“And if the baby isn’t Vance’s?”
She placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him lightly. “I love you, Stone, I really do. But I don’t know what you’re feeling, and…”
“I’ll tell you…”
“Don’t,” she said. “It wouldn’t do me much good to know right now. If the baby is yours, I’ll tell you, and we’ll talk about it. Certainly, you can be a part of his life. Or hers. But you and I have some things to work out, and we have to face the fact that we may not be able to work them out. I can’t let myself think too much about that until the baby is born; I have to protect myself emotionally. It’s no good for me to make a commitment to you and then find out the baby is Vance’s. Surely you can see how hard that would be for me.”
Stone nodded.
There was a knock on the door.
Arrington kissed him again, and then got up and opened the door. Betty Southard was waiting there.
“Good morning, Arrington,” she said. “I’m glad to see you back. They’re flying the Centurion jet from Van Nuys into Santa Monica; they should already have landed and refueled by the time we get there.”
“I’m ready,” Arrington said. She closed her suitcase and handed it to Betty. “Bye,” she said to Stone. “I’ll call you, but it may not be for a while.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Stone said, past the lump in his throat.
55
Vance came back to the suite after Arrington had gone. He called room service for more coffee, and after it had come, he sat down on the terrace with Stone. “First of all, I’d like you to represent me as my attorney in this matter. Will you do that?”
“I’m not licensed to practice in California,” Stone said, “and if you should somehow become involved in a trial, you’ll have to get a California attorney. But for the moment, at least, I will advise you, and you may consider anything you say to me to be privileged, as communication between a lawyer and his client.”
“All right,” Vance said, “what do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Stone said. “And don’t leave anything out.”
“It started with stock,” Vance said. “Centurion stock. The company isn’t publicly owned, it’s very closely held, only a dozen or so shareholders of any size, and a couple of dozen smaller ones, mostly valued studio employees. Somebody began contacting shareholders, offering to buy their stock, obviously trying to find a way to gain control of the company.”
“Who?”
“No one knew at first; it was being done through a third party. Lou Regenstein got wind of it, but it was his strong impression that people were being intimidated into selling or, at least, keeping their mouths shut about having been approached. It was very bizarre, very ominous.”
“When did they approach you?”
“Wait, there are other things I have to tell you that will make this make more sense.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“David Sturmack and I have been good friends for a long time; I guess he and Lou have been my closest friends. It was David who introduced me to Oney Ippolito. I was involved in a real estate development project—a shopping mall—and our financing fell through. I was faced with either coming up with a very large amount of cash—thirty million dollars—or losing the five million I had already invested. I called David for advice, and he arranged a lunch with Ippolito. A week later, we had the financing from Safe Harbor.”
“Was the project a questionable one?”
“I never thought so. The managing partner had had some problems in the past with repaying debt on a project, and that made our lender shy away. The mall is open now, and doing excellent business. It was a good deal for Safe Harbor.”
“What happened next?”
“It was all very gradual. I began shifting my banking business to Safe Harbor, until finally they had everything—checking accounts, CDs, T-bills, and all the trusts I had set up over the years, including one for Arrington. Whenever I had a business investment that required financing, they were always willing and eager. When Oney asked me to join their board, I accepted.”
“How long have you been on the board?”
“Seven or eight months, I guess. I haven’t been happy.”
“Why not?”
“It became apparent to me early on that Oney expected me to rubber-stamp any decision he made, particularly the ones concerned with his personal compensation—stock options, bonuses, et cetera. The other directors, David Sturmack among them, were obviously in his pocket. I’m on three other boards, and I take an active part; I take my responsibilities to the shareholders seriously. I was ready to quit early on, but Oney persuaded me that I owed him something, and that I shouldn’t make him look bad by resigning. I agreed to stay on for a few months more. Then he came to me and said he wanted me to be the television spokesman for the bank. I flatly refused.”