Sins of the Fathers

by Susan Howatch

  A strategy meeting was then held at the offices of the Van Zale Manhattan Trust and was attended not only by my father and the board of the Trust but also by all the senior officers of the huge banks who had a stake in opposing Shine.

  “For, after all,” explained my father to me, “if Shine succeeds with us, who knows who his next target might be?”

  Various strategies were discussed, even the extreme suggestion that the Trust should merge with some other computer-leasing firm; this would have created a situation in which Shine could no longer have acquired the bank without violating the antitrust laws. However, the strategy which found most favor was one involving the introduction of state and federal legislation to make such a takeover illegal. Meanwhile, Shine & General’s stock had steadied on the Exchange, and Shine was summoning his resources to move forward into the attack.

  At this point my father invited Shine to lunch.

  Shine accepted and was given a very plain meal (steak, baked potato, salad, no wine) in the partners’ dining room at Willow and Wall.

  My father talked about the detriment to the bank of a hostile takeover, pointed out that the top management would certainly resign, and forecast that the leading clients would take their business elsewhere. Shine protested that he had no intention of making a hostile takeover and repeated that all he wanted was to improve the bank by making it more responsive to its stockholders and enlarging the range of services available to its customers. My father suggested kindly that he was an ignorant young man who would be incapable of running a bank. Shine suggested that it was time the old guard moved over to make room for new blood. My father said he would offer him one last chance to withdraw gracefully before that new blood was splattered from one end of Wall Street to the other.

  But Donald Shine just laughed and said, “That’ll be the day!”

  That same afternoon he began to receive calls from the leading investment banks, including Reischman’s, to say that under no circumstances would they participate in any Shine & General tender for the Van Zale Manhattan Trust, and two days later Shine was informed that the Trust had retained the two leading proxy-soliciting firms to deny their services to his corporation.

  Shine & General’s stock began to fall again. It was now down to 120 and in full retreat, and in early December the Van Zale lawyers began to draft laws which could be passed by the Assembly in Albany to prevent the takeover of banks such as the Trust by conglomerates such as Shine & General. Meanwhile, in Washington the Department of Justice had written to Shine to say that although the antitrust laws were not apparently violated by his plans, the proposed merger did raise certain questions which they felt they should discuss with him.

  Shine & General’s stock slipped to 115.

  When Shine went to Washington, he found not only the members of the Senate Banking and Currency Committee but also the majority of the Federal Reserve Board were adamantly opposed to the takeover; he also found himself regarded as a pirate, and realizing at last that both big business and government were firmly set against him, he decided he had no choice but to surrender.

  For the last time Shine and his lieutenants met Harry Morton and the task force of the Van Zale Manhattan Trust. Shine said he planned to issue a statement of withdrawal, and once his opponents had finished wringing one another’s hands in an ecstasy of relief, the first man Harry called was my father at Willow and Wall.

  IX

  “Now that it’s all over,” said Harry to me the next day at my father’s champagne reception, “I can admit it was a very close call. God only knows what would have happened if we hadn’t had the time to investigate Shine & General thoroughly and force them into the open before they were fully prepared to launch their attack.”

  A passing footman refilled my glass. “You mean,” I said, struggling to concentrate amidst the roar of a hundred guests in a celebration mood, “that you were damn lucky to have prior knowledge of Shine’s plans. But, Harry …” I had to raise my voice as a group behind me burst out laughing at yet another anti-Shine wisecrack, “Harry, who tipped you off? Did one of Shine’s lieutenants double-cross him?”

  “My God, didn’t your father tell you? It was Jake who tipped us off, Vicky! Jake Reischman!”

  The room seemed to empty itself of noise. I was aware of the crowds around me, but now they were mere moving shadows and I was alone with Harry Morton on a bare chilling stage.

  “You’re kidding,” I said.

  Harry laughed. He was tall, almost as tall as Scott, and he had that brand of distinguished good looks which were so often found in the corporate boardrooms, where an impressive appearance is so useful in disguising less-attractive behavior. He had dark hair, well-silvered in the right places, frank blue eyes, and remarkably even teeth which were displayed whenever he smiled. They gave him a predatory look which his charm could never quite manage to annul. Sebastian had once described him as a barracuda.

  “No, it’s true, I promise you!” He laughed again. “Ironic, isn’t it? Jake had Shine’s full confidence because Shine looked up to him—respected him as the cream of American Jewry. But of course Jake detested him. Jake was a snob, one of the old school. Don’t forget that when the Russian Jews streamed into New York at the turn of the century, it wasn’t the Gentiles who flung up their hands in horror; it was the German Jews uptown.”

  I saw the tennis court drawn on my father’s blotter, and in my memory I heard Jake talking wryly of the Bar Harbor Brotherhood. I tried to speak, but Harry’s arm was already steering me into a quieter corner of my father’s long living room and his voice was already saying idly, “That’s better—now we can hear ourselves think. Are you truly so surprised about Jake? Cornelius said Jake used you as an intermediary.”

  “Yes, he did. But I didn’t realize what was going on. My father hasn’t been confiding in me.” And a voice in my head immediately said: Why? But another voice answered just as swiftly: It doesn’t matter because it’s all over now.

  “Well, I guess he felt it was strictly men’s business,” said Harry indulgently, “and not something you should have to bother your pretty head about. No, the real mystery is not who tipped us off. The real mystery is who tipped off Donald Shine.”

  I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, of course he was tipped off!”

  “Why? What about? How?”

  Harry was looking more indulgent than ever. “My dear, Shine had to have inside information about the Trust in order to work out exactly how he could best take it over, and everything indicates that his inside information was very comprehensive indeed. I hate to point the finger at any of the board, but Shine’s knowledge seems to have been on a boardroom level, and beyond the board I can’t think of anyone—except your father, of course, and a couple of his partners—who would be in a position to give Shine the briefing he needed.”

  “More champagne, sir?” said a passing footman.

  The champagne was pale gold. I watched it sparkle in Harry’s glass and listened as Harry’s voice added, “There’ll have to be a full investigation, of course, and that upsets me, it really does. Like your father, I’m just a nice well-intentioned guy who dislikes any unpleasantness.”

  I said abruptly, knifing through his nonsense, “When do you think Shine first got the idea of taking over the Trust?”

  “I’d say last spring. Jake died in September, and by that time Shine seems to have had all the information he needed and was busy formulating his plan of attack. If we assume he’d been working on the idea for at least three months, that takes us back to June … or maybe May.”

  “The weather was lovely in May,” I said. “I remember Scott and I watching the most wonderful sunset at Beekman Tower … but no, I don’t remember it too well after all, not really, it’s just a blur in my mind.” I drank all the champagne in my glass and turned aside. “Excuse me, please, Harry.”

  Leaving him, I moved around the edge of the crowd toward the door, but all the time I was
watching my father as he stood beneath the central chandelier with a bunch of his oldest friends. He saw me and smiled, and somehow I smiled back because I didn’t want him to know anything was wrong. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t even want myself to know, and the voice in my head spoke to me again, telling me that if I didn’t think about Harry’s disclosures they’d soon go away.

  I went home and resolutely began to make more plans for my wedding on Christmas Eve.

  X

  “Hi, honey, how are you doing over there?”

  “Not so badly. How lovely to hear you! I’ve just got back from the most exhausting Bacchanalian revels at Daddy’s place—everyone’s gone berserk with relief, and I left them drinking champagne by the gallon. They’ll be cursing Shine all over again tomorrow when they awake with their hangovers!”

  Scott laughed. “So I’ve missed a good party!”

  “No, all that wild glee was very boring, and besides … Oh, I’m just sick to death of Donald Shine! I don’t want to talk about him anymore—he’s just past history as far as I’m concerned, and all I care about right now is the future. Oh, darling, I can’t wait to meet you at the airport! I’m having the MG specially overhauled for your arrival!”

  “Forget it! Why don’t you borrow a Cadillac and chauffeur from your father and put a double bed and pull-down shades in the back? Incidentally, is your father all right? He hasn’t been in the office the last few times I called, but I guess he’s been very tied up with the takeover.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about Daddy! I haven’t seen much of him lately either, but he’s okay, he’s fine, there’s no need to worry about Daddy at all.”

  “Honey, is something wrong? You sound a bit …”

  “No, I’m just going crazy because there’s so much to do before the wedding, and I keep having these neurotic dreams—”

  “Erotic? So do I! Couldn’t get by without them!”

  “No, neurotic—neurotic as in psycho and bananas and freaked-out. Darling, please don’t get knocked down by a bus or crushed to death in an auto accident or killed in a plane crash, I mean, you will be careful, won’t you, you promise me? I keep having these horrible dreams that we’re never going to meet again.”

  “I hope that’s not wishful thinking!”

  “Oh, Scott—darling, if only you knew how much I love you and how I care about absolutely nothing but the future—our future …”

  “Then relax. All you’re suffering from is prewedding nerves. Aren’t they supposed to be very common?”

  “I … I guess they are. … Are you nervous too?”

  “Yes—at the thought of that hair-raising little sports car! Can’t you give it away to someone? Then we could look forward to a long and happy life together!”

  I had to laugh. “I feel better now that I’ve talked to you.”

  “Honey, don’t worry about anything. I’ve no intention of stepping under a bus, believe me. Just be at that airport and watch me walk through the customs area. I’ll be there.”

  “I know you will,” I said. “I know it.”

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” he said. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  XI

  “Mom,” said Eric, “may I talk to you for a moment, please?”

  It was the day before Scott was due to arrive in New York, and both Eric and Paul were now home from school for the Christmas recess. I was sitting at the desk in my bedroom as I worked out the servants’ wages. Dinner was due in half an hour.

  “Yes, of course, Eric. Come on in.”

  He sat down in the chair next to the desk and regarded me seriously. This was characteristic; he was a very serious young man. He was as tall as Sam now, but thinner and more angular, and the blond hair which had given him a resemblance to me in his childhood had darkened to brown. His eyes were somber behind his glasses, and as he swallowed awkwardly I realized to my astonishment that he was nervous. The idea that any of my children could be nervous of me was so novel that it took me a moment to ask him what was wrong.

  “Two of my best plants have died,” he said.

  “Oh, Eric, what a pity! And Nurse is usually so good with them while you’re away.”

  “It’s not Nurse’s fault. It’s the air. I’m sure the pollution’s getting worse, and that’s why I … I feel so strongly that more should be done to protect the environment. In fact, I’ve decided that when I go to college …” He stopped. He was looking white, and as I saw him struggle to tell me the truth he could no longer carry alone, I found myself leaning forward until I was sitting on the very edge of my chair.

  “When you go to college …”

  “When I go to college, I want to—must—major in something relevant. Mom, I’m very sorry, but I can’t go on pretending anymore. I can’t major in economics. I can’t be a banker. I want to major in environmental studies and then get some kind of job in conservation.”

  I knew it was important that I should pull myself together, but it was hard to make the effort required of me. I felt too sad and too disappointed for my father.

  Then I was taken by surprise. Eric leaned forward and said urgently, “Mom, try to understand. This so-called Great Society is laying waste this planet, and this society is fueled by money from institutions like Van Zale’s, and that’s why I cannot be a banker, not under any circumstances. I know I have a duty to Granddad, particularly since Paul obviously won’t go near the bank, and it’s hard to imagine Benjamin being anything except a pain in the neck, but I can’t sell out my principles to work for something I don’t believe in. Can’t you see how wrong that would be? I’d be trying to be something I’m not, and then after a while I’m sure I’d hate myself and despise what I was doing and consider that I was wasting my life … Don’t try to make me over into what I’m not, Mom. Please … let me be myself! Let me do what I really want to do!”

  So it was all very clear in the end, clearer than I had ever imagined, and of course I found the strength I needed to overcome my sadness, because I realized how very unimportant my disappointment was when compared with Eric’s happiness. I’d been on the brink of making the mistake my father had made when he had tried to bend me into Emily’s image, but I wasn’t my father and I wasn’t going to make his mistakes. I was myself, and when I spoke, it was with my own voice, not my father’s. I said, “Of course you must do what you really want to do, Eric. I’m very proud of you for having the courage to speak out, and you can be sure I’ll back you all the way.”

  He stumbled over to me and gave me a clumsy hug. I was moved because he was normally so reserved, and in a flash I understood why he had been withdrawn for so long. He had been living with his conflict ever since he had been old enough to understand that he was destined to succeed his grandfather at the bank.

  “Mom, Granddad …”

  “It’s all right, I’ll tell him. But I may not tell him just yet. I’ve got to pick the right moment.”

  He hugged me again, and I heard his muffled voice saying, “He’ll never understand, will he?”

  “No,” I said, “probably not. But I think your father would have understood. He spent so much of his life doing something he didn’t really want to do.”

  That made him feel less guilty. He said he wished he had known his father better, and we talked about Sam. Time passed. My housekeeper looked in to say that dinner was ready. We joined the rest of the family in the dining room. But that night I sat up long after all the children had gone to bed, and all I could ask myself was: How am I ever going to tell my father? How am I ever going to find the words to let him know?

  Then just before dawn it occurred to me that Eric’s decision would strengthen my position as peacemaker when the time came for me to engineer a truce between my father and Scott. If his grandsons were to have no part to play in the bank’s future, my father might at last feel able to turn back to Scott and consent to a big reconciliation with his son by adoption.

  It seemed not only a reasonable
but a profoundly satisfying possibility.

  I fell instantly into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  I

  SCOTT WALKED OUT OF the customs area and I ran to meet him. He was carrying a raincoat and a small case, but he dropped both to embrace me, and the familiar taste of his mouth made me feel dizzy with relief that nothing had kept us apart. Pushing my fingers blindly through the hair at the nape of his neck, I pressed his face again to mine and felt his arms tighten, crushing me against his ribs.

  “Welcome home!” I whispered at last.

  “You see?” he said, laughing. “I made it!”

  A redcap was already wheeling away the rest of the luggage, and outside the building the chauffeur was waiting with my father’s latest Cadillac.

  “Pull-down shades and a double bed?”

  “Just tinted glass!”

  “So you took me seriously about the sports car?”

  “I began to be terrified I’d have an accident on the way to the airport.”

  “Why, you poor little thing!” he said, astonished, taking my neurotic fears seriously for the first time. “I’m sorry I laughed at you on the phone.”

  “It doesn’t matter—nothing matters anymore now that you’re here.”

  We sank into the backseat of the Cadillac and he pulled me into his arms.

  Since it seemed likely that we would have to move to California in the new year in order to humor my father’s paranoiac fear of working alongside Scott in New York, I had made no effort to set up a new home for us in the city, but had instead done my best to adapt the available space in my duplex to my new life as Scott’s wife. I didn’t foresee our stay in California as being a long one, but I thought if I played along with my father at first he in his turn would be more willing to play along with me later when I began pressuring for our recall to New York. Entangling myself in these necessary diplomatic maneuvers would be both exhausting and tiresome, but I felt I could tackle anything, even my father’s paranoia, once I was Scott’s wife and Scott was no longer separated from me by the Atlantic Ocean.