Hastily, Janet wrote all this information down to give to Sean.
Next Janet randomly picked out a name from the list. The name was Donald Maxwell. She called up his file. As she went through the information, she saw that it was rather abbreviated. She even found a notation that said:
Janet had become so absorbed in her investigative work, she was shocked when she glanced at her watch. She’d used up her coffee break and then some, just as she had that morning.
Quickly she had the computer print out a list of the thirty-eight cases with their ages, sexes, and hospital numbers. Nervously, she went over to the laser printer as the sheet emerged. Turning from the printer, she half expected to find someone standing behind her, demanding an explanation. But no one seemed to have taken notice of her activities.
Before heading back to her floor, Janet sought out Melanie for one quick and final question. She found her at the copy machine.
“How do I go about getting the hospital chart of a discharged patient?” Janet asked.
“You ask one of us,” Melanie said. “All you have to do is provide us with a copy of your authorization, which in your case would come from the nursing department. Then it takes about ten minutes. We keep the charts in the basement in a storage vault that runs beneath both buildings. It’s an efficient system. We need access to them for patient care purposes, like when the patients come for outpatient care. Over in administration they need access to them for billing and actuarial purposes. The charts come up on dumbwaiters.” Melanie pointed to the small glass- fronted elevator set into the wall.
Janet thanked Melanie, then hurried out to the elevator. She was disappointed about the authorization issue. She couldn’t imagine how she would arrange that without completely giving herself away. She hoped Sean would have an idea.
As she pressed the elevator button impatiently, Janet wondered if she would have to apologize for again extending her break. She knew she couldn’t keep doing it. It wasn’t fair, and Marjorie was bound to complain.
STERLING WAS extremely pleased with the way the day was proceeding. He had to smile to himself as he rose up in the paneled elevator of the Franklin Bank’s home office on Federal Street in Boston. It had been a sublime day with minimal effort and maximum gain. And the fact that he was being handsomely compensated for enjoying himself made it all that much more rewarding.
The luncheon at the Ritz had been heavenly, especially since the maitre d’ had been accommodating enough to bring a white Meursault down from the main dining room wine cellar. Sitting as close as he had to Tanaka and his guest, Sterling had been able to hear most of their conversation from behind his
Tanaka’s guest was a personnel executive from Immunotherapy. Since the buyout, Genentech had left the company largely intact. Sterling did not know how much money was in the plain white envelope that Tanaka had placed on the table, but he did notice that the personnel executive had slipped it into his jacket in the blink of an eye.
The information Sterling overheard was interesting. Sean and the other founding partners had sold Immunotherapy in order to raise capital for a totally new venture. Tanaka’s informer wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but it was his understanding that the new company would also be a biotechnology firm. He couldn’t tell Tanaka its name or its proposed product line.
The gentleman knew there had been a holdup in forming the new company when Sean and his partners realized they would be undercapitalized. The reason he knew this was because he’d been approached to move to the new company and he’d agreed, only to be informed that there would be a delay until sufficient funds could be raised. From the sound of the gentleman’s voice at this juncture, Sterling understood that the delay had engendered significant ill will between him and the new management.
The final bit of information that the gentleman had delivered was the name of the bank executive at the Franklin who was in charge of the negotiation of the loan for additional start-up capital. Sterling was acquainted with a number of people at the Franklin, but Herbert Devonshire was not one of them. But that was soon to change since it was Herbert whom Sterling was presently on his way to see.
The luncheon had also afforded Sterling an opportunity to observe Tanaka up close. Knowing a considerable amount about the Japanese character and culture, particularly in relation to business, Sterling was fascinated by Tanaka’s performance. Flawlessly deferential and respectful, it would have been impossible for an uninitiated American to pick up the clues that suggested Tanaka clearly despised his lunch companion. But Sterling immediately discerned the subtle signs.
There’d been no way for Sterling to eavesdrop on Tanaka’s meeting with Herbert Devonshire. Sterling had not even considered it. But he wanted to know its location so that he would be able to suggest he did know the content when he spoke to Mr. Devonshire. Accordingly, Sterling had the limousine company’s president order Tanaka’s driver to call it in to him. The president had then relayed the information to Sterling’s driver.
After being tipped off, Sterling had entered City Side, a popular bar in the south building of Faneuil Hall Market. There’d been a chance Tanaka might recognize him from lunch, but Sterling had decided to risk it. He wouldn’t be getting too close. He’d observed Tanaka and Devonshire from afar, noting their location in the bar and what they ordered. He also noted the time Tanaka had excused himself to make a call.
Armed with this information, Sterling had felt confident confronting Devonshire. He’d been able to get an appointment for that afternoon.
After a brief wait that he judged was designed to impress him with Mr. Devonshire’s busy schedule, Sterling was shown into the banker’s imposing office. The view was to the north and east, commanding a spectacular vista over the Boston Harbor as well as Logan International Airport in East Boston and the Mystic River Bridge arching over to Chelsea.
Mr. Devonshire was a small man with a shiny bald pate, wire-rimmed glasses, and conservative dress. He stood up behind his antique partner’s desk to shake hands with Sterling. He couldn’t have been over five feet five by Sterling’s estimation.
Sterling handed the man one of his business cards. They both sat down. Mr. Devonshire positioned the card in the center of his blotter and aligned it perfectly parallel with the blotter’s borders. Then he folded his hands.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rombauer,” Herbert said, leveling his beady eyes at Sterling. “What can the Franklin do for you today?”
“It’s not the Franklin I’m interested in,” Sterling said. “It’s you, Mr. Devonshire. I’d like to establish a business relationship with you.”
“Our motto has always been personal service,” Herbert said.
“I shall come directly to the point,” Sterling said. “I’m willing to form a confidential partnership with you for our mutual benefit. There is information I need and information your superiors should not know.”
Herbert Devonshire swallowed. Otherwise, he didn’t move.
Sterling leaned forward to bring his eyes to bear on Herbert. “The facts are simple. You met with a Mr. Tanaka Yamaguchi this afternoon at the City Side Bar, not the usual business location, I’d venture to say. You ordered a vodka gimlet and then gave Mr. Yamaguchi some information, a service that while not illegal, is of questionable ethics. A short time later a sizable portion of the monies Sushita Industries keeps on deposit at the Bank of Boston was wire-transferred to the Franklin with you designated as the private banker involved.”
Herbert’s face blanched at Sterling’s words.
“I have an extensive network of contacts throughout the business world,” Sterling said. He settled back in his chair. “I’d very much like to add you to this intimate, very anonymous, but stellar network. I’m certain we can provide each other with useful information as time goes by. So the question is, would you care to join? The only obligation is that you never, ever, disclose the source of any information I pass on to you.”
“And if I choose not to join?” Herbert asked, his voice raspy.
“I will pass on the information about you and Mr. Yamaguchi to people here at the Franklin who have some minor say in your future.”
“This is blackmail,” Herbert said.
“I call it free trade,” Sterling said. “And as for your initiation fee, I would like to hear exactly what you told
