Heads You Win

“While Evelyn owns the other fifty percent,” said Ackroyd. “So he can’t do anything without our backing, certainly not while we still have a majority on the board.”

“But what if he were to find out—”

“Let me remind you, Ray, if the IRS were to discover what you’ve been up to for the past ten years, I can tell you exactly where the buck will stop, and as I’m not President Truman—it won’t be with me.”

*   *   *

There was a knock on the door.

Alex checked his watch: fifty-eight minutes and twenty seconds. He smiled and said, “Come in, Mr. Jardine.”

The door opened and the bank’s finance director led six of his staff into the chairman’s office, all of them laden down with boxes.

“Here are a few to be getting on with, chairman,” said Jardine, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“Put them over there,” said Alex, pointing to a long table against the far wall.

The six assistants immediately carried out his orders, while Jardine stood and watched.

“Will that be all, chairman?” he said confidently.

“No, it won’t, Mr. Jardine. You said these were a few to be getting on with, so when can I expect the rest?”

“I’m afraid that was my feeble attempt at a little humor, chairman.”

“It fell on deaf ears, Mr. Jardine. Could you ensure that no one from your department leaves the building tonight before I do, and that includes you. I have a feeling,” he said, glancing across at the stack of files, “I’ll be needing several questions answered before I go home.”

*   *   *

“Evelyn, we have a problem.”

“Douglas, I expect you to take care of any problems at the bank, especially now you’re the chairman.”

“But I’m not the chairman,” said Ackroyd. “Just before he died, Lawrence appointed some guy called Alex Karpenko to take his place.”

“Not him again.”

“You know the man?”

“Our paths have crossed,” said Evelyn, “and I can tell you, he doesn’t take prisoners. But as I now own one hundred percent of the bank’s shares, I can remove him whenever—”

“Lawrence also left his fifty percent holding in the bank to Karpenko. The guy’s already started digging, and if he were to find out—”

“Do we still have a majority on the board?” asked Evelyn.

“As long as you turn up to vote, we do.”

“Then I’ll have to fly back for the next meeting, won’t I. And, Douglas, the first item on the agenda will be to remove Karpenko from the chair and replace him with you. All I expect you to do is organize the meeting without him working out what we’re up to.”

“It may not be quite that easy,” said Ackroyd. “He’s already taken possession of your brother’s house, and I suspect your villa in the south of France will be next on his list.”

“Over my dead body.”

“And he’s also given orders to transfer the entire Lowell Collection to the bank as security in case the IRS wants to value it.”

“That could be a problem,” admitted Evelyn.

“I have to tell you, Karpenko is one tough bastard,” said Ackroyd. “You clearly don’t know the man.”

*   *   *

Alex spent the rest of the week studying balance sheets, dividend returns, tax payments, and even junior staff wages. But it wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon that he came across an entry that needed to be checked a third time before he was sure that no responsible board would have sanctioned it.

He stared at the item again, thinking it had to be one naught too many. It was tucked neatly in between two other figures of a similar amount so as not to draw attention to the entry. He double-checked the sum and wrote the figure down on a pad by his side. Alex wondered how many more such entries he would come across before he reached the present day.

The following morning, Alex found a similarly large withdrawal appearing on the balance sheet without explanation. Once again, Alex wrote the figure down. It was already dark by the time he came across the third entry, which was for a far larger amount. He added the figure to his growing list, and wondered how she’d been allowed to get away with it.

By Friday, Alex had concluded that Lowell’s, by any standards, was trading while insolvent, but he decided not to inform the banking commissioner until Mr. Rosenthal had valued the art collection, and he’d been able to value any other assets the bank might possess.

When the street lights flickered on, Alex decided it was time to leave the office and go home. He couldn’t wait to see Anna again. He glanced at the diminishing pile of balance sheets that still needed to be studied, and wondered if he’d ever get through them.