“Easy, Ms. Hunt.” Webster understood the strain and the need to release it. It wasn’t that he cared about her personally. He did not at all. But he had to have her remain stable so that she could complete the critical task to which she had been assigned.
Leeny ignored Webster. “I mean nine hundred and fifty million dollars of the money for the damn fund are already raised for me. Fifty million from Walker Pryce and nine hundred million from Washington.” She still sounded on edge. “When the families hear that the fund already has commitments for that much money, they fall all over themselves to tell me they can’t wait to put money in too. They’ll figure with that much money already raised and Walker Pryce as the sponsor, it must be a good deal.”
Webster nodded. “Good.”
“Any idiot could do this job,” she said.
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not.” She gazed at Webster for a moment. He was a scary-looking man, she thought, like death warmed over. “Is it really necessary for us even to involve outside money? The families, I mean. Why don’t we just do it all with money from Washington?”
Webster shook his head quickly. “No. We must have independent money to provide credibility. It might be crucial to be able to prove to people that we have outside investors in Broadway Ventures someday. I hope it never comes to that, but if it does, we will be very glad for the money you are raising. We will be very glad for your talents.” He rarely dispersed compliments because he did not find it as self-satisfying as others did. But it was necessary to do now, to make her feel good.
“It could turn out to be risky too.” Leeny shook her head.
Webster’s eyes narrowed. “When will you have definite commitments from the families? When can you have the money in the fund’s account?”
“I could have fifty million in the fund cashed and ready to go by tomorrow,” she said, but she was exaggerating.
“Good.”
“But if I actually had the money in the till that fast, then old Mace might smell something rotten on Wall Street, mightn’t he? And we’ve got to make it look as if this whole thing weren’t rigged, don’t we? As if the deck weren’t stacked. You do your part; I’ll do mine. Don’t fucking sweat it, old man.”
“Mace isn’t going to smell anything.” Webster’s voice was icy. He did not appreciate Leeny’s impudence or her foul language. “Except your perfume. He knows this deal means his managing director title and a lot of money.”
“You think Mace McLain is really that easy to fool, don’t you?” Leeny pulled a pack of cigarettes from her dress pocket.
“No smoking in here,” Webster said quickly.
“Oh, right, I forgot about your little throat problem.” For a moment she considered disregarding him and smoking anyway, then shoved the pack back in her pocket. Webster was much closer to the man in Washington than she, and if the man was willing to risk lending himself nine hundred million dollars from a government account—even if it was just for a few weeks—he probably wouldn’t hesitate killing someone if Webster said that person was becoming a problem. Even over a pack of cigarettes.
Webster motioned toward Leeny with a gnarled finger. “No, I don’t believe Mace can be easily fooled. But he can be led away from things that matter so that being fooled doesn’t even become an issue. Which is where you come in again.”
Leeny smiled grimly. “Yes, my baby-sitting job. I bet I’m the best-paid au pair in Manhattan. And I’m legal. Sort of.” She laughed.
“Yes, you are the best-paid baby-sitter in Manhattan,” Webster whispered immediately. “And you’d better act like it. I don’t want Mace McLain going anywhere without you other than to the men’s room. And if you feel you can get there too without causing suspicion, I would be relieved.” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“No pun intended, right?” She thought she noticed an evil smile flicker across his face.
Webster shrugged, and the slight smile passed from his face. He did not have much of a sense of humor.
“You know, Lewis, Mace is a very attractive man,” Leeny said. “Not just physically.”
Webster glanced up at her. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Ms. Hunt, if you are thinking of falling for Mace McLain, I wouldn’t suggest it. He probably won’t be with us for very long.”
“Do you mean he won’t be with Walker Pryce, or do you mean ‘with us’ more generally?” she asked.
“You figure it out. You always seem to have all the answers.”
Leeny looked away. Webster disgusted her. But for better or worse they were partners, united by their past criminal endeavors, as yet unproved by anyone who wanted to prosecute them—at least through the court system.
Webster leaned back in his chair. “So how is our friend in Washington manipulating you, Ms. Hunt? What brings you into this mess so agreeably?” The sinister smile returned to his face.
Leeny did not answer, but her mind raced back to the numerous leveraged buyouts she had been a part of at LeClair and Foster. How she had known beyond all doubt that a specific stock’s price would double the next day once the offer to purchase had been announced in the Journal and the Times and how many times she had taken advantage of that inside knowledge. She laughed sadly. She thought she had hidden her tracks so well. “I’ve got to get going.” Webster did not respond, but as she turned and moved toward the door, she could feel his eyes boring into her back.
The air outside Webster’s office seemed cool and refreshing, and she leaned back against the closed door and breathed it in. Her hands were wet with perspiration. God, he turned her stomach every time she was with him. But there would be no avoiding him as this thing came closer to its conclusion. In fact there would be more contact. Leeny dug a hand into her purse. Where was that vial? It was the only thing that kept her going now. There it was. Thank God. She wondered if they knew about this little habit. They seemed to know everything else.
* * *
—
Mace looked up from his desk and smiled at Rachel standing in the doorway of his office. “How did it go with Webster?”
Rachel moved into the room, tossed her purse and folder onto a chair, then collapsed onto the long couch. “I don’t know, Mace. He’s such a—such a—”
“Jerk.” Mace finished the thought.
“I could think of a couple of other words that would be a little more descriptive.”
Mace smiled. “As Lewis is the first to admit, he skipped congeniality class.”
“I don’t think so. I think he went, but he failed.”
“What did he tell you?” Mace asked, closing the file on his desk.
“He said someone from Walker Pryce would get back to me in a couple of weeks or something.” Rachel picked up a copy of the latest Business Week from the table at the end of the couch, flipped through it quickly, then placed it back on the table. “I don’t know what to think.”
“He didn’t say to forget about Walker Pryce. He says that to nine out of ten business school students who walk into that office. And only about one in twenty applicants who go through here even gets to his office. The other people you interviewed with must have had great things to say about you. You should feel good.”
“Oh, I feel great. Ten straight hours of interviewing. Ten straight hours of having to listen to egomaniacs stroke themselves, of having men stare at my legs and of making sure I am using the correct fork at the correct time so that Fred Forsythe, head of Human Resources, won’t think I’m a social outcast.” She glanced at Mace. “I’ve never felt better.”
“So you noticed Fred watching you at lunch?” Mace’s grin became wider.
“You were watching too, buddy boy.” She used an angry tone but could not help smiling back at Mace. “Besides, the whole thing is rigged. The only reason everyone is being so nice to me here is that you are pulling strings.”
Mace
shook his head. “If you must know the truth, Rachel, I can do only so much. I’d like you to think I have that kind of influence down here, but I don’t. I can get you in the door, but that’s as far as it goes. The rest is up to you. The reason you were invited to Webster’s office at the end of the day was that every person with whom you interviewed liked you and thought that you would make a strong contribution here at Walker Pryce. That’s the way it works. That’s why you waited outside Forsythe’s office after your last scheduled interview. He was talking to all the people you saw today to see if they thought you should continue the process before he sent you to see Webster. It’s a partnership here. Everyone has an equal vote.”
“I’m sure some votes are more equal than others.”
Mace did not respond to her comment. “You saw some very tough people today, people who know all about the fact that you aren’t from a privileged background and don’t care.”
“Webster did. He told me all about how I should expect people to look down on me if I came here.”
“He was just trying to be difficult. That’s his job.”
Rachel brushed a dark thread from her white stockings. “I met Kathleen Hunt.” She tried to seem uninterested, but it was difficult.
“Oh?” Mace folded his arms across his broad chest.
“Yes. Actually she’s the reason my interview with Webster ended. When Webster heard she was waiting outside his office, he all but fell over himself to kick me out. He’s almost as bad as you are.”
“What are you talking about?” Mace’s face took on a strange expression.
“You and Ms. Hunt were definitely flirting with each other at class last week. You seemed to enjoy her corny little bit with Levin.” Rachel tried to make her voice seem airy and nonchalant.
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
“What?” Rachel looked at him incredulously.
Mace smiled. “You sounded a little jealous.”
“Oh, sure. I’m jealous. I’m just out of my mind with jealousy.” She paused. “My God, you’ve got some ego, Mace McLain.”
“Do I? Well, right, why would I think you might be jealous?” He was pushing her because she ought to be vulnerable by now. Ten hours of interviews ought to be enough to break down her defenses, and as a result of her vulnerable state, he might be able to find out something useful here. Like how she really felt about him. He had seen that look on her face the other night at Columbia as Leeny had come back toward him after playing with Levin, the look of a lost deer. But it might have been his imagination. It was unfair to do this to her now, but he wanted to get to her true feelings. He wanted to know if there was really anything there. Mace leaned back in the chair and stretched. “Leeny’s nice…”
“Oh, it’s Leeny, is it? Not Kathleen?”
Mace smiled. “She likes Leeny better. And she is attractive, I’d have to admit that. I mean, anyone would think she was pretty, right?” He was pushing.
Rachel shook her head. She wasn’t going to be pulled into a competition. “Sure,” she said blandly. He was trying to goad her, to make her explode for his own satisfaction, and she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of seeing her affected.
“I just wish I didn’t have to work so closely with her,” Mace continued.
Rachel sniffed and picked up the Business Week again. That didn’t sound good. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a new project Webster has me working on with her. That was why she came to class the other night. We were discussing it on the way up to Columbia; then we went to dinner afterward to do some more planning. I was going to have her stay in the limousine I took up to school while I taught class, but she said she wanted to see me work.” Mace grinned. “I’m not sure what that meant. Maybe I’ll find out at some point.”
Rachel ignored most of what he said. “What project?” She felt her pulse quicken. She didn’t want to ask, but she couldn’t help herself. If Leeny and Mace were going to be working together all the time, she wanted to know.
Mace didn’t answer right away. “I’ll tell you about it if you come to dinner with me.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.” Mace glanced at his watch. It was almost eight o’clock. “In fact we should go right now. I’ve got to be up early in the morning. I’ve got a seven o’clock breakfast meeting, and then I have to catch a flight to New Orleans.” He said the last sentence almost to himself, as if making a mental note as he spoke.
“Are you traveling by yourself?”
Mace glanced up from his watch. “Um, no.”
“Going with your new business partner?” Rachel’s tone was sarcastic.
Mace nodded.
“Well, have a great time. I’ve heard New Orleans is kind of dark and mysterious, a very romantic city.” Rachel rose from the comfortable couch.
“Hey, where are you going?”
Rachel retrieved her purse and folder from the chair. “Back to Columbia.”
“What about dinner?”
“I’d better get some studying done.”
“No. I’m not going to let you go back to Columbia yet.” Mace moved out from behind the desk. “You’re coming with me.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” Rachel stopped in the doorway of his office and looked back at him over her shoulder, then turned slowly toward him as he moved to her.
He stopped before her and smiled broadly. “Yes, you are. No books for Rachel Sommers tonight. I’m kidnapping you.”
* * *
—
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” Rachel whispered.
Mace nodded but said nothing.
From the Brooklyn Heights Promenade—a wide brick-paved walkway running for perhaps a half mile along, and several hundred feet above, Brooklyn’s waterfront—one was afforded a tremendous view of the downtown Manhattan financial district across the East River from this most western point of Long Island. Lights ablaze, the huge skyscrapers rose into the darkness of the New York night like the cabins of a mammoth ocean liner at rest in port. On a hot summer night the promenade would have been crowded with people enjoying the sight, but tonight the walkway was almost deserted.
“Are you warm enough, Rachel?” Mace turned toward her as he leaned against the railing.
“Yes, I’m fine.” She had not noticed the cold temperature at all since leaving Walker Pryce’s Wall Street building. A slight breeze blew her hair gently across her face, and she withdrew a hand from the pocket of her long coat to brush it away. She glanced from the soaring buildings down to the dark water moving far below. “I hope the interviews went all right today.” Her voice was soft.
Mace smiled at her. “I’m sure they went fine. I have a lot of confidence in you. I bet you knocked them dead.” His tone was filled with strength.
“You’re nice, Mace.” She turned her head away as she finished the sentence. It was a forward thing to say, and though Rachel wanted to look in his eyes to judge his reaction to the words, she could not force herself to do so.
“Thank you,” he said, still smiling. “But I have to tell you, there are probably one or two women around who might disagree.” It was a subtle warning, almost subconscious in its delivery.
“No, I mean it.” Her voice was far away. “It’s really great of you to help someone like me.” Somehow it was easier to be so forward outside the office.
Mace drew himself up, and his face twisted into an expression of mock irritation. “What is that supposed to mean? Someone like you. What are you talking about?” He knew exactly what she was talking about. But she couldn’t think that way. She couldn’t consider herself inferior in any way if she was really going to make it in the Wild West show that was Wall Street. She had to develop a strong self-confidence, bordering almost on arrogance. If there was any doubt in her own mind, everyone else would doubt her too. And they would attack her unmercifully, lik
e a pack of hungry dogs.
Rachel glanced back toward the lights of lower Manhattan and shook her head. “I gave Webster the old ‘I can handle anything’ speech, but I don’t know, Mace. Maybe I can’t. Maybe I don’t belong in the Walker Pryce world.”
“Nonsense. That’s ridiculous.” Mace’s voice was gentle but firm.
Rachel laughed cryptically. “You should see where I live, Mace. It’s not a ghetto. I don’t mean to imply that. My dad worked very hard all his life to provide my family with a good home. But it isn’t an estate either. Far from it. If the partners at Walker Pryce saw my home or met my parents, they’d laugh. You probably would too.” She looked back down into the water.
Another gust of wind blew Rachel’s long dark hair across her face again. Instinctively Mace reached to brush it back. The reflex surprised him.
She turned toward him as his fingers touched her cheek. They were standing very close to each other now.
“That’s not what I’m about, Rachel. I wouldn’t laugh. You know that.” His voice was filled with compassion. He knew what she was going through. “But I won’t lie to you. There are people at Walker Pryce who are extremely impressed with themselves and their family trees and who like to tell you about it and remind you that you aren’t one of them every chance they have. I heard it quite a bit when I first joined the firm, believe me.” He stared straight into her glistening eyes. Then a slight smile edged across his face. “But nobody ever said you were going to like everyone you worked with, particularly on Wall Street. The thing to do is to use those kinds of people at Walker Pryce and let them think the whole time that they are superior while you earn a million dollars a year. Let them use all their contacts to help you make that money. Just because you work with them doesn’t mean you have to socialize with them.”
Rachel shook her head. “It’s just that when I think about it sometimes, I’m intimidated by all that wealth and heritage and four forks at lunch stuff. I’ll embarrass someone at some point. I know it.”
The Vulture Fund Page 13