The Debt

by Glenn Cooper

  ‘We must respond to this story, Holy Father.’

  ‘Must we?’ he said, wistfully. ‘I suppose we must. This woman, Lidia, what happened to her was a tragedy. This account in the paper of what happened to her, well, it’s largely true. The part about me is false, of course. I don’t know why her sister is saying these things. Perhaps someone has paid her money. One must be suspicious that it is an attempt to discredit me at a critical moment. Perhaps it relates to my attempts to root out corruption. What do you think, Ludwig?’

  Moller shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to think about motivation, Holy Father. It is incumbent upon this office that we work with the communications department to tell our side of the story and nip this in the bud quickly before more damage is done.’

  ‘This girl and I, we went to the same high school in Naples. We were friends. More than friends, actually, but I wasn’t always a priest, was I? When I entered the seminary our lives diverged. I was ordained and took up duties in a parish just outside the city. She found a job, a government job of some sort, and had a series of boyfriends. One of them got her pregnant. Believe me, it wasn’t me. Her mother knew my mother and the two of them conspired to have me speak to Lidia because she had decided to get an abortion. She and the father didn’t want to get married. She found some local doctor who agreed to perform it. I visited her. She was in bad shape. Very emotionally fragile. I counseled her strongly to have the baby, to put it up for adoption, that I would help arrange it. She refused. There was only so much I could do. Anyway, after she had the abortion, she became desperately depressed and attempted suicide twice. She received competent care and we thought she would recover her emotional balance but a year later she stepped in front of a train. My life continued. Hers didn’t.’

  Moller, as usual, was taking notes. ‘I assume Lidia’s mother is no longer living.’

  ‘I presided over her funeral Mass in the eighties.’

  ‘Do you recall the name of the baby’s father?’

  ‘I don’t believe I ever knew it.’

  ‘Other than this sister who was the source of the story, did she have any other siblings?’

  ‘So long ago,’ the pope said. ‘I seem to recall she had a brother who moved to America after the mother died.’

  ‘Do you remember his name? The city he went to live?’

  ‘It might be in one of my old address books. I could have a look.’

  Moller tapped his pen against his page.

  ‘What?’ the pope asked.

  ‘Might you have a look now?’

  ‘I seem to be spending more time with priests than rabbis these days.’

  Marcus Sassoon had sent a car and driver to pick up Joseph Cassar from JFK Airport and he and the cardinal were sitting down to cocktails in his study. Cassar was dressed as a simple priest, free of the trappings of his office.

  ‘It really is good of you to see me in the present circumstances,’ Cassar said, taking in the snowy vista of Central Park. ‘The cardinal secretary wanted me to personally represent him. He wishes to express his condolences to the Sassoon family.’

  ‘Tell Cardinal Lauriat I appreciate that but a phone call would have sufficed.’

  ‘Perhaps, but he felt that the situation between us was quite dynamic and needed to be addressed with a face-to-face discussion.’

  ‘Dynamic,’ Marcus parroted. ‘I’ll say it’s dynamic. I assume this planted story about the pope and the gal who had an abortion was your doing?’

  ‘Ah, you’ve seen it. Given your bereavement we didn’t know if you would have received the news. Actually I have no idea how the press came by this woman’s story.’

  ‘Fine. I’m sure you don’t.’

  Cassar let the sarcasm pass without further comment.

  ‘But here’s a newsflash for you,’ Marcus said, tapping the rim of his whiskey glass with his index finger, ‘if you’re going to smear someone, make sure it sticks. A fat lot of good it does you if twenty-four hours later the gal’s brother is found in San Diego and he identifies the real father who proceeds to torpedo the whole salacious story. And to top it off, the dead gal’s sister is now saying she was misrepresented and that she didn’t actually say that Celestine was the father.’

  ‘You’ve been following the tale quite closely, I see,’ Cassar said through an artificial smile.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been following it, all right. It’s a big story over here. But now Celestine looks like the aggrieved party, not some hypocrite priest who forced his lover to get an abortion. Not smart. You can tell Cardinal Lauriat I said so. Your leverage is nonexistent.’

  ‘Indeed. However, with respect to the debt, it seems that your cousin’s untimely passing has presented us with an alternate path to achieve what both of us want. You indicated to Cardinal Lauriat that if he were to succumb to his illness, you would have effective veto power over the formation of the pope’s foundation.’

  ‘That’s correct. It won’t be official until my cousin’s estate is settled and the shares are transferred but believe me, the foundation’s dead on arrival.’

  ‘Then it’s incumbent upon us to finalize our negotiation so both sides can move forward with clarity.’

  ‘Are you empowered to negotiate on Lauriat’s behalf?’

  ‘Subject to his final approval of terms, yes.’

  ‘Then let me freshen your drink and let’s have at it. I’ve got an hour before I’ve got to go across town to Henry’s place. It’s the fourth day of sitting shiva.’

  ‘Such a lovely ritual,’ Cassar said, holding out his glass for the pour. ‘Very healing for family and friends, I imagine.’

  Gail Sassoon waited for the seventh day of mourning to pass before asking to see Marcus at the bank. When she arrived, Marcus was surprised that Julian was with her.

  ‘I thought you were heading back to Cambridge,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Gail asked me to stick around one more day.’ Despite her best efforts to claim the title of mom and his father’s exhortations, Julian had always insisted on calling his stepmother by name.

  ‘I think Albert’s around somewhere. Want me to find him for you, Julian?’

  ‘No, Marcus,’ Gail said, ‘I wanted Julian to attend our meeting.’

  ‘I didn’t know it was a meeting,’ Marcus said stiffly. ‘Otherwise I’d have asked for an agenda.’

  It was his idea of a joke but it fell flat.

  ‘It’s about Henry’s will,’ Gail said. ‘I wanted you and Julian to both hear some details in advance of the formal estate process.’

  Marcus didn’t look happy. He took a chair at his conference table. Julian slouched beside Gail looking somewhat bored.

  ‘Is this Gail the wife talking today or Gail the lawyer?’ he asked.

  ‘Both, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what Henry told you,’ Marcus said, ‘but the two of us had a firm understanding of what was going to happen in the event of his death. An equalization of voting rights has been a long time coming. It’s my expectation that his estate plan will provide for that.’

  Her response was icy and brutish, prompting Julian to sit bolt upright and stare at her in wide-eyed admiration.

  ‘Then your expectations are wrong, Marcus.’

  Marcus gulped, not a silent one but a loud, hollow gulp redolent of a pneumatic valve closing. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Henry and I discussed his estate plan extensively,’ Gail said. ‘It’s true there was a time when he thought about making an even distribution in voting shares. But two years ago his thinking changed.’

  ‘His thinking or yours?’ Marcus said, his voice cracking.

  ‘His,’ she said, emphatically, ‘his. He always valued my opinion but Henry was very much his own man. His thinking changed when his condition worsened and he saw the handwriting on the wall. It also changed when Julian decided to go to business school.’

  ‘He never talked to me about it,’ Julian said.

  ‘He wanted you to make your o
wn decisions in life and make your own way. If you wanted to get involved with the bank, it was going to have to come from within. He forbade me to talk about his estate plan with you. So, Marcus, and so, Julian, here’s what Henry decided to do with respect to the ownership of the bank. His fifty-two percent ownership is staying within our side of the family. Of that, forty-nine percent is bequeathed to Julian and three percent is bequeathed to me.’

  Julian shook his head. ‘Gail, I’m not interested in the bank. I never was.’

  ‘Please let me finish,’ she said. While she talked, Marcus looked out the window with a blank, unfocused expression, his mouth slightly agape. ‘Henry devised this structure to encourage you and me to work together to achieve majority control. He always wanted us to get along, Julian. You know that. Following a recent development, Henry was especially happy with the arrangement.’

  ‘The Vatican thing?’ Julian asked.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ Gail asked.

  ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘Albert mentioned something the other day. He said to ask you about it.’

  ‘I’ll tell you about it in a minute,’ she said. ‘But first, hear the other parameters of the ownership plan. When I die, Julian will inherit my shares. You’ll have the absolute majority at that time, Julian. If you die childless, your shares pass to the Sassoon Foundation to be managed by the foundation trustees.’

  It was too much for Marcus to bear. He got up and yelled, ‘So that’s it? And my side of the family? Perpetually disadvantaged? Always second-class citizens?’

  ‘It’s a structure that’s served the bank for generations,’ she said. ‘Henry felt the weight of history. And now that we have this Vatican business, a clear majority structure will enable us to render a clear decision. So, Marcus, would you like to tell Julian about the Vatican debt or shall I?’

  Marcus walked out without saying another word.

  ‘Then it’s up to me to tell you, Julian,’ Gail said. ‘I think Marcus is letting us use his office.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Cal recognized Julian from photos on Gail’s Facebook page and he approached the young man at the bar. Julian had suggested the Russell House Tavern, a popular spot for business-school students, which was fine with him. He hadn’t been there in years but he assumed they still served vodka.

  ‘Hey, Professor,’ Julian said, extending a hand. ‘I’m Julian.’

  ‘Cal works better in a bar.’

  Julian was drinking a beer, a scarf wrapped rakishly around his neck, Frye boots dug into the barstool cross-brace. He had black curly hair that fell over his forehead in corkscrews.

  Cal delivered his condolences and ordered his usual vodka on the rocks.

  ‘Good basic drink,’ Julian observed.

  ‘It does the job. So your mother wanted us to meet.’

  ‘She’s not my mother. She’s my stepmother.’

  Cal treated the remark lightly and revised the sentence to: Gail had wanted them to meet.

  ‘Gail usually gets her way. How long’ve you known her?’

  ‘We only just met.’

  ‘She made it seem like it was longer. Something about your mother?’

  ‘I think they’re both card-carrying members of the New York ladies who lunch.’

  ‘Lunch and drink,’ Julian said, tilting his wrist to his mouth. ‘Mind if I just ask you something to clear the air?’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Do you and Gail have something going on? I mean I don’t give a shit what she does but it would’ve been a rotten thing to do with my dad on his sick bed.’

  Cal took a good pull on his just-served vodka. He hoped he had his poker face going. ‘I’m not sure why you’re asking me this.’

  ‘Because she’s like that.’

  He didn’t give it a second thought. He’d have to lie, of course. ‘I usually wouldn’t dignify that kind of a question with an answer but I’m going to make an exception. No. Nothing’s going on. Strictly business.’

  ‘OK, cool. Then here’s my next question. What are you getting out of brokering the deal? Is there a commission at the end of the rainbow?’

  ‘You know, I do believe I like you, Julian. You’re direct. No BS. When I was your age I was like that.’

  ‘You’re not anymore?’

  ‘When you work at a university you learn to be a little more political. It’s a survival skill. Keeping the latches on the frontal lobes. Even so I’m way more direct than some of my colleagues would like. But no, I’m not getting anything financial out of this. I like the pope. I think he’s a good man and I’m trying to help. That’s the long and the short of it.’

  ‘Just trying to figure out what’s going on.’

  ‘That’s fine. Gail tells me you haven’t decided whether you want to join the bank when you graduate.’

  ‘A week ago I would have said, no fucking way. I grew up hating it. I hated Gail because she pulled my father away from my mom. I hated my cousins. I hated that the bank sucked my father dry – all he did was work and make money. He never had any time for me.’

  ‘I thought he devoted energy to collecting art and the family foundation.’

  ‘The art was more of an investment thing, a diversification. I don’t think he really liked the shit hanging on our walls. The foundation? You may have a point there. I think he got some pleasure in it. To give Gail some credit, she was the prime mover there. But my dad’s death? Has that changed the equation? Maybe. I don’t know. Did Gail tell you about his diabolical plan to force her and me to work together?’

  Cal shook his head and Julian explained the new ownership structure. Then he added, ‘Under the firm’s charter, no capital allocation decisions can be made without an affirmative vote of fifty-one percent. So my dad’s pulling me in from the grave. I don’t know how I can make rational voting decisions as an outsider. As much as I have a problem with Gail I completely hate Marcus’s guts. You met him, right?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Come on, Cal, be direct with me.’

  ‘He’s not someone I’d care to hang out with.’

  At that, Julian initiated on a fist-bump. ‘The only way I can screw Marcus is to get involved. But that kind of screws me too. I was thinking about doing a tech startup with a buddy of mine from college who’s a fabulous coder but shit-for-brains as a business guy. Now I don’t know.’

  ‘Gail told me you know about the Vatican debt. Does it make joining the bank more or less palatable?’

  Julian called the bartender over and ordered a round for the both of them.

  ‘I know it’s got to make Marcus and Albert crazy that funds would wind up in a foundation instead of their bank accounts. So, it makes it more palatable, much more. I’m keen on the idea of philanthropy too. I’m a little young for the philanthropy game but I always wanted to give back eventually, not be one of these bratty rich kids who post their bling on Instagram. What’s the foundation name the pope suggested – the IFH? Gail wants me to be on its board.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Sure, I’d go for that. Twenty-five billion euros is a lot of money to put into play.’

  ‘It boggles the mind.’

  ‘Do you think the Vatican has those kind of liquid assets?’

  ‘I really don’t know. I think it’s a stretch.’

  ‘They can’t donate what they don’t have.’

  ‘Pope Celestine strikes me as a man with a plan.’

  ‘He’s an interesting guy from what I’ve read,’ Julian said. ‘I’d like to meet him one day.’

  ‘How about Wednesday?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘He and I talked this morning. I passed along what Gail told me, that with your father’s death you’d be involved in decision-making about the foundation. He regretted not meeting your father and he wants to meet you.’

  ‘Classes start again on Monday,’ Julian said.

  ‘For me too,’ Cal said.

  Julian gave a thumb’s up. ‘Fuck
it, I’m in.’

  Cal raised his glass. ‘Me too.’

  Cardinal Malucchi concluded Sunday Mass at the church of San Salvatore in Lauro where he served as cardinal-deacon. Afterwards, Cardinal Lauriat joined him in the sacristy while he slowly shed his vestments.

  ‘You honored me with your presence today, Pascal.’

  ‘It’s been too long since I prayed here,’ Lauriat said. ‘After all, it is the spiritual center for the diffusion of the word of our venerated saint, Padre Pio.’

  Malucchi dismissed the young priest who was assisting his disrobing.

  ‘Perhaps you also wished to discuss some things with me?’ Malucchi asked.

  ‘You know me too well, Domenico,’ Lauriat said, pulling up a chair. ‘Would you like some help?’

  Malucchi was struggling a bit with his cincture that was looped around his considerable girth. But he managed to untie it and waved it triumphantly at the cardinal secretary.

  ‘Cassar stopped by to see me yesterday on the way back to Malta. He met with Marcus Sassoon and wanted to report back in person. I think we’re all hesitant to discuss these matters on the telephone.’

  ‘Can’t be too careful,’ Malucchi agreed. ‘How did he get on?’

  ‘Initially well. He arrived at a settlement number that could, in principle, work for us.’

  ‘Well, what was it?’

  ‘As it happens there is no point in discussing it. When Joseph arrived back in Rome he found a message to call Sassoon. It seems that Mr Sassoon is no longer in a position to make a deal.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘An age-old story, that’s what happened. One relative dominates another for control of the family fortune. The terms of Henry Sassoon’s will have become known. Marcus Sassoon is not getting what he thought he would. The ownership structure will remain in favor of Henry’s son, Julian, and the wife. It is quite useless for us to negotiate with him any further.’

  Malucchi abandoned his efforts to remove his long white alb and sat down heavily. ‘First the business with that woman in Naples backfires, now Sassoon. What are we to do?’