Full Circle

by Davis Bunn

  Adam set down his cup. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Adam spent a grueling two hours helping Peter as much as was possible. The facts were arranged. The argument made as precise as possible. By the time they finished, Peter’s voice had been reduced to a scant whisper.

  When Peter went upstairs to dress, Honor and Kayla joined Adam in the kitchen. Honor asked, “What do you think?”

  Adam replied carefully, “I understand your concerns.”

  Kayla said, “I wish you could have known Daddy before all this. This past year has aged him a decade.”

  “Peter has always balanced his business drive and acumen with a genuine compassion,” Honor said. “So remarkable for a man holding that kind of corporate power.”

  “A real gentleman,” Kayla said.

  “Confident, yet willing to hear others out and change his mind.”

  “Strong and kind at the same time,” Kayla said.

  “People become so devoted to him.” Honor wiped one cheek. “And he feels the same way. Which is why these events have taken such a terrible toll. I honestly believe he worries more over the employees Joshua has dismissed than his company.”

  Kayla bit her lip. “He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

  Peter’s tread down the stairs turned Honor around. “And the finest.”

  Kayla said, “I wish we could find a way to bring him back.”

  As Adam drove them into town, Peter Austin sat with his briefcase open in his lap, leafing through the pages of his speech. Adam had gone through the material so often he could have recited it by heart, but he doubted Peter even noticed what he held. The man’s gaze was hollowed by what he feared had already happened. The car remained silent until Adam pulled onto Norham Gardens Road and said, “I’ll change as fast as I can.”

  Peter studied the redbrick house. “This is Sylvia’s home?”

  “Professor Beachley. Yes.”

  “I haven’t seen her since Amanda’s funeral.” He glanced over, uncertain. “Should I go in?”

  Adam opened his door. “It would absolutely make her day.”

  The idea came to him as he was knotting his tie. It arrived not with a thunderbolt, but a whisper. He checked his complexion and felt the difference immediately. No longer the young protégé helping his ailing boss. Now he was an actor preparing for the spotlight. If only Peter granted him the chance to play the role.

  When he entered the downstairs parlor, Professor Beachley smiled her approval. “Aren’t you the dashing young man.”

  Peter was seated in the other horsehair armchair. The parlor’s lighting turned his features cavernous. “Given time, Adam could become my strong right arm.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, Peter, dear. But you need one. You appear on the brink of collapse.”

  “We are facing a rather serious struggle.”

  “Adam and your daughter told me a bit about your current situation.” Her smile returned. “What a delight it was to see Kayla again. She has grown into the mirror image of your dear Amanda. The two of them have proven a veritable tonic.”

  “For me as well.” Peter turned to Adam. “Shall we be off?”

  “Not just yet.” Adam took a deep breath and launched straight in. “I want you to let me give the speech today.”

  “My dear young man—”

  “You’re worn out. You’ve said it yourself. I’ve watched you fumble your lines all morning. I know what you want to say. They’ll see your state as clearly as we do and understand why I’m the one who speaks.”

  The professor murmured, “Oh, I say. What a brilliant concept.”

  “I couldn’t possibly . . .” The chairman’s gaze shifted back and forth between them. “Joshua just fired you.”

  Adam had no response to that except, “I can do this, Peter.”

  The professor leaned forward. “Peter, dear, I want you to pay careful attention to what I’m about to tell you. You must do what he says. Do you hear me? I feel God’s hand upon this young man and his offer.”

  Adam did not give his boss another chance to object. He rose from his chair and said, “We’ve got to be going.”

  “Adam, dear, write out a number where I can reach you.”

  “No problem.” He slipped a pad and pen from his coat pocket. “This is my cell phone.”

  “Thank you. As you may recall, there is an issue with one of my former students. Hearing you speak just now has left me even more certain that you are the solution to her crisis.” She reached over and patted Adam’s hand. “Just as you are to Peter’s.”

  The medieval faculties of Oxford University stood at the heart of the city. The street was jammed and exuberant and cold. An iron-hard wind pressed relentlessly among the students and tourists. They passed the Radcliffe Camera, the rotund arena where university convocations were held in gilt and grandeur, and entered a paved courtyard through towering gates. The surrounding por-tals bore gold-leaf inscriptions from another era: Schola Logicae, Schola Astronomiae et Rhetoricae, Schola Musicae, Schola Naturalis Philosophiae, Schola Medicinae. Oxford’s original Divinity School stood at the center. Time-stained windows observed a quad of singular charm and unaffected elegance. Scholars strolled the stone courtyard or sat muffled against the cold.

  The old Divinity School was shaped like a medieval chapel. The main hall was a severe place, walled in ornately carved stone and crowned by gilded beams thick as Adam’s chest. The flagstone floor undulated from the currents of time. A long table occupied the chamber’s center, formally laid in crystal and dam-ask. The narrow windows were adorned with stained-glass collegiate crests.

  Adam observed all this from the broad vestibule. He stood partially hidden behind the coatracks and observed the chairman of MVP approach Peter. There was no mistaking Rupert Madden. He moved with a lion’s elegant force. The entire gathering paused and watched the princes from opposing courts, whose handshake was a formality that disguised nothing.

  Madden’s greeting rang with smug triumph. “Ah, Peter. I wondered whether you’d actually show up today.”

  “Rupert.”

  “I suppose I should offer condolences of one form or another.”

  Peter tried to stifle his cough and failed. “For what?”

  Madden exuded a cold, implacable force. He was a man who relished applying the dagger, who could kill dreams with aban-don and take pleasure in ruined hopes. “Why, the demise of your little firm, of course.”

  “You always were overly swift in your assumptions.”

  Rupert Madden turned away. “Not this time.”

  Adam had seen enough. Never had Peter Austin’s core qualities stood in clearer contrast to the world Adam had long chased after. Peter was not merely deeper or more considerate or more caring than his opponent. Despite his flushed features and evident illness, there was no question in Adam’s mind who was truly the stronger man.

  Adam slipped the pad and pen from his pocket and wrote a swift note. He tore off the page, then counted the bills in his wallet. He folded half his money and took a moment to study the passing waiters. The one he selected had a hard look about him, with a shaved head and shoulders that stretched his white jacket tight as a drumhead. “Can I have a moment?”

  “We’re busy here, mate.” But he followed Adam back to the vestibule’s outer wall.

  “Here’s sixty pounds.” Adam handed over the money. “It’s half of everything I have on me.”

  The waiter pocketed the folded bills. “You’ve got a right way of snagging a bloke’s attention.”

  “See the man in the gray suit at the head of the table? The instant he stands up to deliver his speech, I want you to walk over and deliver this note.”

  The waiter put his tray down on a window ledge. “Walk up and hand him this bit of paper.”

  “Tell him it’s urgent. That he needs to read it immediately.”

  “No worries.”

  But Adam stopped him from picking up his tray. “Remember
, the moment he gets to his feet. That’s vital. Do it and you’ll get another sixty pounds when the meeting’s over.”

  When the master called the gathering to order, Adam entered the chamber and took his seat beside Peter. The master gave his opening remarks from his place at the head of the table. Rupert Madden sat to his right, Peter to his left. As the waiters brought in the first course, Peter leaned toward Adam and said, “If Madden succeeds in taking these investors from us, all is lost.”

  “We can’t let that happen.” Adam paused while the waiter deposited his plate, then said, “I need you to trust me.”

  Peter studied Adam intently. “Precisely what do you have in mind?”

  “I’m going to shake Madden’s tree. Hard. And publicly. Using his own foul deeds.”

  Peter Austin had the look of a Greek king waiting to fall on his sword. “Nothing breaches Madden’s ramparts.”

  Adam said, “There’s a first time for everything.”

  When the master introduced Rupert Madden, the head of MVP rose to his feet and walked around the head of the table. Peter Austin was forced to either twist around to view his adversary or stare at his plate, lonely and brooding. Madden began, “For two years in a row, Madden and Van Pater has led the UK’s mutual fund index.” Rupert Madden tapped the back of Adam’s chair in proud emphasis to his words. “In today’s uncertain markets, with so many fine firms facing confusion and chaos, there is no better company with which to invest your endowments and thus ensure your financial futures.”

  Adam glanced toward the empty portal, willing the waiter to appear.

  “A million pounds invested with Madden and Van Pater two years ago would have netted . . .”

  The waiter entered through the rear doors. He walked straight up to Rupert Madden and spoke loud enough for the entire hall to hear. “I’m very sorry to interrupt, sir.” He handed over Adam’s note. “I’m told this is most urgent.”

  Madden unfolded the note. His ruddy complexion turned the color of old bones.

  Adam’s note was brief in the extreme. Oxford Ventures knows about Derek Steen, Geoffrey Rambling, and Dar es Salaam.

  The Bodleian Library’s director asked, “Is everything all right, Mr. Madden?”

  Rupert Madden stared at the empty doors, through which the waiter had now vanished.

  “Mr. Madden?”

  The MVP chairman read the note a second time, looked at Peter Austin in what could only be described as panic, and stuffed the paper into his pocket.

  The second sentence of Adam’s note was based upon one specific item he had found in the previous night’s search. Adam had found no hard evidence. But one word had appeared repeatedly in Steen’s computer files. A word that held no possible business meaning, for it named a region of Tanzania that held no industry or commerce whatsoever. Adam knew that for a fact because he had checked. The word was so alien, and used so repeatedly, Adam had been fairly certain it was a code. Seeing the chairman’s trembling response, Adam was certain it was a code for something very wrong.

  The note’s second sentence read, They know about Serengeti.

  Rupert Madden fumbled through the remainder of his remarks in record time. The Bodleian master watched in bemusement as the MVP chairman found his way back into his seat.

  The master said, “Mr. Austin, perhaps you would care to respond?”

  Adam rose to his feet, patted Peter on the shoulder, and began, “My chairman is unfortunately not well, and so has asked me to speak on his behalf.”

  “And you are?”

  “Adam Wright.”

  Peter cleared his throat. “Adam is my protégé.”

  Adam began, “As some of you know, both Peter and his late wife were students at Christ Church. Last night Peter told me that he had felt her presence very strongly these past few days. Amanda Austin was apparently a great one for the promotion of legacy. And that is what I would like to speak with you about today. The vital importance of building a proper legacy.”

  Adam’s adrenaline surge was such that he could be both intensely involved in his talk and observe himself from a distance. He realized that he had slipped into a role. He was not merely mouthing Peter’s speech. He was speaking with the chair-man’s quiet intensity. And confidence. And ease. Adam strode to the front of the room and reflected that there was nothing more he could wish for himself than to become a man reformed in Peter Austin’s mold.

  “Before that, however, I am obliged to respond directly to Mr. Madden’s comments. There are two points he failed to mention, both of which are of crucial importance. The first, I am sorry to say, is that over the past three quarters our company has lost four-teen percent of its value. As have your holdings. This is the first period in our history that we have not made a profit. Up to last spring, through all the trials and turmoil we have faced together, we have produced a steady return. Which brings us to the second point, which is that over the sixteen years of our existence, capital invested in Oxford Ventures has increased in value by four hundred and eighteen percent. This is fourteen percent more than the same capital would have earned with MVP.”

  The words came far easier than any scene he had spent weeks rehearsing. Adam saw with piercing clarity what it meant to portray such a man, and to do so from the inside out. To be a man who cared deeply for his company and his employees and his investors. A man of compassion. A man of vision. A leader. “Certainly the past year’s difference in our respective performances is by far the most dramatic of this entire period. There is nothing whatsoever we can say about our disastrous results except that we are sorry. Deeply, deeply sorry. We have let you down.”

  Adam punctuated an end to that thought by walking around the headmaster’s chair. But his destination was not his adversary’s seat. Instead, he walked to the far corner of the chamber. He stood over a massive blackened chest, one he had never seen before. But it looked precisely as Peter had described it the previous evening. Adam raised his voice so that it echoed through the stone chamber. “This, as most of you know, is the chest of Sir Thomas Bodley. Safekeeping of money and valuables posed obvious problems in the days before bank vaults and strong rooms. The answer was the medieval treasure chest, which was not protected by locks so much as by weight. This particular chest is banded by both iron and plastered stone. It weighs almost four tons. The result is a chest so heavy thieves could not lift it. The top is fastened by interconnected locking mechanisms and requires four keys to be turned in careful tandem, making it the forerunner of a modern safe’s numerical dial.

  “In the late thirteen hundreds, Bodley left his money chest and all it contained to this august body. His bequest financed the Bodleian Library, which remains the foremost university library in the world.”

  Adam left the chest and returned to the table. He rested one hand upon the peak of the master’s chair and continued, “Less well known is the history of the chair now occupied by our host. This, my honored colleagues, is the Drake Chair, made from timbers taken from the forecastle of the Golden Hind. Which, as you are no doubt aware, is the ship Drake used to circumnavigate the globe. It stands as a silent reminder that Oxford University’s geography department became the first to accurately map the globe.”

  His hand rose and fell once upon the chair. “I ask you to give careful consideration to the concept of legacy. The pressure and pace of this modern era leave us little room to consider what will happen when we are gone. Yet the hall where we are gathered is testimony to that simple fact. We come, we serve, and we depart.

  “What is our legacy? Profit or something greater? What gift do we bestow upon those who will follow? Whom, by our actions, do we serve? What is our ultimate purpose?”

  Adam returned to stand behind his seat. “Peter Austin did not establish Oxford Ventures merely to compete in the arena of profit. Yes, of course, we have a responsibility to generate revenue. But our purpose was to create a legacy. How? By aiding the Oxford community in bringing new ideas to the market. By helping to t
ransform theory into commercial reality. We established a second division which fosters and aids and promotes the local scientific community. Why? Certainly not merely for profit. Many of these ventures will not show a profit for years, per-haps decades, and some never. Oxford Ventures holds to this perilous course because there is something greater than profit alone. Because we do serve a higher purpose. Because our vision must be focused beyond the human horizon.”

  He paused there for quiet emphasis, then concluded, “Legacy. A vital concept. One we must instill in those around us, those entrusted to our care, the only way we can. By example.”

  chapter 25

  As soon as Adam left with Peter for the meeting in town, Honor sat down at the kitchen table and cupped her face in both hands. All the fear and worry and sleepless distress she had hid-den from her husband came out in that single gesture. Kayla walked over and put her arm around her. Such a simple action. One friend being there for another. She did not say anything, just let Honor know she was not alone.

  Eventually Honor lifted her elbows off the kitchen table and swept the hair from her face. “I was going to the Christmas market today. I wanted to surprise Peter with a tree and a wreath for the door. But just now I don’t feel up to doing anything.”

  “I’ll go. I’d like to.”

  Honor studied her. “Must you truly leave so soon again for Africa?”

  “Yes. My number two, his name is Tanyo. He’s Tanzanian. Never been outside his country. He is immensely trustworthy. But he isn’t able to handle the project on his own.”

  “I remember your father saying once that a good assistant does not necessarily make a good leader.”

  “That’s Tanyo in a nutshell.”

  Honor smiled at the memory. “He was talking about you at the time. Describing why he had never pressured you to join his firm.”

  “I would have been miserable.”

  “I understand that now. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier for your father, having you so far away.”