was inevitable, and there was a distinct possibility that the deal would be approved. Then he would be unemployed and a pariah. After 45 minutes he was called back in.
They were sitting solemnly around the large round table nursing brandies. Senator Breslin, the most senior of them, motioned him to take the empty seat.
“Pascal,” said the Senator, “my friends have asked that I speak on behalf of all of us. We are all” — he gestured to the group — “troubled by your betrayals. We trusted you, and you let us down. We gave you proxies because we trusted you. There isn’t a good way to say this, Pascal, but you lied to us. And that raises the question, why should we trust you now? It’s a difficult question, but we concluded that it wasn’t the principal question to be answered. We looked at the facts of the proposed transaction. You say it’s a setup. You say the Blackrock group can’t be trusted. Well, we decided to ignore your advice on that. We looked at the transaction from the position of the Foundation. And we have decided, after considering all of the facts, that the Foundation should reject the deal until sufficient guarantees are forthcoming.”
“You’re making the right decision, Senator.”
“I haven’t finished.”
“Excuse me.”
“After that, Pascal, we considered what to do about you. We have decided, again, after considering all of the facts, that we should consider your role in all of this as an education. You were tested and, at the end of the day, and, seemingly not without some considerable effort on your part, you have emerged as a man of honour. So, we have decided to forgive your betrayals as mistakes and stand beside you.”
Beaudoin breathed a sigh of relief and tried to look humble and contrite, knowing at the same time that he had to get these guys moving quickly. Senator Breslin looked around the table. “I believe that accurately reflects our thoughts.” His fellow Governors nodded approval.
“Well then, gentlemen,” said Breslin, “let’s get going. I believe the meeting starts in half an hour. And I believe that Mr. Beaudoin has put on some transportation for us.”
The octogenarians started to get to their feet, slowly and with obvious discomfort for some. It was ten minutes before they were outside the hotel, being assisted into the limousines. When they were loaded, and the limousines started to move off, Beaudoin looked at his watch, fifteen minutes to go.
“Don’t worry, Pascal.”
Beaudoin turned around to face Breslin. “Thank you, Senator.”
The Senator was flanked by two other Governors, who were drifting in and out of sleep. Four other followed in a second limousine, all courtesy of the Henderson amp; Associates credit card, and they were cruising towards the Intercontinental Hotel in Old Montreal carrying a majority.
8.25 PM
In the Champlain Room of the Intercontinental Hotel, Gordon Henderson and four members of the Foundation were sitting around the table, getting down to business. Vladimir Markov and Ivan Romanenko were watching the proceedings as invited guests. Henderson had brought along a law student as a bag carrier, and she was shuffling papers on her knees. Henderson had been calling Beaudoin’s cell phone all day, only to flow straight through to voice mail. Beaudoin was toast, and Henderson felt in control. Two hours earlier, the Board had voted in favour of the deal, and he held seven proxies for the Foundation’s 11-vote decision. There was nothing left to do but go through the motions. They would work their way through the agenda, and it would be official, and a healthy part of his retirement would be funded.
As he was getting the papers in order, the double-doors to the Champlain Room burst open, and a mob of about twenty people flooded the room. It was the usual rent-a-crowd radicals who can be counted on to protest any initiative that doesn’t come from some cooperative, commune, or other voice of the disenfranchised. They were followed by a cameraman from CBC and a reporter with a microphone. The circus was Beaudoin’s insurance policy.
Henderson leaned over to the law student and whispered, “Go get security to come down here immediately. I want these people out of here now.” The student ran for the door.
The mob spread out around the room, unfurling banners with various permutations of the same message: “
The light attached to the camera went on, and the camera scanned the room, capturing everyone for the TV news. Henderson watched with horror as the reporter approached, pointing a microphone at his face.
“Mr. Henderson, Marianne Desautels, CBC News. Do you have any comments on the protests against the sale of the Holy Land Shelter?”
“No I don’t. This is a private meeting. You have no right. Would you please leave the room?” he said, waving his arms as though he was engaged in crowd control. Henderson wasn’t used to working in public, and it was taking time to adjust to the new environment. “I said get the fuck out of here. You hear me?” he screamed at the camera.
The only ones leaving were Markov and Romanenko, who got to their feet as soon as the group arrived. They didn’t go far, just out of sight of the cameras. Markov called Henderson on his cell phone.
“Look, I can’t talk right now,” Henderson told him. “Security is on the way. Once the room is cleared, we can get started. Take a few minutes in the bar. I’ll call you when we’re ready to start.”
The cameraman was having a field day, and Henderson knew he looked like an asshole.
“Marianne, Marianne,” he said, trying to be heard over the noise, finding his best smile. “I am sorry about that. I thought we were being attacked. Look, if you want some sound bites, I can give you some. Let’s start again. OK?”
“Let’s go,” she said, taking a moment to let the cameraman set up in from of them.
“Mr. Henderson, there has been some objections to the sale of the Holy Land Shelter’s land to developers. What do you say to the critics?”
“Are you saying it’s not a done deal, it needs to be studied?”
“We’re saying that if any proposal is approved, it will be because it’s in the long term interest of the most vulnerable members of our society. We have a duty to protect those people, and the Foundation takes that duty very seriously.”
Two uniformed security guards arrived, and began moving people out of the hall. They went peacefully but not quietly, yelling slogans as they left. Henderson called Markov to tell him he could come back. As he clicked the disconnect button, the doors opened again, and the seven absent Foundation Governors entered, followed by Beaudoin.
Henderson stared in disbelief as they hobbled and limped their way into the room. One of them looked at Henderson, “Is this the place for the meeting of the Holy Land Foundation?”
”Yes,” he said, realizing that his proxies had just become worthless scraps of paper.
Beaudoin was beaming. “Hi, boss.”
“Don’t even bother coming in to get your stuff. We’ll send it to you.”
The seven members of the Foundation joined the other four around the table.
“If there are no objections, I will act as Chairman,” said Senator Breslin.
He looked up and saw Markov and Romanenko enter the room.
Breslin looked up at them, “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I believe that this is a private meeting.”
They looked at Henderson, who was seated in a chair, his head hanging down and his chin resting on his chest.
“Mr. Henderson. That applies to you also,” said Breslin.
Henderson raised his head and looked at the Governors seated around the table like they owned the place,
