“Of course.”
Jefferson Cartwright laughed and gave his innocent pupil an exaggerated wink. “I have you there, haven’t I?”
“What?”
“It did occur once. Don’t you remember? The dirigible?… The dirigible you purchased several years ago?”
“Oh, yes. You were upset about that.”
“As a banker I’m responsible to the Scarlatti Industries. After all, I’m your financial adviser. I’m held accountable.… We covered the purchase from the second fund but it wasn’t proper. Not proper at all. A dirigible could hardly be called an investment.”
“I apologize again.”
“Just remember, Mr. Scarlett. Your father’s wish was that the monies due from the open-faced securities were to be reinvested.”
“How could anyone tell?”
“Those are the releases you sign semiannually.”
“The hundred-odd signatures I have to sit through?”
“Yes. We convert the notes and invest the capital.”
“In what?”
“Those are the portfolio statements we send you. We catalog all investments. We make the selection ourselves as you have not—with your busy schedule—ever answered our letters with regard to your preferences.”
“I never understood them.”
“Well, now, that can be overcome, can’t it?”
“Suppose I didn’t sign the releases?”
“Well … in that unlikely event the securities would remain in the vaults until the end of the year.”
“Where?”
“The vaults. The Scarlatti vaults.”
“I see.”
“The releases are attached to the securities when we remove them.”
“But no releases, no securities. No capital, no money.”
“Exactly. They can’t be converted. The releases are just what the name implies. You release to us with your power of attorney the right to invest the capital.”
“Suppose, for imagination’s sake, you didn’t exist. There was no Waterman Trust. No bank at all. How could those securities be turned into money?”
“By signature again. Made payable to whomever you designated. It’s all clearly set forth on each document.”
“I see.”
“One day—when you’re more advanced, of course—you should see the vaults. The Scarlatti family occupies the entire east wing. The two remaining sons, yourself and Chancellor, have cubicles adjacent to each other. It’s really quite touching.”
Ulster considered. “Yes, I’d like to see the vaults.… When I’m more advanced, of course.”
“For God’s sake, are the Saxons preparing a wedding or a ceremonial convocation for the Archbishop of Canterbury?” Elizabeth Scarlatti had brought her oldest son to her house to discuss the various newspaper articles and the stack of invitations on her desk.
“You can’t blame them. Ulster is hardly an ordinary catch.”
“I’m aware of that. On the other hand the rest of New York can’t stop functioning.” Elizabeth walked to the library door and closed it. She turned and looked at her older son. “Chancellor, I want to discuss something with you. Very briefly and if you’ve got a brain in your head you won’t repeat a word of what I’m going to mention.”
“Of course.”
Elizabeth kept looking at her son. She thought to herself that Chancellor was really a better man than she ever gave him credit for. His problem was that his outlook was so terribly provincial and yet so totally dependent. And his perpetual vacuous look whenever they had a conference made him seem like an ass.
A conference. Perhaps there had been too many conferences. Too few conversations. Perhaps it was her fault.
“Chancellor, I don’t pretend to be on intimate terms with young people these days. There’s a permissiveness that was absent from my own youth and, God knows, that’s a step in the right direction, but I think it may have gone too far.”
“I agree completely!” interrupted Chancellor Drew Scarlett with fervor. “Today it is self-indulgence and I’ll not have my children infected, let me tell you!”
“Well, perhaps it goes deeper than righteous indignation. The young, as the times, are what we shape them to be—willingly or unknowingly.… However, this is only an introduction.” Elizabeth crossed to her desk and sat down. “I’ve been watching Janet Saxon during the past few weeks.… Watching, perhaps, is unfair. I’ve only seen her on half a dozen occasions starting with that absurd engagement party. It strikes me that she drinks quite heavily. Quite unnecessarily heavily. Yet she’s a lovely girl. An intelligent, alert girl. Am I wrong?”