51
Stone left the house at eight-thirty and drove down to Wilshire. He was right, the Wells Fargo branch was near Prince’s building: it was in his building. He parked in the underground garage and took the escalator to the ground floor. He was ten minutes early, so he strolled over to the building’s directory and looked at the list of occupants. There were two: Wells Fargo Bank and Prince Properties. Management occupied the two top floors, and all the others seemed to be Prince subsidiaries, since they all had his name in their titles.
A man came to the bank door from the inside and unlocked two deadbolts in the glass doors. Open for business. Stone walked inside and approached the first desk, where a middle-aged woman in a business suit sat. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, how may I help you?”
Stone handed her one of his new cards. “I’d like to speak to the manager, please. It’s a matter of some urgency.”
“One moment, Mr. Barrington,” she said, reading his name from the card. She got up, walked a few yards to a mahogany door, rapped on it, and then went inside.
Stone looked around. Seemed to be a normal banking day. People made deposits; people cashed checks; people filled out loan applications.
The woman returned. “Mr. Woolich will see you,” she said. “Right through that door.” She pointed.
Stone followed her finger to the mahogany door, knocked twice, and entered. A plump, balding man in his fifties sat behind a mahogany desk. He rose and offered his hand.
“Good morning, Mr. Barrington. Please be seated.”
Stone sat himself in a leather armchair.
“How may I be of service?” Woolich asked.
“I’d like to cash a check,” Stone replied. He handed it to Woolich.
Woolich took a look at it, apparently thought he’d read it incorrectly, then took another look at it. He gulped. “You wish to cash this check?”
Stone handed him a copy of the sales agreement. “Pursuant to this agreement with Mr. Prince.”
Woolich read the document carefully. “Well, this certainly seems to be in order, Mr. Barrington, but we don’t have that much cash in the branch’s vault, and I’m not sure we have that much in the city of Los Angeles.”
“Forgive me,” Stone said. “I didn’t make myself clear. I wish to wire the funds to the trust account of the law firm of Woodman amp; Weld, in New York.” He handed Woolich another of his cards upon which he had written the account number.
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Woolich said. “I had visions of having to hire an armored car.”
Stone chuckled appreciatively.
“Would you excuse me for a moment,” Woolich said.
“Of course; as long as you leave the check with me. I wouldn’t want it out of my sight.”
“Of course,” Woolich said, handing back the check. “I just want to be sure that the account holder has sufficient funds to pay the check.” He chuckled at his own joke, then left the room.
Stone saw a light go on on Woolich’s phone, and after a moment, the light began to blink.
Woolich returned. “Mr. Prince would like to speak with you,” he said. He indicated that Stone should come around the desk. “Just press the flashing button,” he said.
Stone pressed the button. “Good morning, Terry,” he said.
“Good morning, Stone. May I take this request for a wire transfer as an indication that your client has accepted my offer?”
“You may.”
“Do you have the signed contract with you?”
“I do.”
“I’ll send someone down for it immediately, then I’ll speak with Mr. Woolich again.” He hung up.
Stone resumed his seat, and Woolich resumed his.
“Lovely day,” the banker said.
“Every day out here seems to be a lovely day.”
“Ah, well, sunny California,” Woolich replied.
There was a knock at the door, and Carolyn Blaine walked in. “Good morning, Stone,” she said.
“Good morning,” Stone replied, handing her one copy of the sales agreement. “Duly witnessed by a member of the New York Police Department.”
She looked at it, checked the signatures, and smiled broadly. “Congratulations!” she said.
“And to you. I’m sure that running the project will be a lot of fun for you.”
“Oh, yes.” She produced a cell phone and pressed a speed dial number. “All is in order,” she said. She listened, then handed the phone to Woolich.
“Yes, Mr. Prince? As you wish.” He handed the phone back to Carolyn. “Thank you, Ms. Blaine.” He sat down again, and Carolyn left the room.
“Please send the wire to the attention of William Eggers, Managing Partner.”
“Of course.” Woolich turned to his computer, pulled up a form and began to type, entering the numbers Stone had given him. “Here goes,” he said, pressing the send key with a flourish. “Done.” He pressed a couple more keys and the printer beside his desk spat out a sheet of paper. Woolich signed it, then handed it to Stone. “The transfer is confirmed; the funds are in your trust account.”
Stone read the confirmation, then stood up. “Mr. Woolich, it has been a pleasure doing business with you,” he said. The two men shook hands, and Stone left the bank, whistling a merry tune.
Stone arrived at the house and found Arrington, in a bathing suit now, lying on a chaise beside the pool. He walked over, kissed her, and handed her the wire transfer receipt. “You are officially twenty-five million dollars richer,” he said.
“How nice,” she replied. She patted the chaise next to her. “Sit for a moment.”
Stone did so.
“Rick Barron called ten minutes ago. He said that Jack Schmeltzer called him this morning and told him that he would be voting with Prince this afternoon.”
That knocked the wind out of Stone. “That’s bad news,” he said. “What with Mrs. Grosvenor buying the Jennifer Harris shares and taking charge of Jim Long’s, we are, to put it as gracefully as I can manage, fucked.”
“That seems so,” Arrington said, “but Rick, bless his heart, seems to remain just slightly optimistic.”
“Did he say why?”
“No. He just said he will see us at the meeting at two o’clock on stage four.”
“Well,” Stone said, sighing, “let’s hope that Rick’s and Dino’s optimism is not misplaced.”
52
Stone was tying a necktie in anticipation of the shareholders’ meeting when the phone in his room rang. “Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Ed Eagle.”
“Afternoon, Ed.”
“I have some interesting news regarding Dolly Parks/Carolyn Blaine.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ve had a phone call from the Santa Fe Police Department, from the detective in charge of the investigation into the murder of the wife of my client, Tip Hanks.”
“Something new?”
“Something old, actually. During the investigation a lipstick smear was found on a pillowcase in Mrs. Hanks’s bedroom. It wasn’t thought to be possible to extract a DNA sample from it at the time, but newer technology has prevailed, and the police have a fully constituted sample. All that remains now is to have Ms. Blaine tested for it.”
“That’s good news, Ed.”
“A problem, though; since there is no existing evidence that Ms. Blaine is Ms. Parks, there is no probable cause for the police to request a warrant requiring her to give a sample for testing.”
“That is a problem, isn’t it?”
“It is, unless you can help.”
“What would you like me to do?”