Sons of Fortune

Fletcher drew up a chair and sat by the senator’s side. He didn’t bother with any small talk, as his father-in-law was looking tired.

“I’ve given a great deal of thought to what I’m about to say,” said the senator, “and the only other person I’ve discussed it with is Martha, and she is in complete agreement with me. And like so many things over the past thirty years, I can’t be sure if it wasn’t her idea in the first place.” Fletcher smiled. How like Annie, he thought, as he waited for the senator to continue. “I’ve promised Martha that I won’t run for reelection.” The senator paused. “I see you’re not putting up any protest, so I must assume that you agree with my wife and daughter on this subject.”

“Annie would prefer you to live to an old age, rather than die making a speech in the Senate Chamber, however important,” said Fletcher, “and I agree with her.”

“I know they’re right, Fletcher, but by God I’ll miss it.”

“And they will miss you, sir, as you can see from the flowers and cards already in this room. By this time tomorrow, they’ll have filled every other room on this floor and be spilling out onto the pavement.” The senator ignored the compliment, clearly not wishing to be diverted from his course.

“When Jimmy was born, I had the crazy notion that one day he would take my place, perhaps even go on to Washington and represent the state. But it wasn’t long before I realized that was never going to be a possibility. I couldn’t be more proud of him, but he just isn’t cut out for public office.”

“He made a damn fine job of getting me elected as president,” said Fletcher, “Twice.”

“He did indeed,” said Harry, “but Jimmy should always be in the engine room, because he isn’t destined to be the driver.” He paused again. “But then some twelve years ago I met a young man at the Hotchkiss-Taft football game, who I knew couldn’t wait to be the driver. A meeting, incidentally, that I shall never forget.”

“Nor me, sir,” said Fletcher.

“As the years passed, I watched that boy grow into a fine young man, and I’m proud he’s now my son-in-law and father of my granddaughter. And before I grow too maudlin, Fletcher, I think I ought to come to the point in case one of us falls asleep.” Fletcher laughed.

“Pretty soon I shall have to let it be known that I will not be running for reelection to the Senate.” He raised his head and looked directly at Fletcher. “I would, at the same time, like to say how proud I am to announce that my son-in-law, Fletcher Davenport, has agreed to run in my place.”

28

It didn’t take six months for Nat to discover why Russell’s Bank had failed to increase its profits in over a decade. Almost every modern banking tenet had been ignored. Russell’s still lived in an age of written ledgers, personalized accounts and a sincerely held belief that the computer was more likely to make mistakes than a human being, and was therefore a waste of the bank’s time and money. Nat was in and out of Mr. Russell’s office three or four times a day, only to find that something they had agreed on in the morning had been reversed by the afternoon. This usually occurred whenever a longstanding member of the staff was seen leaving the same office an hour later with a smile on his or her face. It was often left for Tom to pick up the pieces; in fact, if he hadn’t been there to explain to his father why the changes were necessary, there might never have been a six-month report to present.

Nat would come home most nights exhausted and sometimes infuriated. He warned Su Ling there was likely to be a showdown when his report was finally presented. And he wasn’t altogether sure that he would still be the bank’s vice-president if the chairman was unable to stomach almost all of the changes he was recommending. Su Ling didn’t complain, although she had just about managed to get the three of them settled in their new house, sell the apartment in New York, find a nursery school for Luke, and prepare to take up her new appointment as professor of statistics at UConn in the fall. The idea of moving back to New York didn’t appeal to her.

In between, she had advised Nat on which computers would be most cost-effective for the bank, supervised their installation and also given night classes to those members of the staff who appreciated there was more to learn than how to press the ON button. But Nat’s biggest problem was the bank’s chronic overstaffing. He had already pointed out to the chairman that Russell’s currently employed seventy-one staff and that Bennett’s, the only other independent bank in town, offered the same services with only thirty-nine employees. Nat wrote a separate report on the financial implications of overstaffing, suggesting an early retirement program that, although it would cut into their profits for the next three years, would be highly beneficial in the long term. This was the sticking point on which Nat was unwilling to budge. Because, as he explained to Tom over dinner with Su Ling, if they waited for another couple of years until Mr. Russell retired, they would all be joining the ranks of the unemployed.

Once Mr. Russell had read Nat’s report, he scheduled a Friday evening at six o’clock for the showdown. When Nat and Tom walked into the chairman’s office they found him at his desk writing a letter. He looked up as they entered the room.

“I’m sorry to say that I’m unable to go along with your recommendations,” said Mr. Russell even before his two vice-presidents had sat down, “because I do not wish to fire employees, some of whom I have known and worked with for the past thirty years.” Nat tried to smile as he thought about being sacked twice in six months, and wondered if Jason at Chase might still have an opening for him. “So I have come to the conclusion,” continued the chairman, “that if this is going to work,” he placed his hands on the report, as if blessing it, “the one person who will have to go is me.” He scribbled his signature on the bottom of the letter he had been writing, and handed his resignation over to his son.

Bill Russell left the office at 6:12 that evening, and never entered the building again.

“What are your qualifications to run for public office?”

Fletcher looked down from his place on the stage at the small group of journalists seated in front of him. Harry smiled. It was one of the seventeen questions and answers they had prepared the previous evening.

“I don’t have a great deal of experience,” admitted Fletcher, he hoped disarmingly, “but I was born, brought up and educated in Connecticut before going to New York to join one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. I’ve come home to put those skills to work for the people of Hartford.”

“Don’t you feel that twenty-six is a bit young to be telling us how we should be running our lives?” asked a young lady seated in the second row.

“Same age as I was,” said Harry, “and your father never complained.” One or two of the older hacks smiled, but the young woman wasn’t quite so easily put off.

“But you had just returned from a world war, Senator, with three years’ experience as an officer at the front, so may I ask, Mr. Davenport, did you burn your draft card during the height of the Vietnam War?”

“No, I did not,” said Fletcher, “I was not drafted, but had I been, I would have served willingly.”

“Can you prove that?” the journalist snapped back.

“No,” said Fletcher, “but if you were to read my speech at the Yale freshman debate, you would be left in no doubt of my feelings on this subject.”

“If you are elected,” asked another member of the press, “will your father-in-law be pulling the strings?”

Harry glanced across and saw that the questi

on had annoyed Fletcher. “Calm down,” he whispered. “He’s only doing his job. Stick to the answer we agreed on.”