Sons of Fortune

First voice, laughing: “What did you finally settle for?”

Second voice: “That’s the good news, $1,325,000, which is a lot more than we anticipated.”

First voice: “The client must be delighted.”

Second voice: “That’s who I was having lunch with. He ordered a bottle of Château Lafitte ’52—after all we’d told him to expect half a million, which he would have been quite happy to settle for—for obvious reasons.”

First voice, more laughter: “Are we working on a contingency fee?”

Second voice: “We sure are. We pick up fifty percent of anything over half a million.”

First voice: “So the firm has netted a cool $417,500. But what did you mean by ‘for obvious reasons?’”

A tap was turned on. “Our biggest problem was the client’s bank—the company’s currently $720,000 overdrawn, and if we don’t cover the full sum by close of business on Friday, they’re threatening nonpayment, which would have meant we might not even have got…”—the tap was turned off—“…the original $500,000, and that after months of bargaining.”

Second voice: “Pity about one thing.”

First voice: “What’s that?”

Second voice: “That you can’t tell those snobs over at Alexander Dupont and Bell that they don’t know how to play poker.”

First voice: “True, but I think I’ll have a little sport with…”—a door opened—“…their messenger boy.” The door closed.

Fletcher rolled up the toilet paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He left the cubicle and quickly washed his hands before slipping out and taking the fire escape stairs to the floor below. Once back in reception, he handed over the executive washroom key.

“Thank you,” said the receptionist just as the phone rang. She smiled at Fletcher. “That was good timing. If you’ll take the elevator to the eleventh floor, Mr. Higgs is available to see you now.”

“Thank you,” Fletcher said as he walked back out of the room, stepped into the elevator and pressed the button marked “G.”

Matt Cunliffe was unraveling the toilet roll when the phone rang.

“Mr. Higgs is on line one,” said his secretary.

“Tell him I’m not available.” Matt sat back in his chair and winked at Fletcher.

“He’s asking when you will be available.”

“Not before close of business on Friday.”

26

Fletcher couldn’t remember an occasion when he’d disliked someone so much on first meeting him, and even the circumstances didn’t help.

The senior partner had asked Fletcher and Logan to join him for coffee in his office—an unusual event in itself. When they arrived, they were introduced to one of the new trainees.

“I want you both to meet Ralph Elliot,” were Bill Alexander’s opening words.

Fletcher’s first reaction was to wonder why he’d singled ou

t Elliot from the two successful applicants. He quickly found out.

“I have decided this year to take on a trainee myself. I’m keen to keep in touch with what the new generation are thinking, and as Ralph’s grades at Stanford were exceptional, he seemed to be the obvious choice.”

Fletcher recalled Logan’s disbelief that Alexander’s nephew had even made the shortlist, and they both came to the conclusion that Mr. Alexander must have overruled any objections from the other partners.

“I hope both of you will make Ralph feel welcome.”

“Of course,” said Logan. “Why don’t you join us for lunch?”