The Process Server
Page 40
Burton looked at his desk clock, sitting in the shadow of his overstuffed in-tray. It was 4:58 p.m. He wondered if anyone might notice if he left a few minutes....
His phone rang and he took it on speaker. “Yes?”
“Burton, it’s Clarissa. He wants to see you immediately.”
Burton momentarily slumped back in his office chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A call from the man was never good.
Clarissa was Ash’s long-suffering secretary and personal assistant. Rumour had it she’d been the ninth assistant he’d hired back in 1983, but the first who could keep up with his manic schedule, which frequently ran to 18 hours of the day. In fact at age 38, she’d followed him on his afternoon jog through the park by taking off her work shoes and running in bare feet, in order to remain employed for another week.
Nevertheless Burton noted, it was a rare occasion if Ash bought her lunch once a year for secretary’s day.
Down the hall, past the junior partner and partner offices, Ash occupied the back third of the top floor. Despite the use of space, his office was built for business, with two more interior offices used by two more assistants, a staging area for Clarissa directly in front of his inner office door, a bathroom and a conference table.
“Go right in, Burton,” she said, before whispering, “Keep your head down. He’s in a mood.”
Burton knocked nervously, gently. Then he pushed the door open quietly and looked around the corner. “Mr. Ash, sir?”
Ash was in the middle of a putt. The ball rolled towards the cup, then around, then out. Without changing his stance, he immediately rolled another ball into position.
“Sir...”
“Shhh! For god’s sake man, shut up! I’m putting...”
The ball rolled towards the hole once more, seemingly headed straight for the centre, but the pace perhaps too quick once more, Burton thought. Sure enough, the ball skipped over the whole. “Dammit!” Ash exclaimed.
He tossed the putter onto a nearby sofa. “Well? Speak up man, what is it?”
Burton stammered, “You ... you called me, sir.”
“Hmmm? Did I?” Ash strode back over to his desk and looked at his day timer. “There are so many things that it could be about when your son-in-law is such an abject disappointment.” He flicked through some paperwork. “Ah ... yes, here it is. The Davidson Account. I’m told you closed it.”
“Yes sir.” Burton was particularly proud of the Davidson Account. The property management firm had gone into receivership and Burton had cleverly structured its bankruptcy to ensure investors received as high a return on their lost investment as possible. Given that its principle investor was a close friend of Howard’s with numerous other holdings, image was important.
“We ended up at 62 cents on the dollar, Mr. Ash, which as you’re aware is well above...”
Ash waved him off. “Shut up and listen, Burton. You have to reopen the file, let Davidson and Associates know it will be a few more days, and you need to reassess things. We haven’t sent them a copy yet, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“But ... we didn’t make any mistakes, Mr. Ash. The company’s going to come out looking really good. I double-checked the numbers....”
Ash shushed him again. “Did I say there was anything wrong with the numbers? I said that’s what you tell the client, dummy! Now when you go back, run the numbers again at 30 cents.”
That took him aback a little, but Burton was hesitant to raise the point at hand. “Uh, that… would leave them with a large uncommitted surplus after the selloff, sir.”
Ash leaned across his desk, still taller than-his-son in law despite his posture and still broader across the shoulders, despite his advancing years. His expression was as cold as marble. “Are you suggesting to me that I can’t count, Burton? I know what the outcome will be. Just do it.”
Challenging Ash’s pronouncements led to rapid dismissal for any ledger jockey foolish enough to do so, and Burton had always thought his father-in-law was just waiting for the perfect excuse, just waiting for Burton to make the kind of mistake that would help the tycoon explain things to Delphinium. I always told you he was bad news, he’d probably say. That’s what happens when you marry below your place, dear.
“Ye...yes sir, Mr. Ash. But sir, it’s the long weekend … is it possible the final report could hold until next week …”
Ash snorted. “Hmmph, this is what I tell my daughter, Burton. You don’t have the stomach for hard work. A real man sees the job through until it’s done. I’ll tell you what: now I want it tomorrow morning. Get it done this evening and tonight, and be here for work tomorrow morning and you might still have the job I so charitably gave you.”
Burton backed ingratiatingly out of the office. “Yes, Mr. Ash, thank you sir.” He took a deep breath, and for the umpteenth time in as many years, thanked his lucky stars that the old sociopath hadn’t fired him.
Clarissa was busy typing away, as he left. “Tough one, Burton?”
Burton just smiled. “No, no, everything fine, just fine.” Of course, everything wasn’t just fine, but Burton had long ago learned that the Clarissas of the business world did not survive by siding with the little guy. A complaint might head directly from her admittedly long-suffering ears to Howard Ash’s in mere seconds, depending on her mood that day.
In his office, Ash pulled the Davidson Account out of his drawer then buzzed his associate, John Parker. “John, I’ve got a job for you.”
A few minutes later, Parker stepped into the room with his typical air of silent menace. A short-but-dapper ex-SAS officer, Ash had found him most dependable on those rare occasions when the firm needed to take off the gloves on an issue.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Ash?” he asked.
“John, I’ve got some concerns about the way Mr. Trimble has been handling one of our accounts. Don’t make any waves for now, but in a few weeks I’ll get back to you on this. Obviously, he’s a good man and a company man, but if he’s exposing us to risk…..”
Parker smiled. “Untenable, obviously, Mr. Ash.”
Parker had steel, Ash had already decided. He didn’t make waves, and got the task at hand done. “There’s a good man.”
Ash waited until Parker had left, then buzzed Clarissa. “Mrs. Anderson, get my daughter on the phone.”
“Yes sir.” A few seconds later, Delphinium answered. “He –llooo!”
“Hello, dear.”
“Oh, hello Daddy … is something wrong? You never call during the week.”
“Absolutely not, snoogie bear, absolutely not. Quite the contrary. I have a proposal for you, my dear, that I believe you shall find rather exciting.”