The Carpetbaggers (22 page)

The only one who got it was Amos Winthrop. I saw a knowing grin appear on his face. I wondered what his expression would be if he knew it was his daughter I was talking about.

By this time, Mac had recovered his aplomb and stepped in to take over. There were introductions all around and then we got down to business. As Mac explained to me, the three big chemical corporations had set up a separate company to sub-license from me. It was this company which would make the first payment and guarantee the royalties.

I had only one question to ask. "Who guarantees the money?"

Mac indicated one of the men. "Sheffield here," he said. "Mr. Sheffield is one of the partners of George Stewart, Inc."

I looked at Sheffield. Stewart, Morgan, Lehman were all good names down on the Street. I couldn't ask for better people financially. There was something about the man's face that seemed familiar. I searched my memory. Then I had it.

F. Martin Sheffield. New York, Boston, Southampton, Palm Beach. Harvard School of Business, summa cum laude, before the war. Major, U.S. Army, 1917-18. Three decorations for bravery under fire. Ten-goal polo-player. Society. Age now — from his appearance, about thirty-five; from the record, forty-two.

I remembered he'd come to visit my father about ten years ago. He'd wanted then to float a public issue for the company. My father had turned him down.

"No matter how good they make it sound, Junior," my father had said, "never let 'em get their hooks into you. Because then they run your business, not you. All they can give you is money when the only thing that counts is power. And that they always keep for themselves."

I stared at Sheffield. "How're you goin' to guarantee the payments?"

His dark, deep-set eyes glittered behind the pince-nez bifocals. 'We're on the contract with the others, Mr. Cord," he said.

His voice was surprisingly deep for a slight man. And very sure of itself. It was as if he did not deign to answer my question, as if everybody knew that Stewart's name on a contract was guarantee enough.

Maybe it was, but something about him rankled deep inside me. "You didn't answer my question, Mr. Sheffield," I said politely. "I asked how the money was to be guaranteed. I'm not a banker or a Wall Street man, I’m just a poor boy who had to leave school and go to work because his pappy died. I don't understand these things. I know when I go into a bank and they ask me to guarantee something, I have to put up collateral — like land, mortgages, bonds, something of value — before they give me anything. That's what I mean."

A faintly cold smile came to his thin lips. "Surely, Mr. Cord, you don't mean to imply that all these companies might not be good for the amount promised?"

I kept my voice bland. "I didn't mean anything like that, Mr. Sheffield. It's just that men who have had more experience than I, men who are older and know more, tell me that these are unsettled times. The market's broke and banks are failing all over the country. There's no telling what might happen next. I'd like to know how I’m goin' to be paid, that's all."

"Your money will be guaranteed out of income that the new company will earn," Sheffield said, still patiently explaining.

"I see," I said, nodding my head. "You mean I’ll be paid out of money you earn if I grant you the license?"

"That's about it," he said.

I took a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. "I still don't understand. Why can't they pay me all at once?"

"Ten million dollars is a large amount of cash, even for these companies," he said. "They have many demands on their capital. That's why we're in the picture."

"Oh," I said, still playing it dumb. "You mean you're going to advance the money?"

"Oh, no," he said quickly. "That's not it at all. We're simply underwriting the stock, providing the organizational capital to make the new company possible. That alone will come to several million dollars."

"Including your brokerage fees?"

"Of course," he answered. "That's quite customary."

"Of course."

He shot a shrewd look at me. "Mr. Cord, you object to our position?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not at all. Why should I? It's not my place to tell other people how to run their business. I have enough trouble with my own."

"But you do seem to have some doubts about our proposition."

"I do," I said. "I was under the impression I was to receive ten million dollars for these rights. Now I find I'm only
guaranteed
ten million dollars. There's a difference between the two. In one case, I'm paid outright, in the other, I'm an accidental participant in your venture, subject to the same risks that you are but with a limitation put upon the extent of my participation."

"Do you object to that kind of deal?"

"Not at all. It's just that I like to know where I stand."

"Good. Then we can get down to signing the papers." Sheffield smiled in relief.

"Not yet," I said and his smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "I'm willing to become a participant in the manner suggested but if I'm to take that risk, I feel I should be guaranteed fifteen million, not ten."

For a moment, there was a shocked silence, then everybody began to talk at once. "But you already agreed to ten!" Sheffield protested.

I stared at him. "No, I didn't. This is the first time we met."

Mac was blowing a gasket. "Wait a minute, Jonas. You led me to believe you'd listen to an offer of ten million dollars!"

"Well, I listened."

For the first time, I saw his lawyer's calm ruffled. "I acted in good faith on your behalf. I won't be a party to this kind of underhanded negotiation. If this deal doesn't go through as agreed, I'm through! I'm resigning!"

I stared at him impassively. "Suit yourself."

Mac raged. "Your trouble is you're getting too big for your breeches! I remember when you were still wet behind the ears— "

I was angry now; my voice went icy cold. "The trouble is you're just the lawyer and it's my property you're dealing with. I'll make the decision as to what I do with it — sell it or give it away, whatever I want to do. It's mine, I own it and you work for me. Remember that!"

Mac's face went white. I could see it all working around in his mind. The hundred thousand a year I was paying him. The bonus participation in profits. The house he lived in. The schools his kids were going to. His position in society. I wondered if at that moment he wasn't regretting the sixty-thousand-a-year practice he'd given up to come to me.

But I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry for him. He knew what he was doing. He even wrote his own contract, on his own terms. He wanted money and he got it. It was too late now for him to start complaining.

I looked at the others. They were staring at us. I knew then, sorry for Mac or not, I had to give him a leg up. "Aw, come off it, Mac," I said, making my voice warm and friendly. "We're too close to let a stupid thing like this come between us. Forget it. There'll be other deals. The important thing to do is to get your new contract signed so that I can be sure none of these other pirates steal you away from me."

I saw the look of relief flood into his face. "Sure, Jonas," he said. He hesitated. "I guess we're both a little bit overtired. Me with the negotiation, you with that record-breaking flight. I guess I just misunderstood what you told me."

He turned to the others. "I’m sorry, gentlemen," he said smoothly, himself once more. "It's my fault. I didn't mean to mislead you but I misunderstood Mr. Cord. My apologies."

An awkward silence fell in the room. For a moment nobody spoke, then I grinned and walked over to the urinal. "This is just so we don't have to write this meeting off as a total loss," I said over my shoulder.

It was Sheffield who made the first break. I heard him whispering hurriedly to the others. When I turned around, he looked at me. "Split it with you," he said. "Twelve five."

They wanted it real bad if they came up that quickly. At first, I shook my head, then I had an idea. "I heard a great deal about you from my father," I said. "He said you were a real sportsman, that you'd gamble on anything."

A smile appeared on his thin lips. "I've been known to wager a bit at times," he admitted.

"For two and a half million dollars, I’ll bet you can't pee into that far urinal from where you're standing," I said, pointing to the one about four feet from him. "If you do, the deal is yours for twelve five. If you don't, I get fifteen."

His mouth hung open, his eyes staring behind their glasses. "Mr. Cord!" he sputtered.

"You can call me Jonas," I said. "Remember it's for two and a half million dollars."

He looked at the others. They stared back at him. Then at me. Finally the Mahlon Chemical man spoke up. "It's two and a half million dollars, Martin. I'd take a shot at it for that kind of money!"

Sheffield hesitated a moment. He looked at Mac but Mac wouldn't meet his gaze. Then he turned toward the urinal, his hand going to his fly. He looked at me. I nodded. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. He just stood there, a red flush creeping up his collar into his face. A moment passed, another moment. His face was red now.

I broke the silence. "All right, Mr. Sheffield," I said with a straight face. "I concede. You win the bet. The deal is for twelve five."

He stared at me, trying to read my mind. I kept my expression blank. I held out my hand toward him. He hesitated a moment, then took it.

"May I call you Martin?" I asked.

He nodded, a faint smile appearing on his thin lips. "Please do."

I shook his hand. "Martin," I said solemnly. "Your fly is open!"

McAllister made the necessary changes in the contracts and we signed them right there. It was after four thirty when we came out into the lobby. I started for the elevator when Amos Winthrop tapped me on the shoulder.

I didn't want to talk to him. "Can it keep until morning, Amos?" I asked. "I gotta get some sleep."

His face crinkled in a knowing smile. He hit me on the shoulder jovially. "I know the kind of sleepin' you want to do, boy, but this is important."

"Nothing can be that important."

The elevator door opened and I stepped into it. Amos was right beside me. The operator started to close the doors. "Just a minute," I said.

The doors rolled open again and I stepped out. "All right, Amos," I asked. "What is it?"

We walked over to a couch and sat down. "I need another ten thousand," he said.

I stared at him. No wonder he was always broke. He spent it faster than they could print it. "What happened to all the cash you got for your stock?"

An embarrassed expression crossed his face. "It's gone," he said. "You know how much I owed."

I knew. He owed everybody. By the time he got through with his creditors and his ex-wives, I could see where the fifty grand had gone. I was beginning to feel sorry I'd included him in the deal but I'd thought he'd be able to contribute something to the company. At one time, he was one of the best designers of aircraft in the country.

"Your contract doesn't provide for advances like that," I said.

"I know," he answered. "But this is important. It won't happen again, I promise. It's for Monica."

"Monica?" I looked at him. This was going to be good. "What about her?"

He shook his head. "I want to send her to her mother in England. She's too much for me. I can't control her any more. She's seeing some guy on the sly and I have a feeling if she isn't balling him already, she soon will be."

For a moment, I stared at him. I wondered if this wasn't a gentle form of blackmail. It could be that he already knew and was taking this way of letting me know. "Do you know the guy?"

He shook his head. "If I did, I'd kill him," he said vehemently. "A nice sweet innocent kid like her."

I kept my face impassive. Love is blind but parents are blinder. Even a cheater like Amos, with all his knowledge, was no smarter than Joe Doakes in Pomona. "You talk to her?"

He shook his head again. "I tried but she won't listen. You know how kids are nowadays. They learn everything in school; you can't teach them anything. When she was sixteen, I found a package of Merry Widows in her pocketbook."

He should have stopped her then. He was about three years too late. She was nineteen now and carried her own brass ring. "Guys like you never learn."

"What was I supposed to do?" he asked truculently. "Keep her locked in her room?"

I shook my head. "You could have tried being her father."

"What makes you such an expert?" he snapped. "You won't talk like that after you have kids of your own."

I could have told him. I had a father who was too busy with his own life, too. But I was tired. I got to my feet.

"What about the money?" he asked anxiously.

"I’ll give it to you," I said. A feeling of disgust suddenly came up in me. What did I need guys like this around me for? They were like leeches. Once they got into you, they never let go. "As a matter of fact, I'll give you twenty-five thousand."

An expression of surprised relief flooded across his face. "You will, Jonas?"

I nodded. "On one condition."

For the first time, caution came into his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I want your resignation."

"From Winthrop Aircraft?" His voice was incredulous.

"From Cord Aircraft," I said pointedly.

The color began to drain from his face. "But— but I started the company. I know everything about it. I was just planning a new plane that the Army will sure as hell go for— "

"Take the money, Amos," I said coldly. "You've had it." I started for the elevator. I stepped inside and the boy closed the doors in his face. "Going up, Mr. Cord?" he asked.

I stared at him. That was a stupid question. What other way was there to go?

"All the way," I said wearily.

Monica was lying across the bed in the tops of my pajamas, half asleep. She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Everything go all right?"

I nodded.

She watched me as I threw my shirt across a chair. "What did Daddy want?"

I stepped out of my trousers and caught the pajama bottoms she threw at me. "He just turned in his resignation," I said, kicking off my shorts and getting into the pajamas.