Sidney noticed dark circles under Charles’s angry eyes and the pallor of his skin, despite the tan. Emotion from a man whose stone face was legendary. Charles Blair was a changed man. Sidney was unnerved.
Charles approached the conference table with the same authority he always had; his shoulders were straight and while he didn’t linger, Charles Blair never hurried. He rested his long fingers on the table while he paused to study Sidney seated at the far end.
Sidney ventured a smile. “Welcome back.”
“Yes, thank you.”
A smile did not crack Charles’s iron composure. He sat down and methodically folded his hands.
Sidney shifted his weight and reached for the briefcase at his feet. It was to be business as usual, he thought with a pang of disappointment and a twinge of fear. Not even cordiality, after all this time. Sidney yanked the briefcase to the table. The click of the polished brass latches pierced the strained silence between the two men.
“I have only one question, Sidney.”
Sidney’s hand stilled on the many files he had begun to unload. His glance darted up quickly.
“Tell me about the SavMor loan.” Charles’s voice was threatening.
Sidney’s face flattened. He cleared his throat. “SavMor is a small company that the bank loaned some $300,000. It’s one of those faulty loans stamped with your approval.” He waved his hand in a nervous, impatient manner. “It’s a flimsy operation, way overdue on the repayment schedule. Of course, I’ve refused further delay requests.”
Sidney’s anger leaked into his voice. “I’m doing my job, Charles. And frankly, I’m trying to save your neck.”
Charles considered this very carefully, as though weighing every word.
“And that was your sole reason for refusing a delayed repayment schedule?”
Sidney grew increasingly nervous. “Of course. What other reason would there be? It’s a lousy company that never should have been granted a loan in the first place. There is no question here. We’ll be lucky to collect a cent.”
Charles looked at his hands.
“Did you know Mrs. MacKenzie’s home was robbed?”
Sidney was confused. “Yes.”
Charles’s eyes shot up. His gaze was wrathful.
“It happened a year ago.” Sidney’s words poured out quickly, like water over a flame. “Right after Mike died. Why bring it up now?”
Charles visibly relaxed. He spread out his palms and dropped his head again. When he lifted his eyes, Sidney saw relief in them.
“Why, indeed,” Charles said, a small smile at last easing across his face. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his waist, eyeing his brother-in-law speculatively.
“Sidney, accept a delayed repayment schedule for SavMor.” His voice was calm, though decisive.
“What?” Sidney blustered. “We have to collect on these bad loans. You’ll go down. And I’ll go down with you.”
Charles nodded. “Trust me, Sid. I know what I’m doing.”
Sidney considered. “Do you? Charles, come back. Take the helm. It’s mutiny out there.”
C.W. stood up and thrust his hands behind his back. “You know I can’t do that. Not yet.” He paced the conference room floor. With his wild, uncut hair, Sidney thought he looked like a caged lion seeking a route of escape.
“Is it the loans?”
“In part. Of course. Who is handling the repayment schedule?”
“Henry Strauss,” Sidney replied lightly. “I’ve been after him for months to let me call these in. He’s been holding on to these loans tighter than a miser holds a penny. Then last Thursday, he up and hands me the SavMor file and agrees I should go after them.”
C.W. swung his head around. A fresh bolt of anger crossed his face. “Last Thursday?”
Sidney fingered his report. “Out of the blue.”
C.W. immediately ceased his pacing. A lengthy silence ensued.
“Strauss. Of course. I understand,” C.W. said slowly.
Sidney looked at Charles with apprehension. He had heard that tone in Charles only a few times before. Dry ice. A ruthlessness so cold it scorched those who were touched by it. An eerie calm settled in the room. At length, Charles took his seat and with precise movements, closed his hands on the table before him.
“Talk to me, Sidney.”
Sidney stirred with excitement. He couldn’t help it. This was Charles’s battle call. War was being declared and Sidney was well armed and ready. “At last,” he said as he dug into his briefcase and pulled out reams of pages of his investigations. Sidney’s thoroughness had always been his best route of attack.
“As you’ve requested, I’ve looked closely into Michael MacKenzie’s background,” he said, handing C.W. one of several reports. Sidney picked out the vital points. “Only child of a small-time grocery chain owner, Catholic, born and raised in New Jersey. A poor student academically but labeled most likely to succeed. You know the type—a good-looking jock who was also in student government and several other organizations.”
“A manipulator even then.”
Sidney noticed the slight curl of C.W.’s lip.
While Sidney rambled on and on about details C.W. already knew, C.W. sifted through the collection of photographs of Michael MacKenzie that was included in the file. As a young man, Mike always sported a wide grin and a look of enormous “can do.” The all-American boy, through and through. It was no wonder Nora had found him attractive.
C.W. stopped at one photograph and brought it closer to his face. In it, a black-tuxedoed Mike, white rose in his lapel, had his arm wrapped possessively around his smiling bride. In her pouf of white lace, Nora appeared virginal. A shining Venus about to be abducted by Vulcan.
C.W. was stabbed with jealousy, though he would never have admitted it. His tense fingers curled the edges of the photograph. No, not jealousy, he told himself. C.W. attributed this galling feeling to anger against a man who did his friend wrong.
C.W. pushed away the photographs. Sidney stopped speaking and looked up from his report. He didn’t like the morose look on Charles’s face or the twitching in his jaw. It wasn’t anger this time. In Charles’s expression Sidney witnessed a personal struggle.
“Should I go on?” he asked, tentatively laying down his report. “Charles, are you ready for this?”
C.W. shifted his gaze, focusing intently now on Sidney. He knew that Sidney had been forthright about the loan. He wasn’t hiding anything; Sidney was just doing an honest job. Agatha must have counted on his thoroughness. Sidney had not betrayed him. If he wasn’t so involved with the war, he’d have felt joy at this victory.
Across the table Sidney sat, file in hand, ready to pit his brain and wit against their common enemy. All right, Sidney, C.W. decided. Loyalty wins out.
A slow smiled eased across C.W.’s face. “I’m ready if you are,” he replied.
Sidney searched his eyes and found the old Charles. Sidney’s own smile was filled with relief.
“Skip all this background,” C.W. said with impatience. “I know it all. Let’s get down to business.”
C.W. then proceeded to deliver a complete report on the MacKenzie loans from the Blair Bank and all the pertinent details involved. His memory was photogenic. “I’m expecting a complete rundown on MacKenzie’s business dealings for the past three years. Should be faxed soon,” he concluded, looking away.
Sidney was aghast. His respect for Charles’s cold logic and skill grew, as did his suspicion that this battle had become a personal vendetta.
“Unbelievable,” Sidney replied with a gasp. “How did you get all that information? I’ve tried every channel, but it’s been bottled up. There’s a consortium of secrecy out on the Street.”
“I’ve had some inside information. MacKenzie left behind incriminating information. It could be helpful.” C.W. contained a tight smile. “Or it could nail me to the cross.” He looked straight at Sidney, implying his own danger by association.
C.W. looked at his brother-in-law with respect and affection. Ah, Sid, he thought to himself. You’re a good man. When this is all over, I’ll make it up to you.
“Look at this,” Sidney said, presenting a file. “Most of MacKenzie’s wealth was a ruse. He shifted assets from one company to another. What I can’t figure out is how he passed his annual audit.”
“He used accounting tricks. He really was quite clever.”
“More a mobster than a magician, I’d say.”
C.W. held his tongue.
Sidney never sprawled, but he leaned far back in his chair, arms crossed. “I can see other banks being duped by MacKenzie. But Agatha? She’s pretty shrewd, even if I hate to admit it. And why the forgery of your name?”
C.W. tapped his fingertips. “Consider the dates. Don’t you find it interesting that coinciding with the dates of the loans are significant rises in MacCorp. stock?”
“I noticed that as well.”
“It’s obvious. Someone was buying. Heavily.”
“It had to be inside.”
“Loans made in my name. Loans suddenly called in. Figure the results.”
Sidney considered for a moment, then realization flooded him. “It was never intended for MacKenzie to repay the loans.”
“MacKenzie went into a selling frenzy. His house of cards collapsed.”
“Poor bully.”
“Don’t feel too sorry for him. I guess you could say he died by his own sword. Did you know that he illegally borrowed from his company’s pension fund?”
“You’re right. I don’t feel sorry for him.”
C.W. looked squarely at his brother-in-law. “I’ve confided in you about the MacKenzie-Blair connection because I trust you. I do not want the loans called in, not until after the auction. On that I must depend on you.”
“Of course. Charles, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. The pieces aren’t fitting together yet.”
C.W. saw the worry in Sidney’s face. He stood and walked the distance to his brother-in-law’s side and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“The family is in this together. Sidney, I warn you, events may occur that will shake your confidence in me. But trust me, Sid. I won’t let you down.”
Sidney’s gaze rose to Charles’s face. The doubt and anger were gone, replaced by an appeal.
“You can count on me. As always.”
C.W. tightened his grasp on Sidney’s shoulder. When he released it, he went straight to the telephone. He dialed the number of a trusted associate, one whose power on Wall Street was unquestioned, whose resources ran very, very deep. This man was his godfather. He had sat on his knee, dated his daughter, raced his ponies. This powerful man came to the phone directly, straight out of a meeting, to take Charles’s call.
After a brief, quite personal exchange, C.W. dove into the business with characteristic simplicity. “I need to know the income he declared to the tax authorities as well as the income actually earned. In particular, any stock profits. Dates, of course. I need to know of any concealed income and where he is currently invested. In short, I need to know what brand of underwear this man wears and how often he changes them.”
Sidney chuckled and pitied, in a remote sense, the man targeted by Charles Blair.
“The man’s name?” concluded C.W. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Henry Strauss.”
24
BACK HOME, NORA did give up hope. When he returned three days later, C.W. noticed the change right away. A pall was cast over the farm. Though the work continued, as it always must on a farm, the cheerful spirit they had enjoyed since Nora’s arrival had slipped away. Nora appeared, precisely on time, to perform her chores. But she barely said hello and her pace struck him as slower than sap in January. She didn’t seem to care anymore. Not even Willow got much more than a pat.
Things were just as sullen up at the big house. Frank and Junior exchanged questioning glances his way when Nora walked silently past them and into her room. Seth thought she looked older, the boys thought she looked tired, but they all agreed she didn’t look the same. As they hammered in nails and measured drywall, Frank and Junior cast mournful gazes upstairs at Nora’s closed door and worked without the usual jokes and banter. The aroma of coffee grew acrid as the day wore on, and the boys’ stomachs grumbled for a slice of Nora’s bread. Their nails and wood chips fell unnoticed. At the end of the day, clutter loomed in large piles across the floor.
As the day passed, C.W. made increasingly frequent stops at the house. Always to pick up this or drop off that, always glancing up toward the top floor. Seth held his tongue, biding his time, but C.W. noticed the scowl that deepened on the old man’s brow at each passing.
“What’d you say to her, C.W.?” Frank finally blurted, his eyes skewered in accusation. Junior’s head was bobbing in agreement, his hammer swinging in his hand. It was clear whose side they were on now.
Seth approached with a slow gait, rocking from side to side. When he stopped at C.W.’s side, he swept his gaze around the room, grabbed his belt, and adjusted his pants, a clear signal that he was going to talk turkey.
“What do you know about what’s going on up here?”
“It’s not for me to explain. She’s just not herself.”
The old man snapped his suspenders. “Not herself? Shoot. More like she done lost herself and she don’t even miss it.”
C.W. frowned and looked away.
Seth let a few minutes pass before speaking again. The younger men rocked on their heels and shifted their weight, waiting with respect for Seth to begin.
“You remember that ewe that got sick last July?” he finally asked.
C.W. nodded. “You mean the one that filled up with gas?”
“That’ll be the one. Ate too much of the weed. Just swelled up like a balloon. Seemed ’bout ready to burst too. But she didn’t. She dropped to her knees. And you know what happens when a ewe drops to her knees, don’t you, boy?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” he replied. “She’ll die.”
Seth nodded. “We didn’t let that happen, did we? We propped that ewe up and eventually she got better. Yes, she did.”
C.W. nodded in agreement.
“When a sheep drops to its knees, it just quits the fight to live. If’n you leave it down in the fields, it’s gonna die out there sure as the sun sets. But if you can get it back up on its legs, chances are it’ll pull through.
“That’s just the way sheep are, son. People too. You leave one out in the fields, alone, without the will to live and she’ll die too. Maybe not so we can all see it and mourn it, but deep inside she’ll wither up and the life just gets snuffed out.” He blew a puff of air for effect. “Nope. Gotta find a way to prop her up.”
Their eyes met in understanding. C.W.’s lips tightened and the muscle in his jaw began to work. By the spark in Charley’s eyes, Seth knew he had lit a fire.
“Listen, Seth, keep an eye on things for me, will you? There’s something I need to take care of.”
“Yeh-up,” replied Seth, grabbing hold of the tools and swallowing back a smile. Yeh-up, he thought to himself as he watched C.W. sprint up the stairs. He fairly lit a bonfire to that boy’s butt.
C.W. took the stairs two at a time and pounded three times on Nora’s bedroom door. “Nora MacKenzie. Come out here. I need to talk to you.”
“Go away,” she called back.
He turned to see Frank and Junior jab each other in the ribs. Seth twisted his lips and snapped his cap on his head.
C.W. pounded again on the door. “Open up, or I’m coming in. We can talk in there as well as anywhere.”
From behind the door he heard the padding of feet. In a moment, the door swung open just wide enough for C.W. to catch a glimpse of Nora. She looked awful. Her eyes were puffy and her hair, which had lost its golden lustre, hung l
imp and in disarray on her shoulders. He had always wanted to see it down, but definitely not like this. Seeing her so apathetic, his demeanor changed from gruff to gentle.
“Come on, Nora. Grab your coat. Let’s go for a walk.”
“I don’t want to. I’m busy packing.”
“Come on,” he persisted. “It’ll do you good.” He coaxed her out of her room, into her jacket, and out the door toward the east meadow.
The October day was masquerading as summer; the sun shone in a crystalline sky and the air was warm and moist. C.W. thanked Nature for her help. Who could be depressed on such a beautiful day? He said as much to Nora, and though she nodded in agreement, he wasn’t sure she felt it. Still, he persevered. He took her on a long walk down the road to the eastern border of the property.
“C.W., where are we going? Let’s turn back. I’m really not in the mood,” she protested.
He offered her only a squeeze of the hand and a wink for an answer.
Up the steep mountainside they climbed, slowing just to remove their jackets on this Indian summer day. After an arduous climb, they reached a ledge that looked out at a view that lured the eye. Above them stretched an expanse of brilliant blue sky. At their feet, acres and acres of fields spread out, golden where shorn, deep brown, magenta, and burnt orange where wild. How could Nora’s sagging spirit not be revived?
C.W. wrapped an arm across her shoulder and had her follow his pointed finger to where natural spring water came rushing down the mountain. He traced its gurgling path into a recessed field where it sat, marshy and dark.
“There,” he said grandly, “is where you can build not one but two ponds—maybe even three, one atop the other, like steps. And in them you can raise trout, bass, even crayfish for harvest and sale. I’m convinced there is a market for it, and it can be profitable.”
Nora looked at him as though he had gone mad. “Ponds? Marketing fish? What are you talking about?”
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