He called immediately. “Bullshit, Henry. Pure bullshit. These proceedings can take a year or more. Everyone knows how very difficult it is in New York State to obtain a deficiency judgment. Sit tight, my boy. We’re about to engage them in a fight that’ll make them regret they refused to negotiate.”
“That’s what I like to hear, Cal. The bastards. Except it’s not helping me with my other lenders … and with my tenants.”
“Hey,” he said. “Upbeat! For God’s sake don’t you go depressive on me.”
Cal was right. And his words were tonic. “Don’t worry, Cal, a negative thought rears its ugly head from time to time, but I smite it with my bare hands.”
“Some metaphor!” Cal said.
“I’m impressed,” I said, thinking of Cal with new respect.
20
SEVERAL demoralizing weeks followed, each worse than the one before. Discouraging news from almost all of our properties. On Wednesday, Dianne asked to see me privately, unusual for her. “May I close the door?” she asked. I nodded and waited. “May I talk with you candidly?” she asked again.
“Yes, of course.”
“Mr. Martin, ah, Henry,” she began, “1 know that things are very strained right now, and that there are great pressures, but…”
“But…”
“… you’re being insensitive to your staff. I mean, you’re snapping at me and everyone else. No matter what we’re doing, you constantly interrupt to ask for something else. Practically screaming sometimes. Look, we all care, we really do. I know what’s happening is recondite. And —”
“Recondite?" I asked. I hadn’t heard this from Dianne before. Maybe she’d been talking to Cal about metaphors.
“I do have a degree in English,” she said, slightly miffed. “You’re taking it out on us, and frankly we don’t deserve it. Things might go better if you lightened up a little.”
“Has it occurred to you, Dianne, that I’m the only one around here who can deal with the kind of problems we’re facing? Problems of a magnitude I’m sure you can’t even imagine.” She looked down, and I realized I was sounding like the type of guy employees resent. They work for him, but only because they have to. “All right,’ I ad-mitted, “I didn’t mean to show the strain. Look, I realy need your help, and everyone else’s, too. I do things my way but I will do my best to keep my tongue under control” I looked squarely at her. I could see her lip quivering.
“Will that be all, Mr. Martin?”
“Yes, thank you, Dianne.” I paused. “Do you have any idea where Steve is? We’re in a firefight here.” I pulled a folder out of my briefcase and, without looking up, said, “Let me know right away when you’ve located him, please? 1 made sure to add.
Several minutes later, she tapped on the door. “Steven told his secretary that he was away with Mrs. Martin and cannot be reached.”
“Thanks,” I said. After she had closed the door, I said, mimicking her voice, “Away with Mrs. Martin and cannot be reached!’ Goddamn it!”
“Hello, Cal. You sound upset. What’s wrong?”
“I am upset. I’m quite disturbed about something. I need to see you. In person. Shall I come over to your office?”
“No, I’ll come to yours. First thing tomorrow.”
After a week of muggy summer days, it was one of those flushed, perky mornings, the sky sharp, the air crisp, people striding along vigorously as if they were enjoying their walks to their destinations. Even Charles was chipper. “Top of the morning to you, sir. Did you rest well?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you, Charles. Very well.” I hated fawning, although I’ve done enough of it myself No one really gives a damn how anybody else actually feels. I had to focus on my meeting with Cal. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why he was so disturbed.
“Charles, first to Mr. Ostreicher’s office, then to Jerry Hollick’s, then my office. You know who Hollick is?”
“Yes, sir, your lead broker. Will you be going to your racquetball club this afternoon, sir?”
“I’m not sure, but I want you to pick up a package in Manhasset. Here’s the receipt. By the way, would you happen to know where my brother might be?”
“Ah, no sir, I really don’t. He didn’t talk to me about that.” Steve used my car once in a while. I didn’t mind except when I needed it at the same time. He could have had his own, but he said it would only lead him into bad habits. Holier-than-thou Steve. “Living high on the hog can get you into big trouble, kid,” he would say, with that smart-ass grin of his.
Think small, Steve baby, and small you’ll always be.
The elevator in Cal’s building whisked me up to the forty-third floor. The lobby and waiting room were decorated with rich wood paneling and thick Persian rugs. Paid for by clients like me. Not to mention the fancy rent. I was told Cal was waiting for me in conference room A.
“Good morning, Henry,” Cal said as I walked in. He looked grim. Worse, he didn’t get up to shake hands. “Shall we get right to it?” he asked.
“You look more like my hangman than my lawyer,” I said.
“I want you to be careful, Henry. I have to ask you certain questions, and I expect accurate answers. The entire truth.”
“There’s no other with you, counselor,” I answered, trying to mask my sarcasm.
“Did you ever sign anyone’s name on any company documents?” he asked slowly.
“Once, maybe twice, as I said. Out of hundreds of papers. Meaningless ones. Probably because they had to be executed immediately and Steve wasn’t available.”
“That’s wrong, you know,” he said. “And in the reports that you submitted to me, which I forwarded to Federated Bank, was any of the lease information… Let me rephrase that. Did the total of rents include leases that were not actually signed by the tenants?”
“What? Are you asking me if I doctored any reports?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking. Some developers have been known to take such liberties. Anticipating lease” finalizations.”
“Absolutely not! An provides a separate column for those situations. We’ve always done it that way. Look, I don’t check all the arithmetic, but I do scan them. And I can tell you, Ari’s meticulous.”
“All right, Henry.” Cal stood up, walked around the table, and put out his hand. “I accept what you’re telling me. I’m sorry, but you have to understand that in my position as an attorney …” His voice trailed off. Then, noticing the expression on my face, he said, “Obviously something doesn’t add up here. I was told that you lied about the rental reports and company statements.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What sonofabitch loaded your ears with that bullshit? Jesus!”
“I can’t disclose that. I’m sorry. But it’s doing — it’s obviously resulted in — a lot of damage. Now I can begin to understand why Federated has its back up.”
“Haven’t I got enough on my hands without somebody bushwhacking me? We go back a long way, you and I, Cal. You know I’d never do such a thing. Never!’’
“I know,’ he said, his voice steady. “At this point my hands are tied, confidentially. But I can go to Federated’s attorney with an affidavit from you that what they’ve heard is not the truth.”
“The truth!” I bellowed. “The fucking truth is, I’m in deep shit, and someone …” I tried to read his face, but his expression was deadpan. Attorneys become very practiced at not revealing their feelings, and Cal was among the best. “All right,” I said, calming down slightly. “If we’re going to survive, you understand I have to know.”
“Ill get through to Federated one way or another,” Cal said. “In fact, I'll try them now. Be back in a few minutes.”
I sat back in the chair and let out a deep sigh. My knee was bothering me. I’d torn the ligaments playing football at Middlebury. A few weeks ago I had run into a wall playing squash and smacked it again. And my damn stomach was giving me trouble, too. Probably too much coffee and spicy food,
> “They’re going to call me back,” Cal said as he reentered the room. “IH phone you the minute they do.” Then, he put his hand on my shoulder. “Hang in there, Henry.”
“Someone’s trying to sabotage us.” Ari Miller and I were having lunch in Hunan House, off Franklin Avenue, a few blocks from the office. Our favorite Chinese restaurant. Jackson Wang, the owner, had just served us his special house soup. He’d seen us come in, pointed to his own table, went into the kitchen, and prepared it himself.
Ari looked at me incredulously. “Did I hear you right?”
“I was with Cal earlier,” I said. “Bad blood with Federated. Real bad. They've been told two things — one, that we've falsified our reports and statements, and two, that I've forged Steve’s signature when I shouldn’t have. They even toyed with the idea of Swiss bank accounts.”
I cleared my throat and stared hard at him, looking for a reaction. “You aware of anything? Even what may not have seemed significant at the time?”
“No, absolutely nothing. Whatever I’ve prepared for banks has always been the emmis. The truth. Oh, I don’t wear any haloes. I have been aggressive about tax deductions. But if we were ever examined, most if not everything would stand up.” As Jackson brought in the soup, he shook his head, as if delving deep into his memory.
“There is something,” Ari said, wiping his mouth.
I was about to ask what when Jackson appeared and stood over our table. “You want fresh vegetables with seafood today?” he asked. “Make it with oyster sauce, the way you like?”
“Sure.” Two cute secretaries walked in. They worked for the insurance company in the space next to ours. One gave me a big smile. I nodded back
“Henry, I did find a scrap of paper in your car yesterday, when you asked me to put those reports on your seat.” He leaned forward. “Slipped to the floor, I guess.”
“What’d it say?”
Ari reached for his wallet and carefully unfolded a slip of paper, which he studied for several seconds.
“When’re you going to give it to me?” I asked. “After New Year’s?”
He handed it to me. I began to read: “Been listening real careful. Near as I can tell he’s not said anything special on his car phone yet. Nothing in his briefcase or from his place. But, I’ll keep my eyes open.”
No signature, but I didn’t need one. I recognized the handwriting immediately from other notes I’d received.
“C’mon, Ari, I’ve just lost my appetite.” I dropped a twenty on the table, waved to Jackson, and practically raced out.
Late that afternoon, Charles picked me up at the office and drove me back to the city. At my townhouse, I asked him to come inside. We were on the first floor, in the butler’s pantry behind the garage.
“Let’s see, Charles, it’s been just about three years, hasn’t it? Yes, next month.” He gazed at me, a smile forming on his face. I turned to one side, as if searching for something, maybe for my wallet, to give him a fat thank-you tip for all his good service. “Well, I have a special present for you, to thank you for all your loyal and dedicated service.” And with that I belted him in the stomach with as hard a left as I could summon. When he doubled forward, I slammed a right squarely on his mouth. My hand stung.
He crumpled into a sitting position and looked up at me, his eyes wide, blood pouring from his lip. “If I ever see or hear from you again, so help me, FU really beat the shit out of you!” He seemed stunned, mesmerized, didn’t even try to get up. “Who’d you write the note to? Yeah, I have it. And I’ve got major connections with the police.”
Now he struggled to get up. I grabbed him by the collar and swung him around, my other hand forming into a fist. “Who, goddamn it?”
“I can’t tell you, sir.” He tried to look away.
‘You goddamn well better,” I said, my face contorted, my fist poised for another strike.
“Please, sir, don’t. Please …”
“Who, Charles?” My fist was in his face, an inch from his bloodied mouth, my other hand grabbing him by his collar.
‘Your … your brother,” he said in a near whisper.
“If you’re lying to me, you’ll be in even deeper shit.”
“No,” he said, “your brother.” He shambled toward the door, his handkerchief to his mouth.
“Just a minute! Where’d you place the goddamned bug?”
He looked away. “Behind the picture in your library by your phone.” Then, almost pitifully, “I didn’t think it would hurt you if your brother knew things maybe he should as your partner.”
I still held him. “How much?” I demanded. “How much did he pay you?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“Jesus! A tightwad even when he’s breaking the law! Your idea or his?”
“Mine, sir. I didn’t think it —”
“You don’t know how to think, you turd brain. What else did my brother put you up to?
“Nothing,” Charles mumbled, averting his eyes.
“What else!” I insisted, grabbing him by the collar. I could see fear in his eyes. I knew he’d done more mischief than the bugging. Then it came to me. ‘You were an Air Force mechanic, weren’t you, Charles?” I shook him again, like a rag doll. ‘You fucked around with my helicopter, didn’t you? The clamps on the oil lines. And the day both my engines died on Martha’s Vineyard? That was you too, wasn’t it?” I kicked him hard in the groin, and he crumpled, grabbing his nuts. I hauled him to his feet. “If that’s true, you and my brother are both going to spend a lot of time behind bars.”
‘You can’t prove a thing,” Charles said, cringing as he spoke.
“Maybe yes, maybe no. Now, listen to me carefully. I’m going to have your place checked tomorrow by some friends of mine on the force. Better not try to take off. Now get the hell out of here!” I kicked him literally out the front door.
Steve, my brother, hates me that much? I kept shaking my head. After I calmed down, I called Steve at home. “Anita, this is Mr. Martin. It’s very important I speak with my brother. I know he’s in the city someplace. Can you tell me where? It’s important.”
“Yes, Mr. Henry. They’ll be back in a few hours. Mrs. Martin called earlier.”
“All right, Anita. I don’t care how late it is. Please tell him to call me.”
Steve didn’t. About seven the next morning, I called him. “Didn’t you get my message?” I made sure my voice sounded normal.
"I'll take it in the next room. Your sister-in-law’s sleeping.” He put me on hold. After what seemed like a long time, he picked up. “I didn’t call you back because it was late, and I was tired.
Bullshit, I thought. ‘We have a big crisis on our hands,” I said calmly. “A new one. We have to talk right away. Cal said we have to make some important decisions. Today.”
“Since when do you want my opinion? I thought that you were handling things, solving all the problems.”
“Get off it, will you? We don’t have time for that petty bullshit. Besides, Dad called. You didn’t have to tell him everything. That wasn’t right, Steve. Dad doesn’t need to know all the gory details.”
“Right? You’re saying that wasn’t right? I wasn’t aware you were in a position to make judgments, Henry. Okay. I’ll come by your place. About an hour.”
“Sooner if you can. We should be in the office by nine.” Steve said he’d be there in forty-five minutes. I wondered what thoughts were going through his mind. Did he know I had found out? Probably Charles told him. Of course. Charles had told him.
I took my breakfast out on the terrace. Overnight the weather had changed. The sky had become slate-gray, and the wind had shifted to the southeast, the sky and the wind harbingers of the rain to come. The ceiling was broken, I guessed, at about five thousand feet.
21
WE went into the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee.
‘Want some?” I asked Steve.
“No,” he said, “not for me.”
Symb
olic, I thought, not accepting anything from me.
I suddenly turned to face him.
“Why, Steve? Why?” I had planned to confront him when we were in the library, but it just came out, like blood from a wound.
I examined his face. His expression was as languid as ever. I walked into the dining room; he followed. We sat down at the long French Provincial walnut table, Steve directly across from me. “You must hate me,” I said, “really hate me. More than I had ever imagined.”
He stared at me for what seemed an endless time.
“I don’t have a thing to say to you.” His voice was a combination of coldness and satisfaction.
I pushed my chair back and stood up. “Why, Steve? It makes no sense!”
“You want to know why? I'll tell you why,” he said, his voice almost metallic. “Twenty-something goddamn years, Henry, you making all the fucking decisions without me. You went ahead with Three-Fifty-Five, completely bypassing me. Made deals for land and financing. Important meetings with our banks and tenants. Even signing my name, didn’t you? Never looking for my input. Oh, yeah, you go through the motions now and again. What do you take me for, some kind of idiot?
‘You’ve made me look like a horse’s ass long enough, Henry. I watch the way Joyce reacts when we’re all together, when you brag about some deal we’ve made. She lights up like a Christmas tree. You think I like seeing that? Do you?”
“Have you completely flipped out, Steve? Do you hate me that much? Your jealousy about Joyce and me — if that’s what I’m hearing — is ridiculous. There’s nothing between us. Just old history.”
“I have to live with that ‘old history,’ “ Steve said evenly. “Always had your way with Dad, too. His Wunderkind. Fooling himself it was the same for you and me as it was for him and Uncle Joe. Dad never really had any use for me. Oh, he may have cared, sure, but his Henry —- wow, look at him walk on water!”
“You had Mom. Don’t you think it hurt knowing she always favored you? What did you expect me to do? Not try to be the best I could? And maybe your wife did love me once, but no longer. She loves you, you jerk.”
The Ego Makers Page 17