A Shared Confidence (3 page)

During the days and evenings back at their shared hotel suite, Ryland was constantly on the telephone to his office in Lincoln, checking on the day's business, making decisions, giving instructions. Jimmy, from what Ryland could see, mostly lazed about on the chaise lounge, soaking up the free booze and reading magazines. He seemed to be growing bored with being one of Stanton's countless cogs. The thousands he and Ryland were earning personally didn't seem to impress him, and he voiced his opinion that there must be a faster, easier way to make even more money. Ryland would just shake his head and say nothing. Easier than walking up to a caged window and making a purchase? Ryland chalked it up to Jimmy having grown up in a wealthy family.

Ryland's suspicions were borne out when Stanton called him up one evening, asking that the two of them have dinner alone. Over the meal, Stanton expressed his own misgivings about having brought Jimmy on board in the first place.

“I don't often have lapses of judgment in matters of character, Mr. Ryland, but when I do I admit it. Oh, Jimmy's not a bad sort, really, but he's not quite the caliber of man he likes to present himself as. I can't cut him out of the proceedings at this point, though; there's too much in play, and all of it happening too quickly. Furthermore, he is the son of a trusted associate. Still, I'd feel much easier about things if you could manage to keep a fairly close eye on him until our business is concluded.”

Ryland promised to do just that. Stanton was in the process of making a small fortune for him, and he wasn't about to let Jimmy mess that up.

The following Monday, Stanton showed up at the Ryland and Jimmy's shared suite at the hotel, anxious to talk to both men. Stanton had found the deal he'd been waiting for, the one for which he'd spent months studying the markets. He took a blank check from his briefcase and explained that his name could in no way be associated with this particular transaction. He could not show himself at the brokerage firm, could not have his name appear on any of the documents. Otherwise, word would get out, and the sweetest deal he'd seen in years would blow right up in their faces. Either Ryland or Jimmy must make out this blank check in the amount of three hundred fifteen thousand dollars, sign it, and use it to purchase all available shares of Bolivian National Rail. As his eyes moved back and forth between the two men, Stanton's eyes lingered ever longer on Ryland. It was clear Stanton would prefer Jimmy not be the one to handle this delicate and extremely important matter.

Ryland protested that he couldn't possibly cover a check that large. Stanton assured him there would be no need to, that the rising value of the stock would more than cover the amount of the check in a matter of hours. This was done all the time, he explained.

“And within a few hours, Mr. Ryland, when the stock jumps up fifty percent in value, you will sell your shares and bring us back proceeds of over one hundred fifty thousand dollars to divide among the investors. And,” he added, smiling magnanimously, “this time you may contribute as large an amount of your personal money on this venture as you wish.”

Ryland could hardly believe it. How much of his own money did he dare risk? The whole twenty thousand he'd made so far? Fifty? Clay Stanton, so far as Ryland had seen, had never been wrong about a stock deal. Ryland tentatively suggested he'd like to invest one hundred thousand dollars of his own money on this deal. When Stanton didn't even blink, Ryland hastily explained that it would take him a few days to get so large an amount together. Stanton cut him off with a polite wave.

“It takes no time to give me your word, Mr. Ryland, which is more than sufficient credit in my view. Besides, we won't actually need working capital at the outset, just the promise of it in the form of that check.”

Ryland went with Jimmy to the brokerage office the next day. The clerk behind the counter knew them both well by now, knew that Clay Stanton had personally vouchsafed them. He took the check without batting an eye, entered the purchase into his ledger, and gave Ryland a receipt for the shares. Ryland read the receipt over carefully, imagining the fifty thousand dollars profit he'd earn that afternoon. After a quiet lunch – Ryland and Jimmy both lost in thoughts of what they'd do with their windfalls – and an hour killed at a local tourist attraction, the two men went back to the brokerage office. According to the share values posted for Bolivan National Rail, they were right on time.

The same clerk recognized them at the window, and Ryland saw trouble in the young man's face. The clerk apologized, excused himself, and disappeared into the back room. A moment later, he was followed back to the window by the thin, sere-faced manager. Fortunately, the office was nearly empty, and the manager explained in hushed, discreet tones that the check Ryland had used to purchase the stock that morning was no good. Why the clerk had accepted a check for so large an amount without verifying the funds first, the manager couldn't imagine. The clerk broke in nervously, stating that these two gentlemen were friends of Mr. Stanton, after all, and he'd naturally assumed…and the manager's icy glare silenced him in mid-sentence.

Jimmy piped up hotly, basically wanting to know: So what? The stock had gone up, not down. If the check wasn't good this morning, it damned sure was now. And anyway, it wasn't their fault if the clerk goofed up. Ryland and Jimmy had a valid receipt for the stock and they wanted to sell their shares. Now, if you please! Ryland stepped in, apologizing for Jimmy's tone but doing his best to restate these same points in more congenial terms. But the manager wouldn't budge. There were strict rules and regulations, gentlemen. There were, in fact, laws. One could not simply purchase stock with thin air. Could they imagine how quickly the entire system would collapse if that were allowed? For that matter, presenting a valueless check for any type of transaction…the manager let his voice trail off, then confided quietly that his office could be in even greater trouble for having participated in this affair.

At Jimmy's insistence, the manager stepped into the back office and called Clay Stanton directly. Ryland waited a painful fifteen minutes near the window with Jimmy, listening for what scraps of conversation he could make out through the slightly open door: “It is most certainly not done all the time at this firm, sir, I can assure you…No, I'm sorry, it simply isn't possible for me to…Of course, I value your patronage, Mr. Stanton, and I am happy to serve you and any of your associates, but you must understand this is a matter of law…” The conversation became quieter as it went on. Finally, the manager returned to the window with his best offer: he would hold the check for one week. If it could be made good in that time, the firm would honor both the purchase and sale of the shares. This was highly irregular, of course, but owing to Mr. Stanton's excellent reputation, the manager was willing to go that far. If the check could not be made good in that time, he explained, then the proper authorities must be contacted and they all must face the music together.

Back at their hotel, Ryland and Jimmy brainstormed furiously with Stanton. Nearly half a million dollars sitting right behind that caged window, legally theirs but for a single technicality. It was maddening! Stanton explained that nearly every cent of his own money was presently tied up in investments all over the country, part of his grand strategy, a strategy that would absolutely fall apart if this deal didn't come off. He couldn't possibly go to his other investors at this point and ask them for the money. Stanton had given his word that this deal would proceed exactly as specified. If his word were to come into question, if his investors caught scent of any kind of trouble…well, it didn't bear thinking about. No, ten thousand dollars was all he could raise in cash just now. Jimmy was good for twenty-five. He could try calling home for more, but the prospect was a doubtful one – Jimmy was on the outs with his family these days. (Big surprise, thought Ryland.)

That left two hundred and eighty thousand dollars still to be covered. Stanton and Jimmy looked expectantly at Ryland, who was making furious calculations in his head. Almost three hundred thousand dollars, nearly his entire personal fortune. But money he would get back immediately, along with fifty thousand of pure profit. No, Stanton corrected, if Mr. Ryland was putting up nearly eighty-nine percent of the initial investment, it was only fair he receive a proportionate share of the profits. Stanton may not be able to go to his other investors for money, but he could see to it that their expected proceeds were reinvested in another deal. Mr. Ryland would receive just over one hundred thirty thousand dollars over and above the value of the initial investment. Jimmy agreed to this (though somewhat reluctantly it seemed to Ryland).

It was settled. Ryland would telephone his bank in Lincoln and arrange for the money to be transferred to an account he would open locally.

A nerve-wracking week passed while Ryland waited for the money to show up. He split his time between arranging for the funds, keeping his business going over the telephone, and keeping a close eye on Jimmy Canfield. The waiting and the close quarters took their toll on both men, but finally, Friday morning, Ryland came to the brokerage office carrying a heavy valise full of money. In a matter of minutes, he'd be walking back out with a good deal more. Exhilarated, he felt almost like a bank robber.

Ryland was expecting to meet Jimmy outside the brokerage office, but was surprised to see Stanton standing there with him, the two men in animated conversation. Stanton had been careful to avoid even showing his face around here since initially introducing Ryland and Jimmy to the manager, always fearful of being recognized and having greedy parasites swarm over his carefully-arranged investments. Stanton saw Ryland and walked sharply up to him, hurriedly explaining that an incredible opportunity had come up, something that could double their already healthy profit waiting inside. He'd rushed down here to give the particulars to Jimmy and must leave right away before anyone saw them together. If any freebooters got wind of this, if they recognized Stanton and saw him talking to Jimmy, then waited to see what stock Jimmy was going to buy or sell…

“I implore you, Mr. Ryland, please follow Jimmy's lead in this. I have given him the most careful, the most explicit instructions. I will be waiting in your hotel suite. Come there immediately after you finish up here.” He smiled briefly. “I believe a celebration is in order.”

Ryland, heart beating rapidly, followed Jimmy inside. The manager came to the window, took the valise, and verified the funds. As he was giving the clerk instructions to make good on the receipt for shares, Jimmy interrupted him with yet another purchase: as many shares of Consolidated AgCom as their four hundred fifty thousand would buy. Jimmy seemed a little nervous himself.

It was all happening too quickly for Ryland. The money he'd waited for, risked his whole fortune for, was to be used immediately to make another investment. True, they'd been doing it this way for two weeks now, but not for such a huge amount! But Stanton's investments had never failed to do exactly as predicted, had never failed to pay off. Not once. How much more was Ryland going to make on this new deal?

The two men rushed back to the hotel. Stanton was waiting in their suite, mixing a drink at the small bar. He looked up and gave them a celebratory smile. Jimmy rushed forward to hand over his receipt for the purchase. Stanton took one look at it and his beaming smile turned into a look of animal rage such as Ryland had never seen.

Ethan Ryland
sat across from me, silent for a moment, his eyes looking past me at nothing. His voice had become somewhat hoarse. He was remembering the part of the story he didn't want to tell, trying to find some way to distance himself from it.

“Let me guess,” I said, “Jimmy bought when he was supposed to sell.”

Ryland nodded. “Mr. Stanton had told him to handle as many shares of the stock as he could. Jimmy thought ‘handle' meant buy. Stanton had meant for him to dump it. That stock was supposed to tank, he said. And all of a sudden Stanton was yelling at Jimmy. Screaming at him. Using language I wasn't even sure he knew. Jimmy had ruined him, had destroyed months of carefully planned work.”

Ryland looked back at me for a moment. “He wouldn't stop screaming at Jimmy, Mr. Caine. Jimmy was literally down on his knees, crying, begging forgiveness. Even though part of me knew at that moment that I'd lost everything, too, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.”

“And then what happened?” I already knew.

“I didn't even know Mr. Stanton owned a gun,” Ryland answered. “But there it was, in his hand, pointed right at Jimmy's face. Jimmy begged harder but I don't think Stanton even heard him. He stood there shaking with rage and…and then he fired.”

“He shot Jimmy?”

Ryland nodded. “Blood. Some of it got on me. It was…so warm. So very warm.”

I gave him one more drink which he accepted gratefully, then got to the end of his story.

Stanton came to his senses a second too late. Good God, what had he done? It had all happened so fast! And now a young man was dead!

In the flurry of the next few minutes, Stanton explained to Ryland that he might be able to fix this, that he had some very influential friends, but that Ryland must leave town immediately, this minute. The two men threw a suitcase together and Ryland jumped into a taxi and took the first train out of Baltimore.

The past month had been a nightmarish blur of repetition for Ryland. From Baltimore he'd gone to Buffalo, New York, where he'd telegrammed Stanton, waiting anxiously for the reply: The police were closing in. Keep moving! Buffalo, New York became Nashville, Tennessee became Dallas, Texas became Grand Rapids, Michigan. An endless parade of hotel rooms and trains, Ryland's nerves shot and his resources dwindling, the telegrams from Stanton fewer and fewer but still dire. Ryland didn't dare go back to Lincoln, to the empire he'd destroyed, facing suppliers and employees he could no longer afford to pay and waiting for the police to show up. The manager at the brokerage firm could certainly identify Ryland as a business associate of Jimmy Canfield's. How many maids and bellhops and concierges at the hotel had seen Ryland with Jimmy every day for two weeks? And Ryland had fled the hotel without paying his bill. He was going to prison. Maybe worse.