But were the rumors false? Certainly as Lewis D'Orsey had admitted they were insubstantial. But then so had the original rumors been about such spectacular business failures as Penn Central, Equity Funding, Franklin National Bank, Security National Bank, American Bank & Trust, U.S. National Bank of San Diego, and others. There was also Lockheed, which hadn't failed, but came close to it, being bailed out by a U.S. government handout. Alex remembered with disquieting clarity Lewis D'Orsey's reference to SuNatCo's chairman, Quartermain, shopping in Washington for a Lockheed-type loan except that Lewis used the word 'subsidy,' which wasn't far from truth.
It was possible, of course, that Supranational was merely suffering a temporary cash shortage, which sometimes happened to the soundest of companies. Alex hoped, that that or something less was true. However, as an officer of FMA he could not afford to sit back and hope. Fifty million dollars of bank money had been funneled into SuNatCo; also, using funds which it was the bank's job to safeguard, the trust department had invested heavily in Supranational shares, a fact which still made Alex shiver when he thought about it.
He decided the first thing he should do, in fairness, was inform Roscoe Heyward.
On Monday morning he walked from his office, down the carpeted 36th floor corridor, to Heyward's. Alex took with him the latest issue of The D'Orsey Newsletter which Lewis had given him on Saturday night. Heyward was not there. With a friendly nod to the senior secretary, Mrs. Callaghan, - Alex strolled in and put the newsletter directly on Heyward's desk. He had already ringed the item about Supranational and clipped on a note which read: Roscoe I thought you should see this. Then Alex returned to his own offlce.
Half an hour later, Heyward stormed in, his face flushed. He tossed down the newsletter. 'Did you put this disgusting insult-to-intelligence on my desk?'
Alex pointed to his own handwritten note. 'It rather looks like it.'
'Then do me the favor of not sending me any more drivel written by that conceited ignoramus.'
'Oh, come onl Sure, Lewis D'Orsey is conceited, and I dislike part of what he writes, just as you obviously do. But he isn't an ignoramus, and some of his viewpoints are at least worth hearing.'
'You may think so. Others don't. I suggest you read this.' Heyward slapped an opened magazine on top of the newsletter.
Alex looked down, surprised at the other's vehemence. 'I have read it.'
The magazine was Forbes, the two-page article in question a slashing attack on Lewis D'Orsey. Alex had found the piece long on spite, short on fact. But it underscored what he already knew that attacks on The D'Orsey Newsletter by the financial establishment press were frequent. Alex pointed out, 'The Wall Street Journal had something similar a year ago.'
'Then I'm amazed you don't accept the fact that D'Orsey has absolutely no training or qualifications as an investment adviser. In a way, I'm sorry his wife works for us.'
Alex said sharply, 'Edwina and Lewis D'Orsey make a point of keeping their occupations entirely separate, as I'm sure you know. As to qualifications, I'll remind you that plenty of degree-loaded experts haven't done well in financial forecasting Quite frequently, Lewis D'Orsey has.' 'Not where Supranational is concerned.' 'Do you still think SuNatCo is sound?'
Alex asked the last question quietly, not from antagonism, but seeking information. But its effect on Roscoe Heyward seemed near-explosive. Heyward glared through his rimless glasses; his face suffused an even deeper red. 'I'm sure that nothing would delight you more than to see a setback for SuNatCo, and thereby me.' 'No, that isn't…'
'Let me finish!' Heyward's facial muscles twitched as anger poured out. 'I've observed more than enough of your petty conniving and doubt-casting, like passing around this garbage' he motioned to The D'Orsey Newsletter 'and now I'm telling you to cease and desist. Supranational was, and is, a sound, progressive company with high earnings and good management. Getting the SuNatCo account much as you may be jealous about it personally was my achievement; it's my business. Now I'm warning you: Stay out of it!' Heyward wheeled and stalked out.
For several minutes Alex Vandervoort sat silently thoughtful, weighing what had just occurred. The outburst had amazed him. In the two and a half years that he had known and worked with Roscoe Heyward, the two of them had suffered disagreements and occasionally revealed their mutual dislike. But never before had Heyward lost control as he had this morning.
Alex thought he knew why. Underneath the bluster, Roscoe Heyward was worried. The more Alex thought about it, the more he was convinced.
Earlier, Alex had been worried himself about Supranational. Now the question posed itself: Was Heyward worrying about SuNatCo, too? If so, what next?
As he pondered, memory stirred. A fragment from a recent conversation. Alex pressed an intercom button and told his secretary, 'See if you can locate Miss Bracken.' It took fifteen minutes before Margot's voice said brightly, 'This had better be good. You got me out of court.'
'Trust me, Bracken.' He wasted no time. 'In your department store class action the one you talked about on Saturday night you told us you used a private investigator.' 'Yes. Vernon Jax.' 'I think Lewis knew him, or of him.' 'That's right.'
'And Lewis said he was a good man who'd done work for the SEC.'
'I heard that, too. Probably it's because Vernon has a degree in economics.'
Alex added the information to notes he had already made! 'Is Jax discreet? Trustworthy?' 'Totally.' 'Where do I find him?' 'All find hirn. Tell me where and when you want him.' 'In my office, Bracken. Today without fail.'
Alex studied the untidy, balding, nondescript man seated opposite him in his office conference area. It was mid-afternoon.
Jax, Alex guessed, was in his early fifties. He looked like a small-town grocer, not too prosperous. His shoes were scuffed and there was a food stain on his jacket. Alex had already learned that Jax had been a staff investigator for the IRS before going into business for himself.
'I'm told you also have a degree in economics,' Alex said,
The other shrugged deprecatingly. 'Night school. You know how it is. Time on your hands.' His voice tailed off, leaving the explanation incomplete.
'How about accounting? Do you have much knowledge there?' 'Some. Studying for CPA exams right now.'
'Night school, I suppose.' Alex was beginning to catch on. 'Yep.' A pale ghost of a smile. 'Mr. Jax,' Alex began.
'Most folks just call me Vernon.'
'Vernon, I'm considering having you undertake an inquiry. It will require absolute discretion and speed is essential. You've heard of Supranational Corporation?' 'Sure.'
'I want a financial investigation of that company. But it will have to be I'm afraid there's no other word for it an outside snooping job.'
Jax smiled again. 'Mr. Vandervoort' this time his tone was crisper 'that's precisely the business I'm in.'
It would require a month, they agreed, though an interim report would be made to Alex if it seemed warranted. Complete confidentiality concerning the bank's investigative role would be preserved. Nothing illegal would be done. The investigator's fee was to be fifteen thousand plus reasonable expenses, half the fee payable immediately, the balance after a final report. Alex would arrange payment from FMA operating funds. He realized he might have to justify the expense later, but would worry about it when the time came.
Late in the afternoon, when Jax had gone, Margot phoned. 'Did you hire him?' `Yes, 'Were you impressed?' Alex decided he would play the game. 'Not really.' Margot laughed softly. 'You will be. You'll see.'
But Alex hoped he wouldn't. He hoped fervently that Lewis D'Orsey's instincts were wrong, that Vernon Jax would discover nothing, and that adverse rumors about Supranational would prove rumors nothing more.
That night, Alex paid one of his periodic visits to Celia at the Remedial Center. He had come to dread the visits even more; he always came away deeply depressed, but continued them out of a sense of duty. Or was it guilt? He was never sure.
As usual, he was escorted by a nurse to Celia's private room in the institution. When the nurse had gone, Alex sat talking, chatting in an inane, one-sided conversation about whatever things occurred to him, though Celia gave no sign of hearing, or even an awareness of his presence. Once, on an earlier occasion, he spoke gibberish just to see if her blankness of expression changed. It hadn't. Afterward he felt ashamed and hadn't done it since.
