Stephen Leather - The birthday girl

'We already have that. Most of the bank's recent loans to you were against specific properties owned by CRW.'

'Most, but not all,' Freeman said. 'Is that it?' The First Bank wasn't the only institution which had lent money to the company, and CRW had used various buildings as collateral against other loans. Now he understood what was worrying Nelson. If the company went bankrupt with zero cash and a next-to-worthless inventory, it would be lucky to get half of its investment back; if it foreclosed its loans right away, it would just about break even.

But taking its money back would be a self-fulfilling prophecy the company wouldn't be able to survive without it. Perversely, that would work in Nelson's favour because he could point to the collapse of the firm as a sign that he'd made the right decision in pulling the plug. He'd come out of it as a hero, the man whose shrewd business savvy had saved the bank's millions.

'I think it fair to say that we would be happier if we had more collateral,' Nelson said. 'But CRW isn't exactly rich in unencumbered assets, is it?' He looked at Freeman like a prosecutor grilling a hostile witness.

'There's the land we own near Annapolis,' Anderson said, trying to take the heat off Freeman.

Nelson shook his head. 'Undeveloped. I'm surprised you didn't sell it years ago.'

Freeman felt as if he had to defend himself, even though Nelson had made a valid point. 'It was where my father-in-law built his first factory. He kept it for sentimental reasons long after the buildings were demolished.'

Nelson smiled. 'You won't believe how many times I've seen sentimentality ruin a perfectly good business. Managers can get too attached to a workforce or a product and they fail to take die necessary steps to safeguard their business.' He bent over the table, his body as tense as a sprinter waiting for the starter's gun. 'Being a good manager is like being a surgeon. You have to recognise when the body is unhealthy, and you mustn't be afraid to cut to save the patient. Better to lose a leg than have the patient die.'

Freeman looked at his watch. 'Is there anything else we have to discuss?'

Nelson and Walter exchanged looks. There obviously was something else. It was Walter who spoke first. 'Tony, don't take this the wrong way, but the bank feels that until you're through this period, it might be better if we had a representative on your board.'

'A representative?' Freeman repeated.

'Namely myself,' Nelson said.

'Let me get this straight,' Freeman said. 'We have to report to you each month, and you want a seat on the board?'

'In a purely non-executive capacity,' Nelson added. 'You'll still be running the company. I'll just be…'

'Interfering…' Anderson interrupted.

'… keeping an eye on things. Looking out for the bank's interests,' Nelson finished. 'I hope you'll come to see me as an asset to your management team.'

'Do we have a choice?' Freeman asked, but he could see from the look of anguish on Walter's face that he didn't.

'I understand the board meets next Thursday at three o'clock,'

Nelson said. 'I'll see you then.'

Freeman felt like a schoolboy being dismissed from the headmaster's presence. He felt his cheeks flush involuntarily and his stomach churned. There was nothing he could say, nothing that would be productive anyway. He stood up and picked up his briefcase. Nelson leapt to his feet and extended his hand. Freeman felt like turning his back on the young banker but he knew that would be childish. He shook hands with the man, and Anderson did the same. On the way out of the office, Walter patted him gently on the back like a relative at a funeral, wanting to reassure him that life went on, no matter how bad things looked.

Anderson said nothing as they rode down in the elevator and the silence continued as they walked towards the car. 'What do you think?' Freeman said eventually as he opened the car door.

'About the boy-wonder banker?'

'Yeah.' Freeman slid into the car and opened the door for Anderson.

'We're caught between a rock and a hard place,' Anderson said as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.

'But at least they're not closing us down,' Freeman said.

'Yeah. But I don't like the idea of Nelson watching our every move.'

'You never know, he might be a help,' Freeman said. He started the Lumina and drove to the car park exit.

'He's barely out of college,' Anderson protested. 'What the hell could he know about running a business? Especially a business like ours.' He slammed his hand down on the dashboard.

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' Freeman agreed. 'But I don't see that we've got a choice. I think you should start looking for alternative sources of finance. See if any of our other banks will take over First's loans. Maybe see if we can bring in new money.'

Anderson pulled a face as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.

'Yeah, yeah, I know,' Freeman said. 'But I can dream, can't I?'

Mersiha ran her fingers through the magazines on the table, looking for something, anything, worth reading. She picked up a copy of People magazine and flicked through it. She couldn't concentrate on the photographs of movie stars and television personalities and after a few minutes she threw the magazine back on the table. She looked at her watch. It was exactly five o'clock, the time her session was due to start, and Dr Brown was usually punctual to the point of obsession. She wondered if he was having trouble with one of his patients. An unstable teenager threatening suicide, maybe. A middle-aged woman professing her undying love for the psychiatrist, offering him her heart and soul if he'd only take her there and then on the office floor. Mersiha smiled at the thought. Dr Brown was an unlikely lover, a small, chubby man with a receding hairline and small, baby-like lips.

'Are you okay, kiddo?' Katherine asked.

'Sure,' she replied, reaching for another magazine.

'What are you smiling at?'

Mersiha shrugged. 'Nothing. Just happy, I guess. Can we get ice-cream after this?'

'Sure, kiddo.' Katherine went back to reading a dog-eared copy of Vanity Fair. Mersiha studied the door to Dr Brown's office. In the three years she'd been attending weekly sessions at the psychiatrist's office, she'd never seen one of his other patients. There were two doors to his inner sanctum: one led to the waiting room where she was sitting with Katherine, the other opened on to a corridor that led to the car park. It was a simple system, but it worked: arriving and departing patients never met.

'Katherine,' Mersiha asked, 'how much longer do I have to do this?'

'Do what?'

'Come to Dr Brown's. It's a waste of time. And money. Think of the money you'd save if I stopped coming.'

Katherine looked at her as if considering the offer, then shook her head. 'When Dr Brown says there's no need for you to come any more, then you can stop.'

Mersiha flopped back in her chair and pouted. 'But I'm going to be sixteen in two weeks.'

'No buts. And don't worry about money. This isn't a matter of how much it costs, it's whether or not it's good for you.'

'It's a total waste of time.' Mersiha folded her arms and glared at the door to Dr Brown's office as if daring him to come out.

Katherine looked across at Dr Brown's receptionist, a heavyset matron who could be a harridan or sweetness and light, depending on the state of her relationship with her live-in lover, a burly steelworker who wasn't averse to knocking her around after he'd had a few drinks too many. Today she was in a good mood and she smiled sympathetically at Katherine. 'Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mrs Freeman? Dr Brown shouldn't be too long.'

Katherine shook her head. 'No thanks, Nancy.' Before Katherine could go back to reading her magazine, the intercom on Nancy's desk buzzed.