The Prodigal Daughter

by Jeffrey Archer

  When the 707 arrived at Kennedy it began to circle the airport. Richard looked out of his little window and could clearly see the building in Wall Street that he had to be at in two hours. He thumped his knee in anger. At last the plane descended a few hundred feet, only to start circling again.

  “This is Captain James McEwen speaking. I am sorry for this delay, but we have been put into a holding pattern because of traffic congestion. It seems there are some delayed flights from London now arriving into New York.” Richard wondered if the Pan American flight from Heathrow would land before he did.

  Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Richard checked the agenda. Item number one—a motion to reject the takeover bid by the Baron Group. Item number two—the issuing of new voting shares. If they couldn’t prove they had 51 percent, Jake Thomas would close the proceedings within minutes after the meeting began. The plane began to descend and the wheels touched the ground at twelve twenty-seven. Richard sprinted through the terminal. He passed his chauffeur on the run, who quickly followed him to the parking lot, where Richard once again checked his watch. An hour and twenty minutes to spare. He was going to make the meeting comfortably.

  “Step on it,” said Richard.

  “Yes, sir,” said the chauffeur as he moved into the left-hand lane of the Van Wyck Expressway. Richard heard the siren a few minutes later and a policeman on a motorcycle overtook the car and waved them on to the hard shoulder. The policeman parked and walked slowly toward Richard, who had already leaped out of the car. Richard tried to explain that it was a matter of life and death.

  “It always is,” said the officer. “Either that or ‘My wife is having a baby.’” Richard left his chauffeur to deal with the policeman while he tried to hail a passing cab, but they were all full. Sixteen minutes later the policeman let them go. It was one twenty-nine as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and turned onto FDR Drive. Richard could see the skyscrapers of Wall Street in the distance, but the cars were bumper to bumper all the way. It was six minutes to two before they reached Wall Street, when Richard could bear it no longer and jumped out of the car, briefcase under one arm, a red London bus under the other, and sprinted the last three blocks, dodging slow pedestrians and fast-honking cab drivers. He heard the clock at Trinity Church chime two as he reached Bowling Green and prayed that it was fast as he raced up the steps of the Lester’s building, suddenly realizing he didn’t know where the meeting was being held.

  “Fifty-first floor, sir,” the doorman informed him.

  The 30 to 60 elevator was full with the post-lunch-hour crowd and it stopped at 31—33—34—42—44—47—50—51. Richard jumped out of the elevator and ran down the corridor, following the red arrow that indicated where the meeting was taking place. As he arrived in the crowded room, one or two faces turned to look at him. There must have been over five hundred people seated listening to the chairman, but he was the only shareholder sweating from head to toe. He was greeted by the sight of a cool Jake Thomas, who gave him a knowing smile from the platform. Richard realized he was too late. Florentyna was sitting in the front row, her head bowed. He took a seat at the back of the room and listened to the chairman of Lester’s.

  “All of us believe that the decision that has been made today is in the best interests of the bank. In the circumstances that your board of directors faced, no one will have been surprised by my request, and Lester’s will now continue its traditional role as one of America’s great financial institutions. Item number two,” said Jake Thomas. Richard felt sick. “My final task as chairman of Lester’s is to propose that the new chairman be Mr. Richard Kane.”

  Richard could not believe his ears. A little old lady rose from her seat in the front row and said that she would like to second the motion because she felt that Mr. Kane’s father had been one of the finest chairmen the bank had ever had. There was a round of applause as the old lady sat down.

  “Thank you,” said Jake Thomas. “Those in favor of the resolution?” Richard stared into the body of the hall as hands shot into the air.

  “Those against,” Jake Thomas looked down from the platform. “Good, the resolution is carried unanimously. I am now happy to invite your new chairman to address you. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Richard Kane.” Richard walked forward and everyone stood and applauded. As he passed Florentyna he handed her the red bus.

  “Glad you accomplished something on your trip to London,” she whispered.

  Richard walked, dazed, onto the platform. Jake Thomas shook his hand and then took a seat on the end of the row.

  “I have little to say on this occasion,” began Richard, “other than to assure you that I wish Lester’s to carry on in the same tradition as it did under my father and that I will dedicate myself to that end.” Unable to think of anything else to add, he smiled and said, “I thank you for your attendance today and look forward to seeing you all at the annual meeting.” There followed another round of applause and the shareholders began to disperse, chattering.

  As soon as they could escape from those who wished to buttonhole Richard, either to congratulate him or to tell him how they felt Lester’s should be run, Florentyna led him away to the chairman’s office. He stood and stared at the portrait of his father that hung over the fireplace and turned to his wife.

  “How did you manage it, Jessie?”

  “Well, I remembered a piece of advice my governess had taught me when I was younger. Contingency, Miss Tredgold used to say. Always have a contingency plan ready in case it rains. When you called from Montreal I was afraid there might be an outside chance it would pour and you wouldn’t make the meeting. So I called Thaddeus Cohen and explained what my contingency plan was and he spent the morning drawing up the necessary documents.”

  “What documents?” said Richard.

  “Patience, Mr. Kane. I do feel after my triumph that I have the right to spin out this tale a little longer.”

  Richard remained impatiently silent.

  “When I had the vital document in my hand, I phoned Jake Thomas and asked if he could see me twenty minutes before the stockholders’ meeting was due to start. Had you arrived in time, I would have canceled the confrontation with Mr. Thomas, but you didn’t.”

  “But your plan—”

  “My father—no fool—told me once a skunk, always a skunk, and he turned out to be right. At the meeting with Thomas, I informed him that we were in possession of fifty-one percent of Lester’s stock. He was disbelieving until I mentioned the name of Sir Colin Emson, and then he turned quite pale. I placed the whole bundle of certificates on the table in front of him and, before he could check them, told him that if he sold me his two percent before two o’clock I would still pay him the full fourteen dollars per share. I added that he must also sign a document saying he would resign as chairman and make no attempt to interfere in any future dealings involving Lester’s Bank. For good measure, although it was not in the contract, he must propose you for chairman.”

  “My God, Jessie, you have the nerve of ten men.”

  “No. One woman.”

  Richard laughed. “What was Thomas’s response?”

  “Asked what I would do if he refused. If you refuse, I told him, we’ll sack you publicly without compensation for loss of office. Then I pointed out to him that he would have to sell his stock for the best price he could get on the open market because as long as we had fifty-one percent of Lester’s he would play no part in the future of the bank.”

  “And then?”

  “He signed there and then without even consulting his fellow directors.”

  “Brilliant, Jessie, both in conception and execution.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kane. I do hope that now you are chairman of a bank you won’t be running all over the world getting yourself delayed, missing meetings and having nothing to show for your troubles other than a model of a red London bus. By the way, did you remember to bring a present for Annabel?”

  Richard looked embarrassed. Florentyna
bent down and handed him an F. A. O. Schwarz shopping bag. He lifted out a package that showed a picture of a toy typewriter on the outside with “Made in England” printed all along the bottom of the box.

  “Just not your day is it, Mr. Kane? By the way, Neil Armstrong got back quicker than you did. Perhaps we should invite him to join the board?”

  Richard read Vermont Royster’s article in The Wall Street Journal the next morning:

  Richard Kane seems to have won a bloodless coup in his bid to become chairman of Lester’s. There was no vote taken by shareholders at the extraordinary meeting, and his succession to the chair was proposed by the retiring incumbent, Jake Thomas, and carried unanimously.

  Many stockholders present at the meeting referred to the traditions and standards set by the late William Lowell Kane, the present chairman’s father. Lester’s stock ended the day up two points on the New York Exchange.

  “That’s the last we’ll hear of Jake Thomas,” said Florentyna.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Four

  Richard had never heard of Major Abanjo before that morning. Neither had anyone else in America other than those who took an overzealous interest in the affairs of Nambawe, Central Africa’s smallest state. Nevertheless, it was Major Abanjo who caused Richard to run late for his most important appointment that day, the eleventh birthday of his only son.

  When Richard arrived back at the apartment on Sixty-fourth Street, Major Abanjo was driven from his mind by Annabel, who had a few minutes earlier poured a pot of tea over William’s hand because she wasn’t receiving enough attention. She hadn’t realized that it was boiling hot. It seemed that Carol had been in the kitchen fussing over the birthday cake at the time. Annabel was getting even less attention now that William was screaming at the top of his voice, and all the other children had to be sent home. A few minutes later Annabel was also screaming, after Richard had placed her across his knee and administered six hard whacks with his slipper before both children were put to bed—William with two aspirins and an ice bag to help him sleep and Annabel as a further punishment. Eleven candles—and one to grow on—had burned themselves down to the icing on the large cake that remained untouched on the dining room table.

  “I’m afraid William will have a scar on his right hand for the rest of his life,” said Florentyna after she had checked to see that her son was at last asleep.

  “Still, he took it like a man.”

  “I don’t agree,” said Florentyna. “He never once grumbled.”

  “It probably wouldn’t have happened if I had been on time,” said Richard, ignoring her comment. “Damn Major Abanjo.”

  “Who is Major Abanjo?” asked Florentyna.

  “A young army officer who was behind the coup in Nambawe today.”

  “Why should a little African state stop you from being on time for William’s birthday party?”

  “That little African state has an outstanding five-year loan agreement of three hundred million dollars that Lester’s led on in 1966 and the repayment is due in three months.”

  “We are in for three hundred million dollars?” said Florentyna, flabbergasted.

  “No, no,” said Richard. “We covered the first fifteen percent of the loan, and the remaining two hundred and fifty million was divided among thirty-seven other financial institutions.”

  “Can we survive a loss of forty-five million dollars?”

  “Yes we can, as long as the Baron Group remains our friends,” said Richard, smiling at his wife. “It’s three years’ profits down the drain, not to mention a severe blow to our reputation with the other thirty-seven banks and the inevitable drop in our stock price tomorrow.”

  Lester’s stock dropped the next day by more than Richard had anticipated, for two reasons. The newly self-appointed President of Nambawe, Major Abanjo, announced that he had no intention of honoring previous government commitments made with any “Fascist regime” including America, Britain, France, Germany and Japan. Richard wondered how many Russian bankers were boarding planes to Central Africa at that moment.

  The second reason became apparent when a reporter from The Wall Street Journal called Richard and asked him if he had any statement to make about the coup.

  “I really have nothing to say,” said Richard, trying to sound as if the whole episode were about as troublesome to him as brushing a fly off his sleeve. “I feel sure the problem will sort itself out during the next few days. After all, the loan is only one of many that Lester’s is involved with at the present time.”

  “Mr. Jake Thomas might not agree with that opinion,” said the journalist.

  “You have spoken to Mr. Thomas?” said Richard in disbelief.

  “Yes, Mr. Kane, he called the Journal earlier today and had an off-the-record conversation with our publisher, leaving us in no doubt that he would be surprised if Lester’s could survive such a demand on cash flow.”

  “No comment,” said Richard curtly, and put the phone down.

  At Richard’s request, Florentyna called a board meeting of the Baron Group to ensure enough financial backing so that Lester’s could survive a run on its stock. To Richard’s and Florentyna’s surprise, George was not at all convinced that the Baron Group should enmesh itself in Lester’s problems. He told them he had never approved of using the Baron stock as security for the takeover of the bank in the first place.

  “I remained silent at the time, but I’m not willing to do so on a second occasion,” he said, his hands resting on the boardroom table. “Abel never liked throwing good money after bad, whatever his personal involvement. He used to say that anyone could talk about future profits and start spending money they hadn’t yet earned. Have you considered that we might both end up going under?”

  “The sum involved is not that large to the Baron Group,” said Richard.

  “Abel always considered any loss to be ten times the problem of any profit,” George told him. “And what outstanding loans do you have to other countries around the world which could be taken over while we are asleep in bed?”

  “Only one outside the EEC, and that’s a loan of two hundred million to the Shah of Iran. Again we are the lead bank with a commitment of thirty million, but Iran has never missed an interest payment by so much as an hour.”

  “When is their final payment due?” asked George.

  Richard flicked through a bulky file that lay on the table in front of him and ran his forefinger down a column of figures. Although nettled by George’s attitude, he was pleased to be well prepared for any query that might arise.

  “June nineteen, 1978.”

  “Then I want an assurance you won’t involve the bank again when the loan comes up for renewal,” said George firmly.

  “What?” said Richard. “The Shah is as safe as the Bank of England—”

  “Which hasn’t proved to be so solid lately.”

  Richard was beginning to look angry and was about to respond when Florentyna interrupted.

  “Hold on, Richard. If Lester’s agrees not to renew its loan with the Shah in 1978, or involve itself in any further Third World commitments, George, will you in turn agree to the Baron Group’s underwriting the forty-five million loss on the Nambawe contract?”

  “No, I’d still need some more convincing.”

  “Like what?” Richard demanded.

  “Richard, you don’t have to raise your voice. I am still the president of the Baron Group. Abel gave thirty years of his life to building the company up to its present position, and I don’t intend to see that achievement demolished in thirty minutes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Richard. “I haven’t had much sleep for the last four days. What would you like to know, George?”

  “Other than the agreement with the Shah, is Lester’s committed to any other loans over ten million?”

  “No,” said Richard. “Most major country-to-country loans are serviced by the prime banks like Chase or Chemical and we end up with only a tiny percentage of the cap
ital sum. Obviously, Jake Thomas felt that Nambawe, which is rich in copper and manganite, was as sure a bet as he could hope to find.”

  “We already know, to our cost, that Mr. Thomas is fallible,” said George. “So, what other loans above five million remain outstanding at the bank?”

  “Two,” replied Richard. “One with General Electricity in Australia for seven million, which is secured by the government, and one with ICI in London. Both are five-year loans with set payment dates and so far repayments have been met on schedule.”

  “So if the Group wrote off the forty-five million, how long would it take Lester’s to recoup the loss?”

  “That would depend on the percentage any lender required and over what period of time the money was loaned.”

  “Fifteen percent over five years.”

  “Fifteen percent?” repeated Richard, shocked.

  “The Baron Group is not a charity, Richard, and as long as I am president it is not in business to prop up ailing banks. We are hoteliers by trade and have shown a seventeen percent return on our money over the past thirty years. If we loaned you forty-five million, could you pay it back in five years at fifteen percent?”

  Richard hesitated, scribbled some figures on the pad in front of him and checked his file before he spoke. “Yes, I am confident we could repay every penny in five years, even assuming the African contract is a total write-off,” he said quietly.

  “I think we must treat the contract precisely that way,” said George. “My informants tell me that the former head of state, King Erobo, has escaped to London and taken up residence at Claridge’s and is looking at a house that’s for sale in Chelsea Square. It appears he has more money stashed away in Switzerland than anyone other than the Shah, so I feel he’s unlikely to return to Africa in a hurry—and I can’t say I blame him.” Richard tried to smile as George continued. “Subject to all you have told us being confirmed by the Baron’s auditors, I agree to covering the African loan on the terms stated, and I wish you luck, Richard. I’ll also let you in on a little secret: Abel didn’t like Jake Thomas any more than you do, which is what tipped the balance for me.” George closed his file. “I hope you will both excuse me now as I have a lunch appointment with Conrad Hilton and he has never once been late in thirty years.”