The Scarlatti Inheritance(46)
All empty.
For how many months had Ulster carried out his extraordinary charade? Going from one harried banker to the next and always, always—at the last—coming down to the vaults. Document by document. Security by security.
Three hours ago she wouldn’t have believed it. It was only because a maid sweeping her front steps had triggered the memory of another maid sweeping steps. A maid who remembered a short command given by her son to a cabdriver.
Ulster Scarlett had taken a subway.
One midmorning he could not take the chance of a taxi ride in traffic. He had been late for his session at the bank.
What better time than midmorning? The initial placing of orders, the chaos of early trading in the market.
Even Ulster Scarlett would be overlooked at midmorning.
She hadn’t understood the subway.
Now she did.
As if performing a painful ritual she checked the remaining months and years of the first cabinet. Through December, 1931.
Empty.
She closed the drawer on 1931 and began at the bottom of the second cabinet 1932.
Empty.
She had reached the middle of the cabinet—1934—when she heard the sound of the metal door opening. She quickly closed the file and turned around in anger.
Jefferson Cartwright entered and shut the door.
“I thought I told you to remain outside!”
“My word, Madame Scarlatti, you look like you’ve seen a dozen ghosts.”
“Get out!”
Cartwright walked rapidly to the first cabinet and arbitrarily pulled out one of the middle drawers. He saw the broken seals on the metal cartons, lifted one out, and opened it. “Seems as if something missin’.”
“I’ll have you dismissed!”
“Maybe.… Maybe you will.” The Southerner pulled out another drawer and satisfied himself that several other cartons whose seals had been broken were empty also.
Elizabeth stood silently, contemptuously, next to the banker. When she spoke, it was with the intensity born of disgust. “You have just terminated your employment at Waterman Trust!”
“Maybe I have. Excuse me, please.” The Virginian gently moved Elizabeth away from the second cabinet and continued his search. He reached the year 1936 and turned to the old woman. “Not much left, is there? I wonder how far it goes, don’t you? Of course, I’ll make a complete breakdown for you as soon as possible. For you and my superiors.” He closed the drawer on 1936 and smiled.
“This is confidential family business. You’ll do nothing! You can do nothing!”
“Oh, come now! These cabinets contained open-faced securities. Bearer bonds negotiable subject to signature.… Possession is ownership. They’re the same as money.… Your disappearin’ son took a whale of a hunk of the New York Exchange! And we haven’t even finished look-in’ around. Shall we open a few more cabinets?”
“I will not tolerate this!”
“Then don’t. You go on your way, and I’ll simply report to my superiors that Waterman Trust is in one hell of a pile of manure. Forgettin’ very sizable commissions due the bank and puttin’ aside any thoughts of the companies involved gettin’ nervous over who owns what—there might even be a run on some stocks—I possess knowledge which I should report immediately to the authorities!”
“You can not! You must not!”
“Why not?” Jefferson Cartwright held out the palms of both hands.
Elizabeth turned away from him and tried to marshal her thoughts. “Estimate what’s gone, Mr. Cartwright.…”
“I can estimate as far as we’ve looked. Eleven years, approximately three and a half million a year comes to something like forty million. But we may have only just begun.”
“I said … prepare an estimate. I trust that I don’t have to tell you that if you say a word to anyone—I shall destroy you. We’ll arrive at mutually agreeable terms.” She slowly turned and looked at Jefferson Cartwright. “You should know, Mr. Cartwright, that through an accident you’re privileged to information that lifts you far above your talents or abilities. When men are so fortunate, they must be cautious.”
Elizabeth Scarlatti spent a sleepless night.
Jefferson Cartwright also spent a sleepless night. But it wasn’t in bed. It was on a monk’s stool with reams of papers at his feet.
The figures mounted as he cautiously checked the file cabinets against the Scarlatti trusts reports.
Jefferson Cartwright thought he’d go mad.
Ulster Stewart Scarlett had removed securities worth over $270 million.
He totaled and retotaled the figures.
An amount that would cause a crisis on the exchange.
An international scandal, which could—if known—cripple the Scarlatti Industries.… And it would be known when the time came to convert the first missing securities. At the outside, barely a year.