the champagne. Please excuse me.”
She desperately wanted to rush to Dan, to find him, to ask why, but the others were around her, hands extended in congratulations, speaking words she hardly heard. She managed automatic responses, smiling and nodding, being gracious.
But there was only one thing on her mind.
Why had he done it? And, far more important to her, what effect would his decision have on them?
The same little ceremony introduced the newest Apostle, and Jeffrey Rowe glowed with genuine delight. He came from money, and in his world being an Apostle was even sweeter than in any other social circle. His parents and their friends would know and appreciate just how important he had become.
Christina congratulated him. She sipped her champagne, trying to find an opportunity to slip away and find Dan.
“Oh, Christina,” Ainsworth Martin said, steering her away from the others. “We are meeting here tonight with the principals of Lockwood and Brown and Brown. I would like you to sit in. This may result in a settlement, and we may have need of your expertise in drafting a financial section of the settlement terms, if one results.”
“Tonight?”
He chuckled. “It’s quite unfair to ask you to work your first night as a full-fledged Apostle, but I think it’s necessary.” He grinned fully, a fact she found surprising. “Before today you were expected to do what I asked, my dear. But I must inform you that as an equal partner you can tell me to go to hell if you like. It’s one of the perks.”
“I would never do that, Ainsworth. Of course I’ll be here.”
He patted her arm. “Thank you.”
She finished her champagne, then quietly made her exit. Dan wasn’t in his office. His secretary congratulated her, although there were tears in her eyes, then told her that Mr. Spencer had taken the rest of the day off.
She suddenly found herself angry with him, as though he had somehow purposely ruined the jubilation she thought she should be feeling at gaining her life’s ambition. Christina tried phoning his apartment, but there was no answer.
She kept trying to reach him right up until she was called to the conference room for the meeting.
Ainsworth Martin looked refreshed, and Christina marveled at his apparently endless source of energy. John Norman Scott looked like his photographs—a small man with an arrogantly jutting lower jaw. He sat with one arm cocked over the back of his chair and irritably tapped the polished table with a gold fountain pen.
She was introduced to a very old man. He tried to stand up but found the effort too taxing, so he merely extended his arthritic hand. Teddy Edwards looked physically exhausted, but she noticed that his eyes were still amazingly sharp and lively.
The man from Ireland had the rough, unpolished look of a laborer. His wrinkled shirt still bore the faded stains of losing bouts with luncheons and dinner. He beamed out at her from a bloated, round red face. And she detected the strong aroma of whiskey as he spoke.
Morris Solomon sat next to Scott. As usual, it was impossible to even guess what Solomon was thinking. His features were as expressionless as those of a poker player.
Christina was surprised that they had included a mere associate in the meeting. She liked Michael Collins; they had worked well together. But he seemed preoccupied, even angry, his handsome young face stem and set.
“We have come together tonight at the request of Mr. Edwards, the chairman of Brown and Brown’s board. He asked that we invite Mr. Scott. And he invited Mr. Dowd. The rest of us are all from the firm of Nelson and Clark.”
Martin looked over at the old man. “Perhaps you’d like to begin, Mr. Edwards?”
The old man nodded toward the Irishman. “I defer to Patrick Dowd.”
Scott scowled. “What’s he got to do with all this? This is strictly between me and Brown and Brown.”
Dowd rose slowly and clasped his pudgy hands in front of his thick stomach. “Ah, Mr. Scott, where’s the lovely young thing you have for vice president—Miss Merriam?”
“I fired her,” Scott snapped.
“It was my impression that she had led the rather successful fight put up by your company against Taro Kuragamo,” Dowd said.
Scott cracked his pen against the table a little more loudly. “I ran the whole show. She was just a puppet. I pulled the string, she did the dance. But it went to her head. They were right, I never should have picked her for that job. She’s much too young for that kind of responsibility.”
Dowd shrugged his shoulders as if it meant nothing to him one way or the other.
“I trust you people are here to surrender?” Scott asked, a vivid sneer on his thin face.
“Surrender? Such a warlike word among gentle businessmen, Mr. Scott,” Dowd responded. “I think it’s time to come to an agreement between the parties.”
“I like the word surrender,” Scott persisted. “Like old Ulysses S. Grant, I’m going to insist on unconditional surrender.”
Dowd reacted as though Scott’s words were surprising. “I think perhaps you’ve misunderstood the essential nature of this meeting. We would like to find out if there is any common ground for an agreement”—Dowd paused—“between gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen, my ass,” Scott snapped. “This is my show now. The courts have given me the green light. I’ll own Brown and Brown by the day after tomorrow.”
Dowd slowly shook his head. “I rather doubt that, sir,” he said softly. “I bought the controlling interest in your company this afternoon. Brown and Brown weren’t stopped from buying Lockwood stock. I have arranged to provide the money—”
Scott stopped tapping his pen. “If Brown and Brown owns us, even if that’s true, you haven’t qualified under the SEC rules. In two days I’ll own Brown and Brown. Your charter is different from mine. I’ll toss out your board before you can mine.” He laughed. “You wasted a great deal of money, Dowd. It’s a shame.”
The Irishman’s slight, ironic smile remained, but his eyes were like two ice-blue ball bearings, hard and unbreakable.
“I’m like a shopper—what do you call them over here, compulsives? When I start buying companies, I just can’t seem to stop. This afternoon I also purchased fifty-one percent of Brown and Brown. I paid a rather high price, but I bought it.”
“You aren’t authorized to buy it!” Scott yelped. “You have to go by the rules.”
“Oh, I’m doing just that, sir. I’m filing all those papers of which you Americans seem to fuss over. I think everything’s legal enough.”
Scott turned to Ainsworth Martin. “You’re my lawyers—tell this Irish son of a bitch where to get off.”
Ainsworth Martin sighed. “Mr. Dowd—” he began, but the Irishman smiled and held up his hand to stop him.
“Do you represent Mr. Scott individually or do you represent the Lockwood company?”
“We represent Lockwood Limited; that is our client. However, Mr. Scott is the chief executive officer of that firm and we take our instructions from him.”
“Not anymore,” Dowd said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Scott demanded, half-rising from his chair.
“I took the liberty of contacting the members of your board,” Dowd said pleasantly. “I’m afraid you don’t have many loyal supporters there. I haven’t been able to reach two of them, but I have contacted the majority. They agreed that you had become something of a liability to the company.” Dowd smiled at Scott. “You have been ousted, I’m afraid.”
Dowd then turned to Ainsworth Martin. “The board at Lockwood is meeting at the moment. I am given to understand a Mr. Fred Hammerly will be named as interim chairman. You can telephone and verify. They’ll be waiting for your call.”
Martin nodded, and Morris Solomon got up and left the room.
“You understand, Mr. Dowd,” Martin said, “we believe what you say, but we must be absolutely certain. In any event, unless informed otherwise, we will continue to represent Lockwood in this, ah, takeover matter.”
“Now look here!” Scott was standing now, his face almost purple. “You represent me! I hired you.”
“Quite right, you did hire us—but as the attorneys for Lockwood Limited. Mr. Dowd is quite correct on that point.”
“Well, I want you to represent me now,” Scott snapped. “I demand it.”
Ainsworth Martin studied Scott for a moment before speaking. “If what Mr. Dowd says is true, and you have been ousted from the Lockwood board, we could not represent you in any matter concerning Lockwood Limited. It would be a conflict of interest for us and would be unethical. Lawyers cannot represent both sides.”
Scott was shaking with rage. “Damn you—you and your ethics! It seems to me you lawyers only drag out those precious ethics of yours when they can do you some good. As far as I’m concerned, I’m still head of Lockwood and I’m firing Nelson and Clark right now.” He was shouting.
Morris Solomon came quickly back into the room. He looked at the enraged Scott, then took his seat once again.
“Well?” Ainsworth asked.
“The Lockwood board met just a few minutes ago. It’s just as Mr. Dowd said. They have fired Mr. Scott from all his positions in the company, and Mr. Hammerly is acting chairman. Hammerly said we are to take instructions from Mr. Dowd.”
Ainsworth Martin glanced over at Scott. “We will verify all this in writing, of course. However, I have no reason to disbelieve what I’ve just been told.”
“This is a goddamned sellout!” Scott yelled. “This is a setup!” He turned and glowered at Dowd. “Just who the hell do you think you’re dealing with? I am John Norman Scott. They call me the Napoleon of Wall Street. You can’t get away with this—I don’t give a damn how much money you have!”
“Mr. Scott”—Dowd’s voice was friendly—“win some, lose some, as the saying goes. I’m afraid you have lost.”
“You’ll be damned sorry.”
“You are a fool who has been playing over your head for years,” Dowd said, no longer smiling. “You have been a lucky gambler. But you went to the tables too often. Now get out of here.”
Scott’s jaw was set. “I will like hell.”
There was silence, and all eyes were on Dowd.
Then Michael Collins spoke, his voice low with restrained anger. “If he needs any help getting out of here, I’ll be happy to be of assistance.” He stood up, his body tense, on the ready.
“Well, I’m against violence myself,” Dowd laughed, “unless it takes place in a proper setting, like a pub. Mr. Martin, I’d be obliged if you’d call your building security and have Mr. Scott escorted out.” He looked at Collins. “Sit down and relax, Michael.”
Ainsworth Martin by nature abhorred emotional confrontations. “Mr. Scott, I would hate to call the security officers. It would be embarrassing for all of us. Please leave. We will double-check the information, I assure you. But it will serve no useful purpose if you stay now.”
John Norman Scott’s lower lip began to tremble. He looked at each person in the room, defiantly at first, and then more like a beggar pleading for pity. He saw none.
Scott knocked over his chair, then silently stalked out of the conference room. He slammed the door behind him.
“Ah, I’m afraid I was a bit too harsh on him,” Dowd said. “But then perhaps it will be instructive for the arrogant little son of a bitch.”
He smiled at Ainsworth Martin. “I’m sure you must be harboring at least the shadow of suspicion that somehow all this is a sham. Be assured that I held out an olive branch to every member of the Lockwood board. I think each found some, ah, profit from this evening’s activities, in one way or another.” He paused. “Besides, as far as I can tell, each of them thought Scott was about to ruin the company.” He looked over at Collins. “They wanted me to have them name young Miss Merriam, your friend.”
