Arthur Hailey - The Moneychangers

She put down her notebook. "Has Nolan talked to you today?" Alex shook his head. 'There hasn't been much chance." "He's going to. He wants you to use your influence in helping Miles get a job. Nolan says if necessary he’ll pound on your desk to make you do it."

"He won't need to," Alex said. "Our holding company owns consumer finance shops in Texas and in California We'll find something for Eastin in one or the other." "Maybe they'll hire Juanita as well. She says wherever he goes, she's going with him. Estela, too." Alex sighed. He was glad there would be at least one happy ending.

He asked, "What did Tim McCartney say about the child?" It had been Alex's idea to send Estela Nunez to Dr. McCartney, the Remedial Center psychiatrist.

What mental harm, if any, Alex wondered, had befallen the little girl as a result of her kidnapping and torture? But the thought of the Remedial Center now was a dismal reminder to him of Celia "I'll tell you one thing," Margot said. "If you and I were as sane and balanced as little Estela, we'd both be better people.

Dr. McCartney says the two of them talked the whole thing out. As a result, Estela won't bury the experience in her subconscious; she'll remember it clearly as a bad nightmare, nothing more."

Alex felt tears spring to his eyes. "I'm glad of that," he said softly. "Really glad." "It's been a busy day." Margot stretched, kicking off her shoes.

"One of the other things I did was taL1c with your legal department about compensation for Juanita. I think we can work something out without taking you to court."

"Thanks, Bracken." He took her drink, and his own, to refill them. While he did, the telephone rang. Margot got up and answered it. "It's Leonard Kingswood. For you." Alex crossed the living room and took the phone. "Yes, Len?" "I know you're relaxing after a rough day," the Northam Steel chairman said, "and I'm shook up about Roscoe, too. But what I have to say can't wait." Alex grimaced. "Go ahead." "There's been a caucus of directors.

Since this afternoon we've had two conference calls, with other calls between. A full meeting of the FMA board is being summoned for noon tomorrow." "And?" "The first order of business will be to accept the resignation of Jerome as president. Some of us demanded it. Jerome agreed. In fact, I think he was relieved." Yes, Alex thought, Patterton would be He clearly had no stomach for the sudden avalanche of problems, along with the critical decisions needed now.

"After that," Kingswood said with his usual blunt directness, "you will be elected president, Alex. The appointment to take effect immediately."

While talking, Alex had cradled the telephone against his shoulder and lit his pipe. Now he puffed it while he considered.

"At this point, Len, I'm not sure I want the job." "There was a feeling you might say that, which is why I was elected as the one to call you.

You could say I'm pleading, Alex; for myself and the rest of the board." Kingswood paused, and Alex sensed he was having a hard time. Beseeching did not come easily to a man of Leonard L. Kingswood's stature, but he plowed on just the same. "We all know you warned us about Supranational, but we thought we were wiser.

Well, we weren't. We ignored your advice and now what you predicted has come true. So - we're asking you, Alex belatedly, I admit to help us out of this mess we're in. I might say that some of the directors are worried about their personal liability.

All of us remember your cautioning about that, too." "Let me think a minute, Len." '`Take your time." Alex supposed he should feel some personal satisfaction, a sense of superiority, perhaps, at being vindicated, able to say, I told you so; a conviction of power at holding as he knew he did trump cards. ~ He felt none of those things.

Only a great sadness at the futility and waste, when the best that could happen for a long time to CDme, assuming he succeeded, was for the bank to regain the state in which Ben Rosselli left it. Was it worth it? What was it all about? Could the extraordinary effort, deep personal involvement and sacrifice, the stress and strain, be justified? And for what?

To save a bank, a money store, a money machine, from failure.

Wasn't Margot's work among the poor and disadvantaged far more important than his own, a greater contribution to their times? Yet it wasn't all that simple because banks were necessary, in their way as essential and immediate as food. Civilization would break down without a money

…

system. Banks, though imperfect, made the money system work.

Those were abstract considerations; there was a practical one. Even if Alex accepted the leadership of First Mercantile American at this late stage, there was no assurance of success. He might merely preside, ignominiously, over FMA's demise or take-over by another bank. If so, he would be remembered for it, his reputation as a banker liquidated, too.

On the other hand, if anyone could save FMA, Alex knew he was the one. As well as ability, he possessed the inside knowledge which an outsider would not have time to learn. Even more important:

Despite all the problems, even now, he believed that he could do it.

"If I accepted, Len," he said, "I'd insist on a free hand to make changes, including changes on the board." "You'd get your free hand," Kingswood answered. "I personally guarantee it." Alex drew on his pipe, then put it down.

"Let me sleep on it. I'll give you my decision in the morning." He hung up the phone and retrieved his drink from the bar. Margot had already taken hers. She regarded him quizzically. "Why didn't you accept? When both of us know you're going to."

"You guessed what that was all about?" 4'Of course." "Why are you so certain I'll accept?" "Because you can't resist the challenge. Because your whole life is banking. Everything else takes second place." "I'm not sure," he said slowly, "that I want that to be true." Yet it had been true, he thought, when he and Celia were together.

Was it still? Possibly the answer was yes, as Margot said. Probably, too, no one ever changed his basic nature. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you," Margot said. "This seems as good a time as any." He nodded. "Go ahead." "That night in Tylersville, the day of the bank run, when the old couple with their life savings in that shopping bag asked you the question: Is our money absolutely safe in your bank? You answered yes. Were you really sure?"

"I've asked myself that," Alex said. "Right afterwards, and since. If I own up, I suppose I wasn't." "But you were saving the bank. Right? And that came first.

Ahead of those old people, and all the others; ahead of honesty even, because 'business as usual' was more important." Suddenly there was emotion in Margot's voice. "It's why you'll go on trying to save the bank, Alex ahead of everything else. It's the way it was with you and Celia. And," she said slowly, "as it would be if you had to make the choice with you and me."

Alex was silent. What could you say, what could anyone say, confronted with the naked truth? "So in the end," Margot said, "you aren't all that different from Roscoe. Or Lewis either."

She picked up The D'Orsey Newsletter with distaste. "Business stability, sound money, gold, high share prices. All those things first. People especially little, unimportant people a long way after. It's the big gulf between us, Alex. It will always be there.' He saw that she was crying. A buzzer sounded in the hallway beyond the living room.

Alex swore. "Goddam the interruptions!" He strode toward an intercom unit connecting with a doorman on the street floor. "Yes, what is it?" "Mr. Vandervoort, there's a lady here asking for you. Mrs. Callaghan."

"I don't know any…" He stopped. Heyward's secretary? "Ask if she's from the bank." A pause. "Yes, sir. She is." "All right. Send her up." Alex told Margot.