Part 9 (1/2)
”Look, Ken, she asked me for a comment on that little protest going on downstairs, but I wouldn't give her one.”
Booker nodded. ”That was smart. You know we have a policy here at Sumter about talking to the press without senior management's authorization. It's a policy we take very seriously.”
The elevator ride from fourteen to fifty was quick.Too quick, Angela thought to herself when the doors opened. Nothing good could come of this. She was about to meet with Sumter's two most senior executives, and they weren't summoning her to the top of the tower to congratulate her on closing a profitable transaction. They wanted to grill her about her meeting with Jake Lawrence. There could be no other reason for their sudden need to speak to her.
”Hi, I'm here to see Mr. Dudley,” she informed the receptionist.
”Your name?”
”Angela Day. Mr. Dudley is expecting me.”
The woman looked Angela up and down, then pointed to a plush sofa behind an antique coffee table. ”You can have a seat over there.”
”Thank you.”
As she walked across the room's huge Oriental rug, she gazed steadily at the long row of dark oil paintings stretching the length of the wall behind the sofa. These were paintings of the men who had run Sumter Bank since its founding in the early 1860s, their tenures inscribed on small gold plaques affixed to the bottom of each ornate frame: 19171926, 19261932, and so on. In their portraits, hung on the wall in chronological order from left to right, the men looked strikingly similar. All were white, silver-haired, and strong-jawed. They were all clad in dark suit jackets, conservative ties, and white s.h.i.+rts. And they all wore stony expressions. There were no smiles on the wall.
”The chairman is ready for you, Ms. Day,” the receptionist called. ”Over there.”
Angela nodded and headed toward the door the receptionist had pointed to. Behind the door was an anteroom and another woman seated behind a desk, a gray-haired woman with half-lens spectacles who seemed friendly enough at first but who gave Angela the same up-and-down the receptionist had. Without a word the woman waved Angela toward a large door at the back of the anteroom.
Angela hesitated at the door, then turned the large bra.s.s k.n.o.b and pushed.
”Come in, Ms. Day.”
She looked across the large office in the direction of the voice. The chairman and president were on the far side of the room, near a wide window, posed almost exactly as they had been in last year's glossy annual report to the bank's shareholders. The chairman sat in a huge leather wing chair, legs crossed at the knees, hands folded in his lap-a picture of cool control. The president stood behind him, arms folded across his chest.
”Please, come in,” the president called, beckoning as he moved out from behind the chairman and met her halfway across the room. ”I'm Carter Hill, and I'm sure you recognize our chairman, Bob Dudley.”
”Of course,” Angela said, aware of the fact that Hill hadn't offered his hand in greeting, as many men still didn't, even in business settings. They'd shake hands with her male counterparts, but not her. ”h.e.l.lo, Mr. Dudley.”
Dudley nodded, almost imperceptibly, but said nothing.
”We appreciate your being available to see us so quickly,” Hill continued politely.
”It's my pleasure.” She was struck by how much Dudley and Hill resembled the men in the paintings along the lobby wall. ”I want to help you in any way I can.”
”Yes, I'm sure you do.” Hill gave her a quick, forced smile. ”Would you care for anything to drink? Coffee? c.o.ke?”
”No, thanks, I'm fine,” she replied, following him past a large desk to the area by the window where Dudley waited.
”Please have a seat.” Hill directed her to a wooden chair by the window. He sat in another large leather wing chair beside the chairman's.
Angela glanced out the window at a panoramic view of Richmond and the wide James River at the base of the steep hill the city was built on, then looked away and sat down. G.o.d, she hated heights.
”Everything all right, Ms. Day?” Hill asked.
”Fine.” There was a table beside the chair that caught her eye. On it was a collection of toy soldiers, each only a few inches high. They were Confederate soldiers, she noted, one of which, at the front of the unit, was bearing a small Rebel flag. ”Just fine,” she repeated, smoothing out her dress.
”Angela, you have a fine record of performance here at Sumter,” Hill began. ”The chairman and I were just reviewing it. Several years of very strong production in Ken Booker's division. Lots of income, including fees, and no loan write-offs. We appreciate your fine service.”
”Thank you.”
”Which is why we were a little surprised-”
”What did Jake Lawrence want?” Dudley interrupted gruffly.
”Easy, Bob,” Hill urged, ”let's take it slowly. We don't want to-”
”What did Lawrence want?” Dudley repeated.
Angela and Dudley locked eyes. ”Mr. Lawrence asked me to come to Wyoming to discuss one of his portfolio companies,” she explained. Dudley's eyes were cold and dark, just like Lawrence's. ”He wants to leverage the company with long-term debt, and he wants Sumter to be the lead bank in terms of providing the loans.” Angela sniffed, as though she wasn't enthusiastic about the opportunity. ”Of course, he intends to pay himself a huge dividend with the cash we lend to his company.”
”Why did he callyou , Ms. Day?” Dudley continued.
”He didn't.”
”What do you mean?” Hill asked quickly.
”First of all, Jake Lawrence didn't make the initial contact. It was a person out of his New York office that called. Second, that individual initially called Ken Booker, who then relayed the message to me. I want to be very clear on all of that because New York isn't my territory, and I don't want to step on any toes. My territory is Georgia and Alabama.”
”Ken didn't tell me about it happening that way when I spoke to him,” Dudley hissed. ”He seemed to think you were acting on your own.”
”Well, I don't know why he would have told you that, Mr. Dudley, because I-”
”You've had such a stellar employment record here at Sumter, Ms. Day,” Hill cut in, ”up until now, anyway. You should have run your meeting with Jake Lawrence up the chain of command before accepting his invitation. You should have-”
”Excuse me, sir, but, as I said, Ken Booker took the initial call from Lawrence's people, then approached me.” She wasn't going to give Dudley or Hill any opportunity to scar her record. ”You can check with him.”
”Why did Lawrence want to talk to you and not Booker?” Dudley inquired.
”Because I have specific industry experience related to the portfolio company Mr. Lawrence wants to leverage,” she answered, repeating what Lawrence had told her to say. ”So he thinks I'm best suited to guide the transaction through the bank and to convince other banks to join us.” She glanced down at the toy soldiers marching toward her on the small table, wondering if Dudley and Hill understood how hateful she found all the display represented. Perhaps the soldiers had been put there on purpose, she realized. Just for her. Perhaps they knew that she had friends who were black. One in particular. ”From what Lawrence was saying, it will be a significant transaction. About a billion dollars in total, so we'll need a broad syndicate of other lenders.”
”What's the name of the company he wants to leverage?” Dudley asked.
Angela hesitated, knowing how this would sound. ”I'm not certain. He didn't want to go into detail yet.”
”Why not?”
”I'm not sure.”
”What industry does the company operate in?” Dudley pressed. ”He must have mentioned the industry if that was why he wanted to speak with you and not Booker.”
She hesitated again. ”He didn't tell me that either.”
Dudley pounded the arm of the chair with his fist. ”Well, whatdid he tell you?”
”Only what I've related.”
”You expect me to believe that Jake Lawrence flew you all the way out to Wyoming just for that?” Dudley's cheeks were becoming flushed. ”Ms. Day, you'd better come up with more-”