Heads You Win

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 gray suits, white shirts, and somber 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’ 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 twelve 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.”