The Moneychangers

Patterton, who had recovered some of his aplomb, said, "We’ll have a meeting of the money policy committee this afternoon to discuss liquidity. Meanwhile, Roscoe, get in touch with Supranational to see what, if anything, we can salvage of our loan."

"It’s a demand loan," Heyward said. "We can call it any time."

‘Then do it now. Do it verbally today and follow up in writing. There isn’t much hope SuNatCo will have fifty million dollars cash on hand; not even a sound company keeps that kind of money in the till. But they may have something, though I’m not hopeful. Either way, we’ll go through the motions."

"I’ll call Quartermain at once," Heyward said. "May I take that report?" Patterton glanced at Alex.

"I’ve no objection," Alex said, "but I’d suggest we don’t make copies. And the fewer people who know of this, the better."

Heyward nodded agreement. He seemed restless, anxious to get away.

11

Alex Vandervoort had been partly right in supposing Roscoe Heyward to have some information of his own. Rumors had reached Heyward that Supranational was having problems and he had learned, in the past few days, that some of SuNatCo’s commercial paper was meeting resistance from investors. Heyward had also attended a Supranational board meeting his first and sensed that information supplied to directors was less than complete and frank. But, as a "new boy," he had withheld questions, intending to begin probing later. Subsequent to the meeting he had observed a decline in Supranational’s share price and decided, only yesterday, to advise the bank’s trust department to "lighten up" its holdings as a precaution. Unfortunately when Patterton summoned him this morning he had still not put the intention into effect. Yet nothing Heyward had heard or guessed suggested the situation was as urgent or as bad as the report, produced by Vandervoort, portrayed it.

Yet having heard the gist of the report, Heyward did not dispute it. Grim and jolting as it was, instinct told him that as Vandervoort put it everything hung together.

It was the reason Heyward had stayed mostly silent while with the other two, knowing at this stage there was little to be said. But his mind had been active, with alarm signals flashing while he weighed ideas, eventualities, and possible escape routes for himself. There were several actions which needed to be taken quickly, though first he would complete his personal knowledge by studying the Jax report. Back in his office, Heyward hurried through some remaining business with a visitor, then settled down to read.

He soon realized that Alex Vandervoort had been accurate in summarizing the report’s highlights and the documentary evidence. What Vandervoort had not mentioned were some details of Big George Quartermain’s lobbying in Washington for a government-guaranteed loan to keep Supranational solvent. Appeals for such a loan had been made to members of Congress, and at the Department of Commerce and the White House. At one point, it was stated, Quartermain took Vice-President Byron Stonebridge on a trip to the Bahamas with the objective of enlisting the Vice-President’s support for the loan idea. Later, Stonebridge discussed the possibility at Cabinet level, but the consensus was against it.

Heyward thought bitterly: Now he knew what Big George and the Vice-President were discussing the night they had walked, deep in conversation, in the garden of the Bahamas house. And while, in the end, the Washington political machine made one of its wiser decisions in rejecting a loan to Supranational, First Mercantile American Bank on Roscoe’s urging had bestowed one eagerly. Big George had proved himself the maestro of the soft sell. Heyward could hear him saying, even now: If fifty million is bigger than you people can handle, let’s forget the whole thing. I’ll give it to Chase. It was an an ancient, conman’s ploy and Heyward the shrewd, experienced banker had fallen for it.

One thing, at least, was to the good. In the reference to the Vice-President’s journey to the Bahamas, details were sketchy and obviously little was known about the trip. Nor, to Heyward’s great relief, did the report refer to Q-Investments.

Heyward wondered if Jerome Patterton had remembered the additional loan, totaling two million dollars, committed by FMA to Q-Investments, the private speculators’ group headed by Big George. Probably not. Nor did Alex Vandervoort have any knowledge of it, though he was bound to find out soon. What was more important, though, was to ensure that Heyward’s own acceptance of "bonus" Q-lnvestments shares should never be discovered. He wished fervently he had returned them to G. G. Quartermain, as he had at first intended. Well, it was too late for that now, but what he could do was remove the share certificates from his safe deposit box and shred them. That would be safest. Fortunately, they were nominee certificates, not registered in his name.

For the moment, Heyward realized, he was ignoring the competitiveness between himself and Alex Vandervoort, concentrating instead on survival. He had no illusions about what the collapse of Supranational would do to his own standing in the bank and with the board. He would be a pariah the focus of everybody’s blame. But perhaps, even now, with quick action and some luck, it was not too late for a recovery. If the loan money was regained, he might become a hero.

The first order of business was to get in touch with Supranational. He instructed his secretary, Mrs. Callaghan, to get G. G. Quartermain on the telephone.

Several minutes later she reported, "Mr. Quartermain is out of the country. His office is vague about where he is. They won’t give any other information."

It was an inauspicious start and Heyward snapped, "Then get Inchbeck." He had had several conversations with Stanley Inchbeck, Supranational’s comptroller, since they first met in the Bahamas.

Inchbeck’s voice, with its nasal New York accent, came briskly on the line. "Roscoe, what can I do?"

"I’ve been trying to locate George. Your people don’t seem to…" "He’s in Costa Rica." "I’d like to speak to him. Is there a number I can call?" "No. He left instructions he doesn’t want calls." "This is urgent." "Then tell me."

"Very well. We’re calling our loan. I’m advising you now, and formal written notice will follow in tonight’s mail."

There was a silence. Inchbeck said, "You can’t be serious." "I’m entirely serious." "But why?"

"I think’ you can guess. I also believe you wouldn’t want me to go into reasons on the telephone."

Inchbeck was silent in itself significant. Then he protested, "Your bank is being ridiculous and unreasonable. Only last week Big George told me he was willing to let you people increase the loan by fifty percent."

The audacity astounded Heyward, until he realized audacity had paid off for Supranational once before. It wouldn’t now.

"If the loan were repaid promptly," Heyward said, "any information that we have here would remain confidential. I’d guarantee that."

What it came down to, he thought, was whether Big George, Inchbeck, and any others who knew the truth about SuNatCo, were willing to buy time. If so, FMA might steal an advantage over other creditors.

"Fifty million dollars!" Inchbeck said. "We don’t keep that much cash on hand."

"Our bank would agree to a series of payments, providing they followed each other quickly." The real question was, of course: Where would SuNatCo find fifty million in its present cash-starved condition? Heyward found himself sweating a combination of nervousness, suspense, and hope.

"I’ll talk to Big George," Inchbeck said. "But he isn’t going to like this."

"When you talk to him, tell him I’d like to discuss, also, our loan to Q-lnvestments."

Heyward wasn’t sure but, as he hung up, he thought he heard Inchbeck groan.

In the silence of his office, Roscoe Heyward leaned backward in the upholstered swivel chair, letting the tenseness drain out of him. What had occurred in the past hour had come as a stunning shock. Now, as reaction set in, he felt dejected and alone. He wished he could get away from everything for a while. If he had the choice, he knew whose company he would welcome. Avril’s. But he had not heard from her since their last meeting, which was over a month ago. In the past, she had always called him. He had never called her.

On impulse, he opened a pocket address book he always carried and looked for a telephone number he remembered penciling in. It was Avril’s in New York. Using a direct outside line, he dialed it.

He heard ringing, then Avril’s soft and pleasing voice. "Hello." His heart leaped at the sound of her. "Hi, Rossie," she said when he identified himself.