by Glenn Cooper
‘Wow, thank you, Evelyn.’
‘Don’t thank me. This bubbled up from your peers. I understand your father was also a university professor.’
He actually remembered attending the honors ceremony as a very young boy.
‘I’m quite sure this is our first example of a father-son honor,’ Clarke added.
It probably wasn’t the first thing a newly minted University Professor ought to do but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to fix his Joe Murphy problem.
‘I wonder if this could help me solve a problem,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a very talented grad student from Ireland, a Catholic priest actually, who’s just received his doctorate. It was an excellent piece of work. He’s top-of-the heap, a very good academic, a medievalist, who wants to teach here. I tried to get Gil Daniels to take him on at the Divinity School but he didn’t go for it.’
‘Why?’
‘There was one slot and he opted for one of his own students.’
‘Ah. Would you like me to have a word with him?’
‘I don’t think it would be good for anyone to have my guy crammed down Gil’s throat. What if I presented his credentials to the History Department? His work would fit in there too.’
‘I’ll give Mary Schott a call,’ Clarke said. ‘Grease the skids for you. Maybe I could pitch it as a package. You could work up a proposal for a new undergraduate course within the history department to complement your priest’s area of expertise.’
‘That’s terrific, really great. Thanks, Evelyn.’
‘So I understand you’re just back from Rome. Anything interesting going on there?’
He wished he could tell her the story but that wasn’t going to happen. ‘Maybe paper number three hundred fifteen,’ he said. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Mr Sassoon – he’s in bed,’ his nurse told Marcus answering the door to the apartment.
Marcus Sassoon had come unannounced, hoping for a word. Henry didn’t go to the office anymore. It was too arduous for him and he had an aversion to revealing his frailty to his employees.
‘Is he sleeping?’ Marcus asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ the nurse said. ‘He’s watching TV.’
‘Is Gail in?’
‘She went shopping. She’ll be back after lunch.’
Marcus asked the woman, a thin Latina in an agency uniform, if she was new. She replied that she had taken care of Henry on and off over the past year at home and before that, in his office when he was still working.
‘I recognize you,’ she said. ‘You’re his cousin. You don’t remember me?’
‘Sorry, no.’
She showed her displeasure with a shrug. ‘I’m Maria. Next time I see you maybe you’ll remember. You need me to show you where his room is?’
‘I know where it is, thank you.’
He found Henry lying on a made bed with a thin comforter over his trouser legs. The TV was tuned to a financial channel.
Henry removed the oxygen prongs from his nose and put the TV on mute. His skin looked particularly dusky and his hands shook. ‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ he said. ‘Come. Sit.’
Marcus settled into a small armchair on Henry’s side of the bed.
‘I wanted to speak with you about this Vatican business.’
‘OK, of course.’ He paused to pant. ‘It’s a great thing, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think it’s so great, actually.’
Henry grimaced. ‘Gail was – enthusiastic. You were there. I wasn’t.’ His chest was heaving and he had to put the oxygen prongs back in his nose.
‘If Gail wants to be a do-gooder with your money, more power to her,’ Marcus said. ‘I’m more concerned about the bank. The Vatican stole our money a hundred seventy years ago and they murdered our family. This is the bank’s money, Henry. They owe us the money. Now this pope wants to score some points by giving our money away.’
‘It’s for charity. Anyway, if the Vatican – gave the money to the bank – we’d see anti-Semitism like – nobody’s business. To raise that kind of money – he’s going to have to – sell the store. That’ll piss off the Catholics – big time.’
‘Look, Henry. A very important cardinal reached out to me directly and told me a lot of bigwigs are opposed to Celestine’s plan. There’s a win-win proposition on the table. If we play ball with this group and reject the pope’s foundation idea, they’ll drop legal opposition and give us a sizable settlement – an amount to be negotiated – and we can give some portion of it to your foundation to do whatever you and Gail see fit.’
‘How much?’
Marcus smiled at the question. His cousin was still in the game.
‘I asked for two billion. This fellow’s eyes popped out of his head. We won’t get that. I’d say maybe they’d settle for a half a billion or so. With your blessing I’ll start negotiating like a son-of-a-bitch.’
Henry began to shake his head. Marcus looked with disdain at the Yankees cap as it moved from left to right and back. As far as he knew Henry hadn’t watched a baseball game in decades.
‘This fund for humanity – the IFH – would be the third biggest charity in the world. Third. Gates. IKEA. Sassoon. This is my – legacy, Marcus. The Sassoon Foundation is – small. If we took even most – of your settlement – we’d be bigger but still small. The IFH would be my legacy. When you’ve got – lungs like mine – you think about these things.’
Marcus leaned back and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he was ready to speak again he said, ‘For God’s sake, Henry, the bank is your legacy. Our ancestors founded it over two hundred years ago. You want Julian to go into the business. I’ve got Albert and Steven. Think about them, not your goddamn foundation all the time.’
‘The bank is strong.’
Marcus let the comment pass. ‘Think of what we could do to expand the business with all that extra working capital.’
‘My mind’s made up,’ Henry puffed.
‘For God’s sake, Henry. I want you to reconsider.’
‘I won’t!’ he said as loudly as his thickened lungs would allow. ‘I’ve got majority control. I’m sorry.’
Those words – majority control – were like a provocation. Marcus stood up, his mouth trembling. The cousins locked eyes. From past bouts, both men knew that Marcus wasn’t going to push back. Whenever Marcus crossed the line in the past, Henry retaliated by telling him to watch it or else. The or else was the threat that he’d reverse his decision to equalize voting rights upon his death. After two centuries favoring Henry’s lineage, both sides of the family would finally have parity.
Marcus went to the edge of the bed and towered over his frail relative. When they were growing up, Henry was the taller and the stronger of the two, dominating his younger cousin in every possible way. The roles were reversed now.
‘Let me tell you something,’ Marcus seethed. ‘The bank isn’t as strong as you think. We need the capital or we’ve got a big fucking problem. We’ve got a two-hundred-million-dollar donut hole you don’t know about. Nobody knows about it except for Albert and me. We had some trading losses on our own account. It was Albert’s fault. He can be an idiot. He got in a hole and kept digging. We can’t paper them over forever. If the regulators find out before we can fix it then it could all come crashing down.’
Henry’s chest began to heave. ‘What – have you – done?’ He began to cough.
‘We can fix this, Henry. All you need to do is say yes to my plan.’
‘I’ll fix you! You’ll never – have equal – ownership.’
There was more coughing. A full-blown spasm. Henry reached for his call button to bring the nurse.
Marcus brushed it away beyond his cousin’s reach, turned up the TV volume with the remote, and went to close the door.
‘What – are you – doing?’ Henry managed to say through his coughing fit. His face was turning purple.
‘I’m doing what’s best for the bank,’ he said with surprising calm.
‘Nurse,’ Henry rasped.
Marcus bent over and removed the oxygen prongs.
‘What—?’ Henry couldn’t finish the sentence.
The coughing intensified and Marcus turned up the volume some more. He stood there, his arms hanging to the sides of his baggy suit jacket, watching his Henry choke on his own secretions. Henry’s eyes begged for a while and then became unfocused as the coughing stopped. His chest rose and fell in increasingly shallow motions until there were none at all.
Marcus became aware of just how loudly the TV was blaring and he turned it way down. He put the nasal prongs back in place and felt around a purple neck for a pulse. To be sure he waited a few minutes before opening the door and shouting for the nurse.
‘Maria? Come quickly!’
The nurse came running down the hall and looked in with horror.
‘Mr Sassoon? Mr Sassoon!’
She grabbed a stethoscope from the nightstand and slapped it on his chest.
‘There’s no heartbeat! What happened?’ she cried.
‘He just stopped breathing.’
‘Just like that?’
‘In mid-sentence.’
‘When?’
‘Just now.’
She shone a penlight into his eyes. The pupils were wide and fixed.
‘That’s not true. He’s been dead for longer. Tell me what you did.’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
She stiffened. ‘This is for the police. It’s not for me. I’m calling them.’
Marcus sat down on the armchair in a move designed to be non-threatening. ‘How much?’ he asked.
She moved to the other side of the bed. She didn’t play dumb; she knew exactly what he meant.
Hands on bony hips she replied, ‘One million dollars.’
He laughed. ‘You’ve got balls. I’ll give you a hundred thousand. Tonight.’
‘Two. Two hundred thousand. It needs to be cash. I got a divorce, and I don’t want my husband to know.’
He seemed to enjoy the negotiation even though it was taking place over his cousin’s dead body. ‘We’ve got a deal. I like you, Maria. I won’t be forgetting your name anytime soon. But after tonight I never want to hear from you again. I won’t be blackmailed. If you try you’ll seriously regret it. Understand?’
She nodded once. ‘He would have died soon anyway, I think.’
TWENTY-THREE
‘I read the announcement in The Crimson,’ Father Murphy said the moment he entered Cal’s office. ‘Heartfelt congratulations.’
‘I wasn’t expecting it,’ Cal said. ‘It’s pretty cool, but have a seat, Joe, I’ve got some more news.’
‘Uh-oh. Do I need to book my flight to Dublin?’
‘Not unless you want to take a quick vacation before starting your new job.’
Murphy wasn’t the grinning sort but he began to grin as he unwrapped his wooly scarf.
‘Tell me more.’
‘One of the perks of being a University Professor is having the ability to teach in any department. I’m not going to be developing a lecture series in mathematics anytime soon but the History Department’s another matter. I’ve pitched an idea for a course on the medieval Church to Professor Schott and she loved it. I committed to giving a few anchor lectures but I can’t carry the full load. I suggested a new talent who could lead the charge. She’s reviewed your faculty application and I’m happy to say she’s taking you on. You’re going to be offered a position as assistant professor of history, Joe. Mary thinks it’s going to be cool having a priest in her department.’
Murphy shook his head in disbelief and half-rose from his chair to shake Cal’s hand. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s a dream come true. I was kind of a shit parish priest, if you must know. There’s that deficit of mine – in the empathy department. You’ve saved a parish back home from a terrible fate.’
Cal dropped Murphy’s hand as Gil Daniels appeared at the threshold apologizing for the interruption.
‘Nonsense, come on in, Gil.’
Daniels delivered his felicitations through a forced smile. ‘Congratulations are in order, Cal. University Professor! Wow. It’s a coup for the Divinity School. Our first one. I looked it up. Should be excellent for fundraising.’
‘Well, it was a big surprise, that’s for sure.’
Daniels’ face returned to its normal pucker and he told Murphy he was sorry that things didn’t work out for his faculty appointment. The priest left it to Cal to deliver the news.
‘Really?’ Daniels said, doing a poor job of hiding his discomfort. ‘Mary took you on? I suppose the History Department has a different set of criteria.’
Cal picked up on Murphy’s flickering wince.
‘Well, this is a red-letter day, all around, isn’t it?’ Daniels said. He quickly changed the subject. ‘So, thanks for letting me have that brief chat with Pope Celestine, Cal. Made my day. I thought you were having me on at first. I’m glad I didn’t say anything I’d live to regret.’
‘He’s got a pretty good sense of humor,’ Cal said. ‘He would have laughed off almost anything.’
‘Except for blasphemy.’
‘Yeah, blasphemy probably excluded.’
‘How was the rest of your trip?’ Daniels asked, edging for the door. ‘Golden library card pay off for you?’
It was a little cruel but Cal couldn’t resist getting in a retaliatory elbow. ‘Gil, you have no idea. Absolutely no idea.’
Cal was wrapping up with Murphy when his mobile rang, showing Gail Sassoon’s number. From the way she breathed Cal’s name, he knew there was a problem.
‘What’s wrong, Gail?’
‘It’s Henry. He’s dead.’
The funeral was a private, family affair, hastily arranged per Jewish tradition for the day after Henry Sassoon’s death. There had been some concern, felt most acutely by Marcus, that the New York City Medical Examiner would put a hold on the release of his body pending an autopsy, but Henry’s doctor certified the death as the natural result of his pulmonary condition and there was no official push-back. Gail sent the jet to Boston to pick up Henry’s son, Julian, and the young man gave one of the three eulogies. Marcus talked about Henry’s business life, Gail discussed her husband’s philanthropic nature, and Julian, tasked with speaking about Henry’s paternal side, seemed to struggle to come up with all that many humanizing anecdotes.
‘Let’s face it,’ Julian began, ‘for Dad, the bank came first but family was a reasonably close second.’
When the procession returned to the city from the cemetery on Long Island, family, employees, and friends gathered to sit shiva at Henry’s apartment. Julian, movie-star handsome in a dark suit, found himself the center of attention, fielding questions about his post-school intentions.
None was more curious than his cousin, Albert.
‘That was pretty cool, what you said about Henry,’ Albert said.
‘Was it? I didn’t know what to say.’
‘Hard to believe he’s gone.’
‘Not really. I mean there wasn’t going to be a cure.’
‘True, true. So last semester at the B-School, huh?’
‘Yeah, final stretch.’
Albert and he had never been close even though they’d been thrust together at family events since childhood. As Julian sipped his beer he seemed to know where the conversation was going and he visibly stiffened.
‘So, have you given any thought to what you’re going to do when you’re done?’ Albert asked.
‘I haven’t actually. Just trying to finish strong.’
‘Well, obviously there’s always going to be a place for you at the firm.’
‘Obviously.’
Albert wasn’t oblivious to Julian’s shirty attitude, but Albert clearly had an agenda and seemed determined to play his cards.
‘Of course, we’re all expecting the governance changes your dad and my dad have been discussing. Equal partnership going forward, well you know the s
core.’
‘I was never involved with that,’ Julian said, finishing his beer, shaking the empty bottle to signal his intent to head to the kitchen for another. ‘Just going with the flow.’
‘Well, if you decide you want to join the bank, all of us can sit down and work out the parameters. Of course, if it’s not your thing, our side of the family can always run the firm for your benefit. Passive income’s a great thing.’
Julian gave his cousin a faux-friendly pat on the back. ‘You’re a prince, Albert,’ he said, walking off.
‘You know about the crazy Vatican shit, right?’ Albert called after him.
‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘Ask Gail.’
Ludwig Moller was in a panic.
The pope was conducting Mass in the chapel at the Sanctae Marthae guesthouse and Moller could do nothing but wait for the conclusion. He had slipped the printout into a folder to hide it from view but everyone he encountered that morning was whispering behind his back.
It wasn’t a newspaper that Moller typically read. He’d been awakened by a pre-dawn call from the agitated Vatican director of communications who in turn had been called by a well-known journalist seeking a comment. The director told the journalist he’d ring him back, and in the darkness he opened his browser to inspect the tabloid, Il Fatto Quotidiano. The bold headline sent him into a frenzy.
A Love Child, an Abortion, a Suicide, and a Future Pope: Celestine’s Darkest Days Revealed
When Mass was over, the pope caught sight of Moller’s fraught expression. Walking to his office, Celestine asked him what was wrong.
‘An inflammatory newspaper story, Holy Father.’
‘Concerning?’
‘You.’
The pope sat at his desk and read Moller’s printout, his expression betraying not a hint of emotion. When he was done he carefully folded his reading glasses and passed the pages back to the priest.
‘First the news of Henry Sassoon’s death,’ Celestine said. ‘Now this. It seems our fortitude is being challenged.’