Miranda's War (24 page)

“You don't strike me as a group that needs any help. Society has blessed you.”

“We want to be left alone. We're not asking for help.”

She smiled and put up her right hand dismissively.

“I hope you take my compliment in the spirit in which it was offered, Mrs. Dalton,” she said and walked out.

Stephen closed the door and waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade down the hallway.

“We can't cave in to her,” he said. “But I hate doing this. I hate every minute of this fight, this existential, unwinnable, horrible battle you got me into. But I'm in it. I let you suck me in. What have we accomplished? Nothing. Why didn't you realize this would happen?”

“Because I thought I could change people. That's what society tells us to believe.”

“You haven't changed them or us. And you're not even one of us!”

He slammed a fist onto the table.

“Who the fuck are you anyway?”

“I'm Miranda Kedzie Dalton, soon to be Kedzie again, from St. Johnsbury, Vermont, a little town you've probably never heard of, in the Northeast Kingdom, a part of the state you've probably never been to and never will get to. I'm the daughter of an ambitious businessman who was taught never to downplay his success. He lived it. I married a rich man who loved me. And I loved him for a while. I'm unhappy, ambitious and intolerant of mediocrity. You know all this. Why make me say it?”

“Have you ever seen a shrink?”

“Of course. That's one of Lincoln's guilty pleasures. And then we keep it to ourselves and let it seep into our wineglasses. At least I know who I am.”

He looked like he wanted to kill her. The red in his eyes almost merged with his flushed cheeks, and he rubbed his temples with the fingers of his left hand as if he were giving a deep tissue massage.

“Don't you understand anything about group dynamics?” she asked.

“What?”

“This is a classic case of what social scientists call the black sheep effect. Our group rejects me but would embrace someone else who pulls it off. You could do it if you weren't so afraid of winning.”

“How does this end? Tell me the endgame.”

“Samuelson gives us protection.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he has to.”

“Why?”

“It costs too much not to. You know the economics of this.”

“Speed up the long run, Miranda.I haven't got the time or the guts to keep this up and neither does anyone else.”

“What if you make money along the way?”

“How?”

“What if Samuelson thinks we might not bring our money back into Mass. munis? Then he gets terrified. And perception is everything in politics. Every time you get on TV, you lose us support because you don't want to be on TV and it shows. You have this cranky shortness in your responses, your face tightens. You want the camera to blink.”

“And if I didn't?”

“If you looked like you do right now, furious at me, you'd shatter his whole perception of the dynamics.”

“I could come up with some type of portfolio. But my firm can't do it if I'm a candidate.”

“Tell him you're going to drop out of the race, which you want to do anyway, and keep up the fight to boycott and create a new portfolio for ex-municipal investors.”

“He won't believe it.”

“Tony Zenni will back you up. He'll tell Samuelson he's going to be part of this venture, heading up a real estate investment trust that will be part of the portfolio.”

“And I could get a few more Tony Zennis to come onboard,” he said. “I can't commit to anything right now. I need time to crunch this.”

She closed her laptop and let slip a sly grin.

“I want to see Archer now,” she said.

“He's on ice somewhere. We'll have to go to Samuelson.”

“Go tell him I'm having a breakdown. I'm overwhelmed and I need to see my husband. I can feign a psychotic episode. I've done it before.”

He left, and ten minutes later Archer knocked on the door and then opened it.

“Hutch, I'm actually sorry this has to happen. The Governor called. You're a threat to the state.”

“That's what he believes. You could have said no. Since when do you cave in to extortion? You're Archer Abbotsford Dalton,
Mayflower
descendant with 350 years of privilege to protect! The Daltons have said no to Presidents, which is how you made your second great fortune, Prime Ministers, Popes and every other tyrant that has threatened them since King Charles II. Or did your mother try and keep it all from you?”

“You've made your point. What do you want?”

“Well, if you have one ounce of self-respect you will not speak to Samuelson, not a single word, ever again. And you will make millions of dollars in the process. Your net worth has been declining since the day you were born. All you do is consume. It's time you did something to add to the fortune, such as it is.”

“Do tell. You need the scheme of schemes to turn this around.”

“You can walk in there now and agree to a tax and a public drubbing, or we can give him a counter-proposal that allows us to buy up the best real estate at a 20% discount.”

“Who's going to buy? Not me, and that means not you.”

“Tony Zenni.”

“He's your new exchequer?”

“Let's just say he bought the Pierce House for $14.5 million without blinking an eye and would like to buy other properties like it, distressed estates, heavily discounted because of the threat of a zoning bill. Now, what's wrong with that, exploiting opportunity?

“How does that benefit you? Are you Zenni's new business partner?”

“I will be when we're divorced and I have to earn a living. And since when have you disapproved of self-reliance?”

“I'm all for it, but you're the supreme parasite. All I do is underwrite your efforts. Now that you've set your sights on a healthy income, perhaps I should let you have your way. It might mean a more equitable distribution of my assets. OK, give me your number.”

“The net worth of your non-marital assets is the present value of your share of the Dalton Family Trust as reflected in the document dated October 30, 1998, part B, which the last time I checked is $18.7 million. It was 14.3 when we were married. Three years ago it peaked at 21.7 mil. Then the day after I announced I was running for Selectman you withdrew a million and set up that partnership with Ducky Brewster in the Cayman Islands. And you've been moving $250,000 a month down there by wire transfers ever since.”

“How do you know that?”

“Please, I hacked into your computer five years ago.”

“Why didn't you say something?”

“Let's just say I think long-term.”

“I'm getting a better return on my money over there. Is that illegal?”

“Save it for your deposition. Then there are all of our marital assets: the house, the boat, the island in Buzzards Bay, the Maine property, our cars, the Sargents, the sculptures, the Winslow Homers, the brokerage account. The boys' trusts are exempt, of course, but because of your bad-faith maneuverings, I can attack your retirement account, another two mil. And this will run up a huge legal bill. Ted's firm can't do it gratis. He's done enough for you this year, and my lawyer will end up with a lien on the estate that means you'll end up paying for half of his time. And the forensic account to prove all the Cayman activity.”

“All right, name your price!”

“I also suspect you plagiarized some sections of your last article on transportation patterns in seventeenth-century Manhattan. Footnotes 242 and 377 are misleading and incomplete.”

“Jeeesus!” He slammed his right fist on the table. “You are a demented, satanic bitch that has no business in a position of power!”

“And you're in the palm of my hand like the rest of them—like the Governor, like Julia and Karl and Stephen Rokeby. You're all so timid, so predictable.”

“What do you want? Name your price.”

“I'm entitled to $6.4 million, that's half of what you earned during the marriage. Now, you've indulged me all these years with my favorite Bordeaux and the two Sargents, and entrée into the worlds I wanted to inhabit, though the last five years have been a dreadful bore. So if you go along with me now I'll walk away for four million cash, the house, one of the Sargents, one of the Homers and 5,000 a month until I remarry. The boys stay at BB&N and go to college out of state. No M.I.T., no Harvard, no Amherst. And I'll keep my mouth shut about all the other matters I may or may not have been privy to in our personal lives. And for the record, I've been absolutely faithful.”

“You're leaving $2 million on the table. Not quite enough. I want half the house. We'll own it jointly.”

“Then you can buy me out anytime. No. Your name is off the deed. I leave Lincoln when I'm good and ready. And for the record, you've been a wonderful father and provider of material things.”

He pulled out his cell phone.

“Do you mind if I call Ted?”

“Of course I mind. But he's your lawyer.”

He walked out of the room, turned down the hall to find an empty office, and his eyes met the Governor's. He was heading his way with an aide in tow.

“Mr. Dalton, I was just coming to see how things were going with Miranda. She's been conferring with Stephen for twenty minutes. I wasn't expecting to see you here. You're supposed to be in the auxiliary lounge seething with contempt.”

The Governor came to within inches of Archer.

“She asked me to come over. We had a heart-to-heart, Governor.”

“And just where is her heart?”

“She's weighing things. Give me twenty-four hours and I think I can bring her around.”

“I don't have twenty-four hours,” he said acidly, and opened the door.

Miranda dropped her cell phone.

“Governor, doesn't the Constitution require you to knock and announce?”

“Oh come on, Mrs. Dalton, we want to know what you're thinking. You've been in here long enough.”

“Mr. Rokeby and I will meet you in your office in ten minutes.”

Miranda pulled out her cell phone.

“Tony, I think Archer is going to agree to the deal.”

“Four million cash?”

“Yes, and Stephen is running the numbers on his end. He's more than intrigued. In Hollywood they call this a rolling pitch meeting. The concept is perfect and the finance people are crunching the numbers.”

“Then you go in there and make the counter-demands we agreed to. I need thirty days. Come over to my place tonight after work. Let's celebrate—upstairs.”

She hesitated.

“Downstairs, with my favorite Château Saint-Sulpice red 2007.”

“I have a long-term plan to offer you,” he said, “and I want this to be as romantic as I can make it.”

“Why do men think sex is romantic? That's one of the reasons I fell for Archer. I wasn't physically attracted to him, but he made up for it in so many other ways. We enjoyed the finer things, and I adored all of them.”

“I'll have the wine tonight, and foie gras. And as soon as we can get away for a weekend, we'll go to Montreal.”

“It's perfect this time of year.”

“Montreal it is, madame. And there is so much great cuisine to explore there.”

“Archer doesn't like it. It was always quick weekends in New York, at the Lotus Club, the same restaurants with his favorite popovers and bisque. I loved it for ten years. And since, awfully blasé.”

“How can New York be blasé?”

“When I go with you it will be sparkling again.”

“We'll stay at The Plaza. And I can take you to jazz clubs and the best …”

“I know you will, Tony. Now let me go do what I have to do here.”

“Call me the second it's done.”

She met Stephen in the hallway and he had a slight but definitely noticeable smile.

“I can do it.”

“Then let's go see Samuelson,” she said, aware that Archer was still in conference with Ted.

“You stay right here. I'll go tell him we're ready.”

He headed to the Governor's outer office and told one of his assistants they were ready to see him.

“Five minutes,” said the aide. “Please have Mrs. Dalton with you.”

He went back to Miranda. She was on her phone.

“Wrap it up. We're going in. We're sticking to our plan. We need thirty days. The boycott stays in place.”

“It's my lawyer,” she said to Stephen. “I'm working out my divorce.”

“No lawyers. Not yet,” he said and grabbed the phone from her hand.

“We've got Archer neutralized. I spoke to him.”

“You have?”

They went back to the Governor's office. Miranda sat in one of the two chairs opposite his desk. Stephen stood on the other side of the room by the windows overlooking the Boston Common. They Governor addressed them from his desk.

“Well folks, can we get an agreement in principle here on the major points? I'll give you the basic protection, and you swallow the tax. It's not perfect for either of us, but as Oliver Wendell Holmes said, a good contract is one in which both sides get half of what they want.”

“No sir,” Stephen said crisply.

“Why not?”

“We won't accept any tax. A tax is a punch in the jaw. We've taken enough punches.”

“Well, what are you offering the state?”

“The end of the bond boycott.”

The Governor laughed.

“We're going backwards?”

“We are.”

The Governor touched a button on his phone.

“Bring in Mr. Dalton and the Commissioners.”

They were brought in.

Stephen stared at Julia. Miranda gave Archer a discreet raised right eyebrow, their signal of solidarity. She had used it, and he had reciprocated in many horrendous situations. He looked back at her. He returned her signal and sat on the couch, his legs crossed, his body poised, absolutely implacable. He was her rock, and she was still his ambassador to the other world.