The Successor (13 page)

Quentin whistled. “Still. Seems pretty drastic to send four guys with guns after her. Not to mention just having four guys at your disposal to do that.”

“Yeah, right?” Christian agreed. “She wouldn’t tell me who it was. She was too scared. I guess it’s a pretty powerful couple.” Christian stopped talking when Beth walked up to where they were standing. She was wearing a windbreaker the police had given her at the barracks. It had gotten chilly since the sun had gone down. He introduced her to Quentin, then smiled at her. “You ready?”

“Yeah. I really appreciate this.”

“What’s going on?” Quentin asked.

“We’re giving her a ride into Washington.” He pointed at the Austin-Healey. “It’s not hers. I really don’t think she ought to be driving it at this point.”

“HOW DID IT GO?
”

Melissa Hart took off the windbreaker and laid it over a chair. It was warm in here. It felt good. “I’m sure you know by now.”

“I’ve gotten reports, but I want your take. Obviously, I’m most interested in that.”

Melissa sat down and crossed her legs carefully. She was still wearing the white miniskirt. “It went off perfectly. We connected. Christian even gave me a little kiss when he dropped me off at the train station.”

“Good. You don’t think he recognized you?”

Melissa shook her head. “No way.” She smiled grimly. “If he had, he would have been the first. I guess this face doesn’t make as much of an impression on people as I thought it did.”

“Fame is fleeting.”

She glanced down in her lap, wondering where her Oscar statuette was now. Probably sitting on someone’s mantel, a conversation piece at dinner parties. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “Fleeting.”

“How’s your money holding up?”

“Okay.”

“Let me know if you need more.”

“I will.”

“When will you see Christian again?”

“Later this week,” Melissa replied. “I told him I was going to be in New York seeing some friends. We’re going to have dinner.”

“
Very
good.”

She shrugged. “It’s what you wanted.”

“Yes, it is.”

Christian had risked his life for her. At least, as far as
he knew,
he had. She’d almost been convinced herself that she was running toward the river for her life this afternoon. Those bullets had come awfully close—
too
close. And he hadn’t acted judgmental about her having an affair—a completely made-up story, but again, he didn’t know that. Now she needed to get close to him so these people could spy on him, so they’d know his every move.

“Can I go now?”

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she stood up.

“You seem…distracted.”

“Just tired.”

“Don’t feel anything for him. Do you understand?”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t feel anything for anyone.”

THE GULFSTREAM
took off from Reagan National toward the east, toward Chesapeake Bay. Christian sat on the left side of the plane in a big leather chair, looking out over the city lights.

“What are you thinking about?” Quentin asked. He was sitting on the other side of the plane.

“Nothing, really.”

“Beth?”

Christian turned away from the window as the plane reached the cloud cover. A front had moved in during the last few hours, and as they’d been driving back from the store, it had started to rain. He thought about denying it for a few seconds. “Maybe.”

Quentin wagged a finger at him. “Forget about her, man. She’s trouble. She seemed nice in the car on the way back and all, but I’m telling you, she’s trouble. It just follows some people, and she’s one of them.”

The thing was, Quentin was right. Trouble did follow some people. But there was something about Beth, something compelling that kept him thinking about her. Something familiar, too. “I’m having dinner with her later this week in New York.”

Quentin groaned.
“What are you doing, man?”

“It’s not a romantic thing. I think I can help her, I think I can be her friend.”

“You don’t need another friend. Besides, men and women can’t be just—”

“I know, I know.” Christian had heard Quentin say it so many times. “Men and women can’t be
just
friends.” He hesitated. “Well, I guess we’re going to test your theory.”

9

“WHERE WERE YOU YESTERDAY?
”

“Quentin and I had an errand to run,” Christian answered. Allison seemed tired this morning, or worried. He couldn’t decide which, but she was definitely on edge. Not her usual happy self. “You okay?”

“Not even going to tell me what part of the world you were in?” she pushed.

“Washington, D.C. I was seeing Senator Estes from Minnesota.” Which was true. He had stopped by the Russell Office Building to see Estes—at the senator’s request—before driving out to Camp David. Several months ago one of the Everest portfolio companies had announced plans to build a massive new manufacturing facility that would create thousands of new jobs. Minneapolis was one of the two finalist locations. “The senator wanted to tell me that he would be grateful if we built that plant in his state
and
to remind me three times that he’d been helpful in getting the Energy Department off its ass on the Laurel Energy deal. Claimed if he hadn’t made a few phone calls, we
still
wouldn’t have our money.”

“Think he’s telling the truth?” Allison asked. “Think he really called anyone?”

“I’m sure he made the calls. Whether it made a difference or not, I don’t know.”

“Well, there’s no reason to get him angry.”

Christian eased back into his comfortable office chair. It seemed like at this level, no matter how hard you tried not to, you pissed somebody off. The other possible location was outside Sacramento, and he’d gotten an earful from the California senators, too. “I agree, except that
both
of the distinguished senators from California called me several times in the last two weeks to let me know that they would look upon us building the plant in their state very favorably, too.
And
to remind me of the ways in which
they’ve
helped Everest Capital in the past and want to continue to help Everest in the future. How they don’t want to see anything get in the way of their continuing to support us. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they were saying.”

“Well,” Allison said with a sigh, “that’s why you get the big bucks, Mr. Chairman. To make sure all the kids play together in the sandbox without killing each other.”

“Speaking of big bucks,” he said quickly, spotting an opportunity to change subjects, “I’m making the Laurel Energy distributions today.”

“So I understand.”

Christian heard aggravation in Allison’s tone. Why the hell would she be aggravated about getting money? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“Why’d you say it like that?”

She looked at him as if he were crazy. “Like
what
?”

“Come on, Ally, don’t be like that with me. I’ve known you long enough to hear that tone in your—”

“It’s a bummer to hear about your making the distributions from someone else,” she admitted. “I thought you told me everything about what was going on at Everest.”

“Who told you about the distributions?”

“Sherry Demille.”

“That associate who works with you all the time?”

“Uh-huh. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you remembered her so fast since you offered her a ride in your limo a couple of days ago.”

“What?”

“That’s what she told me.”

“Well, she’s lying.”

“Why would she do that?”

Christian shrugged as he picked up his reading glasses and his to-do list off the desk. There were thirty items on it today—which actually wasn’t too bad. Normally, there were twice that many. “I don’t know. Ask her.”

“Next thing you know she’ll be telling me she saw you walking along Fifth Avenue arm in arm with some underwear model.”

Christian looked at her over his glasses. “What the—”

“Are you telling me you didn’t ask Sherry if she needed a ride?” Allison demanded, leaning forward in her chair.

“All I did was hold the door open for her downstairs as I was walking out.” He put the list down. “Aren’t you more interested in what your share of the Laurel distribution is than figuring out why some associate’s trying to get a rise out of you?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m
really
interested in. How you got those scratches on your face and hands.”

Christian held out one hand and gazed at the thin, red lines zigzagging across his fingers. Plowing through sticker bushes while he was running for his life yesterday in western Maryland, that was how he’d gotten them. But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

A Maryland State cop had called early this morning with some follow-up questions. Apparently Beth hadn’t told the police much when they’d interviewed her yesterday evening at the barracks while he waited outside the interview room. They seemed keenly interested in getting to the bottom of why the men were after her. Christian had gotten the impression from the investigator who had called this morning that he thought the men chasing them might actually have been after him. Maybe because Quentin had told them over the phone from the store parking lot that he and Christian had been on their way back from Camp David at the time. Christian had asked the investigator several times not to call the Secret Service. He didn’t want Jesse Wood finding out about this. He was excited about helping the president with the Cuba mission, and if Jesse found out what had happened, he might decide to use someone else, worried that Christian couldn’t stay under the radar. If worse came to worst and the cops did contact the Secret Service, he’d get Quentin to call some of his old friends down at the White House and hopefully keep news of the whole thing under wraps.

“I was working outside at my house on Long Island over the weekend,” Christian explained. “You know, clearing some brush.” He grimaced and scratched his arms through his shirtsleeves. “Think I might have gotten some poison ivy, too.”

“Clearing brush?” Allison asked incredulously. “Since when did you grow a green thumb? I thought you hated working in the—”

“Forty million bucks, Ally,” he interrupted. “That’s the number.” Her reaction was almost the same as Quentin’s. A blank stare for a few moments, then a deliberate shake of her head, as though suddenly she couldn’t think straight. Since she’d been cut off by her family, money suddenly meant something to her again. And this was
real
money. This was flip-your-family-the-bird money. “That’s what you’re getting from the Laurel profits.”

“My God,” she whispered. “That’s incredible.”

“It’ll be in your account this afternoon, and you better send half of it to the IRS right away. They’ll get cranky if you don’t, especially when it’s this much.”

“Chris, I don’t know what to say. I mean, thank you, of course.”

“It’s the same thing I’m giving Blair and Tom.” Blair Johnson and Tom O’Brien were two of the other managing partners who reported directly to Gillette. “Quentin, too. I’d say that you guys deserve it, but I’m not sure anyone really
deserves
forty million dollars. At least not for what we do. Kids who get shot up for their country maybe, but not us.”

Allison tilted her head to one side. “You seem awfully patriotic lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been making lots of comments about the military and Iraq and kids getting killed in the line of duty.”

Christian shrugged. “Yeah, well, maybe I feel guilty.”

“Why would you feel guilty?”

He thought about the question for a moment. “I’ve made a lot of money thanks to the fact that kids are willing to lay down their lives to protect my ability to do it. I’ve never done anything like that in my life.” He hesitated. “Maybe I should have.”

“You’ve paid a lot of taxes.”

Taxes. Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better. Which was one big reason he was so intrigued by Cuba: It would be a chance for him to give something back. “That’s not quite the same as risking your life.”

“Agreed, but you can’t feel bad because you didn’t volunteer to invade Iraq, Chris.”

“I know.” But he was thinking that helping Wood with Cuba was perfect. That it might satisfy his hunger to make a difference. To
really
make a difference.

“What about Jim?” asked Allison. Jim Marshall was the fifth managing partner. “What are you giving him?”

“Nothing,” Christian replied bluntly.

“Wow.” Allison winced. “That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?”

“The portfolio companies he’s responsible for are sucking wind, Ally. You know that. Last year, four of his six companies did worse than they did the year before. The other two
lost
money. I can’t give him money from the Laurel profits with that kind of track record. Besides, he’s making a million a year in salary.” Christian tapped the desk. “Most important, he’s got to clean up his act.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got a drinking problem.”

She looked up, amazed. “How do you know that?”

“I smelled something on his breath one day a few months ago, so I had Quentin put one of his guys on him. Tail Jim when he went out, you know? Turns out he’s drinking at lunch almost every day. Three or four Scotches with some accountant friend of his, a
female
friend. Quentin’s guy told me they’ve been holding hands, making out like teenagers in Central Park. The guy’s married with kids, for crying out loud. Look, I’m not naïve, I know this stuff happens all the time, but he’s not some low-level clerk who pushes paper for a living, either. He’s the chairman of six companies. He can’t be doing that kind of crap.” Christian saw that Allison was going to say something. “
And,
I found a bottle of Scotch in his desk,” he spoke up before she could. “He’s drinking here at Everest. That’s ridiculous.”

“You went through his desk?”

“I sure did.”

“Have you ever gone through
my
desk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You haven’t given me any reason to.”

“But you would if I did?”

“Absolutely.”

Allison gritted her teeth. “I think people are entitled to their privacy, Chris. No matter what. For me, a person’s desk comes under the privacy heading.”

Christian shook his head firmly. “Not when they’re handling billions of dollars of other people’s money. Check out the contract you signed when you joined Everest. It says I can do whatever I think is necessary to protect the integrity and the reputation of Everest Capital. If you’re going to run this place someday, you better get that same attitude fast because ultimately the investors will blame you if things go wrong around here. They won’t want to hear that somebody else is responsible, even if they are. They blame the chairman.
That’s
why I get the big bucks.” He saw that his comment about her running the place someday had taken her by surprise. They hadn’t talked about that possibility in a couple of years, and she probably figured he’d decided not to name her vice chairman. “Fortunately everyone else’s portfolio companies are doing all right. Making four and a half billion dollars off the Laurel deal tends to keep our investors happy, too, even when we keep nine hundred million dollars of it. But it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else if I gave Jim a big chunk of the ups when he doesn’t deserve it.”

“But
nothing
?” she protested. “I mean, he’s got older kids. One in college, I think.”

“If you can’t get by on a million bucks a year, something’s wrong.”

She took a deep breath. “He just got divorced, Chris,” she said in a low voice.

Christian looked up. “Oh?”

“That’s what’s going on. That’s why he’s drinking and meeting another woman. It wasn’t like he was running around with her before the divorce, either.”

“I had no idea.”

“The divorce was finalized at the end of last year, and he really got screwed. He’s paying his ex something like fifty grand a month for life with no tax deduction for the alimony.”

Christian ran a few numbers in his head. Fifty grand a month would be six hundred thousand a year. If Jim wasn’t able to deduct those payments, he was being taxed on his gross earnings, on the whole million dollars. Federal taxes alone on that amount would be almost four hundred grand. As incredible as it seemed, Jim Marshall was losing money every month.

“Did you give him a bonus last February?” Allison asked.

“No.”

“So he’s actually losing money every month.”

“I know, I just did the calculation.”

“The problem,” Allison explained, “is that the court looked at his income as a whole, with his bonuses. What he’s averaged over the last few years. Apparently his lawyer convinced the judge not to consider the ups payments, like Laurel, in terms of calculating the monthly alimony because they weren’t predictable. But he still has to give her half of those whenever they’re paid to him.”

“How do you know so much about his divorce?” Christian wanted to know.

“I asked him. How do you
not
know?” Allison waved her hand. “That’s not fair. I’m sorry.”

Maybe this was why Victoria Graham wanted Allison to be vice chairman of Everest Capital, Christian thought to himself. Maybe Allison was more in touch with the staff. Maybe Graham had gotten sentimental as she got older. Hell, he was getting more patriotic. And it wasn’t that he
didn’t
care about the people here, he just couldn’t seem to find the time to dig that deeply into their lives. He wasn’t sure they really wanted him to, either. A year ago he’d hired a human resources expert to help him figure out why Everest was experiencing what he thought was a high employee-turnover rate. Maybe that was the wrong approach. Maybe there was a simpler solution. Understand people’s personal lives.

Christian shut his eyes tightly and rubbed his forehead. Don’t be distracted, he thought to himself. His job was to make money for his investors. Ultimately, while some of them might be sympathetic to Jim Marshall’s plight—because statistically at least half of them would have gone through divorce themselves—they invested with Everest to make money, not to solve personal crises. As far as Christian was concerned, paying $40 million to someone who was having a liquid lunch every day and shirking his responsibilities set a bad precedent. No matter what his personal situation was.