Brooklyn on Fire (23 page)

“J
UDGE
M
OORE MIGHT
be in on it, too,” said Gaynor as he and Mary sat in his office. It was a large square-shaped one with an expansive bay window. Gaynor sat at an oversized oak desk, and bookcases adorned his walls, filled with law books, treatises on philosophy, and of course, the writings of Benjamin Franklin. It was dusk. Mary had gone straight to his office from the Raymond Street Jail to report what had happened to Sean and all the information she had gathered during that very long day. Her hope was that, at the very least, she could finally get Sean out on bail.

“In on what?” Mary asked.

“That’s an excellent question. We haven’t figured out the what, but we know that there definitely is one. I went to see Judge Moore again after I heard about Sean being stabbed.”

“How did you find out?”

“I am not without resources, Mary. There are people all over Brooklyn, good people, who believe in honest government that serves its citizens instead of itself.”

“And?”

“Moore wouldn’t budge. I had a feeling he wouldn’t, and I was prepared.” He opened the top desk drawer, pulled out several sheets of paper, and handed them to Mary, who sat across from him. “These are the telephone call sheets for Judge Moore’s office over the last week.”

“Why, Mr. Gaynor, don’t tell me you stole from Judge Moore’s office? What would Ben say?” she asked with her tongue firmly planted in her cheek.

“It’s unfortunate, but you’re right. When you’re dealing with rascals, there are times you also have to be one.”

Mary quickly perused the papers, then pointed to a spot halfway down the second sheet. “Here it is. On the day Sean was refused bail, Judge Moore had gotten a call from Hugh McLaughlin. The same as the Ridgeway calls.” Mary rose. “We need to see McLaughlin and find out what he has against Sean.”

“Sit down, Mary. I called McLaughlin’s office. He’s out of town and won’t be in until tomorrow.”

“Then we go first thing in the morning.”

“Not we, only you. He is well aware that I’m an adversary of his brand of politics, and my presence might hinder your mission.”

“It’s still a fishing expedition. I have no idea why he’d have a vendetta against Sean.”

They stared blankly at each other. Neither of them had a clue.

H
UGH
M
C
L
AUGHLIN WAS
feeling chipper, much more so than he had in a long time. It wasn’t surprising. He had just achieved one of his life’s goals: buying a summer home on the North Shore of Long Island. As he got off the train at Grand Central Depot, he was met by Liam Riley.

“Liam, my boy, there was no need to meet me here.”

Liam knew otherwise. “I wouldn’t think of letting you arrive without a reception. How’s your new house?”

“Ah, Liam, I can’t tell ya how gratifyin’ it is. Imagine me, a McLaughlin from the wrong side of the street—and the wrong side of the street in Brooklyn is as wrong as it can be—havin’ a home next to all those highfalutin society fellas. I feel like stickin’ my head out the window and thumbin’ my nose at ’em, and I just might do that.”

“That’s terrific, sir. I’m happy for you.”

“It shows what a man can accomplish with determination and hard work. Let that be a lesson to ya, lad.”

“There aren’t many Hugh McLaughlins around. I can’t imagine ever coming close to your success.”

“Don’t sell yerself short. Ya done some fine work for me, Liam. Very fine. I’m gettin’ old and it won’t be long until yer steppin’ into my shoes. How does ‘Boss Riley’ sound?”

“It sounds wonderful, but—”

“Don’t doubt yerself, son. I’ve told ya this a thousand times and I’ll tell ya a thousand more. What ya need ta do is dream big, Liam. Dream big and the world is yers.”

With that, McLaughlin handed his suitcase to Liam. No matter what he had said, McLaughlin had no intention of relinquishing a scintilla of his position. He had been driven his whole life by a lust for power. Now that he had it, they’d have to put him in his coffin and seal it tight before he ever let it go.

This exact thought was going through McLaughlin’s mind as he stepped out onto the street outside with Liam trailing behind, lugging his bag.

M
ARY WAS RETURNING
home from Gaynor’s office when she spotted George sitting outside her tenement building in his carriage.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted her.

“George, what a nice surprise.” She gave him a kiss hello through the carriage window. “How are your business dealings progressing?”

“They’re long and boring without you but almost done….You’re back in the nick of time, you know.”

“In the nick for what?”

“My brother Cornelius is giving us an intimate dinner party in celebration of our engagement.”

Mary paused, then asked, “Tonight?”

“I realize it’s the last minute, but I thought, why not?”

“Did you ever consider what I might think?”

George could see that Mary was a bit testy. It was unlike her, especially with him. “I suspect you had a particularly trying day.”

“I’m sorry, George. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She got into his carriage and as she sat, she began to rattle off all that had transpired since they had last spoken. He was truly upset when she told him that Sean had been stabbed and relieved when he learned he had survived. It was then that he decided to postpone the dinner. Mary had gone through enough.

“No, George, as a matter of fact, seeing you now makes me feel much better. I’ve missed you.”

They kissed.

“Well,” he said, “maybe I need to go off on private business more often.”

“Don’t you dare….I would need to borrow a dress though. Time is short, and my wardrobe is quite limited. Correction: threadbare.”

“I anticipated that might be a problem, and I have a solution.” He reached to the side and returned with a wire hanger, a white cloth covering what was on it.

“You bought a dress for me?”

“Yes, I hope you don’t—”

“Don’t you think that’s a little presumptuous? How do you know I will like it? How do you know it will fit? How—” A bit flustered, she stopped.

“Are you finished, Mary?”

“For now, but I reserve the right to revisit this.”

“Of course, but now I need to speak….First of all, if you don’t like the dress or don’t want to attend this dinner, it’s perfectly fine with me. But you must understand this. I have traveled the globe and have met all kinds of people from all walks of life. And you, Mary Handley, are the dearest, most precious person I have ever encountered. I would never consciously do anything to harm you, and my every waking thought is to honor you in the best way I know how.”

Mary melted. “God, you always know the perfect thing to say.” She kissed him. When they broke, she declared, “I’m going to wear it. I don’t care if it doesn’t fit.”

“But it will, Mary. I know it will.”

And it did. Naturally, George was current on all the latest fashions and knew what would suit her. It was a slim-fitting, full-length red velvet dress that was cinched at the waist to show off Mary’s lovely figure. The only part of the dress that was not red velvet was a piece of very light beige silk that extended from just above the breast and looped over her left shoulder. Of course, George had also brought a diamond necklace and bracelet that he had borrowed from his mother, who wasn’t feeling well and had passed along her regrets. They went perfectly with her outfit.

Cornelius Vanderbilt II lived on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Seventh Street, just five blocks from George’s abode on Fifth and Fifty-Second. It was the largest private residence ever built in New York City, a multifloored mansion with many rooms for every occasion imaginable and adorned with the finest furniture and art from all over the world. Cornelius had a competitive mindset about his home. He always had to have the biggest and the most prestigious.

As George had described, it was indeed an intimate party, a total of eight—the Rockefellers; the Carnegies; and Cornelius Vanderbilt and his wife, Alice, along with George and Mary—and they were sitting in the drawing room, sipping aperitifs of dry champagne, except for the Rockefellers, of course, who clung to their glasses of club soda as if they were beacons in the dark. Rockefeller was a devout churchgoer who disapproved of drinking, smoking, card playing, dancing, the theater, and many other activities.

Mary had quipped to George earlier that evening, “If it involves fun, Mr. Rockefeller is clearly against it.”

“That’s not so,” George had replied. “He truly enjoys counting his money.”

As always, the men were discussing business, and Mary made the mistake of feeling comfortable enough to express her opinions, which were decidedly sympathetic to the worker and the small business man. Rockefeller had an immediate, knee-jerk reaction.

“Surely you do believe in the rights of the individual, don’t you, Miss Handley?” Rockefeller said as he sipped his club soda, mistakenly thinking he would trap her with his savvy.

Mary paused before answering him. She wanted to make sure she didn’t begin her relationship with her future in-laws by offending their guest, but she also was not one to back down from her views. She had to word her response carefully.

“I most certainly believe in the rights of the individual, as long as those rights do not include denying other individuals their rights.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” responded Rockefeller. “Every person should have a chance to compete. Survival of the fittest will take care of the rest.”

Mary could see this conversation might lead her into making disagreeable statements, at least in this crowd, and decided not to respond. She felt she wasn’t being rude, because Rockefeller had made a statement and wasn’t asking a question. George instantly picked up on Mary’s discomfort and decided to come to her rescue by changing the subject.

“Have any of you been following the Brooklyn Bridegrooms? They switch leagues and they’re still in first place. Quite a team, eh?”

There was a brief lull in the conversation. The second the words were out of George’s mouth he knew it was a mistake. This was certainly not a baseball group. Mary appreciated George’s effort to divert the conversation, but even she had to stifle a chuckle. George was one of the least likely people to be a baseball fan.

“No,” replied Cornelius drily, “but thank you for the update, George.”

“So, Miss Handley,” Rockefeller said, continuing, “do you believe in survival of the fittest?”

Mary started to feel a bit light-headed. “I believe Mr. Darwin’s Theory of Evolution on the animal kingdom is a brilliant treatise.”

Cornelius jumped in. “I don’t think Mr. Rockefeller was referencing animals.”

“Well then, if you mean the human race, one must consider advancements in medical science. People who might not have survived in a different time are still alive and leading fruitful lives. I suspect that will only continue to improve.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I put in my two cents,” Carnegie interjected.

“Go ahead, Andy,” interrupted Rockefeller. “You always do, and it’s usually four.”

They all laughed at Rockefeller’s attempt at humor. In a way they were encouraging him, because he was usually so dour. Mary tried her best to force a reaction approximating laughter. George was better at it. He had had more practice.

“If I may be so presumptuous,” Carnegie interjected, then looked at Rockefeller, who held off on another witticism at Carnegie’s expense—his words had made it too easy—“I think my good friend John was referring to the business world, though why he would ask a delightful young lady like you about such matters is beyond me.”

Carnegie’s comment exhibited a total disrespect for and disregard of women’s abilities, as if they were pretty things to be seen and not heard, or at least not heard about anything consequential. Needless to say, it took significant biting of her lip for Mary not to respond.

“I agree wholeheartedly with you,” said Alice Vanderbilt, addressing Carnegie. “Business is such a boring topic, but feel free to discuss it all you like after dinner when you gentlemen retreat with your cigars and cognac”—she turned to Rockefeller—“or whatever your preference. That’s when we women can return to more pleasant conversation.”

Her comment made Mary dig deeper into her lip, but in a way it was a relief. She hoped it had ended this discussion. She also wasn’t feeling 100 percent and was afraid she might say something she would regret. Mary reasoned that the cause of her upset might be drinking champagne on an empty stomach, so she stopped, holding the champagne glass as if it were a theater prop. But Carnegie and Rockefeller were not going to let it go.

“Actually, Andy,” Rockefeller said, “I would like to hear Miss Handley’s response.”

“Of what consequence could any of my words be? There are captains of industry present here, and I am but a mere lady detective.”

“I am always interested in the opinions of the God-fearing, churchgoing public.”

Although Mary believed in God, she would never consider herself part of the category in which Rockefeller had placed her. Too often it was associated with blind belief, a lack of logic, and intolerance. She caught George’s eye, and he ever so discreetly nodded for her to go ahead.

“All right, if you insist. I think that survival of the fittest could and should be applied to business. The person who builds the most efficient enterprise with the best product should always prevail, but there should be certain restrictions.”

“Restrictions?” Rockefeller asked. “Do you not believe in laissez-faire capitalism?”

“Oh please, John,” Alice Vanderbilt interrupted. “How can you expect we women to know about laissez-faire capitalism? You’d have much better luck asking us about the latest fashions.”

That was it. Mary was no longer going to hold back her opinions or intellect. She couldn’t swallow what these people were serving.

“If by ‘laissez-faire’ you mean fair competition to determine the market, I’d say yes. However, if that practice means that large companies can, with impunity, artificially lower prices, receive special rebates from other companies, and engage in ruthless and illegal practices to limit competition, I’d say no.”

Mary knew she was in for a fight. Both Carnegie and Rockefeller were known for their questionable business practices. In fact, rumors abounded about Rockefeller’s minions forcing people to sell their oil land at gunpoint for less than the market price.

“And where did you get such foolish notions about business?” Carnegie asked.

“Oh, those aren’t my notions. I was quoting Senator John Sherman of Ohio. I expect you know he’s proposed a bill called the Sherman Antitrust Act that is before Congress now and is expected to pass in the next month or so.”

A silent pause followed. Rockefeller and Carnegie hadn’t expected her to be so knowledgeable on the subject. Rockefeller harrumphed his displeasure but Carnegie spoke up.

“I’m sure you think you’re being clever, but your notions of business are merely the chatter of a naïve and silly young woman.”

Mary was feeling even weaker, and she no longer had the strength to filter her words. “Oh, am I no longer delightful?” she quipped.

George jumped in. “Actually, I think Mary’s being quite clever, Mr. Carnegie, or you would have responded with something more substantive than name-calling.”

Cornelius saw that his party was turning into a disaster and came to the defense of his more successful guests. “It’s easy to be judgmental, Mary, but we are more than one aspect of our lives. Are you aware of what these men are doing for the world now?”

She tried to fight it but Mary’s speech was getting slower and faces were becoming blurry. “Yes…I’ve read Mr. Carnegie’s treatise…
The Gospel of
…”

“Wealth. The Gospel of Wealth.”

“That’s it. Spend your life making it, and at the end, give it away.”

“Then you know that he and Mr. Rockefeller are engaged in donating a sizable portion of their fortune to charity, educational institutions, and helping the less fortunate.”

“I…think it’s incredibly commendable…generous, and…selfless. I…applaud them.” Mary started clapping her hands in a slow, offbeat motion. After three claps, one hand missed the other. George became concerned.

“Mary, are you all right?”

By now the room was spinning. Faces and furniture flew by her like a merry-go-round at a fair. “I also think that…guilt is a great motivator.”

Then Mary passed out and collapsed to the floor.