by Ian Hamilton
“That makes me even more curious,” Jack said.
“Jack!” Anne said.
“No, that’s okay,” Harry said. “We are family, after all.”
“Shouldn’t it be left up to Georgie when and what to tell us about her husband?” Anne asked.
“Maybe I’ve been making more of an issue of it than I should. Besides, all you have to do is ask around the local financial community. You’ll hear the stories about Atholl Malcolm soon enough.”
“So he was involved in some financial shenanigans?” Jack asked.
“He claimed he lost the money he was managing through a series of bad investments. But if you ask the people who gave him their money to invest, they’ll say he stole it. Some were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he lost that when he buggered off.”
“He took off?”
“He did what we call a midnight flit. Georgie got up one morning to find a note saying he’d left the country and would contact her as soon as he was settled. That was nine months ago. She hasn’t heard from him since.”
“Does she know where he is?” asked Jack.
“She swears she doesn’t, and no one else seems to either.”
“Why did she lose the house?”
“She’s completely skint. Everything they owned was in either his name or his company’s. The creditors went after it all. Georgie might have been able to hang on to some bits and pieces if she’d fought for them, but the way Atholl left took the fight right out of her.”
“The poor woman,” Anne said.
“What happened to the money?” Jack asked.
“The prevailing opinion is that he’d been stashing it overseas for years in some offshore haven. There’s no proof, of course, but that doesn’t end the speculation.”
“What do you believe?”
“I’m not sure Atholl was smart enough or had the foresight to pull off something like that. I think it’s just as likely that he did lose the money,” Harry said. “Not that the investors care. All that matters is that it’s gone.”
“Has he been charged with anything?”
“Not yet, but I’ve heard the anti-fraud department is looking into it. Though that would be the least of his concerns. Word is the Baxter brothers are looking for him too.”
“And they are?”
“Scottish criminal royalty — the Baxters are four brothers who run most of the drug and prostitution business in Glasgow and the surrounding towns. At one time their father had the biggest bookie operation in the country. Our stepfather, Davey Montgomery, worked for him years ago, and he stayed in touch with the family. It was Davey who got Atholl together with the brothers.”
“Davey is dead, correct?”
“He died ages ago.”
“Did Atholl and the brothers do business together for a long time?”
“They did, and he must have made them some money, because they kept investing with him. I’ve heard they may have lost as much as five million pounds when Atholl did his flit,” Harry said. “If that’s true, then it’s hard to blame Atholl for leaving. The Baxters don’t believe in lawyers, and bankruptcy isn’t in their vocabulary.”
“They would have harmed him?” Anne asked.
“Killed him, most likely.”
“Good grief. No wonder Georgie is upset,” Anne said. “Would they harm her?”
“No, but they’ve made it clear that if she hears from Atholl, she’s to pass the information along to them.”
“Would she?”
“It would be risky for her and Liz not to,” said Harry.
The starkness of that admission caused the conversation to stall. Jack looked out the window onto quiet streets. Suddenly he felt quite far from Wellesley. “What kind of business did Atholl run?” he finally asked.
“Calling it a business is a bit of a stretch,” Harry said. “He was a trader. He bought and sold anything he thought he could make a quid on. Cheese, clothes, fish, wine, televisions, tractors — you name it and he probably traded in it at some point. The problem was that the volumes he dealt in kept getting bigger, and that of course increased his exposure. One or two bad deals would really hurt him. One or two very bad deals would have killed his business.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
“My theory is that he made a couple of bad deals and lost some serious money. Rather than trying to make it back, he took whatever was left and headed for the hills.”
“That doesn’t speak well of him.”
“He was always a bit of a prick,” Harry said, and then turned towards Anne. “Pardon my language.”
“I’ve heard worse.”
The illuminated clock tower of the North British Hotel appeared ahead of them. A moment later Harry parked in front of its entrance.
“Well, this was quite the day,” Jack said.
“Wasn’t it. I never would have guessed when I got out of bed this morning that my day would end like this.”
“I feel the same.”
“So, until tomorrow then,” Harry said, extending his hand.
“Yes,” Jack said, taking it.
Anne got out of the back seat and stood on the sidewalk. Harry climbed out of the car to say goodbye to her. “I’m so happy for Jack,” she said.
“I’m happy for all of us.”
After an exchange of hugs, Anne walked into the hotel with Jack trailing behind her. They didn’t speak until they reached their suite and the door was closed behind them.
“What do you think about tonight?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“No?”
He shrugged. “Part of me is pleased. Part of me is confused. Part of me hurts.”
“It isn’t like you to be indecisive.”
“There are just so many complications.”
“Every family is complicated.”
“True, but I had nothing to do with creating these particular complications.”
“Are you talking about your father, about McPherson?”
“No, I meant what I said to Harry. I have no interest in the man.”
“Atholl Malcolm?”
“Partially, but also Georgie.”
“I feel sorry for Georgie.”
“We hardly know her.”
“Jack! I know she upset you when she defended your mother. All I can say is that I hope my children would do the same for me. You have to separate Georgie’s feelings for her mother from your mother’s behaviour towards you.”
“There you go again, being entirely reasonable.”
“Would you prefer it if I simply agreed with everything you said?”
“Of course I would,” he said with a wan smile.
“That isn’t going to happen, Jack,”
“I know,” he said, and then glanced at his watch.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” she asked.
“No, but it isn’t quite ten yet. The office in Boston is still open,” he said. “Are you going to shower before we go to bed?”
“Of course.”
“Would you mind if I checked in with the office while you do?”
“Jack, you can do whatever you wish while I’m in the shower. But when I’m finished, I don’t want to see you on that phone.”
16
Jack waited until the bathroom door was closed before he called Pam.
“Mr. Anderson, what can I do for you?” she asked, sounding slightly surprised.
“I’d like the phone numbers for Don Arnold and Ross Goldsmith.”
“Yes, sir,” she said hesitantly. “Is there a problem?”
“No, I just want their numbers, thank you.”
“Of course, sir,” she said.
When he had the numbers, Jack stared at his notepad. Arnold was Pi
lgrim’s chairman; he had been appointed to the board by a union pension fund that had a large holding in the company. He had supported many of Jack’s initiatives, but the two of them had never really hit it off. Their relationship had even been contentious on occasion. There were times, in fact, when Jack felt Arnold didn’t completely trust him.
Goldsmith, the vice-chairman, was an old-timer. A New England commercial banker, he had been appointed to the board when Bob Young was still CEO and had often been vocal in his support for Jack. He didn’t have Arnold’s weight with the board, but he was liked and respected. He’s the one to make my case, Jack thought as he called Goldsmith.
He was routed from a receptionist to Goldsmith’s personal secretary and then put through to the man himself.
“Jack, I thought you were taking a holiday in Scotland,” Goldsmith said.
“I am on a holiday of sorts, but you know me — I find it hard to let go of the business. I’ve been staying in touch with the office through Pam.”
“Has something happened?”
“Only in the most indirect way,” Jack said. “I was reviewing our preliminary results for the last quarter and was pleasantly surprised by how good they are. We’re setting records in terms of sales, growth, and profit, and the trends show no indication of slowing — unless, of course, we change our direction.”
“I haven’t seen those results yet,” Goldsmith said carefully.
“They’re still being finalized. The board should have them by week’s end.”
“Wonderful. I look forward to getting them,” Goldsmith said. “But Jack, it isn’t like you to call me out of the blue, even with such good news. Is something else going on?”
“Yes. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while I’ve been over here, and I find myself becoming increasingly worried about the future of the company.”
“You just told me we’re setting records.”
“We are, and I can see a clear path ahead for us to reach our goal of becoming one of the Big Three. But to get there we need to maintain our momentum. We need to keep going at full bore.”
“What makes you think we won’t keep up our momentum?”
Jack hesitated. This was the crucial moment, and he reminded himself to be calm and low-key. “Ross, we’ve known each other for many years and we’ve shared many confidences. But this is one that I need your absolute assurance will remain strictly between us.”
“You have my assurance,” Goldsmith said, after his own slight hesitation.
“Well, as difficult as this is for me to say, I’ve been having serious doubts about Norman Gordon’s ability to run our company.”
“What brought this on? Has something happened?”
“No, but he’s made a number of comments that, taken together, give me concern,” Jack said.
“In what way?”
“I’ve heard him say that the company needs to slow down, that we need to take some time to consolidate our gains. He’s even talked about taking a few steps back,” Jack said. “I find that worrying, even alarming. We’ve become a national brand by acting aggressively, and I don’t want to see that aggression disappear just as we’re about to crack the Big Three. Another two years or maybe three like the one we’re having will get us there.”
“Have you spoken to Norman about this?”
“I have. He understands my position and agrees with me in theory. But I think he’s just paying me lip service.”
“What are you trying to say?” Goldsmith asked.
“I’m not comfortable about turning the reins of the company over to Norman.”
“He’s been chosen. The decision has already been made.”
“He could be unchosen.”
“That would be messy,” Goldsmith said. “And you know our board doesn’t like messes.”
“Another possibility would be to leave him in position as my successor but postpone the handover date,” Jack said, as casually as he could.
“Ah,” Goldsmith said. “The penny drops.”
Jack didn’t respond. He knew Goldsmith was thinking over his proposal, and the best thing for him to do was wait.
“Jack, are you suggesting that you remain as president and CEO until Norman is better prepared to take over?” Goldsmith finally said.
“I don’t want to sound egotistical, but who is better positioned to maintain our rate of growth and take us to the next level?”
“No one, but that still doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“I know there would be challenges.”
“That’s an understatement. For one thing, you’ve already announced your resignation and set a date for your departure. For another, Norman has been publicly named as your successor. Reversing those actions would generate questions in the market, which could create uncertainty about the company. It would certainly seed doubts about Norman’s capacity to lead.”
“Those are things that a vigorous public relations program could overcome.”
“Perhaps, but only if we provided a strong answer to the question everyone is sure to ask.”
“Which is why is it necessary for me to stay on?”
“Exactly.”
“The answer is that the company is in the middle of a five-year expansion plan that I began. The board has decided that, rather than handing it off to Norman, they want me to see it through to its conclusion.”
“I wasn’t aware that we had a five-year plan.”
“We didn’t call it that, but my strategy was plain enough.”
“Okay, let’s assume the board agrees that it would be beneficial for you to stay on. What do you propose we do about the Young resolution?”
“It would have to be overturned.”
“You would ask the board to do that?”
“No, you know I couldn’t. It wouldn’t look right. The initiative would have to come from a board member, as would the request that I stay on as CEO.”
“You want me to go to the board to persuade them to ask you to rescind your resignation?”
“I want you to do what you think is best for the company.”
“You’re smooth, Jack, I’ll give you that,” Goldsmith said.
“All I care about is doing the right thing for Pilgrim, the company I’ve devoted my entire working life to.”
“I apologize — I was being glib. But you can understand that I feel blindsided by all this,” Goldsmith said.
“Of course, and I apologize for that. This has been weighing on me for a while. It’s only since I’ve been here, in a different environment, that I’ve begun to see things clearly.”
“It’s true that more than a few board members were unhappy when you resigned, and there wasn’t much enthusiasm for Norman as your replacement,” Goldsmith said slowly.
“Ross, I’ve made it clear to you that I want to stay on.”
“Yes, you have.”
“I want to finish what I’ve started. Will you support me? Will you speak to the board on my behalf?”
“This is not something you can just spring on them. Despite their admiration for you and their reservations about Norman, they might not react positively to a complete reversal of their plans. And the last thing you want is for the board to turn down the idea. It would be an unseemly end to an otherwise terrific career.”
“I’m not suggesting you go directly to the board. I understand there would have to be pre-consultation, a lot of one-on-one conversations. The board isn’t scheduled to meet again until next month. That represents a window of opportunity.”
“It does,” Goldsmith said, and then paused. “Look, Jack, I’m not going to make a commitment to you now, but I agree that your proposal makes some sense. I’m prepared to make some discreet phone calls. I would like to gauge how my fellow board members might react if the idea were brought forward.”
“I couldn’t ask for more.”
“When do you get back from Scotland?”
“Next week.”
“I should have a reading by then. If it’s positive, then we can talk about making a pitch to the board. If it isn’t, I trust that you’ll throw all your support behind Norman and make the transition as smooth as possible.”
“You have my word on that.”
“Then we’ll talk when you get back.”
“If something urgent comes up in the interim, I can be reached at the North British Hotel in Edinburgh. If there’s a change in my situation, I’ll let Pam know.”
Jack put the phone back in its cradle, feeling pleased with the way the conversation had gone. He trusted Goldsmith. He was sure the banker would make the phone calls and would never mention that Jack had initiated the idea.
Talking to Goldsmith had restored Jack’s sense of normalcy. Corporate matters, even corporate intrigues, were his natural element. The past two days, and particularly the evening with Georgie, had taken him out of his comfort zone. Thank God Anne was there tonight, he thought. If she hadn’t been there to soften some of Georgie’s opinions about their mother, he wasn’t sure how he would have reacted. How could Georgie not understand how he felt? How could she not believe he had been abandoned? Harry seemed to have a better sense of things, but maybe he just thought it was better to keep quiet.
He heard Anne moving about in the bedroom and went to the open door. “It’s mid-afternoon in California if you want to call Allison,” he said.
“Do you think I should?” she asked, as she put her hairbrush into a toilet case.
“There’s a lot to tell her.”
“But you know what’s she like,” Anne said. “She’ll be quick to pass on the news to the other kids. Are you prepared for an avalanche of congratulations when you’re not sure yet how you feel about all this?”
“You’re right. Maybe we should hold off.”
Anne yawned. “Besides, I’m tired. Between the wine, the jet lag, and all the emotional turmoil, I’m quite done in.”
“Me too. What would you like to do tomorrow?”
“We can’t come to Edinburgh and not see the castle.”