Kane & Abel (1979) (40 page)

Abel picked up a couple of bottles from his safe and joined Leroy on the seventeenth floor, still wondering if Melanie had complained about him.

‘Open the bottle and pour me a very large one, Abel,’ Leroy instructed.

Once again Abel felt the fear of the unknown. His palms began to sweat. Surely he was not going to be fired for wanting to marry the boss’s daughter? He and Leroy had been friends for over a year now, close friends, he thought.

‘And you’d better fill your glass as well, Abel.’

Abel carried out his boss’s instructions, but only toyed with his drink while he waited for Leroy to speak.

‘Abel, I’m wiped out.’ Leroy paused, took a gulp and then poured himself another drink.

Abel didn’t speak, partly because he couldn’t think what to say. After taking a swig of bourbon, he managed, ‘But you still own eleven hotels.’

‘Used to own,’ said Davis Leroy. ‘Have to put it in the past tense now, Abel. I no longer own any of them; the bank took possession last Thursday.’

‘But they belong to you - they’ve been in your family for two generations,’ said Abel.

‘That’s true, but they aren’t any longer. Now they belong to a bank. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t know the whole truth, Abel; after all, the same thing’s happening to almost everyone in America right now, big or small. About ten years ago I borrowed two million dollars from the bank, using the hotels as collateral. I invested the money right across the board in stocks and bonds, fairly conservatively and in well-established companies. I built the capital up to nearly five million, which was one of the reasons the hotel losses never bothered me too much - they were tax deductible against the profits I was making in the market. Today I couldn’t give those shares away. We may as well use them as toilet paper in the hotels. For the last three weeks I’ve been selling as fast as I can, but there are no buyers out there. The bank foreclosed on my loan last Thursday. Most people who are affected by the crash only have pieces of paper to cover their losses, but in my case, the bank that backed me held the deeds of the hotels as security against the original loan. So when the bottom dropped out of the market, they immediately took possession of the properties. The bastards are going to sell them just as soon as they can find a buyer.’

‘That’s madness,’ said Abel. ‘They’ll get nothing for them right now, but if they got behind us, we could show them a worthwhile return on their investment.’

‘I know
you
could, Abel, but they’ve got my past record to throw back in my face. I went up to their head office in Boston and told them about you. I assured them I’d devote all my time to the group if they would just support us in the short term, but they weren’t interested. They fobbed me off with some smooth young puppy who had all the textbook answers about cash flows, no capital base and credit restrictions.’ Leroy paused to take a swig of bourbon. ‘Right now, the best thing we can do is get ourselves drunk, because I am finished, penniless, bankrupt.’

‘Then so am I,’ said Abel quietly.

‘No, you have a great future ahead of you, son. Whoever takes over this group can’t make a move without you.’

‘You forget that I own twenty-five per cent of the group.’

Davis Leroy stared at him.

‘Oh my God, Abel. I hope you didn’t put
all
your money into me.’ His voice was becoming thick.

‘Every last cent,’ said Abel. ‘But I don’t regret it, Davis. Better to lose with a wise man than win with a fool.’ He poured himself another drink.

Tears were filling Leroy’s eyes. ‘You know, Abel, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You knock my hotel into shape, you invest your own money, I make you penniless, and you don’t even complain. And then for good measure my daughter refuses to marry you.’

‘You didn’t mind me asking her?’ said Abel, more confident than he would have been before his third bourbon.

‘Silly, stuck up snob doesn’t know a good thing when she sees it. She wants to marry some horse-breeding gentleman from the South with at least a couple of Confederate generals in his family tree, or if she marries a northerner, his great-great-great grandfather will have come over on the
Mayflower.
If everyone who claims they had a relative on that boat were ever on board together, the damn thing would have sunk long before it left England. Too bad I don’t have another daughter for you, Abel. I sure would have been proud to have you as a son-in-law. You and I would have made a great team, but I still reckon you can beat them all by yourself. You’re young - you still have everything ahead of you.’

At twenty-four, Abel suddenly felt very old.

‘Thank you for your confidence, Davis,’ he said. ‘Who gives a damn for the stock market anyway? You know you’re the best friend I ever had.’

Abel poured himself another bourbon, and swallowed it in one gulp. Between them they finished both bottles by the early morning. When Davis fell asleep in his chair, Abel managed to stagger down to his room on the tenth floor, undress and collapse onto his bed.

He was awakened from a deep sleep by a loud banging on the door. His head was going round and round, but the banging went on and on, louder and louder. Somehow he managed to grope his way to the door. It was a bellboy.

‘Come quickly, Mr Rosnovski, come quickly,’ the boy said as he ran down the hall.

Abel threw on a dressing gown and slippers and staggered down the corridor to join the bellboy, who was holding the elevator door open for him.

‘Quickly, Mr Rosnovski,’ the boy repeated.

‘What’s the hurry?’ demanded Abel, his head still throbbing as the elevator moved slowly down.

‘Someone has jumped out the window.’

Abel sobered up immediately. ‘A guest?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ said the bellboy, ‘but I’m not sure.’

The elevator came to a stop on the ground floor. Abel thrust back the iron gates and ran out into the street. Police cars were already surrounding the hotel, headlights on, sirens wailing. He wouldn’t have recognized the broken body lying on the sidewalk if it had not been for the checked jacket. A policeman was taking down details. A man in plainclothes walked across to join Abel.

‘You the manager?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Do you have any idea who this man might be?’

‘Yes,’ said Abel, slurring the word. ‘His name is Davis Leroy.’

‘Do you know where he’s from, or how we can contact his next of kin?’

Abel averted his eyes from Davis’s body and answered automatically.

‘He’s from Dallas. Miss Melanie Leroy is his next of kin, his daughter. She’s a student living on the university campus.’

‘We’ll get someone right over to her.’

‘No, don’t do that. I’ll go and see her myself,’ said Abel.

‘Thank you, sir. It’s always better if they don’t hear the news from a stranger.’

‘What a terrible, unnecessary thing,’ said Abel, his eyes drawn back to the body of his friend.

‘He’s the seventh one in Chicago today,’ said the officer flatly as he closed his little black notebook. ‘We’ll need to check his room later. Don’t rent it again until we give you an all-clear.’ The policeman strolled towards an ambulance as it screeched to a halt.

Abel watched the stretcher-bearers remove what was left of Davis Leroy from the sidewalk. He suddenly felt cold, sank to his knees and was violently sick in the gutter. Once again he had lost his closest friend. Perhaps if I’d drunk less and thought more, I might have been able to save him. He picked himself up, returned to his room, took a long, cold shower and somehow managed to get dressed. He ordered some black coffee and then reluctantly returned to the Presidential Suite. Other than a couple of empty bourbon bottles, there seemed to be no sign of the drama that had taken place only a few minutes earlier. Then he saw the letters on the side table by a bed that had not been slept in. The first was addressed to Melanie, the second to a lawyer in Dallas and the third to Abel Rosnovski. He tore it open, his hands shaking almost uncontrollably.

Abel read the letter again before placing it in his wallet.

He drove slowly over to the university campus soon after first light. He broke the news as gently as he could to Melanie. He sat nervously on the couch, not knowing what he could add to the stark message of death. She took it surprisingly well, almost as if she had known it might happen, although she was obviously moved. But there were no tears in front of Abel - perhaps later, when he wasn’t there. He felt sorry for her for the first time in his life.

O
N
J
ANUARY
4, 1930, Abel Rosnovski boarded a train for Boston. He took a taxi from the station to Kane and Cabot, and arrived at the bank a few minutes early. He sat in a reception room that was larger and more ornate than any bedroom in the Chicago Richmond. He started reading
The Wall Street Journal
, which was trying to assure its readers that 1930 was going to be a better year. He doubted it. A prim middle-aged woman entered the room.

‘Mr Kane will see you now, Mr Rosnovski.’

Abel rose and followed her down a long corridor into a small oak-panelled room. Behind a large leather-topped desk sat a tall, good-looking man who must, Abel thought, have been about the same age as himself. His eyes were as blue as Abel’s but that was the only similarity. There was a picture on the wall behind him of an older man, whom the young man behind the desk greatly resembled. I’ll bet that’s Dad, Abel thought bitterly. You can be sure he’ll survive the collapse; banks always seem to win, whatever happens.

‘My name is William Kane,’ said the man, rising and extending his hand. ‘Please have a seat, Mr Rosnovski.’

‘Thank you,’ said Abel coolly, shaking his hand.

‘Perhaps you will allow me to apprise you of the current situation as I see it,’ said William.

‘Of course.’

‘Mr Leroy’s tragic and premature death …’ William began, hating the pomposity of his words.

Caused by your callous attitude, thought Abel.

‘… appears to have left you with the immediate responsibility of running the Richmond Group until the bank is in a position to find a buyer. Although all of the shares in the group are now in your name, the property, in the form of eleven hotels, which was held as collateral for the late Mr Leroy’s loan of two million dollars, is legally in our possession. If you wish to disassociate yourself from the whole process, we will understand.’

An insulting suggestion, thought William, but it had to be said.

The sort of thing a banker would expect a man to do, walk away the moment a problem arose, thought Abel.

William continued. ‘Until the two-million-dollar debt to the bank is cleared, I’m afraid we must consider the estate of the late Mr Leroy insolvent. We at the bank appreciate your personal involvement with the group, and we have done nothing about disposing of the hotels until we had the opportunity to speak to you in person. We thought it possible you might know of some party interested in the purchase of the property, as the buildings, the land and the business are obviously a valuable asset.’

‘But not valuable enough for the bank to consider backing me,’ said Abel. He ran his hand wearily through his thick, dark hair. William didn’t respond. ‘How long will you give me to find a buyer?’

William hesitated for a moment when he saw the silver band around Abel Rosnovski’s wrist. He had seen that band somewhere before, but he couldn’t recall where.

‘Thirty days. You must understand that the bank is carrying the day-to-day losses on ten of the eleven hotels. Only the Chicago Richmond is currently showing a small profit.’

‘If you would give me enough time, Mr Kane, I could turn all the hotels into profitable concerns. I know I could. Just give me the chance to prove I can do it, sir.’ Abel felt the last word sticking in his throat.

‘Mr Leroy assured the bank that you were worth backing when he came to visit me last fall,’ said William. ‘But these are hard times. There’s no telling if the hotel trade will pick up, and we are not hoteliers, Mr Rosnovski, we’re bankers.’

Abel was beginning to lose his temper with this smoothly dressed ‘young puppy’. ‘They’ll be even harder times for my hotel staff,’ he said. ‘What will they do if you sell off the roof from over their heads? What do you imagine will happen to them?’