by Joseph Badal
“Yes, yes, he’ll be here any moment.” Burns looked at his watch, even though a large clock hung on the wall in front of him. “Let’s sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Edward said. When Burns looked at Paul and Nick, they shook their heads.
Edward sat between Paul and Nick on one side of the table. Burns sat opposite them. After ten minutes, thinking the bank was playing games with him, Edward was just about to get up and leave, when a man entered the room and introduced himself as Sanford Cunningham.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. Let’s get started. I only have thirty minutes.”
Angry at being kept waiting, and at now being told the meeting would be over in thirty minutes, regardless, Edward started to stand, but Paul put a hand on his arm.
“Mr. Cunningham, I am Winter Enterprises’ corporate counsel. I assume Mr. Burns briefed you on his conversation with Mr. Winter yesterday.”
“He did,” Cunningham said.
“Do you understand the implications of our meeting today?”
Cunningham had so far showed zero emotion. “Of course. Your client has threatened the bank with going to the media if we don’t renew his loan and give him access to his deposit account.”
“That’s not quite accurate, Mr. Cunningham,” Paul said. “Mr. Winter said he was prepared to go to the media if someone in a position of authority here did not agree to meet with him today.”
Cunningham waved a hand as though to diminish the importance of the distinction Paul had made.
“But let’s focus on what’s going on,” Paul continued. “In Winter Enterprises, you have a client that has met all of its obligations to the bank, has provided an abundance of collateral for its $20 million loan, even with the drop in commercial real estate values, and has maintained an average deposit balance of over $2.5 million for the last five years. Now, you refuse to extend your loan and have put a hold on almost $3 million of Winter Enterprises’ money, jeopardizing the company’s health and even its survival. I might be able to understand your actions, if my client had financial problems or presented a risk of loss to the bank, but that is not the case. So I have one question for you. Depending on your answer, we might not even take thirty minutes of your valuable time.” Paul paused and stared at Cunningham.
“What’s your question?”
“What is the bank’s real motivation here?”
“I don’t understand,” Cunningham said.
“Sure you do, Mr. Cunningham. You understand me perfectly. I called a colleague at the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation and she assured me the agency has not told any bank in this country to not renew a commercial real estate loan to a solid borrower. She did admit the agency has ordered banks to reduce their exposure to commercial real estate, but that can be accomplished by not making loans to new customers, by letting loans pay down in the normal course of business, and/or by raising additional capital. So, why would you want to drive away a borrower that has maintained a highly profitable relationship with your bank?”
Cunningham’s cool demeanor seemed to melt just a bit. “We’re under a great deal of pressure here. We are doing what we have to do.”
“I see. And what happens on July 29, one week from now, when your loan to Winter Enterprises matures and the company can’t pay it off?”
“The bank has rights. We will obviously consider exercising those rights.”
“And what about my client’s request of you to reduce his loan with Broad Street to $9 million, to release enough collateral to allow him to refinance $11 million at another lending institution, and to remove the hold you’ve put on his deposit accounts?”
“We have considered your client’s request and have regrettably come to the conclusion we are unable to agree to his request.”
Paul stood and looked at Edward and then at Nick. “We’re done here,” he said. He gazed across the table at Cunningham. “You’ll be hearing from us. The next time we talk, you’d better have legal counsel.”
“Before you go, there is one thing more I want to discuss with you and your client,” Cunningham said, the steely look back in his eyes.
Paul didn’t say a word.
Cunningham filled the silence, “Our loan agreement with Winter Enterprises specifically requires your client to deposit all company sales receipts in Broad Street National Bank. Winter Enterprises hasn’t made a single deposit to their accounts here since July 15.”
Paul gave Cunningham a bland look and said, “I can’t imagine what has happened. Of course we’ll look into that.” Without waiting for a response, he walked from the room with Edward and Nick following.
In the parking lot, they stopped beside Nick’s car. “Well, that didn’t accomplish anything,” Nick said.
“On the contrary,” Paul said. “I now know who has some decision-making authority. I know for sure that they are going to play hardball, that they must think you were bluffing about going to the media, and that they have an ulterior motive in this matter.”
“How do you know that?” Edward demanded.
“When you talked to Stanley Burns yesterday, you made a perfectly reasonable offer to reduce their loan down to $9 million, secured by over $20 million in real estate. Cunningham acknowledged that Burns had made him aware of your conversation, so he was familiar with your request. My conversation with my contact at the FDIC leads me to believe, despite the heavy-handed treatment the agency is employing with banks, they would not force Broad Street National to turn down an offer as reasonable as yours.”
“What’s the ulterior motive?”
“That we need to determine.”
“So, where does this leave us,” Edward asked, “besides up a creek without a paddle?”
“Well, not where we’d like to be, but we do have a few options. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but this is war. You’ve spent how much on advertising over the past eight years?”
“Easily $10 million,” Nick answered. “About half with The Philadelphia Journal and the rest with a dozen neighborhood newspapers and half a dozen different area television and radio stations.”
“Good,” Paul said. “That money won’t buy you a guarantee of editorial content, but it should at least open doors for you. Call your media contacts and make appointments. See if you can generate interest about what’s happening to the banks and the effects on the Philadelphia economy. Don’t make it all about Winter Enterprises.”
“What about our money sitting in Third Community Bank?” Edward asked.
“Just keep depositing your receipts there. I’m going to ignore Mr. Cunningham’s comment about those monies. What are they going to do, call your loan? They’ve already done that. When is your next loan payment due at the bank?”
“Not until July 29, when we’re supposed to pay off the entire balance,” Nick answered. “Why?”
“I just don’t want you to make any payments to the bank out of your Third Community Bank account. I don’t want Cunningham to know where your other accounts are.”
“What are you going to do?” Edward asked Paul.
“I’m going to call my contact at the FDIC and ask her a few more questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know yet. I’m sure something will come to me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When Paul Sanders called his office to check for messages, his receptionist told him Katherine Winter had called. He decided he’d wait until Nick and Edward dropped him off to return her call. Assuming Katherine had called about Wendy Folsom, he didn’t feel it was his right to disclose to Edward what Katherine was doing.
As soon as Paul was dropped off at his office, he called Katherine’s home number.
“Can you come here?” she asked.
“What’s going on?”
“Wendy wants to go to the police. She had me take pictures of her injuries and she’s going to press charges against her husband.”
“That’s good news,” Paul said. “But why do you need me? She needs a criminal attorney.”
“She won’t hear of it. She wants you to represent her.”
“Oh man. I’m not the best thing for her, and I’m tied up trying to help Edward save his company.”
“Maybe if you talk to her you can convince her to accept another lawyer.”
“All right, but I’m bringing a friend.”
* * *
Paul and a criminal attorney named Sylvia Young arrived at Katherine’s home an hour later. As Paul introduced Sylvia to Katherine and Wendy, he could tell from Wendy’s body language and sour expression she was not happy about Sylvia being there.
“We’re not just filing a complaint with the police,” Paul said. “You need to understand your lawyer will have to do much more than that—filing a restraining order, making motions to the court, and responding to those made by your husband’s legal team—and you will need someone who knows the inner workings of the criminal courts system.”
“I want you involved,” Wendy said.
“I’ll be there for you, Wendy. But Sylvia needs to take the lead on this.”
Paul, Sylvia and Katherine studied Wendy, who finally nodded in agreement.
“Great,” Paul said. “Now I’m going to return to my office and Sylvia is going to take a statement from you.”
Katherine walked out with Paul. “How did the meeting go at the bank?” she asked.
“The bank’s being uncooperative. So, Edward’s going to talk with the media and I’ll dig and see if I can discover why the bank seems to want to put him out of business.”
Katherine dropped her gaze toward the pavement instead of responding.
“What is it, Katherine?” Paul asked.
“I think I know why the bank is coming down hard on the company.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Folsom. I had a confrontation with him after Frank and I got engaged. I was out with a couple girlfriends celebrating my engagement and Folsom tried to pick me up in a bar. He followed me out to my car and grabbed me.”
“What happened?” Paul asked.
“I kneed him in the balls.”
Paul laughed.
“It’s not funny,” Katherine snapped. “He started harassing me and didn’t stop until I got a restraining order against him.”
“Katherine, don’t take this the wrong way, but I would be very surprised if something that occurred over two decades ago is the motivation behind the bank’s treatment of Winter Enterprises. Besides, the bank is treating a lot of its customers in the same manner; I doubt that the mothers of all of those companies’ presidents kicked Folsom in the balls, even if they wish they could.”
Katherine couldn’t help herself. She glared at Paul. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of the situation. It’s just that Folsom would have to be a sociopath to hold a grudge for that many years.”
Katherine pointed back toward the house where Wendy Folsom and Sylvia Young were talking. “There’s a doubt in your mind about Folsom being a sociopath? Or a psychopath?”
Paul rubbed a couple fingers across his lower lip and shook his head. Before he could respond, Katherine said, “Paul, I know you’ll do everything you can to help Edward. I can’t stand the thought of Gerald Folsom robbing my children now like he did twenty-two years ago. But don’t ever forget that sonofabitch is a sociopath at the very least.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“What happened at the meeting with Winter?” Folsom asked Sanford Cunningham.
“Just what you expected.”
“They going to be able to pay off the loan?”
“I doubt it,” Cunningham said. “They want us to agree to release some of our collateral in return for reducing our loan down to $9 million. They have a commitment from another bank to finance $11 million of our loan. Oh, and they want us to remove the hold we put on their deposits.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Exactly what you told me to say. No.”
“Perfect.”
“Jerry, I’ve been a loyal supporter of yours for twelve years, so keep that in mind when I say this: There’s something different about this guy. Winter’s a combat vet. If he goes to the press with this, that’s going to help his cause. Maybe we’d be okay if he couldn’t pay down any of the loan, but the fact that he’s prepared to reduce it by more than half won’t make us look good.
“Before you take the chance of having those bastards in the media start looking into your holdings, think about whether how you got your wealth will stand the light of day.”
“Everything I’ve built I did on the up and up,” Folsom said.
“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Jerry.”
“You with me or against me, Sandy?”
“Come on, Jerry. You know better than that.”
“Then just do what I tell you to do. I know the Winter family. They don’t have a clue how to fight, especially against a guy like me. They see the best in people, think people will always be fair. They’re a fuckin’ bunch of patsies.”
“Whatever you say, Boss.”
* * *
Folsom was excited about his plan for Winter Enterprises and the thought of taking down two generations of a Chestnut Hill family. He didn’t have anything personal against Edward Winter, just like he had had nothing personal against the father, Frank. But people with wealth who went through life acting as though everything was hearts and flowers? He couldn’t stand them. Frank Winter had been so naïve, and bringing him down with the help of the politicians in Washington, even if those assholes didn’t know what they unleashed on the economy with the 1986 Tax Reform Act, had given Folsom an almost sensual pleasure. Especially after Frank Winter’s bitch-of-a-wife had treated him like dirt in that parking lot so many years ago.
But thinking about the pleasure from Frank Winter’s fall so many years ago caused him to segue to the pleasure he’d gotten from Wendy. He’d miss that girl. He chuckled. At least with this wife there’d be no divorce settlement. Not if Toothpick Jefferson came through.
* * *
Donald Matson was sweating as though he was in a steam room. Between the ninety degree temperature and one hundred percent humidity, and the tension of rushing from one bank safety deposit box to another, he was exhausted. The inquiry from the FDIC about his safety deposit box at Broad Street National Bank had scared him to death. Gerald Folsom was correct in telling him to clear out all of his boxes.
He looked at his watch as he drove through Mt. Airy toward Chestnut Hill: 2:45. The safety deposit vault at First Savings Bank always closed at 3.
He’d had a safety deposit box in the Chestnut Hill bank there for twenty-two years, from the first bank deal he and Folsom had done together. He considered it his base. Every time Folsom paid him for putting together a loan pool purchase or a bank takeover, Matson would visit all of his safety deposit boxes. He was smart enough to know spending too much would raise questions at work. He’d pull a few thousand out of one or another of the boxes every few months. But he couldn’t stop the adrenaline surge he got from opening his boxes and seeing, touching, and counting his money.
Matson drove into the First Savings Bank’s parking lot and took out one of the two valises in the car trunk. He ran up the bank’s front steps and, into the building, and speed-walked down the marble steps to the safety deposit vault. The receptionist had worked for the bank for at least as long as Matson had had a box.
“Hello, Mr. Matson,” she said. She glanced at the wall clock and added, “You just made it. We’ll be closing the vault in a couple minutes.”
“Story of my lif
e,” he said. “It seems I’m always rushing around. Anyway, I need to get into my box, Alice. And I’m going to close out my account. I’ve decided to move all my records to a bank closer to my house.”
Alice rose from her chair behind her desk and gave him a sad look. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Matson. You’ve been a customer forever. I hope we haven’t done anything to disappoint you.”
“On the contrary, Alice. I’ll miss doing business with you.”
She asked him to sign into a log and then preceded him into the vault, where she inserted and turned a key in a locking door; Matson inserted his key into the second lock and turned it. Alice opened the locking door and slid out the box from inside the space, handed it to Matson, and pointed toward a private cubicle. “Of course, you know where our privacy booths are.”
“Thank you, Alice. I’ll only be a minute.”
She walked out of the vault, leaving Matson alone. He moved to one of the cubicles, closed the door behind him, and placed the valise and the deposit box on the shelf in the cubicle. After raising the box lid, he removed two slightly yellowed and wrinkled 3” x 5” cards that sat on top of the cash.
Trained as an accountant, Matson was precise about record keeping. He drove his wife crazy with his list-making and with his criticism of her checkbook. This tendency applied to his cash “bonuses” from Gerald Folsom as well, noting every payment from Folsom on one card, regardless of where the cash was kept. Each notation included a date, a dollar amount, and a running total currently standing at $2.6 million. The second card showed the date and dollar amount of every withdrawal Matson had taken from any of his boxes. The notations on this card were so tiny Matson now needed glasses to read or make entries. This card showed he had withdrawn $435,000 from his boxes over the last twenty-two years.
Matson dropped the cards into the valise so they slid down between the piles of cash and the side of the valise before stacking the cash from the box on top of the cash already in the bag.