the victims of a major scam, the Ponzi scheme that has been in the newspapers for months.”
“I’ve followed very carefully the Ponzi scheme I believe you are talking about,” Goodwin said, sharply. “The Gannon Foundation has not been listed as being involved.”
“Nor do we want it to be,” Greg Gannon replied, his tone equally sharp. “The other arm of our business is my investment firm. I don’t intend to have my clients worried that their money was lost, because it was not. The Gannon Foundation has given away millions over the years. Our record of generosity is extraordinary, but now it has come to an end. The foundation will be closing. We cannot honor our pledge to you.”
“Mr. Gannon,” Justin Banks said, speaking slowly for emphasis. “You are a very wealthy man. Would you consider putting some of your
Greg Gannon sighed. “Mr. Banks, if half the people who are reputed to be very wealthy had to list their assets honestly, you would find that the ten-million-dollar house has a nine-million-dollar mortgage, that the yacht is rented and the cars are leased. I am not saying that is necessarily my case, but I will say that I have already undertaken to personally fund some of our ongoing projects. You have not even put a spade in the ground for your pediatric center. On the other hand, several cardiac research centers and mental health facilities need to be funded until they can be merged with other similar units. I will take care of them, but I cannot do more.”
The entire time Greg Gannon was speaking, Monica had been studying Clay Hadley’s face. It was glistening with perspiration. There was a nervous tic on the side of his lip that she had not noticed when she met him in Olivia Morrow’s apartment. The suspicion that he might have caused Morrow’s death was growing into a near certainty. But why?
Douglas Langdon. She wondered what kind of doctor he was. Very, very good-looking. Smooth. The expression on his face was an obviously feigned regret over the situation. He doesn’t give a damn, she thought. The guy is a phony through and through.
Where are we going to get the money for the pediatric center now? she asked herself as Greg Gannon got to his feet, signaling that the meeting was over. “Doug, Clay, wait here,” he said. His stern tone indicated that it was an order.
Both men had started to leave, but they sat down immediately. Monica, Banks, and Goodwin followed Greg Gannon to the reception room. It was then that she saw it: the portrait of Dr. Alexander Gannon. Frozen on the spot, she stared at it. It’s Daddy, just the way he looked before he got sick, she thought incredulously. He could have posed for it. The silver hair, the handsome, distinguished features, the blue eyes, were mirror images of the picture she carried in her wallet. Even the expression in Alex Gannon’s eyes, wise and kind, was so like the expression she remembered in her father’s eyes.
“That was my uncle,” Greg Gannon was saying. “As you may know, the orthopedic replacement parts he invented are used internationally. This is the last portrait that was painted of him. We used to keep it in our home in Southampton, but I decided last year that it was more appropriate to hang it here. It’s a very fine representation of him.”
“It’s magnificent,” Monica agreed, her lips stiff. She reached into her pocket and stepped away. “Excuse me,” she murmured and pulled out her cell phone, as if she had felt it vibrating. As she opened it, she pretended to say a few words into it and took a picture of the portrait.
No wonder Scott kept insisting that Dad had a startling resemblance to Alexander Gannon. I can’t wait to compare their pictures.
“It’s a great pity that Dr. Gannon’s foundation is closing,” Justin Banks said. “I am sure that he would never have wanted a pledge such as the one you made to Greenwich Village Hospital to be canceled so abruptly. Good- bye, Mr. Gannon. Please don’t bother to see us out.”
72
On Tuesday morning Esther Chambers, totally unused to lingering over breakfast, glanced at the clock in her dining area and realized it was time to get herself ready. It was quarter of ten and Thomas Desmond from the Securities and Exchange Commission was coming to her apartment at eleven.
She had phoned him yesterday evening and when he did not answer, too emotionally stressed to go into details, she simply left a message that she had been fired and that she needed to speak to him. Desmond called back an hour later and simply said, “If eleven o’clock tomorrow morning works for you, I will be there.”
Nervous at the prospect of having to tell Desmond that she had tried to warn Arthur Saling about investing his money, and that was the reason Greg had fired her, Esther showered and dressed. She chose to wear a cardigan and slacks, not one of her usual subdued business suits. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, whatever that means, she thought.
Desmond was announced from the desk promptly at eleven o’clock. After they exchanged greetings and he refused her offer of coffee, he said, “Ms. Chambers, did anything precipitate Gannon’s firing you? Does he suspect that he’s under investigation?”
Esther drew a long breath. “You’re not going to like this, Mr. Desmond, but here’s what happened.” In precise detail, she explained why she had decided to warn off Arthur Saling. “It was like watching a lamb being led to the slaughter,” she said. “It’s no wonder everything had been placed in trust for him. Now, the minute he can get his hands on all that family money, he can’t wait to invest it with someone like Greg, who promises he can double or triple it. Mr. Saling has five grown children and eleven grandchildren. I’m sorry, but to know that once his money is in Greg’s hands it would just be used to pay other investors whose money Greg has lost in that last hedge fund of his was just too much.”
“I understand,” Desmond said. “I really do.”
“Then to answer your question, when Greg told me he was sure I was the one who had sent that warning to Arthur Saling, he also asked me, as a final test of loyalty, if the SEC was investigating him.”
“What did you tell him?” Desmond asked, quickly.
“My answer was to ask him why he would ever think to ask a question like that.”
Desmond nodded, approvingly. “Good answer, and please don’t be upset about trying to warn Arthur Saling. Who knows? The transfer of his portfolio probably hasn’t gone through yet, so he may be lucky. We’re arresting Greg Gannon this afternoon. Now that he suspects we’re onto him, he’ll never communicate with any more insider traders.”
“You’re arresting Greg today?” Esther asked sadly.
“Yes. Frankly, I should not have told you that, but I wanted you to know that Arthur Saling’s money is probably still safe.”
“There is no one I would think of telling,” Esther said. “It’s just that it all seems so impossible. Peter Gannon is accused of murdering his former girlfriend. His baby is in a hospital, unwanted by anyone. His ex-wife, Susan, was and is a gem. Greg Gannon had the most wonderful wife and two fine sons, and he left them for a gold digger like Pamela. Now, from what went on yesterday afternoon at the office, he’s caught on to the fact that she’s involved with someone else. Do you think Pamela will stay by his side when he’s arrested? Not on your life!”
Desmond got up to go. “Unfortunately, we see this kind of thing all the time in our business. We’ll be in touch with you again, Ms. Chambers. But, a friendly word of caution: don’t be too sorry for the Gannons. They’re the architects of their own misery. And they have caused a lot of misery to others.”
It was only after Desmond left that Esther realized Diana Blauvelt, the decorator whom she had left a message for in Paris, might very well have returned her call. She dialed her phone at her desk in the office, hoping that no one else had picked up her voice mail. But if Blauvelt had left the message, it had been erased.
I have to know, Esther thought. Peter’s lawyer said it was so important. She had written Diana Blauvelt’s Paris phone number in her daily reminder book. It’s five thirty in the afternoon in Paris, she thought. I hope I get her in.
A sleepy “Allo” told her that she had reached Blauvelt. Oh, for God’s sake, Esther thought, don’t practice your French on me. “Diana,” she said, apologetically, “you sound as though you might have been napping, but it’s important that I talk to you. Did you get my message and do you remember anything about that desk with the false
