I bet you will, thought Alex. But why did Ackroyd even want to remain on the board? Perhaps because he needed to make sure that it was Lawrence who would shoulder the blame when the bank went under, allowing him to come out of the debacle with his reputation untarnished. Alex was beginning to feel he knew the man, even though he’d never met him.
As soon as he’d had time to study the books, Alex intended to issue his own press statement, so that no one would be in any doubt where the blame really lay. He folded his newspaper, and stared admiringly at the magnificent Georgian building that dominated the far side of State Street, wondering if the bank could still be sold as a going concern. After all, it had been trading for over a hundred years, with an impeccable reputation. But questions like that couldn’t be answered until he’d studied the books, and that might take days.
Alex checked his watch as the waitress returned with his order: 8.24 a.m. He planned to enter the building for the first time at 8.55. He looked around the diner and wondered how many of the other customers worked at the bank, and were aware that their new chairman was sitting in one of the booths.
Among the options he’d already considered was to invite one of the larger Boston banks to participate in a merger, with the explanation that as Lawrence didn’t have an heir, there was no natural successor. But if the bank’s financial plight made that impossible, he would be left with no choice other than to resort to plan B, a fire sale. In which case he’d be back in New York serving pizzas by the end of the month.
At 8.30 he looked across the street to see a smartly dressed man in a long green topcoat and peaked cap emerge from the bank and take his place by the front door. Staff were beginning to trickle into the building: young women in sensible white blouses and dark skirts that fell below the knee, young men in grey suits, white shirts and sombre ties, followed a little later by older men in well-tailored, double-breasted suits and club ties, with an air of confidence and belonging. How long would that confidence last when they discovered the truth? Would he know the answer to that question by the time the bank closed this evening? And would those same doors even open for business tomorrow morning?
At 8.50, Alex paid his bill, left the warmth of the diner and walked slowly across the square. As he approached the front entrance, the doorman touched the peak of his cap and said, ‘Good morning, sir. I’m afraid the bank won’t be open for a few more minutes.’
‘I’m the new chairman,’ said Alex, thrusting out his hand. The doorman hesitated before returning the compliment, and saying, ‘I’m Errol, sir.’
‘And how long have you been working for the bank, Errol?’
‘Six years, sir. Mr Lawrence got me the job.’
‘Did he?’ said Alex. He left the doorman with an anxious look on his face, stepped inside and crossed the lobby to the front desk.
‘How can I help you, sir?’ asked a smartly dressed young woman.
‘I’m the new chairman of the bank,’ said Alex. ‘Could you tell me where my office is?’
‘Yes, Mr Karpenko, you’re on the top floor. Would you like me to accompany you?’
‘No, please don’t bother. I’ll find my own way.’
He walked across to the elevators and joined some staff who were chatting among themselves about everything from the Boston Red Sox’s third defeat in a row, to the appointment of their new chairman. Both losers in their opinion.
‘I’m told Karpenko’s never run anything except a pizza joint,’ said one of them, ‘and has absolutely no experience of banking.’
‘Mark my words, Ackroyd will be back as chairman by the end of the week,’ said another.
‘I’m going to open a book on how long he’ll last,’ said a third.
‘You might be wise to wait and see how he actually performs before you set the odds,’ suggested a lone voice. Alex smiled to himself, but didn’t comment.
The elevator stopped several times to disgorge its passengers on different floors. By the time its doors finally opened on the twenty-fourth floor, Alex was alone. He stepped out into a deserted corridor and opened the first door he came across, to discover that it was a cupboard. The second was the restroom, and the third a secretary’s office, but with no sign of a secretary. At the far end of the corridor he found a door that had ‘Chairman’ painted on it in faded gold letters. He walked in, and it took only one glance to know that the room had once been occupied by Lawrence. But not that often. The office was well furnished and comfortable, with a fine display of paintings, including portraits of Lawrence’s father and grandfather, but it didn’t feel lived in. Alex closed the door, walked across to the window and looked out onto a magnificent view of the bay.
He sank down into the comfortable red leather chair behind a teak desk, on which rested a blotting pad, a phone, and a silver-framed photograph of a young man he didn’t recognize, but thought he might have seen at the funeral. He picked up the phone, pressed a button marked Front Desk, and when a voice came on the line, said, ‘Please ask Errol to join me in the chairman’s office.’
‘The doorman, sir?’
‘Yes, the doorman.’
While he waited for Errol to appear, Alex wrote down a list of questions on a sheet of paper. He hadn’t quite finished when there was a gentle tap on the door.
‘Come in,’ he said. The door opened slowly to reveal Errol silhouetted in the doorway, but he made no attempt to enter. ‘Come in,’ Alex repeated. ‘Take off your hat and coat and have a seat,’ he added, pointing to the chair on the other side of his desk.
Errol removed his hat, but not his coat, and sat down.
‘Now, Errol, you told me earlier that you’ve worked for the bank for six years. That means you’re in possession of something I need desperately.’ Errol looked puzzled. ‘Information,’ said Alex. ‘I’m going to ask some questions that may embarrass you, but will help me do my job, so I hope you’ll feel able to assist me.’ Errol sank back in his chair, not looking as if he wanted to assist the new chairman. Alex changed tack. ‘You also told me it was Mr Lowell who got you your job.’
‘Sure did. Lieutenant Lowell spoke at a Veterans’ Association meeting, and when he heard I’d served in Nam—’
‘Which division?’
‘Twenty-fifth, sir.’
‘I was with the 116th.’
‘Mr Lawrence’s division.’
‘Yes, that’s how we met. And, like you, it was Mr Lowell who got me this job.’
Errol smiled for the first time. ‘If you served alongside Lieutenant Lowell,’ he said, ‘I’ll do anything I can to help.’
‘I’m glad to hear that because, like me, you got on well with Mr Lowell. How about Mr Ackroyd?’
Errol bowed his head.
‘That bad?’
‘I’ve opened his car door every working day for the past twelve years, and I’m still not sure if he knows my name.’
‘And his secretary?’ asked Alex, looking down at his list of questions.
‘Miss Bowers. She left with him. But don’t worry, sir, no one will miss her.’ Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘She was a little bit more than his secretary, if you catch my drift.’ Alex remained silent. ‘And, frankly, no one blamed Mrs Ackroyd when she finally divorced him.’
‘Do you know Mrs Ackroyd?’
‘Not really, sir, she didn’t visit the bank that often, but when she did, she always remembered my name.’
‘One final question, Errol. Did Mr Lowell have a secretary?’
‘Yes, sir, Miss Robbins. A real gem. But Mr Ackroyd sacked her last week, after twenty years’ service.’
*
‘Come in.’
‘You asked to see me, chairman?’
‘I did, Mr Jardine. I need to see the bank’s audited accounts for the past five years.’
‘Any particular version, chairman?’ said Jardine, unable to resist a smirk.
‘What do you mean, any particular version?’