Silent Partner (11 page)

“Good. That will be all for now.”

Angela stood up and headed for the door, feeling Dudley’s glare boring into her back. When she’d made it through the anteroom and the lobby, and the elevator doors had closed in front of the receptionist who had watched her walk all the way across the lobby, Angela allowed her head to fall back against the car wall and closed her eyes as it began to descend. The risks in her life had suddenly risen immeasurably. She hoped Jake Lawrence would leave her alone.

“What do you think, Carter?” Dudley stood in front of the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, gazing out at the snow falling on Richmond. “What did you think of Angela Day’s performance?”

“Performance?”

“What was truth and what was for our benefit?”

Hill shook his head. “I don’t know, Bob. If any of that was acting, she should win an Oscar.”

“Do you think Jake Lawrence really assaulted her?”

“Yes,” Hill answered thoughtfully. “I’m convinced. I saw sincere emotion in her expression.”

As Dudley watched, the snow began to fall more heavily. The James River, only a quarter of a mile away, was all but obscured. “But why would he do that, Carter? What was his motive?”

“I don’t think there was any motive, other than getting some action. It’s as simple as that.” Hill shrugged. “After all, she is pretty.”

Dudley pivoted slowly away from the window. “What did you say?” he asked coldly. “That she’s pretty?”

Hill shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I was just making a point about how Lawrence—”

“First of all, according to the preliminary information your people dug up, she’s a Wop from a trailer park.”

“Well, yes, but—”

Dudley’s lip curled. “Worse, she’s a nigger lover. She hangs around with that reporter bitch Olivia Jefferson from the
Tribune
.”

Hill grimaced.

“She’s one of those bleeding hearts who feels sorry for savages whose ancestors ran around spearing water buffalo and running from lions, whose cousins still do.”

“Jesus, Bob, you’ve got to be careful about that kind of stuff. One of these days you’re going to do that in public. Then there will be hell to pay.”

“I don’t care about the public,” he muttered. “What I care about is figuring out what Lawrence is up to.”

Hill glanced at the ceiling and groaned quietly. “I think it was simply as she described. He was looking for a little action.”

“You’re being naive, Carter.”

“Bob, people I know in New York have told me that he’s got a helluva sex drive. It borders on addiction.”

“What people?” Dudley hissed. “Have you spoken to any woman who’s ever actually been assaulted by Jake Lawrence?”

“Well, no,” Hill answered slowly. “The people I spoke to said they’d heard about him from others. But they weren’t rumormongers.”

“Everyone’s a rumormonger. Remember that.”

“These were senior people at several of the large investment banks I’m talking about.”

“And we all know how ethical and honest they can be.”

“Well . . . “

“So you didn’t press them on how they acquired their information concerning Jake Lawrence?”

“No,” Hill admitted.

“Well, I suggest you do, Carter. I have. And when you really drill down there is no hard evidence of anything concerning Jake Lawrence. And I’m not talking about silly sexual dalliances that you, I, Jake Lawrence, and the rest of the male galaxy are guilty of. I’m talking about any hard information at all. I can’t even find a picture of him.” Dudley turned back toward the window. Only the closest building was still visible through the snow at this point. “From now on, Carter, we will monitor Angela Day very closely.”

“Are you worried that Lawrence might try to use her as some kind of information source? Inside information?”

“Of course I am.”

“But how could she help him? What kind of information could she possibly have access to that would help him take over Sumter?”

Dudley shook his head, gazing into the storm settling down onto the city. “I don’t know. But by five o’clock this afternoon I want your people to get us a second, much more detailed report on Ms. Day. Not just the easy and obvious stuff this time. I want to know exactly what time she gets up in the morning, what she eats for breakfast, who her friends are, who she’s screwing, and how he’s doing it to her. I want to know what drawer she keeps her damn panties in!” Dudley paused to catch his breath. “Do you understand?”

Hill nodded and turned to go. He’d made a career out of doing Bob Dudley’s dirty work. This was simply another filthy example.

“One more thing, Carter.”

Hill sighed quietly and stopped. “Yes?” he asked, trying to mask his irritation.

“Do you think any of this could be related to that article Liv Jefferson wrote?”

“Sir?”

Dudley moved away from the window to his desk. “
The
article,” he said loudly, frustrated that Hill didn’t understand exactly what he was talking about right away. “The one accusing me of shutting down our branches in minority-dominated areas of the city, of orchestrating a conspiracy to deny mortgages and other services to minorities across the state.”

“I suppose, but I don’t think it’s likely.”

Dudley clenched his hands more tightly. “I called the
Trib
’s publisher the day that article came out, and I told him I was going to sue the paper. He told me he would welcome that. He told me he had evidence supporting Liv Jefferson’s claims. A memo or something.” Dudley stared at Hill. “Do you think that’s possible?”

Hill shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Dudley pursed his lips, then nodded. “You’ve been tasked, Carter. Get to work.”

Angela slowly replaced her office phone in its cradle after listening to her voice mail. The last message had been from Kate Charboneau, the attorney who had represented Angela in her divorce from Sam Reese six years ago. And in Angela’s failed attempt to win custody of Hunter. She and Kate hadn’t spoken in two years, and now Kate wanted to get together for a drink after work. One of the men who had lied in court about having sexual relations with Angela during her marriage to Sam Reese had contacted Kate late yesterday and there was an important development to report.

Angela gazed across the large room at Ken Booker, who was staring back at her from his doorway. Jake Lawrence had promised to talk to his people about helping her. Perhaps, despite Tucker’s skepticism, Lawrence had come through after all. But why this time? What made this situation so special?

She moved out from behind her desk and headed quickly toward Booker’s office. “I need to talk to you,” she said angrily as she neared him. This was risky, but she wanted answers. And she felt she deserved them.

“All right.”

“Inside.” She didn’t want Booker’s assistant to hear this.

He shrugged, moved back to his chair, and sat. “What is it?”

“Why did you tell Bob Dudley I was acting on my own when I went out to meet with Jake Lawrence in Wyoming?”

Booker shook his head. “What are you talking about? Bob Dudley and I never spoke about you going to meet with Jake Lawrence. I haven’t spoken to Bob Dudley in six months. I report to Carter Hill.”

CHAPTER FIVE

The sharp rap on the oak door came exactly at five o’clock, as ordered. And that was what Bob Dudley liked most about Carter Hill: his precision. He did what he was told to do exactly when he was told to do it.

Carter would never be Sumter’s chairman. Dudley had come to that conclusion two years ago, disclosing to a confidant on the bank’s board of directors that Hill was too much of a consensus builder. In essence, Hill didn’t understand enough about manipulation, coercion, and ruthlessness to run an organization as large and complex as Sumter. Worst of all, Hill cared too much about people’s feelings. But, like everyone else in Dudley’s life, Hill served a purpose.

“Come in,” Dudley called from the same chair he’d been sitting in this morning when he’d met with Angela Day.

“Hello, Bob,” Hill said pleasantly, closing the office door.

“Come on, Carter, let’s get going. I’ve got a dinner meeting. Thank God the snow stopped,” he muttered under his breath. He enjoyed the luxury of his limousine and hadn’t been looking forward to climbing into an SUV to get to the young woman’s apartment through the storm. His wife was vacationing in Palm Beach for February, and he wasn’t about to miss a single evening of pleasure with the young woman while nights away from his West End home didn’t have to be explained.

Hill hustled across the office and sat down in the chair beside Dudley’s.

“So, Carter, what did you find out about Angela Day?”

Hill glanced down at the pad of white pages on which he had scribbled his notes. For the last six months Bob Dudley hadn’t allowed the bank’s purchasing managers to order any other paper color than white: no yellow, no accountant’s faded green, not even pastels or neons for Post-its. “Angela Day is a divorced mother of one.” Hill hesitated and looked up at the chairman. “Her ex-husband is Sam Reese.”

Dudley’s eyes flashed from the small LCD screen of his Blackberry to Hill. His plan had been to riffle through e-mails while Carter gave his report, multitasking as his dictatorial father had taught him to do from an early age. “
Chuck Reese’
s son?”

Charles “Chuck” Reese was the senior and managing partner of Albemarle Capital, a private investment management firm that had handled most of Richmond’s stock market money since the War between the States. Sumter Bank and Albemarle Capital were the city’s most prominent financial institutions, and Dudley and Reese her most prominent business leaders. They had trained in finance together at Sumter after rooming together at the University of Virginia. And they’d been best friends until Reese had left Sumter in his midthirties to join Albemarle Capital, where his meteoric rise to the top of that institution had been rivaled only by Dudley’s at Sumter. Over the years their relationship had deteriorated. They’d gone from friends to rivals to enemies, competing aggressively in everything from the number of articles written about them in the national press to an annual head-to-head golf match held at the Country Club of Virginia. They played the match under the guise of good-natured charity, but it could not have been fought more intensely if their lives had depended on the outcome.

After Dudley had successfully constructed his fifty-story downtown monument, Chuck Reese had tried to get zoning for a
sixty
-story building that would have blocked the Sumter Tower’s panoramic view of the James River. But the zoning application had bogged down in city red tape, and it had become very clear who Richmond’s alpha dog was. However, Reese had won their golf match each of the last three years, and the losses gnawed at Dudley. Last year it had come down to a five-foot putt on the eighteenth green in front of a gallery numbering in the thousands. Dudley had missed the putt, and Reese had been crowing about the victory—and Dudley’s choke—for six months. Since that day Dudley had been working with a pro three times a week. He was determined to win this year.

“Yes, Chuck Reese,” Hill confirmed. “Your favorite person.”

“Bastard.” Dudley rose from his chair and grabbed a putter leaning against the wall. “I remember that now.” He snickered as he hunched over a dimpled Titleist, aiming it toward an automatic ball-return device on the floor a few feet away. “It was a messy divorce. Happened about . . . “ Dudley’s voice trailed off as he swung the putter back and forth, then tapped the shiny white ball and watched it roll smoothly across the carpet directly into the target. “Damn. That should have happened last summer.”

“You were saying, Bob?”

“The divorce was four or five years ago.”

“Six, actually.”

Dudley chuckled, thinking about the embarrassment the situation must have caused Reese. “The divorce actually went to court, right?”

“Yes. Two men, acquaintances of Sam Reese, testified that they had engaged in sexual intercourse with Ms. Day during the time she was married to Reese. The judge found her guilty of adultery and refused to grant her alimony.”

Dudley putted again—with the same result. “I’m sure Chuck didn’t want his son married to some poor Italian from a trailer park. I bet he didn’t leave anything to chance during the proceedings.” Dudley laughed loudly. “The only thing worse for Chuck would have been if Angela were black. Too bad she isn’t,” he muttered. “I wonder if she ever brought any of her nigger friends home. That would have killed him.”

Hill winced. “Bob, this behind-closed-doors racism’s got to stop. It’s going to get you in real trouble. I can’t emphasize—”

“Enough, Carter.”

Hill bit his tongue. “Bob, I haven’t been able to confirm that Chuck Reese paid off the two men who testified in court.”

“Stop trying,” Dudley advised Hill. “You’re wasting your time. As much as I’d like to have that kind of information on the prick,” he added. “You and I both know he bribed the men, but we’ll never be able to prove it. Chuck’s too careful. He has too many ways of covering his financial tracks. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I’m focused on Ms. Day right now.” He lined up the golf ball with the device once more. Once more the ball found the target. He smiled, satisfied on several counts. “So our own Angela Day was Chuck Reese’s daughter-in-law. I’ll have to remind him of that just before we tee off on the first hole next summer.”

“Good idea,” Hill agreed. “That ought to distract him.”

“You said Ms. Day has a child?”

“Yes. A boy named Hunter.”

“Sam Reese’s?”

“Of course.”

“Hey, I had to ask. Could have been anybody’s kid. She’s probably been screwing like a rabbit since she was ten. What else is there to do in a trailer park?” Dudley chuckled as he looked out the window at the city lights beneath him. “Don’t tell me; let me guess.”

“Don’t tell you what?”

“Whether Chuck Reese allowed Ms. Day to keep the little boy or took him away, too. When Chuck goes to war, he doesn’t go halfway. He goes for everything.” For a moment Dudley relived the miss on the eighteenth green last summer. The ball had been headed straight for the cup, then hit a spike mark at the last second and darted left, lipping out. He could still hear the loud groan of the crowd as if it were yesterday. “I bet Chuck took Ms. Day aside when Sam brought her home the first time and forbid her to marry his son. Probably warned her that if she went through with the wedding, she’d ultimately lose. That in the end he’d drive her away and take everything.” He looked over at Hill. “Is Ms. Day originally from Richmond?”

“No.”

“Where is she from?”

“Asheville, North Carolina.”

Dudley nodded. “Well, Carter, my guess is that Ms. Day lost custody of her son in the divorce. I bet the judge found her unstable and incapable of caring for a child, probably citing her promiscuous lifestyle before and during her marriage to Sam Reese as evidence.”

Hill nodded, impressed. “That’s right.”

“Of course it is. Otherwise Ms. Day would have been on the first train out of town right after the divorce. Too many nasty memories here. Women are weak and associate physical places with memories. But her maternal instinct is stronger than her desire to leave a place she has terrible memories of, so it keeps her here.” Dudley stroked his chin for a moment. “What kind of visitation rights did she get?”

“A weekend a month and two weeks in the summer.”

Dudley whistled. “Jesus. Chuck didn’t screw around. The judge on the case was probably able to buy himself a nice new beach house on the Outer Banks after coming down with that decision.”

“Brutal, huh?”

“So that’s an important piece of information for us,” Dudley commented, propping the putter back up against the wall and sitting down again. “She needs this job. How much do we pay her, Carter?”

“A little under fifty grand.”

Dudley burst out laughing. “Can you believe anybody actually
survives
on that kind of salary? Christ, that’s minimum wage.”

“It’s not that bad, Bob. It isn’t the three million you pulled down last year, but she’s able to live comfortably. She rents a two-bedroom apartment in the Fan for twelve hundred a month, drives a Saab convertible she bought new a year ago, and vacations in the Caribbean twice a year. She was in Saint Bart’s a few weeks ago, and she’ll go again in the fall if she follows her pattern of the last four years. She doesn’t live extravagantly, and she doesn’t have any real expenses as far as her son is concerned. The Reese family takes care of all that.” He paused. “Oh, and by the way, it’s the top drawer.”

Dudley looked up. “Huh? What is?”

“The drawer she keeps her panties in.”

Dudley flashed a quick smile.

Hill shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Bob. If she doesn’t work with us on this Jake Lawrence thing, we could threaten her. But she’s a talented banker. With her contacts, she’d get another job.”

“Not in Richmond,” Dudley replied confidently. “There aren’t any other big banks with corporate lending operations here in the city anymore now that the Carolina banks have acquired all the other big Richmond houses except us. All the important positions have been moved out of town. Mostly just administration stuff here now. And I could make certain no one in Baltimore, Washington, or Charlotte would hire her either. Especially if I let people know that she was fired because she was screwing married men in the bank. Everybody from tellers to Ken Booker.”

Hill gazed at the chairman, then chuckled. “Bob, I think you might actually give Jake Lawrence a run for his money if the bastard does decide to launch a hostile bid. I don’t think he understands what he’s up against, the lengths to which you’ll go.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m sure that’s how it was intended.”

“Of course—”

“Back to Angela Day.”

“Okay.”

“You see, Carter, she
has
to live in or near Richmond,” Dudley said. “Chuck probably had the judge insert some tough language into the custody order about that. Like if Ms. Day misses more than three consecutive visits with her son, she has constructively abandoned the boy and automatically relinquishes any further rights to visitation unless the Reeses give her specific permission to see the boy—which, of course, they wouldn’t.” Dudley smiled, pleased with himself. “So, we’ve figured out how to manipulate Ms. Day. Now she’ll have to be loyal to me if she was telling us the truth this morning and Jake Lawrence really did try to get into her pants. Even if she can’t stand the sight of him, she’ll have to do what I want.” Dudley pointed at Hill. “Next week you will have a conversation with Ms. Day and deliver the gist of what we’ve just discussed.”

“Bob, I don’t think that’s necessary. She got the message this morning. If Lawrence contacts her, she’ll let us know right away. She seems levelheaded. She knows where her bread is buttered.”

“I’m sure Jake Lawrence can be very persuasive,” Dudley said. “I want Ms. Day to understand exactly how vulnerable she is.”

“Bob, she seems plenty smart. I’m sure she gets it. I don’t think we need to get into the intimidation racket.”

“Carter,” Dudley snapped, frustrated with Hill’s passive nature, furious with his penchant to search for a middle ground. “I don’t want to hear any of your Good Samaritan bullshit. Do as you’re told.”

“I’m sure if I didn’t, you’d make it as tough for me to get a job as you would Ms. Day,” Hill muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“On second thought, you have your chat with Ms. Day tomorrow,” Dudley decided. “There’s no need to put it off until next week.”

Hill nodded obediently. “All right,” he agreed, standing up. “I’ll do as you wish.”

“Good boy. Oh, one more thing, Carter.”

“Yes?”

“I noticed in the internal second-quarter operating report that the growth of our on-line mortgage portfolio was off.” One of the ways Dudley had grown Sumter so quickly was to implement an aggressive Web-enabled mortgage offering.

“Year-to-year we were still up 14 percent,” Hill protested.

“That’s not enough, Carter. I want at least twenty.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to Russ Thompson about it tomorrow.”

“Call him tonight at home.”

“All right,” Hill agreed stiffly.

The intercom on Dudley’s desk buzzed.

“What is it, Betty?” Dudley called to his assistant in the anteroom.

“Ken Booker is here to see you.”

Dudley glanced up as Hill’s eyes flashed to his. “Tell him it will be another few minutes. I’m just finishing up my meeting with Mr. Hill now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Hill asked.

“No.”

“Why do you need to see Ken?”

“I haven’t had a chance to speak with him one-on-one for a while. I think it’s a good idea for me to keep in touch with the men a rung below you.” Dudley’s only direct report was Carter Hill. He’d turned over all other reporting responsibilities to Hill several years ago to free himself up to focus on strategic initiatives, mostly acquisitions. “Don’t you?”

“I suppose,” Hill agreed tepidly.

Dudley suppressed a smile, aware of the stress the other man was feeling. He had deliberately arranged the Booker meeting right after this one so Hill would know. It was an effective management technique to keep a direct report back on his heels, wondering. “Good.”