Sins of the Fathers by Susan Howatch Page A

the sin-bin was doing, and the select six partners upstairs with the exception of myself were all
     too old to be involved in work of any importance. Through various informants Cornelius and I were also well aware of what
     went on in the sin-bin so we would hardly have lacked information if the daily meetings had been abandoned, but like all wise
     dictators Cornelius wanted to maintain the formal trappings of democracy. The daily meetings persisted under the fiction that
     we were all deciding what was best for the firm: occasionally we even took a vote which Cornelius would quietly ignore if
     it turned out to be contrary to his wishes. Sometimes partners became annoyed but not for long. Cornelius did not like being
     surrounded by discontented people, and any partner who complained was gently advised to move to another firm.
    ‘For after all,’ Cornelius would say solicitously, ‘the last thing I want is for you to be unhappy.’
    The surviving partners learnt their lesson and took care to appear well content in Cornelius’ presence. Cornelius had a controlling
     interest in the partnership with absolute authority to hire and fire whom he pleased, so it was only sensible to be on the
     best possible terms with him. Also every partner knew he was far from irreplaceable. Van Zale’s was a great investment banking
     house with a history which stretched far back into the nineteenth century, and there was never any shortage of good men who
     wanted to work at Willow and Wall.
    ‘What’s the news on Hammaco, Sam?’ asked a partner, one of the forty-five-year-old mavericks who had to be watched with care.
    ‘Good,’ I said. ‘The bidding closes tomorrow. Everything’s shaping up well.’
    ‘What exactly is this Hammaco business?’ said one of the silver-haired veterans who had just tottered back from a vacation
     in Florida.
    ‘This is a ninety-million-dollar issue for the Hammer Machine Corporation who are planning to expand into the armaments business.
     With the Cold War hotting up this is obviously good business, particularly for a corporation like Hammaco. The bidding conditions
     were tough – I’ll have a copy of the terms of sale, the preliminary prospectus and the proposed purchase statement routed
     to you in the inter-office mail. We’ve had the ‘due diligence’ meeting at the Hammaco offices and also a preliminary meeting
     of our syndicate. The main price meeting is tomorrow morning with a final price meeting at two tomorrow afternoon.’
    ‘How’s the rival camp?’ said another maverick. Those mavericks always enjoyed keeping me on my toes.
    ‘I’ve got a line on them. As soon as I know what they intend to bid I’ll make damned sure we outbid them. I see no problem.’
     I turned to the two partners from the sin-bin who were supervising the syndicate division’s spadework on the Hammaco bid.
     ‘I’d like a word with you guys after this meeting.’
    There was a knock on the door and Scott slipped in. ‘Sam, an important call.’
    I glanced at my partners. ‘Excuse me a moment, gentlemen.’ In the corner by the phone I murmured to Scott: ‘Is it Neil?’
    ‘No, the president of Hammaco.’
    ‘Christ!’ I picked up the receiver and found the president wanted to invite me to lunch. I accepted. ‘Cancel my lunch date,’
     I said to Scott as I hung up, ‘and find out if by some miracle our rivals couldn’t stand the pace and have thrown in the sponge.’
     I was just moving back to the conference table when the phone rang again, making me jump.
    ‘Keller,’ I said, picking up the receiver.
    ‘I want to see you,’ said Cornelius in a voice of ice and severed the connection as violently as a guillotine severing a criminal
     neck.
    I did not stop to think what I had done. Sometimes it’s better not to think in case one loses one’s nerve imagining disasters
     which have never happened. I got a cigarette alight, politely asked the eldest partner to chair the meeting and then,