The Debt

by Glenn Cooper

  ‘Was she drunk?’

  ‘Not when we left but the night was young.’

  Albert tired of looking at pulled curtains. He flopped on a sofa. ‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll probably go to Rome with them, if only to look after our interests as best I can. I’ll be searching for ways to scuttle a deal, of course. But as long as Henry owns fifty-two percent, there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘He’s not a well man,’ Albert said, amused at the understatement.

  ‘Don’t go there. He’s still my cousin.’

  ‘Touching. I wonder if he’s got the same soft spot you have. I wonder if he’s going to come through with a transfer of shares in his will.’

  Marcus knocked back his scotch. ‘He’s been promising it for years. Our side and his, you and Julian – equal partners going forward.’

  ‘Steven will be pissed.’

  ‘I’ve taken care of your brother in my estate. But he’s going to have to work for you or make his way at another firm. You hit the firstborn lottery.’

  ‘I’m happy you’re a traditionalist.’

  ‘You should be.’

  Albert reached for a handful of potato chips and stuffed them in his mouth. ‘I think we should send the contract to a good lawyer. Not Bob Stein. He’ll tell Gail. Someone we haven’t used before so it won’t get back to her.’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘If this foundation idea gets shit-canned, like you just said, then the Vatican’s going to get an army of lawyers to say the contract isn’t worth crap. We need to be ready with our own lawyers to say it’s pure gold.’

  ‘That’s not a stupid idea,’ Marcus said.

  Albert snorted. ‘High praise coming from you.’

  ‘It’s a good thing you got in touch with me,’ Cal’s mother said. ‘Gail Sassoon sent me a message on Facebook that she’d met you the day before yesterday. I would have been cross if you’d given me the slip.’

  Cal had taken her to one of her usual luncheon haunts in midtown; it was no use hauling her off to somewhere new. She would have complained about the food or the service or the taste of her cocktail and he would have been miserable.

  ‘It was an unplanned visit,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I was delighted you’ve connected with her. She’s a fabulous lady. Very charitable. Her husband’s ill, you know.’

  ‘I met him.’

  Bess took the cocktail straw from her mouth. Her drink was a green concoction that looked unappealing. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘He’s a recluse, especially now. How did you manage to see him?’

  ‘Over dinner at their place last night.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you the anointed one? What’s the connection? You’re not exactly into high finance.’

  ‘Unfortunately I can’t talk about it.’

  ‘Well, that makes me very, very curious. I won’t pry but I do expect to get a full accounting of the story one fine day.’

  She seemed to be in a cheery mood. Whatever was in her cocktail was making her giddy. It was a shame he had to bring her down.

  ‘You haven’t seen the news today, have you?’ he asked.

  ‘I read the paper, why?’

  By the paper, he knew she meant her bible, the New York Times, her breakfast companion since the beginning of time. The story had broken too late for the print edition.

  He steeled himself with a sip of his straightforward vodka on the rocks. ‘I wanted to see you in person before I went back to Rome tonight.’

  ‘You were just there!’

  ‘And now I’m going back. I’ll be going with Gail.’

  ‘My, my, how mysterious can you get?’

  ‘In this case, pretty damn mysterious. But here’s the thing. You’re going to read a story about me, or a friend of yours is going to call you about it.’

  She finally seemed to notice that he was looking deathly serious. Her smile evaporated. ‘Cal, what’s going on?’

  ‘I killed a man the night before last.’

  They played telephone tag right up to the point that he was about to board the Sassoon Gulfstream jet at Teterboro Airport.

  ‘I hear you’re leaving the country,’ Detective Gonzalez said.

  ‘In a few minutes. That’s not a problem, is it?’

  ‘No, you can go about your business. I just wanted to have a quick word with you about the dead guy.’

  ‘I heard from the Sassoons that you couldn’t identify him.’

  ‘That’s right. So far, we haven’t.’

  ‘Have you checked with Interpol?’

  ‘You’re a detective too?’

  ‘I’ve seen a lot of movies.’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, we have checked with Interpol, Europol, you name it. Nothing yet. But what I wanted to ask you was this: besides the Sassoons, who else knew you were going to be at the archives?’

  ‘Mrs Gomes, of course.’

  ‘Yeah. Anyone else?’

  ‘Not specifically.’

  ‘OK, who knew you were in New York?’

  ‘That’s a longer list. Several people at the university, a few people at the Vatican.’

  ‘I’m going to need names and contact numbers.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re coming off your theory that it was a crime of opportunity,’ Cal said.

  ‘Just trying to be thorough. Like in the movies.’

  ‘I’ll email you a list of people from the plane. Are you going to be calling all of them?’

  The tone was borderline sarcastic. ‘That’s a fair assumption.’

  ‘Well, when you speak to Pope Celestine, give him my regards.’

  NINETEEN

  ‘Do you like it?’ Gail asked Cal.

  She was talking about the airplane. The Gulfstream G550 was one of the bank’s toys, as she would call it before becoming self-conscious and justifying it as an essential business tool. It was configured for thirteen passengers but there were only three in the cabin plus an attendant, a fresh-faced young man seated by the galley with a magazine, patiently awaiting a summons.

  Cal and Gail sat side by side on a white leather sofa in the rear. Marcus Sassoon was in a front-facing seat by the cabin nursing a soda. The only way he could have set himself farther away would have been to sit on the pilot’s lap.

  ‘It’s pretty sweet,’ Cal said. ‘Beats flying commercial.’

  They were cruising over a darkening Atlantic through a pastel, twilight sky. She was wearing a clingy skirt that kept her occupied pulling on the hem every time it took a ride. Cal noticed but pretended he didn’t.

  ‘I understand you like the finer things in life,’ she said.

  The comment floored him. ‘Now how would you know that?’

  ‘I did my research,’ she said, waving her empty fluted glass to catch the attention of the steward. He promptly poured more champagne and asked Cal if he wanted another vodka.

  ‘I won’t say no.’

  She took a sip of champagne. ‘I found an interview you did with the Times for the launch of one of your books.’

  ‘Oh, God, I remember that one. I was goaded into giving a list of the creature comforts I enjoyed. The book was on asceticism in the medieval Catholic Church. Get the angle? Once that stuff goes online it’s there forever.’

  She had memorized the list. ‘Great hotels, great restaurants, first-class travel, a fine home library, a few nice pieces of art.’

  ‘You saw the article’s title,’ he said. ‘A Harvard Professor’s Tour-de-Force on Ascetics, and it’s subtitle: Guess what? He Isn’t One. I was toast with my colleagues.’

  ‘I’ll bet you were, especially those who couldn’t begin to afford your lifestyle.’

  ‘Jesus, Gail, did you get hold of my bank statements too?’

  She laughed. ‘No, that’s from your mother. She told me you inherited a sizable trust fund when your father died.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ he said ruefully. ‘Consider me an open book.’

  She
was getting tipsy and the flight was in its infancy. ‘Oh, don’t be mad. My only intent was to try to understand you.’

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘Your motivation in all of this. What do you expect to get out of it?’

  He thought for a few moments before speaking. It was a fair enough question. He expected that in the world she came from, money was the great motivator. His comfortable financial position must have confused her.

  ‘Let me tell you what I don’t expect,’ he began. ‘I don’t expect any financial reward. None whatsoever.’

  ‘I hardly thought you did.’

  ‘Good. Just wanted to make that clear. I’ll be frank with you. My reasons for getting involved with this are twofold. The history of the Vatican’s borrowing and usury laws interest me. I’ve written about it and one day I’d like to write about the history of the Sassoon debt. I think it would make a terrific book. That’s what I do. I write books that pretty much no one reads.’

  ‘I’d read it.’

  He smiled. ‘One guaranteed pre-order. The other reason is that I consider Pope Celestine to be a friend. He asked for my help. You help friends whether they’re popes or drinking buddies.’

  ‘Now that would be an even more interesting book.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The pope and the professor.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath on that one.’

  Marcus unbuckled his seatbelt and was making his way to the rear lavatory when he clearly succumbed to an urge to be snarky.

  ‘Your glass is full, Gail,’ he said. ‘That’s not like you.’

  ‘Charming as ever, Marcus.’

  ‘My middle name.’

  She waited for the lavatory door to close before apologizing to Cal for having to bear captive witness to their family dynamics.

  ‘What family doesn’t have its issues?’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’s a happy camper.’

  She polished off her drink in three gulps and asked for a refill. ‘I imagine it hasn’t been easy being a thin-skinned asshole who’s been Henry’s butt-boy his entire life.’

  Cal wished he could retreat to one of the oversized chairs in the middle of the cabin and pull out a book from his bag. But he’d probably have to wait until Gail drank herself to sleep.

  ‘Blessedly, I was an only child,’ he said.

  ‘I was too,’ she said. ‘That makes us quite the brats if you didn’t know.’

  As they waited in the reception area of the Sanctae Marthae guesthouse, Cal could see the look of confusion on Marcus Sassoon’s face.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Cal asked.

  ‘This is where he lives?’ Marcus said. ‘It’s pretty damned basic.’

  ‘He’s a humble man,’ Cal said.

  ‘Or a con man putting on a show.’

  Gail angrily shushed him. ‘Marcus, please. Someone will hear.’

  ‘I’m just stating the obvious,’ Marcus said defensively.

  They had spent the morning at the hotel the Sassoons had booked. Cal wasn’t surprised at the choice. The Excelsior on the Via Veneto had been a go-to place for visiting executives and celebrities for a century. It wasn’t exactly his cup of tea but he went along for solidarity and besides, they were picking up the tab.

  After a morning rest the three of them had met in the lobby. Before leaving New York, Cal had picked up one of the suits he kept stashed at his mother’s place. Gail, dressed in a conservative suit herself, had whispered to Cal that he cleaned up good.

  ‘I hope Celestine recognizes me,’ Cal had said. ‘I’m not usually this done-up when I visit.’

  Now, sitting in reception, Cal was loosening the knot of his necktie, his least favorite and least-worn item of clothing.

  ‘You’ll be able to judge the man for yourself,’ Cal told Marcus. ‘And if you want to see some of the more salubrious places in the Vatican, I can give you a tour later.’

  ‘Been there, done it,’ Marcus replied.

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘I took a year off between college and business school, got a Eurorail ticket. You know the drill.’

  The drill. Saw the Vatican once. Check. Cal held his tongue. The decision-makers were Gail and her husband. At worst, Marcus needed to be neutralized, not antagonized.

  ‘Well, the offer’s on the table,’ Cal said.

  The pope’s man, Monsignor Moller, arrived to escort the group to the pontiff’s office. Along the way, he whispered to Cal that the Holy Father had been told about the violence that had occurred at the Sassoon archive and wished to speak with him privately after the meeting. Inside his office, a smiling Celestine was standing in front of his desk, awaiting them.

  ‘Greetings,’ he said. ‘So good of you to come. I hope your journey was pleasant.’

  Gail genuflected and said, ‘Holy Father,’ somewhat in awe. Marcus coolly shook his hand as he would any business adversary. The pope took both of Cal’s hands, made a small joke about the frequent-flier miles he must be accumulating, then quietly told him he was glad he was safe.

  The pope took a padded, high-backed chair and the others sat in a semi-circle around him. Monsignor Moller, clutching his ubiquitous notebook, was making his way toward the corner when the pope informed him that he didn’t need to attend the meeting. With a flash of surprise and a small bow of his head, Moller retreated.

  Cal had wondered how the pope would begin the discussion. The answer was with humility.

  ‘I must tell you,’ Celestine said, ‘few things surprise me. The papacy is an old institution, the Vatican is a well-worn bureaucracy, and human nature is older still. And yet, Professor Donovan succeeded in unearthing this great surprise about the unpaid debt to your family. I want to begin with a heartfelt apology for the actions of the Vatican nearly two centuries ago that brought tragedy to your ancestors.’

  Gail was visibly moved and had to pull a tissue from her bag. Even Marcus seemed affected on some level, his lower lip trembling, although his emotion might have been anger.

  Gail said she spoke for the entire family. ‘On behalf of the chairman of the bank, my husband Henry, who was too ill to fly to Rome, we are grateful for your kind words, Your Holiness.’

  ‘Please pass my blessings to Mr Sassoon. The professor has told me about his illness. I will pray for him.’ The pope paused as if to consider how he would broach the essence of the discussion. ‘With accumulated interest, the debt to your bank is now a great sum of money,’ he said. ‘Now, one might imagine, as the head of the Vatican, that I would have a fiduciary responsibility to act in the best financial interest of the institution. My lawyers have advised me that there are many persuasive legal arguments that may be put forward that would have the effect of rendering the collection of this debt highly improbable. Probably long after all of us in this room are gone, the case would remain under litigation in the courts. But as you know, I regard this debt as providential. I do not wish to dispute it. I wish to embrace it. I see it as a tool to move the Church closer to its charitable roots as articulated in the Gospels.’

  ‘With all due respect,’ Marcus said, ‘twenty-five billion euros is a great deal of money. Do you have twenty-five billion euros in cash and marketable securities? How would you make payment?’

  The pope sighed loudly, likely for effect. ‘The Church as a whole is a wealthy institution, although much of its wealth lies within individual dioceses of which the Vatican has no ownership. The Vatican itself is wealthy but not as cash-rich as many believe. Even I cannot get an accurate picture of exactly how much liquidity the Vatican possesses but it is certainly less than the magnitude of the debt we are discussing today. And in any event, I cannot drain us dry. We have important work to do on the international stage, we have employees, pension obligations. Well, I don’t have to tell the Sassoons anything about the ongoing needs of complex organizations. So, should I elect to satisfy this debt it would require raising substantial additional funds.’

  ‘How?’ Marcus asked.


  ‘I apologize for Marcus,’ Gail said, her face flushed with embarrassment. ‘He can be quite direct.’

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ Celestine said. ‘I appreciate the quality of directness and candor. I believe, Mr Sassoon, that we have the means to satisfy the obligation to your family.’

  ‘A Jewish family,’ Marcus said, tartly.

  ‘A Jewish family,’ Celestine said. ‘You are not mistaken. Your faith is not immaterial given the history of your people and mine. Even as pope I would lack the moral authority to satisfy this debt as a purely commercial transaction with a transfer of funds from the Vatican to your firm. But if the funds were to go to charity to satisfy the core principles upon which the Church was built, then I believe I could persuade my colleagues and more importantly, my flock. What do you think?’

  Gail agreed, saying, ‘Through my own foundation work I’ve found that altruism is a quality that can bring us together. Giving nurtures the soul and makes people feel better about themselves.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the pope said, gently rocking forward and back in his seat. ‘Professor, what is your opinion?’

  ‘As long as the charitable work isn’t deemed to be overtly political, I think most people – certainly not all, but most – will rally behind the venture. One could argue that politics, not the Devil, is the root of all evil.’

  Celestine laughed. ‘Of course this is completely true,’ he said. ‘The Devil could learn from politicians. That is why the foundation I am contemplating, and which I would like to discuss with you, would serve all the peoples of the world without respect to their religion, ethnicity, or nationality. Catholics do not live in a vacuum. They are citizens of the world. If the world becomes a better, more humane place, their lives will be enriched even if many of them will not be among the direct beneficiaries. As I see it, the common denominators for the goals of this foundation would be the alleviation of poverty, strife, and desperation. We should wish to lift people from their despair and deliver kindness and charity.’

  ‘Not to mention twenty-five billion euros,’ Marcus added.

  ‘True, Mr Sassoon,’ the pope said. ‘Good intentions alone do not put food in people’s stomachs, roofs over their heads, medicines in their bodies. Ideally, this well-funded foundation would sow seeds that would keep bearing fruit long into the future to change lives for the better not only today but also tomorrow. But surely, Mrs Sassoon, you are an expert in these matters.’ He reached for the stack of papers on his desk. Celestine showed the sheaf to Gail – printouts of press releases and news articles about the Sassoon Foundation. ‘I’ve done my research,’ he said. ‘You seem to do excellent work. I believe that as a lawyer and a philanthropist you would be an ideal partner.’