by Stuart Woods
“There’s something you’re not considering, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Arrington’s feelings on the matter. When I first met with her about her estate planning she told me that you would feel this way.”
“She knew me well.”
“She also told me that, if I could keep you from doing something foolish about the money, you would eventually come to your senses. It was her wish that you have the money; she wanted that very much, and you have to take her wishes into consideration.”
“If she’d asked me, I’d have told her how I feel about her money.”
“She already knew; that’s why she didn’t ask you.”
“If she knew that, why did she make this will?”
“Because she was smarter than you, Stone. She knew that, in time, you’d understand her wisdom and accept it.”
“That hasn’t happened yet,” Stone said.
“Give it time, Stone. Take a year or two, then think about it again. You’ll find satisfying uses for the money. Now I want you to promise me you won’t do anything rash, that you’ll consult me before you start disposing of the money, even to Peter. Just let it sit there and grow.”
Stone sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll check with you before I give it all away.”
“By the way, you need to make a decision about developing the Bel-Air property as a hotel and let Mike Freeman know. He’s got investors and a management company on hold.”
“Good point,” Stone said.
“I think developing the property is a good idea,” Eggers said. “I can’t see you living in Bel-Air, and if you need to go out there, you’ll have a house on the hotel grounds.”
“I don’t really want that,” Stone said.
“Then the hotel can rent it in your absence.”
“All right, I’ll talk to Mike about it.”
“Stone, maybe you should take a vacation. How long has it been?”
“I don’t know, years, I guess, but Peter’s in school. When he’s out for the summer I’m going to take him up to Maine for a while and teach him to sail.”
“An excellent idea. Another idea: as I recall, you have the lifetime use of the house there, and then it reverts to the foundation, according to your cousin’s will.”
“That’s correct.”
“My bet is that the foundation would be very pleased if you bought the house from them now. Then they won’t have to wait for you to die to get their property. They’d only sell it then, anyway. That would be a good use of your inheritance, and Peter will always have the house.”
Stone brightened. “You’re right, Bill, that would be a good use of the money. I’ll get in touch with them and make an offer for the property.”
“Good man. Now I have to go back to work.”
“Thank you, Bill. I feel better now.”
“Just remember your promise.” Eggers hung up.
Stone didn’t wait. He looked up the name of the foundation president, called him and made him an offer for the house. The man said he’d discuss it with his board and get back to Stone.
Next, Stone called Mike Freeman.
“Good morning, Stone. My men are on the job.”
“Yes, I know, Mike, and thank you. I called about something else, though.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Arrington left me the Bel-Air property. I want to proceed with the hotel development.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” Mike said. “I’ll let the investors and the management company know.”
“Mike, you obviously think this development is a good investment, or you wouldn’t be involved in it.”
“I think it’s an outstanding investment,” Mike said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be putting Strategic Services’ money into it.”
“How much, total, do we need to raise to complete the project?”
“Half a billion dollars,” Mike said, “plus the property purchase. You could lease it to the company to make it easier for them.”
“How much is Strategic Services investing?”
“A hundred million.”
“I’ll invest two hundred million, and that way, you and I will keep control of the project. I’ll keep title to the land and lease it to the company.”
“That’s wonderful, Stone. I’ll get in touch with the others and put it to them, and we’ll make you an offer on leasing the property.”
“Good, Mike,” Stone said. “Get back to me, and we’ll work it all out.” He hung up, and reflected on his day’s work. Making these decisions had actually made him feel better, and not just about the money. To his surprise, he felt something he hadn’t felt since Arrington’s death: enthusiasm.
63
P eter got home from school a little early and came in through Stone’s office entrance, closely followed by his two security men. Hattie was with them.
“Thanks, fellas,” Stone said to the guards. “You’re done for the day. Same time tomorrow morning.”
The two men said good-bye to Peter and Hattie and left.
Peter flopped down on Stone’s office sofa, and Hattie sat beside him and held his hand.
Stone reflected that he was going to have to reintroduce the subject of sex to Peter. These two couldn’t stay out of bed with each other for much longer; that was obvious.
“So, Peter, now that you’ve finished your film, what’s your next project?”
“I want to write a play, so that I’ll arrive at Yale with something to show them.”
“Really good idea,” Stone said. He fished around among the papers on his desk and found the representation contract that Mort Janklow had sent over. “There’s something here for you to sign,” Stone said, handing it to Peter.
“What is it?”
“It’s a representation contract with the literary agency of Janklow amp; Nesbit. I’ve been over it with Mort and made a few small changes. The most important thing you have to know is that the agency’s commission is fifteen percent.”
“It used to be ten percent, didn’t it?”
“Times have changed. Sign both copies at the bottom and date them.”
Peter did so.
“Good. That means your first commission payment to Mort will be three million dollars.”
“What?”
“That’s fifteen percent of twenty million dollars.”
“What are you talking about, Dad?”
“Twenty million dollars is what Centurion Studios are paying you for your film, if you approve.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh, and it’s not an outright sale; you’re licensing them the rights to the film for seven years, then you can either extend the license for a further payment, to be agreed upon, or the rights revert to you. Centurion will square everything with the unions before the release. By the way, Hattie, they’re offering you one hundred thousand dollars as a fee for writing the score.”
“Yes!” Hattie shouted, and she and Peter exchanged a high five.
“When are they going to release the film?” Peter asked.
“That’s still to be determined by the studio, but don’t expect it to be the Christmas movie at Radio City Music Hall.”
“Why did they pay so much?” Peter asked. “I was hoping for maybe half a million.”
“Three reasons: first, because they like it and they know it would have cost them twice that to produce it themselves; second, because they think they will make a lot of money on it; and third, because you have a very good agent.”
Peter and Hattie were hugging.
Tim Rutledge stood outside the house in Turtle Bay and watched the two large men hustle Peter Barrington and a young girl into the downstairs law office. A couple of minutes later, the men put the car into the garage, then left, walking toward Third Avenue. Rutledge took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled in a rush. Now was the time; it wouldn’t get any better. He would be in Mexico tomorrow.
He unbuttoned his co
at to access the shotgun, which hung by a strap from his right shoulder. The weapon was loaded and racked; all he had to do was release the safety and fire, after he had had a few words with Mr. Barrington. He wouldn’t kill Barrington, just his son. Then the man could live the rest of his life with his grief. He started across the street toward the downstairs door of the house.
Inside, the doorbell chimed, and Joan reached for the button that released the door. She was expecting Herbie Fisher, who had requested a meeting with Stone. She pressed the button.
She heard the door open, and a man she had never seen walked in, pulled back his coat, and pointed a shotgun at her. “Be quiet,” he said. He walked to her desk, unplugged her telephone, and took it with him. “If you leave this office, I’ll kill you, too,” he said, then he disappeared down the hall toward Stone’s office. Now Joan knew exactly who he was, and there wasn’t time to dig out her cell phone and call the police.
Stone looked up and saw a man coming down the hall, carrying a shotgun in a firing position. He stood up as he recognized Tim Rutledge-bearded, but himself, nevertheless.
Peter and Hattie jumped to their feet, too.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington,” Rutledge said.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rutledge,” Stone replied. “How much time would you like to do?”
Rutledge looked confused. “What?”
“One to five for assault, five to twenty for manslaughter, or life without parole for first-degree murder?” Stone was playing for time; he didn’t know what else to do. “Also, New York State has the death penalty.”
Rutledge took a moment to sort that out, and Stone saw Joan come out of her office and begin to creep silently down the hall.
“I’m going to kill your son,” Rutledge said.
“And why would you want to do that?” Stone asked, edging toward Peter.
Hattie reflexively stepped between Peter and the shotgun.
“Get out of the way, young lady,” Rutledge said, “or I’ll kill you, too.”
“No, you won’t,” Joan said from the hallway, and before Rutledge could turn and look at her there was the roar of a gunshot, and he lurched forward and fell on Stone’s desk, splashing blood and gore over the desktop.
Stone reached over the desk and plucked the shotgun from his hands, then unhooked the strap and racked it until it was empty.
Joan walked into the room, still pointing her. 45 semiautomatic ahead of her, ready to fire again, but Rutledge slid slowly to the floor, taking Stone’s business papers with him.
“What the hell is going on here?” a man’s voice said.
Stone looked up to see Herbie Fisher standing in the doorway. Allison was standing next to him.
Stone stepped over Rutledge’s body and took the. 45 from Joan. “Sweetheart,” he said, “would you call Dino and ask him to send some people and an ambulance over here? And would you tell him to order them not to clog up the whole block with their vehicles? It would upset the neighbors.” He took a couple of deep breaths and worked on getting his heart rate down.
Joan picked up her phone from the floor, where Rutledge had set it, and walked quickly back to her office.
Peter spoke up. “I guess we won’t need the security guys tomorrow,” he said.
64
Stone sat in his office with Herbie and Joan. The police and the body had departed, and the special cleaning crew had done its work with the bloodstains. Peter and Hattie were upstairs in his room. Stone pressed a large scotch on Joan, then poured one for Herbie and a bourbon for himself.
“You look okay,” Stone said to Joan.
“Strangely enough, I am okay,” she said. “I’m glad I didn’t have too long to think about whether I should do it.”
“You saved all our lives,” Stone said, “and in appreciation, I’m going to make a very large contribution to your pension fund. I’m counting on you never to retire, though, because then I’d have to shoot myself.”
Herbie laughed aloud and took another sip of his scotch. “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” Herbie said, “but I came here to apply for a job as an associate.”
Stone smiled. “I think you must have passed the bar.”
“Top of the list,” Herbie said. “I didn’t tell you, but my law degree was with honors.”
“That’s better than mine,” Stone said. “As for the job, we’re jam up full here, what with Allison helping, but I’ll recommend you to Bill Eggers at Woodman amp; Weld, without reservation. Anyway, you need to work in a bigger firm, not just in my office.”
Herbie beamed. “Thank you, Stone.”
“Joan, take a letter to Eggers as soon as Herbie leaves. I don’t want to embarrass him with praise.”
“You mind if I ask who the guy was that Joan offed?” Herbie asked.
Joan choked on her scotch a little.
Stone explained.
“Well, I’m glad he’s off the streets,” Herbie said.
“So am I,” Stone said.
When Herbie had left, Stone dictated a fulsome letter of recommendation to Bill Eggers, then signed it. “Messenger it over, and write Herbie a check for the unused portion of his retainer. What is it, half a million?”
“Give or take,” Joan said. “I take it you’ve changed your mind about your inheritance.”
“I have,” Stone said, “and being out of debt to Herbie is a good cause.”
Two weeks later, Stone took Peter up Park Avenue to Janklow amp; Nesbit and introduced him to Mort Janklow and his principal associate, Anne Sibbald. Kind words were spoken about Peter’s film, and he blushed. Then Leo Goldman arrived with Peter’s contract. A little signing ceremony took place, and Leo handed a check for $20,000,000 to Mort.
Mort will deduct his commission, then wire transfer the remainder of your funds to your bank account,” Stone said to his son. “And as soon as you get home, you have to write a check for five million nine hundred and fifty thousand to the Internal Revenue Service.”
“Ouch!” Peter said.
“Get used to it, Peter,” Mort said. “You’re going to be writing a lot of checks to the IRS.”
“And, Peter,” Leo said, “I have a surprise for you: your film has been accepted for the Sundance Film Festival.”
Somebody found a bottle of champagne, and Peter’s success was toasted.
On the way home Peter said, “What do you want me to do with the money?”
“I think you should open a brokerage account with the Chase Private Bank and let them recommend how to invest it, then buy yourself a nice gift.”
“I’ll have to think about that,” Peter said.
“I’m not going to have anything to do with the money you earn,” Stone said. “I want to see what you do with it.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Peter said.
“Thank you for asking,” Stone replied.
That weekend, Ben Bacchetti took the train down from Choate, picked up his father’s car, and drove himself, Peter, and Hattie to New Haven, to look for housing for themselves. Joan had reserved three rooms for them at a local hotel.
The following day Peter called home.
“Hello?” Stone said.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. In fact, it’s better than okay.”
“How so?”
“We found the perfect apartment for us-three bedrooms, living/ dining room, kitchen, and a nice study.”
“What’s the rent?”
“It would be around five thousand a month, if we were renting,” Peter replied. “It’s a new building, to be completed in a couple of months. We saw the model apartment, then took a look at the top-floor unit to get an idea of the space. I’ve decided to buy the apartment.”
Stone thought about that for a moment. “That might be a good use for some of your money, and you’ll probably make a profit on it when you leave Yale. How much is it?”
“It would normally sell for around a million and a half, but they’re as
king a million two, because of the recession. I’ll buy the place, and Peter and Hattie will split the monthly maintenance payments.”
“Offer them a million, then settle for a million one,” Stone said. “Give them a check for ten percent and bring home the contract for me to read before you sign it.”
“Great, Dad, I’ll do that. Something else.”
“What?”
“As soon as I get home I’m going to take driving lessons and get my license, then I’m going to buy a car. I’ll need it around here.”
This, Stone thought, was as inevitable as sex with Hattie. “All right,” he said, “but if you get a speeding ticket the keys are mine.”
“Agreed,” Peter said.
That night after dinner at a New Haven restaurant they returned to their hotel, and Hattie led Peter to her room. There, she did some more leading, having had slightly more experience than Peter, and from that point on, Peter led.
At home the following day, Peter gave Stone the contract for the condominium. “How did you know they would take a million one?” he asked his father.
“I didn’t, but you always have to try. You have to remember that developers these days have excess inventory and not enough buyers. They need the cash, and with you as a buyer, they don’t have to wait for mortgage approval.”
Stone read the contract and found it acceptable. “Sign it, and I’ll find a New Haven attorney to close the sale for you as soon as the apartment is finished and has been inspected. You’ll need to speak to our insurance agency about insuring it, too.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Peter said. “Dad, I’m also going to buy Hattie a piano, a Steinway, as a surprise.”
“That’s a very generous gift, Peter, but you should take her up to Steinway Hall and let her choose it herself. A piano is a very personal thing for a pianist.”
“Hattie’s going to decorate the apartment,” Peter said. “How much should I budget for that?”
“That’s up to you,” Stone said, “or perhaps, up to Hattie. My advice is, buy nice things, but don’t go crazy. In four years, you may not want anything you buy now, except for Hattie’s piano.”