“First thing tomorrow morning,” said Fletcher. “We’re only staying overnight.”
“Then drop in on your way from the airport; I want a blow-by-blow account of why Al wanted to see you, and make sure you give him my regards, because he’s the best chairman the party’s had in years. And ask him if he got my letter.”
“Your letter?” said Fletcher.
“Just ask him,” said Harry.
“I thought he looked a lot better,” said Fletcher as he and Annie drove to the airport.
“I agree,” said Annie, “and they’ve told Martha that they may even let him go home next week if, and only if, he promises to take things easy.”
“He’ll promise,” said Fletcher, “but just be thankful the election’s not for another ten months.”
The shuttle to the capital took off fifteen minutes late, but Fletcher had allowed for that, so when they touched down, he felt confident they would still have enough time to check into the Willard Hotel, shower, and be in Georgetown by eight.
Their cab pulled up outside the hotel at seven ten. The first thing Fletcher asked the porter was how long it would take to get to Georgetown.
“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” he replied.
“Then I’d like to book a cab for seven forty-five.”
Annie somehow managed to shower and change into a cocktail dress, while Fletcher paced around the room looking at his watch every few moments. He opened the cab door for his wife at 7:51.
“I need to get to 3038 N Street in,” he checked his watch, “nine minutes.”
“No, you don’t,” said Annie, “if Jenny Brubaker is anything like me, she’ll be grateful if we’re a few minutes late.”
The cabbie wove his way in and out of the evening traffic and managed to pull up outside the chairman’s house at two minutes past the hour. After all, he knew who would be paying the fare.
“It’s nice to see you again, Fletcher,” Al Brubaker said as he opened the front door. “And it’s Annie, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve met, but of course I know about your work for the party.”
“The party?” said Annie.
“Don’t you sit on the Hartford school board as well as the hospital committee?”
“Yes, I do,” said Annie, “but I’ve always looked on that as working for the community.”
“Just like your father,” said Al. “By the way, how is the old bruiser?”
“We’ve just left him,” said Fletcher. “He was looking a lot better, and sends his best wishes. By the way, he wanted to know if you received his letter.”
“Yes I did. He never gives up, does he?” added Brubaker with a smile. “Why don’t we go through to the library and I’ll fix you both a drink. Jenny should be down shortly.”
“How’s your boy?”
“He’s fine, thank you, Mr. Goldblatz. His absence turned out to be caused by an affair of the heart.”
“How old is he?”
“Sixteen.”
“A proper age to fall in love. Now, my son, do you have anything to confess?”
“Yes, father, by this time next week I will be the chairman of the largest bank in the state.”
“By this time next week, you might not even be the chief executive of one of the smaller banks in the state.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Nat.
“Because what might have turned out to be a brilliant coup could have backfired, leaving you overextended. Your brokers must have warned you that there is no chance of your laying your hands on fifty percent of Fairchild’s by Monday morning.”
“It’s going to be a close-run thing,” said Nat, “and I still believe we can make it.”
“Thank heavens neither of us is a Catholic, Mr. Cartwright, otherwise you would be blushing, and I would be recommending a penance of three Hail Marys. But fear not, I see redemption for both of us.”
“Do I need redemption, father?”
“We both do, which is wh…wh…why I asked to see you. This battle has done neither of us any favors and if it continues beyond Sunday, it will harm both the institutions we serve, and possibly even close yours.”
Nat wanted to protest, but he knew that Goldblatz was right. “So what form does this redemption take?” he asked.
“Well, I think I’ve come up with a better solution than three Hail Marys, which may cleanse us both of our sins and might even show us a little profit.”
“I await your instructions, father.”
“I’ve watched your career with interest over the years, my son. You’re very bright, extremely diligent and ferociously determined, but what I admire most about you is that you’re straight—however much one of my legal advisors would have me believe otherwise.”
“I’m flattered, sir, but not overwhelmed.”
“And neither should you be. I am a realist, and I think that if you don’t succeed this time, you might well try again in a couple of years, and go on trying until you do succeed. Am I right?”
“You may well be, sir.”
“You have been frank with me, so I shall respond in kind. In eighteen months’ time I will be sixty-five, when I wish to retire to the golf course. I would like to hand over to my successor a thriving institution, not an ailing patient continually returning to the hospital for more treatment. I believe you may be the solution to my problem.”
“I thought I was the cause.”
“All the more reason for us to try and pull off a coup that is both bold and imaginative.”
“I thought that’s exactly what I was doing.”
“And you still may, my son, but for political reasons I need the whole thing to be your idea, which means, Mr. Cartwright, that you’re going to have to trust me.”
“It’s taken you forty years to build your reputation, Mr. Goldblatz. I can’t believe you’d be willing to trade it in just months before you’re due to retire.”
“I too am flattered, young man, but, like you, not overwhelmed. Therefore might I suggest that it was you who requested this meeting to put forward your proposal that, rather than continue to fight each other, we should in fact work together.”
“A partnership?” said Nat.
“Call it what you will, Mr. Cartwright, but if our two banks were to merge, no one will have lost out, and more important, all our shareholders will benefit.”
“And what terms are you suggesting that I should recommend to you, not to mention to my board?”
“That the bank be called Fairchild-Russell, and that I remain chairman for the next eighteen months, while you are appointed my deputy.”
“But what will happen to Tom and Julia Russell?”
“Obviously they would both be offered a place on the board. If you become chairman in eighteen months’ time, it would be up to you to appoint your own deputy, although I think you might be wise to keep Wesley Jackson on as your chief executive. But as you invited him to join your board some years ago, I can’t believe you’d find that a setback.”
“No, I wouldn’t, but that doesn’t solve the problem of stock allocation.”
“You currently hold ten percent of Russell’s, as does your chairman. His wife, who incidentally I think should manage our combined property portfolios, did at one point possess as much as four percent of the stock. But I suspect that it has been her shares that you have been releasing onto the open market for the past few days.”
“You could be right, Mr. Goldblatz.”
“In turnover and profits Fairchild’s is rou…rou…roughly five times the size of Russell’s, so I would suggest that when you put forward your proposal, you and Mr. Russell ask for four percent and settle for three. In the case of Mrs. Russell, I would have thought one percent would be appropriate. All three of you will of course retain your present salaries and benefits.”
“And my staff?”
“The status quo should remain for the first eighteen months. After that, the decision will be yours.”
“And you want me to approa
ch you with this offer, Mr. Goldblatz?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Forgive me for asking, why don’t you simply make the proposal yourself, and let my board consider it?”
“Because our legal advisors would recommend against it. It seems that Mr. Elliot has only one purpose in this takeover, and that is to destroy you. I also have only one purpose, and that is to maintain the integrity of the bank I have served for over thirty years.”
“Then why not just sack Elliot?”
“I wanted to, the day after he sent out that infamous letter in my name, but I couldn’t afford to admit we might have an internal disagreement only days before we were facing a takeover. I can just imagine what the press would make of that, not to men…men…mention the shareholders, Mr. Cartwright.”
“But once Elliot hears the proposal has come from me,” said Nat, “he’ll immediately advise your board against it.”
“I agree,” said Goldblatz, “which is why I sent him to Washington yesterday so that he can report directly back to me once the Securities and Exchange Commission announces the outcome of your takeover bid on Monday.”
“He’ll smell a rat. He knows only too well that he doesn’t need to sit around in Washington for four days. He could fly down on Sunday night, and still brief you on the Commission’s decision on Monday morning.”
“Funny you should mention that, Mr. Cartwright, because it was my secretary who sp…sp…spotted that the Republicans are having their midterm get-together in Washington ending with a dinner at the White House,” he paused, “I had to call in more than one favor to ensure that Ralph Elliot received an invitation to that august gathering. So I think you’ll find he’s fairly preoccupied at the moment. I keep reading in the local press about his political ambitions. He denies them, of course, so I assume it has to be true.”
“So why did you employ him in the first place?”
“We’ve always used Belman and Wayland in the past, Mr. Cartwright, and until this takeover, I hadn’t come across Mr. Elliot. I blame myself, but I am at least attempting to rectify the mistake. You see, I didn’t have your advantage of losing to him twice in the past.”
“Touché,” said Nat, “so what happens next?”
“I have enjoyed meeting with you, Mr. Cartwright, and I shall put your proposal to my board later this afternoon. Sadly one of our members is in Washington, but I would still hope to be able to phone you back with our reaction later this evening.”
“I’ll look forward to that call,” said Nat.
“Good, and then we can meet face-to-face, and I suggest as quickly as possible, as I would like an agreement signed by Friday evening subject to due diligence.” Murray Goldblatz paused. “Nat,” he said, “yesterday you asked me to do you a favor; I would now like one in return.”
“Yes, of course,” said Nat.
“The monsignor, a shrewd man, asked for a two-hundred-dollar donation for the use of this box, and I feel now that we are partners you should pay your share. I only mention this because it will amuse my board, and allow me to keep a reputation among my Jewish friends of being ruthless.”
“I shall make sure I’m not the reason you lose that reputation, father,” Nat assured him.
Nat slipped out of the box and quickly made his way to the south entrance, where he saw a priest standing by the door dressed in a long black robe and biretta. Nat removed two fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them over.
“God bless you, my son,” the monsignor said, “but I have a feeling I could double your contribution if only I knew which of the two banks the church should be investing in.”
By the time coffee had been served, Al Brubaker still hadn’t given any clue as to why he’d wanted to see Fletcher.
“Jenny, why don’t you take Annie through to the drawing room, as there’s something I need to discuss with Fletcher. We’ll join you in a few minutes.” Once Annie and Jenny had left them Al said, “Care for a brandy or a cigar, Fletcher?”
“No thank you, Al. I’ll stick with the wine.”
“You chose a good weekend to be in Washington. The Republicans are in town preparing for the midterms. Bush’s throwing a party for them at the White House tonight, so we Democrats have to go into hiding for a few days. But tell me,” said Al, “how’s the party shaping up in Connecticut?”
“The caucus met today to discuss picking our candidates, and inevitably finance.”
“Will you be running again?”
“Yes, I’ve already made that clear.”
“And I’m told you could be the next majority leader?”
“Unless Jack Swales wants the job; he is, after all, the longest-serving member.”
“Jack? Is he still alive? I could have sworn I’d attended his funeral. No, I can’t believe the party will get behind him, unless…”
“Unless?” said Fletcher.
“You decide to run for governor.” Fletcher put his glass of wine back on the table, so that Al couldn’t see that his hand was shaking. “You must have considered the possibility.”
“Yes, I have,” said Fletcher, “but I assumed the party would get behind Larry Connick.”
“Our esteemed lieutenant governor,” said Al as he lit his cigar. “No, Larry’s a good man, but he’s aware of his limitations, thank God, because not many politicians are. I had a word with him last week at the governor’s conference in Pittsburgh. He told me that he would be happy to remain on the ticket but only if we felt it would assist the party.” Al took a puff of his cigar and enjoyed the moment, before adding, “No, Fletcher, you’re our first choice, and if you agree to throw your hat into the ring, you have my word that the party will get behind you. The last thing we need is a bruising election for our candidate. Let’s leave the real scrap for when we have to fight the Republicans, because their candidate will be trying to ride on Bush’s coattails, so we can expect a tough battle if we hope to hold on to the governor’s mansion.”
“Do you have any view on who the Republicans might put up?” asked Fletcher.
“I was rather hoping you’d tell me,” said Al.
“There seem to be two serious contenders who come from different wings of the party. Barbara Hunter, who sits in the House, but her age and record are against her.”
“Record?” said Al.
“She hasn’t made a habit of winning,” said Fletcher, “although she has over the years built up a strong base in the party, and as Nixon showed us after losing in California, you can never count anyone out.”
“Who else?” said Al.
“Does the name Ralph Elliot mean anything to you?”
“No,” said the chairman, “but I did notice that he’s a member of the Connecticut delegation that’s having dinner at the White House tonight.”
“Yes, he’s on their state central committee, and if he becomes their candidate, it could turn out to be a very dirty campaign. Elliot’s a bare-knuckle boxer who scores most of his points between rounds.”
“In which case he may turn out to be as much of a liability as an asset.”
“Well, I can tell you one thing, he’s a hell of a street-fighter and doesn’t like losing.”
“That’s exactly what they say about you,” said Al with a smile. “Anyone else?”
“Two or three other names are being bandied about, but so far nobody’s come forward. Let’s face it, few people had even heard of Carter until New Hampshire.”
“And what about this man,” said Al, holding up the cover of Banker’s Weekly.
Fletcher stared at the headline NEXT GOVERNOR OF CONNECTICUT? “But if you read the article, Al, you’ll see he’s strongly tipped to become the next chairman of Fairchild’s if the two banks can agree on terms. I glanced through the piece on the plane.”
Al flicked through the pages. “You obviously didn’t get as far as the last paragraph,” he said, and read aloud, “Although it’s assumed when Murray Goldblatz retires he would be succeeded by Cartwright, this position c
ould just as easily be filled by his close friend, Tom Russell, should the CEO of Russell’s decide to allow his name to be put forward as the Republican candidate for governor.”
Once he and Annie had returned to their hotel and gone to bed, Fletcher couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t just because the bed was more comfortable and the pillows softer than he was used to. Al needed to know his decision by the end of the month, as he was keen to get the party up and running behind their candidate.
Annie woke just after seven. “Did you have a good night’s sleep, darling?” she asked.
“I hardly slept a wink.”
“I slept like a log, but then I didn’t have to worry about whether you should run for governor.”
“Why not?” asked Fletcher.
“Because I think you should go for it, and can’t imagine why you would have any reservations.”
“First, I need a long session with Harry, because one thing’s for sure, he’ll already have given the idea a lot of thought.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Annie. “I think you’ll find he’s more preoccupied with Lucy for class president.”
“Well, perhaps I’ll be able to grab a moment of his undivided attention to discuss the governorship of Connecticut.” Fletcher leaped out of bed. “Would you mind if we skipped breakfast and caught an early flight? I want to have a word with Harry before going on to the Senate.”
Fletcher barely spoke on the journey back to Hartford, as he read and reread the article in Banker’s Weekly on Nat Cartwright, the possible new deputy-chairman of Fairchild’s or the next governor of Connecticut. Once again, he was struck by how much they had in common.
“What are you going to ask Dad?” said Annie as their plane circled Bradley Field.
“For a start, am I too young?”
“But as Al pointed out, there is already one governor younger than you, and two about the same age.”
“Second, how does he rate my chances?”
“He wouldn’t be willing to answer that until he knows who your opponent is.”
“And third, am I capable of doing the job?”
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