Heads You Win

“If you say so, chairman. But in the meantime, can you make sure you sign all the letters in your correspondence file before Mr. Woods arrives?”

Getting Pamela to return to her old job was the wisest decision he’d ever made, thought Alex as he opened his correspondence file. He read each letter carefully, making the occasional emendation and sometimes adding a handwritten postscript. He was considering a letter from the president of the Harvard Business School inviting him to address the final-year students in the fall, when there was a tap on the door.

“Mr. Woods,” said Miss Robbins.

“Sheldon,” said Alex, jumping up from behind his desk. “Has it really been a year already? Can I offer you some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” said Woods.

“Now, before you say anything, yes, I am aware it’s an election year, and I’ve already decided to double our contribution to the party, in Lawrence’s memory.”

“That’s very generous of you, Alex. He would have made a fine congressman.”

“He would indeed,” said Alex. “In fact not a day goes by when I don’t mourn his death. That man quite literally changed my life, and I never had a real chance to thank him.”

“If Lawrence were alive, it would be him who was thanking you,” said Woods. “Everyone in Boston knew the bank was in serious trouble before you took over. What a turnaround. I hear you’re to be named as banker of the year.”

“A lot of credit for that must go to Jake Coleman, who couldn’t be more different from his predecessor.”

“Yes, that was quite a coup. I assume you’ve heard that Ackroyd was released from prison last week?”

“I did, and I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he hadn’t been seen boarding a plane to Nice the following day.”

“I’m lost,” said Woods.

“And it’s better you stay that way,” said Alex, as he signed a check for one hundred thousand dollars and handed it to Woods.

“I’m most grateful,” he said. “But that wasn’t the reason I came to see you.”

“Isn’t a hundred thousand enough?”

“More than enough. It’s just that we, that is to say my committee, hoped you would allow your name to go forward as the next Democratic candidate for junior senator here in Massachusetts.”

Alex couldn’t hide his surprise. “When you asked me to stand for Congress after Lawrence’s death,” he eventually managed, “I reluctantly turned the offer down so I could take on the chairmanship of Lowell’s. However, I confess I’ve often wondered if it was the right decision and whether politics was my real calling.”

“Then perhaps it’s time for you to take on an even bigger challenge.”

“Sadly not,” said Alex. “Although the bank is finally back on its feet, I now want to take it to the next level and join the major leagues. How much do you expect the Bank of America to contribute to the Democratic cause?”

“They’ve already given a quarter of a million toward the campaign.”

“Then I’ll know we’ve arrived when you ask me for the same amount, and more important, when I don’t give it a second thought.”

“I’d rather have a hundred thousand, and you as the candidate.”

“I’m flattered, Sheldon, but the answer is still no. However, thank you for asking.” Alex touched a button under his desk.

“Pity. You’d have made an outstanding senator.”

“That’s a great compliment, Sheldon. Perhaps in another life.” They shook hands as Miss Robbins entered the room to escort Mr. Woods to the elevator.

Alex sat back down and thought about how different life might have been if Lawrence hadn’t died—or even if he and his mother had climbed into the other crate. But he soon snapped out of “what might have been” and returned to the real world, putting a tick on the top of the letter from the president of the Harvard Business School.

Miss Robbins had just closed the door behind her when the phone rang. Alex picked it up and immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Dimitri,” he said. “It’s been too long. How are you?”

“Well, thank you, Alex,” said Dimitri. “And you?”