Sons of Fortune

41

Mr. Goldblatz rose from his place at the center of the table and glanced down at his prepared statement. On his right sat Nat Cartwright, and on his left, Tom Russell. The rest of the board was seated in the row behind him.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, it is my great pleasure to announce the merger of Fairchild’s and Russell’s, creating a new bank which will be known as Fairchild Russell. I shall remain as chairman, Mr. Nat Cartwright will be my deputy chairman, and Tom and Julia Russell will join the board. Mr. Wesley Jackson will continue as the new bank’s chief executive. I am able to confirm that Russell’s Bank has withdrawn its takeover bid, and a new ownership structure for the company will be announced in the near future. Both Mr. Cartwright and I will be happy to answer your questions.”

Hands shot up all over the room. “Yes,” said the chairman, pointing to a woman in the second row, with whom he had pre-arranged the first question.

“Is it still your intention to resign as chairman in eighteen months’ time?”

“Yes, it is, and there are no prizes for guessing who I expect to succeed me.”

He turned and looked at Nat as another journalist shouted, “How does Mr. Russell feel about that?”

Mr. Goldblatz smiled, as it was a question they had all anticipated. He turned to his left and said, “Perhaps Mr. Russell should answer that question.”

Tom smiled benevolently at the journalist. “I’m delighted by the coming together of the two leading banks in the state, and honored to have been invited to join the board of Fairchild Russell as a nonexecutive director.” He smiled. “I’m rather hoping Mr. Cartwright will consider reappointing me in eighteen months’ time.”

“Word perfect,” whispered the chairman as Tom resumed his place.

Nat quickly rose from the other side to deliver an equally well-scripted response, “I most certainly will be reappointing Mr. Russell, but not as a nonexecutive director.”

Goldblatz smiled and added, “I am sure that will not come as a total surprise to anyone who follows these matters closely. Yes?” he said, pointing to another journalist.

“Will there be any layoffs caused by this merger?”

“No,” said Goldblatz. “It is our intention to retain all of Russell’s staff, but one of Mr. Cartwright’s immediate responsibilities will be to prepare for a complete restructuring of the bank during the next twelve months. Though I would like to add that Mrs. Julia Russell has already been appointed to head up our new combined property division. We at Fairchild’s have watched with admiration her handling of the Cedar Wood project.”

“Can I ask why your legal counsel, Ralph Elliot, is not present today?” said a voice from the back of the room.

Another question Goldblatz had anticipated, even though he couldn’t quite see where it had come from. “Mr. Elliot has been in Washington, D.C. Last night he dined with President Bush at the White House, otherwise he would have been with us this morning. Next question?” Goldblatz made no reference to the “frank exchange of views” he’d had with Elliot on the phone in the early hours of the morning.

“I spoke to Mr. Elliot earlier today,” said the same journalist, “and I wonder if you would care to comment on the press statement he has just released?”

Nat froze as Goldblatz rose more slowly. “I’d be happy to comment if I knew what he’d said.”

The journalist looked down at a single sheet of paper and read from it: “I am delighted that Mr. Goldblatz felt able to take my advice and bring the two banks together rather than continue a bruising and damaging battle from which no one would have profited.” Goldblatz smiled and nodded. “In eighteen months’ time there will be three members of the board available to replace the current chairman, but as I consider one of them quite unsuitable to hold a post that requires financial probity, I have been left with no choice but to resign from the board and withdraw as the bank’s legal advisor. With that one reservation, I wish the company every success in the future.”

Mr. Goldblatz’s smile quickly disappeared, and he was unable to contain his rage. “I have no comment to make at the present t…t…time, and that ends this press con…con…conference.” He rose from his place and marched out of the room with Nat following a pace behind him. “The bastard broke his agreement,” said Goldblatz furiously, as he strode down the corridor toward the boardroom.

“Which was what precisely?” asked Nat, trying to remain calm.

“I agreed to say that he was a party to the successful negotiations, if in turn he would resign and withdraw as the legal representative of the new company, and make no further comment.”

“Do we have that in writing?”

“No, I agreed to it over the phone last night. He said he would confirm it in writing today.”

“So once again Elliot comes out smelling of roses,” said Nat.

Goldblatz came to a halt outside the boardroom door and turned to face Nat. “No, he does not. I think the smell is more akin to manure,” he added, “and this time, he’s chosen the wrong man to cro…cro…cross.”

The popularity of an individual in life often only manifests itself in death.

The funeral service for Harry Gates, held at St. Joseph’s Cathedral, was filled to overflowing, long before the choir had left the vestry. Don Culver, the chief of police, decided to cordon off the block in front of the cathedral, so that mourners could sit on the steps or stand in the street, while they listened to the service being relayed over loudspeakers.

When the cortège came to a halt, an honor guard carried the coffin up the steps and into the cathedral. Martha Gates was accompanied by her son, while her daughter and son-in-law walked a pace behind them. The throng of people on the steps made a passage to allow the family to join the other mourners inside. The congregation rose as an usher accompanied Mrs. Gates to the front pew. As they walked down the aisle, Fletcher noted the coming together of Baptists, Jews, Episcopalians, Muslims, Methodists and Mormons, all unified in their respect for this Roman Catholic.

The bishop opened the service with a prayer chosen by Martha, which was followed by hymns and readings that Harry would have enjoyed. Jimmy and Fletcher both read lessons, but it was Al Brubaker, as chairman of the party, who climbed the steps of the wooden pulpit to deliver the address.