Heads You Win

Alex let out a deep sigh. “Anything else?”

“Yes, I fear so. He also made it clear that Mr. Lowell had no right to leave you his fifty percent of the bank’s shares, or even his fifty percent of the Elena Pizza Company, and has insisted that those shares also be lodged with the bank as security. He went on to suggest that you might consider including your fifty percent of Elena’s, to prove your commitment to the bank. However, he did add that you were under no obligation to do so.”

“How very generous of him,” said Alex. “Anything in the credit column?”

“Yes. I wrote down his exact words.” Harbottle turned a page of his yellow pad. “I am confident that anyone who could escape from the KGB in a crate with only half a dozen bottles of vodka for his passage and go on to win the Silver Star, will surely be able to overcome the bank’s current problems.”

“How does he know about that?” said Alex.

“You clearly haven’t had the time to read today’s Boston Globe. It’s published a glowing profile of you in the business section. It makes you sound like a cross between Abraham Lincoln and James Bond.”

Alex laughed for the first time that day.

“But be warned. Ackroyd is every bit as ruthless and resourceful as Blofeld, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he fed his cat on live goldfish.”

“I can’t believe that you’re…”

“Ah, I confess to being an admirer of Mr. Fleming. I’ve read all his books, although I’ve never seen any of the films.”

The lawyer removed his glasses, placed the file back in his Gladstone bag, and folded his arms; a sign that he was about to say something off the record.

“Dare I ask how Mr. Rosenthal’s trip to Nice worked out?”

“It could hardly have gone better,” said Alex. “With the exception of one painting, the entire Lowell Collection will soon be safely stored in a secure vault, to which only I and the bank’s head of security know the code, and which cannot be opened unless both of us are present, with our keys.”

“That is indeed good news,” said Harbottle. “But you did say, with one exception?”

“And even that is now in my possession,” said Alex, as he handed over Mrs. Ackroyd’s letter. Once the lawyer had read it, Alex passed across a small painting to Mr. Harbottle.

“A Blue Jackie by Warhol,” said Harbottle. “I must say, this restores one’s faith in one’s fellow man.”

“Or even woman,” said Alex with a grin.

“But how did Mrs. Ackroyd get her hands on the painting?” asked Harbottle.

“She says Ackroyd gave it to her as part of their divorce settlement.”

“And how did he get hold of it?”

“Evelyn Lowell-Halliday, would be my bet,” said Alex. “A reward for services rendered, no doubt.”

“Which gives me an idea,” said Harbottle. He paused for a moment before saying, “But if I’m to pull it off, I’ll need to borrow Jackie for a few days.”

“Of course,” said Alex, well aware that there would be no point in asking him why.

Harbottle wrapped up the painting, and placed it carefully in his Gladstone bag. “I’ve wasted enough of your time, chairman,” he said as he rose from his seat, “so I’ll be on my way.”

Alex was unable to resist a smile as he accompanied Mr. Harbottle to the door. But once again, the old gentleman took him by surprise.

“Now we know each other a little better, I think you should call me Harbottle.”

* * *

It wasn’t difficult for Alex to work out why Jake Coleman and Doug Ackroyd were never going to be able to work together. Coleman was so clearly an honest, decent, straightforward man, who believed the team was far more important than any individual. Whereas Ackroyd …

The two of them met for lunch at Elena 3, as Alex was confident that was the one place in Boston Ackroyd and his cronies would never patronize.

“Why did you leave Lowell’s?” asked Alex, once they’d both ordered a Congressman special.