“How long did you work for Arnold in his law practice?”
“Oh, my, well, let me see.” With a finger to the side of her cheek and her elbow cupped in her palm, Vida said, “I think it was about six years. Did you know Mr. Chaplain was my first employer—right out of secretarial school? When Mr. Chaplain told me I was hired, well, sir, I almost fainted, I was so happy. I was much older than the other girls in school were and I’d never worked outside the home before. I had always just been a housewife before my husband passed. I really needed to work. I guess Mr. Chaplain thought he could teach me what I needed to know. He said being a housewife was the best training anyone could have to learn organization and I’d do just fine for him. He is such a sweet man. He’s so patient with me; with everyone, really. And Mr. Chaplain is such an excellent teacher, don’t ya know? He misses teaching all his classes at the U.” Vida hung her head again as a pretend-entomologist, no doubt searching the ground for insects, and then she whispered something.
“What’s that, Vida? I didn’t hear you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Rubens. I was just thinking about Mr. Chaplain. But…have you noticed how much grayer Mr. Chaplain’s hair has gotten? I don’t suppose that’s the kind of thing another gentleman would pay attention to, but it really is grayer now. Mr. Chaplain spends the same amount of time working here now as he spent teaching, but somehow, it’s making him look older, and he acts a little bit cranky, too. Oh, dear me, I’m just prattling on as if you had nothing better to do than listen to an old woman babble. Please excuse me, Mr. Rubens.”
“What do you mean, ‘cranky’?”
“Please don’t think I’m complaining, Mr. Rubens. I’m not a complainer, don’t ya know, but a few times lately, he actually yelled at me. Yelled! That’s just not like him, Mr. Rubens.”
“Well, Vida, maybe we can get Father Arnold to take some time off. He’s never taken a vacation, as I recall.”
“Oh, my, Mr. Rubens, that would be just the ticket, I’m thinking. Thank you for caring about him like I do,” she said as she waddled off, wiggling five fingers over her shoulder and leaving Bennie in the twentieth floor reception lobby.
There was no doubt about it. Arnold Chaplain was beloved by his colleagues and thought of as a father figure to almost everyone at CapVest. If Arnold was the firm’s father figure, Bennie was its favorite uncle. Most people considered Bennie the jokester of the group, but his former partner and fellow founder, Jules J. Jarvis Jr., knew Bennie wasn’t just funny. Bennie was the most productive insurance salesman of the three. His commissions supported Hockney, Jarvis & Rubens for a long time—years, in fact. Bennie was proud of himself, but never felt obliged to boast about his accomplishments, not even to Yolanda. They all knew he was good because he was, and the earnings statements proved it every calendar quarter.
Being good agents was problematic for the new company. They raised a lot of money, especially Bennie, but there was one major problem. They had no real estate expertise. The new venture desperately needed a real-estate czar.
So Ed Hockney found Arnold Chaplain, a wealthy real estate investor with a successful track record, in addition to a thriving law practice. Arnold also served as a real estate professor at the University of Washington. Besides all that, Arnold was a sweetheart. Everyone loved this graying, chubby, professorish advocate. The founders offered Arnold a full partnership, knowing that without his experience, they’d be forced to fold the new firm.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Bennie said to the young blonde at the twentieth floor reception desk who personified the front office look.
“Good morning, Mr. Rubens. Mr. Chaplain and Mr. Hockney are in the small conference room and they asked you to join them as soon as you came in.”
“Thank you, Kimberly, but I sure wish you’d call me Bennie. Everyone does, well, except Arnold…and my wife. I’ll head on down to the conference room and spread a little cheer,” he said with his usual sunny smile, turning away and walking to a meeting with the chairman and the CEO.
As head of Capital Vested Securities, Bennie’s job was to oversee securities salesmen—the wholesalers, as they were called in the business. These people sourced investor money through financial planners and investment brokers. They traveled the country, soliciting the investor funds that kept CapVest running. In his “coasting” mode, the task of supporting the road warrior wholesalers fell to Ed Hockney, Chairman and titular head of the firm. Hockney accepted these additional tasks, for he enjoyed being the public persona of CapVest. Still, Bennie knew he resented his attitude and felt he had shirked his responsibility.
Ed Hockney and Arnold Chaplain were at the conference room table discussing the Burke accident. Hockney could see Bennie approaching the conference room through the glass wall. He also saw Arnold’s scuffed black shoes protruding from under the table, a black sock on his left foot and a green argyle on the right. The careless way he dressed conflicted with the man’s otherwise genius. Hockney could identify with that, as it was one of many things the two men had in common. Neither of them gave a darn about the clothes they wore.
Arnold noticed Hockney’s distraction and said, “Excuse me, Ed, are you going to listen to me or stare into space?”
“Oh, sorry. I just saw that Bennie’s coming, finally. Now, what was it you were saying, Arnold?”
Just before Bennie pushed through the glass door of the conference room, Hockney looked up at the scholarly banner that had hung on the wall for most of the year.
RPP+OE=E2P.
The letters represented a “corporate code” of sorts. Arnold developed a subtle teaching aid for all employees. The firm’s philosophy, The CapVest Way, was displayed in an easily remembered phrase. The implication is that each partner must feel a righteous and ethical obligation to generate profits far in excess of awards to him or her in distributions, bonuses, or commissions. Therefore, with the selection of the Right People as Partners, they would recruit and train Outstanding Employees, all of whom would contribute to Exceptional Profits.
The brilliance of Arnold’s creation was its implied messages, the most notable being every employee was capable of becoming a partner. Arnold was the first non-founder partner. Today there were nine partners—six admitted over the last few years, and the four founders, minus Jules Jarvis, who was forcefully “retired” as a partner.
“Top o’ the mornin, gents.” Bennie greeted the two men as he entered the pecan-paneled conference room.
“Good afternoon, Ben,” Arnold exhaled.
“Oooh, not a great start of the day after all, I’m guessing.” Bennie shrugged.
Hockney stood as Bennie entered the conference room. He towered sixteen inches above Bennie and was a full foot taller than Arnold was. The visual comparison reminded Hockney of jokes told about him and Bennie when they were insurance agents. People often remarked that they must have fun together with their “Mutt and Jeff act.” The jokers were right, they did always have fun, but that was a very long time ago. Things change.
“Sorry you guys were waiting for me. What’s up with the get together?”
Arnold took the lead and laser-focused his gray-blue eyes straight at Bennie. “Thomas Burke died Tuesday in Colorado.”
“He what?”
“He was on a skiing holiday and hit a tree head-on. He died instantly, they said. Garth was with him on the trip, but not at the accident site. He called late last night to let us know.”
Bennie slumped onto a chair. “Oh, my God, that’s terrible! Was anyone else hurt?”
“Not as far as we know,” Hockney replied.
“Jesus, that’s awful. Has anyone told his wife—what’s her name, I forget?”
“Yes, of course, and her name is Sonja. She was also on the trip to Aspen. That’s handled. Garth accomplished that burden for us. What do you think we’ve all been doing, other than waiting for you to show up,” Arnold spat.
Geez, Hockney thought, that’s a bit harsh, Arnold. Do you have to bite his head
off? You are pretty cantankerous lately. Whatever happened to the kind and fatherly college professor? In order to break the tension, he said, “Arnold and I were talking about the status of our merger with Burke’s firm.”
“What about it?” Bennie asked his partners. “The deal’s over a year old.”
“Do you even remember the structure of the deal?” Arnold asked.
“I know we have key-person life insurance policies on him, like the company has with all partners,” Bennie offered. “We’ll be repurchasing his CapVest stock, I guess.”
“That’s right,” Hockney told him.
“So, we get back our stock, we keep his investors, his apartments, and his staff, and the insurance policy pays his heirs, right? That sounds an awful lot like an Arnold Chaplain-structured deal to me,” Bennie acknowledged, smiling at Arnold in hopes of changing his sour temperament.
“Bennie, you’d know these things if you paid attention at the board meetings…” Arnold admonished with a sneer. “…or came to work before lunchtime.”
“Hey, guys. With smart partners like you two, who needs to take notes at the board meetings?” He tried a chuckle; that fell flat with a thud.
“That’s not funny, Bennie.” Hockney barked. “When we were selling life insurance together, you worked hard every day, and it showed in the results. You were the most productive agent in the history of Seattle Life. My God, your renewal commissions were bigger than most agents’ earnings! Why can’t you contribute more now, in the CapVest Way?”
“I produced most of the cash flow to Hockney Jarvis & Rubens for all those years, and that helped develop this business. Don’t forget that part, ye ol’ tall person!”
“Ed, this is undoubtedly not the time for recriminations,” Arnold advised. When the intercom buzzed, Arnold answered with an atypically irritated, “What is it?”
“Mr. Chaplain, there is a call from Mr. Wainwright on line six for Mr. Hockney.”
“Okay, Kimberly, please put it through.”
Garth Wainwright explained over the speakerphone to his three partners what he had seen on the mountain that morning. “And the other skier, whoever it was, just hightailed it down the hill.”
Arnold, thinking aloud, said, “Do the authorities believe both tracks were made simultaneously? It could be that someone skied past the accident before the chairlift shut down. Maybe they just didn’t want to get involved.”
“The authorities aren’t placing a lot of importance on the ski tracks, then?” Hockney asked.
“That’s right, Ed. They think the second set could have been made after Thomas went into the tree, since that second set overlaps his somewhat. Believe me; I won’t ever forget the sight of what was smeared on that tree.”
“Was there any other indication this was not just an accident, Garth?” Hockney asked.
“Nothing while I was there. The consensus was that unless something else turned up, the coroner would have to log it as an accident. The deputies interviewed Lacey and me, as well as Thomas’ wife and most of the folks who were on the mountain that day. They said no one offered conflicting information. So it goes in the books as a skiing accident—done, fini, over with.” Wainwright paused for a beat, and then said, “Hey, guys, I’ve got to run; I’ve hitched a ride from Aspen with a guy I know who has his own Learjet, so I’ll be in Bellevue soon. I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” Wainwright said and broke the connection.
As the borrowed brand new Learjet 28/29 carrying Wainwright was on final approach to Sea-Tac International Airport, Lacey and Sonja were getting off the Aspen shuttle at the Denver airport and promptly boarded their flight back to Boston.
The Assassin drove 3 ½ hours from Aspen down the mountain to Stapleton International Airport. The drive gave him plenty of time to contemplate the assignment of this past week. A successful contract like this will further enhance his rep among clients who hire him. When he arrives home, he’ll put the money to good use. He is as shrewd an investor as he is a marksman. The Assassin had amassed a considerable fortune from his labors, and had been considering several new investment opportunities. He drove into the airport and was soon airborne, bound for a city far away.
Four
“The future belongs to those who are virile, to whom it is a pleasure to live, to create, to whet their intelligence on that of the others.” ~ Sir Henri Deterling
THURSDAY— LATE AFTERNOON—FEBRUARY | The baggage agent for the fixed base operator, FBO in aviation-speak, brought Wainwright’s duffle to him. “Here you go, Mr. Wainwright. Just the one bag, right?”
Wainwright thanked him and palmed a five as they shook hands. He didn’t know why some people tipped that way, but almost everyone did. Maybe it’s to keep the IRS from seeing the money.
The dictionary defines the word “serendipity” as the accidental discovery of something pleasant, valuable, or useful. Wainwright experienced a little of this serendipity stuff when he entered the private plane terminal at Sea-Tac International after his loaned Learjet landed. It was certainly accidental that he spotted Jules and June Jarvis there. Wainwright assumed they’d come to Bellevue to visit the new CapVest Building, since they lived in Nevada and Jules no longer worked for CapVest.
From a vantage point to the left rear of where they sat, Wainwright saw that Jules was wearing a blue gabardine three-piece suit. His shirt was blue-and-white striped with French cuffs bearing his usual JJJJ monogram. The Brioni silk necktie and pocket square completed the ensemble, creating an outfit that was less than modest, but it sure was classy. Jules had referred Wainwright to Greg Chapman’s Executive Tailored Clothes, his custom tailor in Beverly Hills. Both Jules and Wainwright could afford to dress stylishly, but Jules J. Jarvis Jr. goes way beyond that—he could afford to live stylishly.
Wainwright assumed that being in the airport, the Jarvises must be on the way to their winter home in Palm Springs, a gift to June, a high-maintenance lady. The Jarvises traveled in their own twin-engine turboprop executive aircraft, which their aircrew was taxiing to the pickup apron when he saw them sitting near the exit door. Man, when I grow up, I want to be just like Jules.
No, he really didn’t want that. For one thing, years before Jules was forced out of CapVest, many people treated Jules as a pariah. He was a partner without portfolio; the corporation’s board assigned few duties to him. Although he didn’t want more responsibility, Hockney and Arnold would have denied him even if he had, so why bother?
Jules was known as the quiet partner. He was and always would be Wainwright’s favorite founder. Jules never originated transactions, neither buying nor selling properties as Wainwright did. Deals are what drive firms such as CapVest. The corporate heroes are all dealmakers. Jules, however, wasn’t a hero, except to a few guys like Wainwright. No one reported to Jules. He wasn’t a manager or an administrator, either.
He hated it when Jules’ partners turned against him. Wainwright thought the man exuded class. Unlike Hockney and Arnold, both totally style-challenged, Jules dressed well—not flashy like Bennie, but a cultured, upscale kind of classy. But all this happened before Wainwright became a partner.
Arnold and Hockney had been at war with Jules for years. As far as anyone else could tell, Bennie didn’t give a shit one way or the other. The two big guys wanted Jules out. The talks turned to debates and the debates became arguments. Both sides hired attorneys and soon, litigation commenced.
Jules’ position was that the old buy/sell method for valuing his stock was no longer relevant. He would gladly leave the company and his invented work schedule, but he’d keep his stock and the significant cash flows it generated. And he’d sue the shit out of anyone who interfered. In the end, Jules prevailed. His battle won, he retired. When the dust settled, Jules was the partner everyone considered the most perceptive of the four founders.
Cool Jules, as no one was about to call him to his face, was maybe twelve years older and about the same height and build as Wainwright. Having gotten to know him earl
y in his CapVest career, Wainwright had many reasons to appreciate Jules. He was a kind and caring person. He nurtured new employees, and Wainwright had been a recipient of that mentoring early on.
Wainwright walked to where the couple sat to say hello. He suspected Jules either spent a lot of time on the golf course or regularly availed himself of a tanning salon. But there was something different about his old friend: He suddenly realized Jules wasn’t wearing a toupee any longer. Surprise! For all of his time at CapVest, Jules Jarvis was never without his toupee, which was a good one. But everyone knows that even the most expensive hairpiece is still a rug. Maybe the manicures, the elegant wardrobe, expensive cars, private plane, and two mansions had all been compensation for being bald—and without a job.
“Hey, you guys. Good to run into you. How have you been? Lord, it’s been a couple of years since I last saw you,” Wainwright gushed.
“Hey, Garth, you are looking fit,” Jules said as he rose with his insurance salesman’s wide smile and took Wainwright’s hand in both of his.
Wainwright scanned the man quickly and obviously. “Jules, my man, I swear, you look like a million bucks.”
June looked up into her husband’s eyes as he said, “Well, a few more than that, actually.” He chuckled. “We saw your plane, but didn’t recognize it was you from this distance. When did you get the Lear?”
“Oh, sure, like I can afford a Learjet? Shit, Jules, I can’t afford a new car, let alone a plane. No, I bummed a ride with a pal. The beauty bird is his. I was only a stowaway for the trip here. So where are you two off to?” Wainwright asked his old friends.
“‘PS, I love you,’ to quote an old publicity slogan,” June offered.
“The Springs, huh? That’s the best place to spend the winter, all right. Speaking of cold, I just came from Aspen. There was a terrible tragedy there. Did you know Thomas Burke? CapVest bought his company last year.”
The Tipping Point: A Wainwright Mystery Page 4