“Proud Papa. Tears of joy.”
Grace Tan’s daughter was first violinist. She was small, dark, intense, a year behind Sarah. Kate and Peter smiled and enthused over Grace’s daughter when she reached in to squeeze both their hands, just as Grace couldn’t say enough about Sarah.
Kate started to stand. Peter grabbed her arm. “Hold on, Kate. One question.” The edge to his voice made her pause.
“Have you been making inquiries about selling the Leger?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Connie Meyers from Sotheby’s called the house while you were on your way back from the city. She said she tried your cell a couple of times.”
“I was on with Ed. I’ll tell you what he said later. What did Connie have to say?”
“Actually, I was quite surprised by her call. Unpleasantly so.”
Kate lowered her voice. “Let’s talk about this later. Tonight is about Sarah.”
“It feels as though you’re giving up on Ascalon.”
Kate knew Peter would be a mess at the reception in the cafeteria if she didn’t give him at least a couple of minutes more. In a low voice, she said, “I wanted to have a sense of what we might be able to fetch for it if things get to that point. I’m looking down the road.”
“Looking down the road? It sounds as though you’re already there.”
Kate knew she had to say something positive. “I didn’t ask her about selling it. I wouldn’t do that without talking to you.”
“They’ll guarantee us a little under four million net in the upcoming sale.” Kate smiled at the price, but Peter continued without the slightest acknowledgment of her reaction. “We need to commit by tomorrow so they can prepare the brochure.”
Kate could live with the price. “That’s a decent amount of money, especially today. We should give that serious consideration.” She began cataloging the debts that could be retired, balancing the cash that might still be coming in with what remained to be paid.
“I told her one day is too aggressive. I need some time to think about it.”
“Time to think about it? You need time to think about something that will drop four million dollars in our laps?” If they had the slightest bit of privacy the gloves would have come off. “If you want to think about something, think for a minute of the pressure that much money will relieve.” Kate waved at Sarah, who, unlike some of the other kids who were giggling and making faces, looked serious and deserving of the audience’s reaction.
“Not this quickly,” Peter said. “I can’t start dismantling what we’ve built.”
“I’m not asking you to dismantle anything, Peter. We’re de-acquisitioning one painting.” Connie Meyers never used words like
buy
or
sell
. They were far too pedestrian for the pure atmosphere of the high-end art world. Kate liked the vocabulary, though. De-acquisition was a perfectly fine word so long as Sotheby’s check cleared her bank.
“De-acquisition? I thought you just told me all you did was ask about a possible value.”
“Peter, get real. We owe the banks close to nine million dollars. With the stock where it is we’re way underwater, even with what I make. They know that even if a new buyer comes along its bid won’t top the Chinese by much. We can’t hold them off forever.” Kate whispered through clenched teeth, all the time smiling and waving at neighbors. It felt as though someone had painted the word
struggling
on her forehead.
When they lived in Wilton, Sarah and Mack shared a bedroom. They all shared a bath. After Ascalon went public there were no limits. And now, less than three years later, they had nothing but limits.
“We need the money to make a big enough dent in our mortgages so they’ll give us some time to figure things out. You saw how torn up Mack was the other night.” Kate was prepared to grind Peter down if she had to. She hoped he would be off doing something else the day they crated up the painting.
“I’m not ignoring Mack, but don’t you want him to have a father who can look himself in the mirror and see someone other than a complete failure?”
Kate was grateful Sarah finally came within a couple of rows of where they were sitting. At least this discussion had to be tabled for a while. The three of them hugged, smiled, kissed, and then fell into the stream of parents and children walking toward the cafeteria. Kate had her right arm in Sarah’s left. Peter was squeezed in by the crowd a couple of steps behind them.
Karl Maxwell’s son, Jeremy, played the French horn, a fitting instrument for a boy whose undulating body seemed to fold onto itself, but whose voice still had the lilting sweetness of a boy soprano. He would sing the lead roles for the First Presbyterian children’s choir only until the onset of puberty inevitably robbed him of that gift. Karl came to Sarah’s right and whispered that Sarah was awesome. He and Kate gave each other a fist bump and agreed each other’s kids were stars. Then he kissed Kate on both cheeks and put his arm around Peter. The gesture slowed him a step. Kate knew Karl’s rise and fall from grace. She didn’t like the idea of the two of them talking.
Karl lowered his voice and moved closer to Peter’s ear, but Kate still was able to pick up a word here and there. “My brother, I saw the other day that Ascalon laid off a good bit of its staff. I know you called it a temporary furlough in your press release, and Lord, how I hope you find an angel, but if you don’t, then welcome to my world. I should warn you, though, my world at this point is somewhere between the third and fourth cantos of Hell.”
Kate looked back to the stream of parents and children for Peter. She motioned for him to join her and Sarah. He raised his index finger in a sign he’d do so in a minute.
“Let me ask you something, Compadre. Have your shareholders filed suit yet?” Karl asked.
“Over what?”
“Over gravity. Shit, Peter, the only thing we were guilty of at Bennett was of raising money that created millions of jobs and nearly half a trillion dollars for shareholders, but as of the time I left the house for the concert this afternoon, I was named a defendant in nine class actions and four individual suits. The process servers don’t even bother looking for me in person anymore, so there probably will be two more in my mailbox when I get home. Pissed off investors don’t need a reason to sue. They just need a lawyer with a word processor.”
“And no scruples.”
“That’s redundant. David Boies took my deposition last week for three days. It was like having a weasel climb into my scrotum. Fuck ‘em all. Seriously, how are you holding up?”
Karl lowered his voice. “I was going to call you. I overheard a couple of lawyers from one of the shit-brained firms that’s after me gossiping in the hall when I was stuck in their office. They were saying the skinny on your company was someone wanted to buy it, but Kate gave the deal a pocket veto so she could land a spot with Ed Roth. They’re busting their humps to find a plaintiff to represent the investors. They’ll probably pay some asshole to fill the role. Fucking low-lifes.”
Peter looked at Kate with a combination of fear and remorse. She tried to hide the fact she’d heard just enough of what Karl said to want to interject that the whole thing was a fabrication.
“How worried should I be about this rumor?”
“You’ve come to the right place for legal advice. I assume you want our conversation covered by the defendant-soon-to-be-defendant privilege.”
Karl laughed at his own joke before he continued with his narrative. “You’re pretty much toast. There are at least four lawsuits here. Greene for sitting on its hands. Drake for being the beneficiary of Kate’s pocket veto. You for breaching your fiduciary duties to your shareholders to maximize their recovery and you and Kate for trying to play the system for your benefit.”
Sarah looked up at Kate when she felt her mother’s grip on her hand tighten. Kate put her hand on Sarah’s back and moved her along the corridor.
“Whoever put up your directors and officers liability insurance will take the position you defrauded your investors and won’t cover the legal fees and your homeowner’s insurance won’t help you either.”
Peter looked as though he was searching for something to say, but was struck dumb by the message Karl was delivering.
“And don’t talk to Kate about this because everything you say will end up being discovered. I once thought there was a husband and wife privilege but that illusion faded sometime around my third class-action because Joanie worked for the firm we hired as our decorator. Kate was your banker on your IPO, right?”
“Any other advice?”
Karl was about to prove how well-schooled he had become in the cat and mouse game of high-stakes litigation. “I presume you don’t own anything in your own name.”
Peter nodded. “Other than my Ascalon stock, no. We put pretty much everything of value into trusts a long time ago to keep it away from possible creditors.”
“Smart. Then just listen to Bob Dylan. He’s not only the best poet on the planet, he’s also the smartest lawyer there is. When you ain’t got nothing you got nothing to lose. There will be so many lawyers whacking at you that after a while you’ll feel like a piñata. My advice is just to lie back and enjoy it. Fighting those pricks just gets them excited.”
Karl gestured for Peter to precede him into the cafeteria. “C’mon. Let’s go have a piece of cake.”
EIGHT
The ceiling of the cafeteria was filled with blue and gold streamers radiating out from its center. The walls were lined with posters of oboes, violins, clarinets, cellos, pianos and xylophones, Brahms, Bach, Mozart, Strauss, Copeland, and Bernstein. And the entire room glistened with the delighted voices of parents juggling pride and relief, grandparents competing for bragging rights, and children pleased to have both the concert behind them and Friday without classes.
Kate had volunteered to serve refreshments. She was standing behind a four foot sheet cake with a treble clef made of enough sugar to assure every Pilates instructor in Scarsdale an extra week’s work. Sarah revolved around the room, accepting compliments with grace, sharing them with ease.
Kate’s pleasure of watching her daughter celebrate the moment was interrupted by Brandon Jefferson, the CEO of the country’s second largest container shipping company. His granddaughter Betsy played the flute. Betsy was sweetly polite when Kate asked her if she’d like some cake. Brandon leaned over the cake so he could whisper.
“I know tonight is all about the kids, but can I ask you a quick question about something I’ve been chewing on?” His voice was raspy. Brandon gave a decent chunk of his business to Greene Houseman. Kate would love to snare a piece of it for Drake, so of course she had time for him. She offered him three things: a piece of cake, a smile, and her ear.
He was looking for as much cash as he could get his hands on as soon as possible to gobble up some Brazilian shipping company that was struggling to find its footing. Kate was a banker. He was a borrower. Even at a children’s concert. Kate said she had some ideas and they should talk in the morning. He nodded, put his arm on Betsy’s shoulder, and went off to find his wife and daughter.
The line for cake thinned. Joanie Maxwell walked to Kate’s side. A bit taller, a couple of years older; Jeremy was her third so she had five or six years’ head start. In the two years since Kate had moved to Scarsdale they’d gotten to know each other; not in the sister sense, but more as two women juggling careers and families and high-profile husbands, both of whom had now publicly stumbled.
“I shouldn’t mix parental pride and angst, Kate, but I saw Karl and Peter talking as everyone was heading into the cafeteria,” Joanie said. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but from the expression on Peter’s face, I fear Karl was giving him the full story of what it’s like to be fleeced by a hungry pack of lawyers.” Joanie pointed in the direction of the corner where Peter was standing by himself with an expression as though he’d just had his pocket picked. “Which, by the way, I’ve heard way too many times.”
Kate felt as though she’d been outed in all the town’s newspapers. But she tried not to show either surprise or shame in what Joanie had said.
“Listen, Kate, I know how embarrassing it is to have the whole world read about your husband’s troubles. Be grateful he wasn’t indicted or caught in the room next to Eliot Spitzer.” Joanie laughed but then put her hands on Kate’s arm. “I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to.”
Kate and Peter had invited Karl and Joanie to one of the barbeques after Bennett Brothers began getting firebombed and so many of their neighbors fumbled for words or avoided them altogether. It was decent enough of her to return the kindness Kate and Peter had shown when the spotlight turned on Karl.
“Thanks for the shoulder,” Kate said, returning Joanie’s smile. “I may take you up on it. We’re on a rough patch of road right now. No doubt about that. But we’ll grit our teeth and get through it.”
“Karl and I gritted ours so long we’ve both ground them down to the gums.” She reached for the serving utensil in Kate’s hand. “You’re going to need a pal and here’s the first thing I’m going to do for you. Karl probably filled Peter’s head with so much crap about what jerks lawyers can be, your poor husband looks as though he needs his mommy.” She handed Kate a piece of cake, a fork, and a napkin. “I’ll take over here. Go to the boy’s rescue.”
Kate smiled, thanked Joanie for her understanding, and went to Peter’s side. She took his right hands in hers, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “You look like you could use a friend, Pete. Anything I can do?”
“Shooting me would be good. I can’t believe what Karl just told me. I can’t fucking believe it.”
“Peter, not here. Look, I brought you some cake. Let’s not spoil Sarah’s night. Let’s get her home, drive Mack’s baby sitter to her house, and talk all night.”
“All night won’t be long enough to get what he told me out of my head.”
“What is it? Talk to me for two minutes and then we’ll go find Sarah.”
Peter repeated what Karl had said. Kate had heard enough of their conversation on the way into the cafeteria to surmise the worst. This had moved far beyond the rumors on Andrew’s business card.