The Concealers (25 page)

Marcia sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, and Casey sat in the other.

“You're probably wondering why I'm here.”

“Not at all. I should have called you sooner.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I don't want to do it. I have to do it.”

“Why?”

“We all went through hell, but thanks to Joe, we turned things around—”

“And you think it's not working?”

“Considering how deep the hole was, we've come a long way. Our banks are still with us, our sales are adequate, and we're still generating revenue.”

“But?”

“This is going to sound selfish, but . . . the but is I'm not happy. It doesn't feel right to me around here anymore. I think Austin's an ass. Systemically, we're moving sideways and taking unnecessary risks.”

“I get that Austin's an ass. But help me with the last one, Casey.”

“If I learned anything from Joe, it's the importance of a strategic plan—a process where we have benchmarks or metrics to measure whether we're on course performance-wise, timing-wise, and otherwise. The otherwise is not doing anything illegal. I'm still into all of that, but I'm lonesome.”

“Meaning Preston, Austin, and others aren't helping—aren't with you in the process?”

“I don't think they see the value of the process or the danger in not following the rules—and that's the risk—but it's worse than that. I honestly don't think they care.”

Marcia thought about Alex, the automotive consultant Joe had brought into the negotiations with BNA in Charlotte, and thereafter, to whom Preston had given fifteen percent equity in the company. “Have you talked about this with Alex?”

“Yes. He sees it the same way. In fact, he's been pulling away from a lot of the operational oversight. I doubt if Preston will be able to keep him.”

“But he owns fifteen percent.”

“Of what? Besides, Alex was not driven by the equity. That was an add-on. Wilson Holdings is not his day job. He came in, helped us a lot when we needed it—honestly, because Joe asked him to. And Joe's gone.”

“Does Alex not get along with Preston?”

“He gets along with him. He just doesn't get him.”

“You sound like you've made up your mind.”

“After we met in the mountains, what followed for me was a real change in the way we did things. I remember when I called Preston—that was when Joe was starting to work on our case—to tell Preston all the stuff he wanted from us, documents, tax returns, operating statements, audits.”

“And he told you to give it to him.”

“But it wasn't that simple. We needed documents from him, and as you know, from you. And the letter from the criminal lawyer—that really pissed Preston off. What Preston didn't get was that Joe needed him to be a part of the turnaround process, not a distant CEO making assignments—and to commit to a clean way of doing business.”

“And you think that's all happening again. I can understand that. I really can,” Marcia said, tears forming in her eyes.

Casey returned to his desk chair and reached in his desk for a box of Kleenex, which he handed to Marcia, and a Snickers bar for himself.

“This company's been good to me for a lot of years. I make two hundred thousand dollars a year and can drive any car I want. I've earned that—worked my tail off here. And I've always been loyal to your husband. What matters most to me is my wife and three children. They know I'm not happy. I told Preston I quit, but he, of course, didn't take me seriously. That's why I'm officially resigning as CFO—today.”

Marcia had never seen Casey so emotional, and yet so calm. She knew how important Casey was, not only to the company, but to Preston. Casey might have underestimated Preston's reliance on him, or maybe he had it just right, that he understood all too well Preston's reliance on him. She would have felt better if he was ranting and raving; perhaps then there would have been hope. Under these circumstances she doubted it, however. After all, she'd been wrestling with a lot of the same issues.

What a mess,
she thought.
What a serious, unnecessary mess
.

Preston entered the Manhattan store on a cloudy Monday morning, made more so when he saw Casey still in his office standing behind his desk. Preston walked in and sat down. Casey continued packing personal items in cardboard boxes.

“I learned from my wife that you're quitting,” Preston said.

“Resigning,” Casey said as he packed his framed diploma from Wharton. “You're the one who's quitting.”

“What are you talking about? I'm not quitting,” Preston said.

Casey stopped what he was doing, grabbed a Snickers bar from his desk drawer, walked around his desk, sat in the chair next to Preston, and put his feet up on the desk.

“How can you eat a Snickers bar at a time like this?”

“They're good.”

“All you can think about is food.”

“We had this discussion.”

“I'm confused.”

“I agree. You are.”

“When did we have this discussion?”

“Roughly 1:30 in the afternoon, November 18, 2009.”

“You're losing it, Casey.”

“We were in a small conference room at the bank in Charlotte. Joe had just come back from lunch with the president and chairman to give us a status report. You thought we were going ‘down the chute,' as you put it, and you were lecturing about ‘all I could think of was food.' I told you then I wasn't going to make myself the goat anymore. I meant it.”

Preston was quiet for a while trying to recall their discussion during the workout.

“That was two and a half years ago, Casey. How do you remember all that? More important, why?”

“You were scared then, Preston. So was I. And we had good reason to be. The problem is, you're not scared now.”

“And you are?”

“No. I'm no longer CFO. I don't have to lie awake at three in the morning wondering whether your prep-school buddy is going to do what I asked him to do or whether he is telling me the truth. That's your problem now.”

“Do you really think Wilson is in trouble? We've worked out of tight spots before. Our sales are up. I can't understand why you're leaving me. We've come so far together.”

“We have come a long way, yes, but I don't think it's really been together.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Wilson clearly benefited from the workout and consolidation. The bank gave us more room, and the controls Alex put in place allowed us to properly allocate the increased revenues. But there's been net profit erosion ever since you brought Disley in to handle the accounting.”

“He thinks you don't get the big picture financially.”

“I don't care what he thinks. And I'm tired of caring what you think. I promised myself when Joe got us out of trouble, I'd never let myself get into that position again. It's not fair to me, to my wife, or to my kids.”

Preston stood up and put his hand on Casey's shoulder. “Don't leave me, Casey. I have too many problems right now. Marcia. P.J. A new daughter I really care about. Cut me some slack. I need you here.”

“You should really care about each of them,” Casey said as he got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. He walked around the desk, took the boxes off the desktop with one hand, set the coffee down with the other, and sat down in his desk chair. He pushed back on the chair, locked his hands behind his head, and put his feet up on the desk. “You're a good guy, Preston—deep down. But, you know what's sad? When you get cornered, you always make it about you. By the way, I'm not leaving the company—I'm just not an officer, board member, or employee anymore. As a fifteen percent shareholder, I sincerely hope you will get involved with running your company.”

“I just can't believe you're going to walk out of here,” Preston said. “I know you don't like Disley, but he and I have been friends for a long time, and he's really smart about finances. He'll bring things around for the company.”

“You're right. I don't like him. And I don't trust him. I think he's a scumbag. Do me a favor, Preston.”

“What? Anything.”

“Get out of here so I can finish packing. I want to get home to my wife and kids.”

Preston got up and slowly walked to the door. He turned and looked at Casey, but Casey never looked up. Instead of walking to his office, Preston walked downstairs and out of the building.

On the weekends, Katherine took Hailey for long walks on the beach, checked in with her mother and grandfather, talked with Sean on a couple of occasions, did the laundry, watched Netflix movies, and did what she could to make her apartment a home. Susan came out one Saturday, a glorious weather day. After spending the day at the beach with Hailey, they went back to Katherine's apartment, and Katherine ordered two oversized corned beef sandwiches on rye from the Country Deli. Two containers of popcorn and five hours of nonstop yakking later, they fell asleep.

After Susan left on Sunday, Katherine realized she hadn't spoken with her father in more than three weeks. She called him at home.

“Hi, Preston.”

“Hello, Katherine. How are you? Where are you? What are you doing?”

“I'm fine. At my apartment. Talking to you,” Katherine said, hoping to hear at least a chuckle. It didn't happen.

“I've been thinking about you. I know you've started work. How's that going?”

“As I expected. I'm reporting local stories—the ones my editor considers to be of local interest, that is. I'm really calling to see how you're doing. It's Father's Day, you know, Happy Father's Day.”

“Thank you, Katherine. I appreciate that.”

Katherine could hear the emotion in his voice, and it touched her more than she'd expected. “I wanted to see if you, Marcia, and P.J. would like to visit me at my apartment the next time you're in Southampton—and I can fix you dinner.”

“That sounds great. Hang on a minute.”

Katherine assumed Preston was checking with Marcia, and she wondered how that would go—but she felt she had to invite them all, and she wanted Marcia to see her apartment, too.

“Marcia asked me to tell you that she'd love to see your apartment and would love to have dinner with you there, but with all that's going on she'll have to pass for now, and she knew you would understand.”

“That's fine. I do understand.”

“But I'm going to be playing golf with my foursome at Shinnecock Hills Friday. I could come when we're done. Say around 6:30 p.m. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful.” Katherine gave Preston her address. “I'll see you then. Don't expect anything fancy.”

The door opened, and Katherine competed with Hailey to get to Preston first. “Hi,” she said, holding Hailey back by her collar. “Meet my roomie, Hailey. Come in.”

Preston walked in the door, gave Katherine a hug, and Hailey a quick tummy rub. Hailey returned the favor with kisses.

“I hope you like dogs.”

“I do. Just never had one.”

“How was your game?” Katherine asked as she pulled Hailey off him.

“I played better than I'd expected. That happens sometimes when one of the guys is doing well and picks up the rest.”

Katherine showed her father the apartment, which didn't take long. The doorway opened into a small living room on the other side of which was a bath and bedroom. A turquoise microfiber sofa bed and matching chair, and small desk and desk chair lined the wall on the right. On the left, past a small wall which enclosed the kitchen, was a modern white round table with four chairs. The floor was covered with new wall-to-wall beige carpet. The two windows had neutral colored Roman shades.

“Not quite Trump Tower.”

“I think it's great,” Preston said, moving to the wall, where Katherine had hung several pictures. “These are interesting. Mind if I take a closer look?”

“Sure. Would you like a scotch? I bought some Dewar's.”

“Please. Can I help?”

“No thanks. Go ahead. Look at the pictures.”

Preston was drawn to a small framed picture of a young nurse in a crisp white uniform and cap. He lifted the picture carefully from the wall and sat down in a nearby chair and studied it. The warmth in her face, the bright smile, those ice-blue eyes. He was mesmerized, transported back in time. He'd kept the subject at a distance in all his discussions with Marcia, but the truth was, he remembered her very well and had thought about their encounter from time to time.

“That's my mom,” Katherine said, “after her graduation. You can see how proud she was. I love that picture.” She handed Preston his drink and held a bottle of Sam Adams for herself.

Preston thanked her for the drink, not taking his eyes off the picture. Emotions and thoughts swirled in his brain as if a small dam had burst. He couldn't speak for a few moments.

“Are you all right?”

Silence.

“Hello. Anybody home? Are you hungry?”

“I do remember her. Very well.”

“A lot's happened in the past few months, hasn't it?”

“Yes. A lot's happened,” Preston said, still holding the picture and taking a long sip of his drink.

Katherine gently took the picture from Preston's hands and hung it back on the wall.

“Take a look at this one,” she said pointing to a motorcyclist in full riding gear and helmet and covered in mud under a big banner proclaiming, “YOU FINISHED.”

“Who is that?”

“Me. Having just survived my first and only Enduro cross-country motorcycle race.”

“Really? That's amazing. I want to hear more about that.”

Katherine and Preston looked at the rest of the pictures: Katherine at her high school graduation with her mother, grandma, and grandpa; Hailey as a puppy; Susan and Katherine in Uganda; her graduating class at Fletcher Thomas; her grandfather in his workshop; and another picture of a motorcyclist—walking away, helmet in hand, with the number 6A on his back.

“Tell me about this one,” Preston said.

“That's Sean.”

“That's it?”

“Maybe after dinner I'll tell you more about him. Are you ready to eat?”

“Absolutely. I appreciate your inviting me.” Preston took his seat at the round table while Katherine served salads and then a chicken and rice casserole.

“Okay, I've waited long enough. Tell me about Sean.”

“I met him at the race. We were in touch after that. On my way back from Braydon, I saw him again in North Carolina. By the way, the car has been a real help—going home, getting my stuff, back here to move in, and then my trip south. And Hailey loves it—especially the sun roof.”

“SUVs are practical and good to drive—especially on long trips,” he agreed. “Now tell me, what took you to Braydon?”

“You did. You know I wanted to learn more about Joe Hart—the Collectibles. Casey gave me Alice's number. She's wonderful.”

“I'm impressed with your discipline and follow-through. People say they want to know about something, but you rarely see the follow-through.” Preston clinked his second glass of scotch against Katherine's beer.

“Thank you. I appreciate your saying that. It was a great trip. I learned a lot.”

“What did you learn?”

“For one thing, now that you've talked about being impressed, I was impressed with what Alice told me you did for Johnny—it apparently made a real difference in his speech and how he's getting along. I met Corey and his daughter Barbara, too.”

“You're following in my footsteps. He was quite a man.”

“He still is,” Katherine said as she cleared the table. “Alzheimer's sucks.”

“Tell me how your job's going.”

Katherine told Preston about her relationship with Sol and how excited she was to finally be reporting. She described the slate of stories she'd been writing and how many interesting people she had met. Then she plunged into a detailed discussion about the failure of Hamptons Bank, the FDIC shutdown, and the takeover by CCB—including how many Hamptons employees were laid off. “I wrote a story on what it meant to them—the hardships they've endured trying to find jobs.”

“Unemployment's a real problem. How was the story received?”

“It hasn't been published yet. I'm still waiting for a green light.”

“Why not?”

“Our editor is sitting on it. He makes the assignments. He tells me to keep my focus on local interest stories, reminding me that, after all, this is a weekly. To me, it's all local. I'm still investigating the banks and writing the stories.”

Katherine talked about the FDIC's ten million dollar suit against the Hamptons Bank officers and board members for failing to follow bank policy in making a series of loans with willful disregard for a borrower's ability to pay. She told him about Alice's misfortune, too. “This is happening all over the country. It's unbelievable,” she said.

Preston was moved by Katherine's passion. He discussed some of his own experiences with banks, keeping matters quite general. He was happier than he had been in a long time. He got a real kick out of sitting with his daughter, having dinner, and listening to her talk. She was so smart; it scared him.

Katherine brought in a lemon pound cake she had baked, a fresh pot of coffee, and set everything up on the coffee table in front of the couch. They sat, ate dessert, and talked into the night.

“Have you been in touch with Johnny lately?” Katherine asked.

“No. It's been over a year.”

“Corey?”

“Same.”

“How about Missy and Tommy?”

“Saw them recently in Vegas. I was there for a meeting. They're doing great.”

“How about Harry?”

“Funny you should ask about Harry. I called him just last week.”

“How'd that go?”

“Not well, to be honest.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I'm getting a lot of static from Marcia about not reaching out to the Collectibles—not doing enough. I hadn't gotten to Harry before Joe died. Met him at the funeral. Haven't seen him since. So I decided to call.”

“And?”

“And he shut me down. It was ridiculous.”

“How did he shut you down?”

“You really want to know all of this?”

“Yes, if you don't mind. I find it fascinating.”

“I called this guy—get a message, ‘You got the Oompah Man . . . leave a note.' Can you believe it?” Preston asked.

“The Oompah Man. I love it. So what'd you do?”

“I left a message. He calls me right back. He says, ‘Hey, car man. What's happening?' Calls me ‘big guy.' I tell him I understand he has a band, that he played at Tommy and Missy's wedding reception. You know, trying to get through to the guy. I suggested we get together sometime. And he asks me, ‘Why?' I was asking myself the same thing.”

Katherine was obviously enjoying this story, her feet up on the coffee table, slipping pieces of cake to Hailey. Preston didn't know whether to keep going or not. He didn't think it was so funny.

“So what happened next?” Katherine asked.

“You don't want to hear this.”

“I do, I do.”

“I told him so I could get to know him better. Says he's not sure he wants to get together with me—that he has ups and downs and would hate to meet me on a down day—and then he hung up.”

Katherine thought she understood what might be going on.

“Harry's bipolar, isn't he?”

“Yes, now that you mention it.”

“So . . . you're taking this as a rejection?”

“Well, I didn't think it was a very nice conversation.”

“Probably wasn't, but that's not my point. Sounds to me like Harry was going through a cycle. It's not about you. I wouldn't take it personally.”

Preston thought about that for a while. He couldn't get over sitting with his daughter, having an honest, nonjudgmental discussion.

“I can't thank you enough for having me here tonight, Katherine. You're so easy to talk to. And the dinner was delicious.”

“Thank you. I enjoyed it, too.”

“I can see you're frustrated about not getting your stories out there. It's only been a few weeks. I'm amazed at how well your job is going. I wish you worked for me.”

“Thanks. I know I am impatient. My grandpa always kids me about having a four-leaf clover under my bonnet. Maybe something will come up soon, turn things around, who knows.”

Preston gave Hailey a pat and a kiss on the head.Then he got up and gave Katherine a sincere hug. Katherine walked him to the door, Hailey following, tail wagging.

“Good night, Preston. And thanks for the fatherly advice.”

“Good night Katherine. Maybe one of these days you'll call me Dad,” he replied with a smile and a wave as he walked out the door.

Katherine walked slowly back to her couch, inviting Hailey to jump up and join her.

“We need to talk.”

Hailey stretched out on the couch with her head between her front legs, lifting first her right eyebrow and then her left. Katherine took that as a sign to be succinct.

“I shouldn't have made the fatherly advice remark. Not smart. But it was good advice, and it was from my father.”

Thoughts about Preston had been percolating in the back of her mind for months. She felt intuitively that he cared about her, even loved her, and his actions so far backed up his words.

“I've moved a long way from that, Hailey. He is reactive and practical as contrasted with intuitive and introspective, but what difference does it make? He's a good man. He cares about people. He cares about me. I'm not holding back, Hailey. Are you listening?”

Hailey opened her eyes, did the jig with her eyebrows three or four more times, then sighed her dog sigh and closed her eyes again.