"Yes, " he said, clearing his throat again. "Yes, I suppose we do. How about some more coffee first?"
The Judge suddenly felt edgy, and anxious to do something-anything-that would disrupt the woman's rhythm. What he had anticipated would be a preliminary sparring match with Ultramed had turned out to be the main event. "No, thank you, " she answered. "But go ahead if you want."
"I think I will."
He walked to the kitchen, poured himself a cup, laced it with a stiff slug of brandy, and took a long sip. The warm, velvet rasp had a calming, reassuring effect, reminding him that, although Leigh Baron had him back on his heels, this was the sort of game he loved to play-the one in which he held all the trump cards. He was still the chairman of the board of the hospital. And in the end, regardless of who Leigh Baron was, how much she earned, or what she had to say, he was the one who controlled the votes. His next swallow drained the cup. He poured himself another before returning to the den. "Okay, Ms. Baron, " he said, with ever-so-slight emphasis, "what's your pitch?"
"No pitch, Judge. Simply put, I would like to know what your plans are for the meeting tomorrow."
He tried for a bemused expression, but sensed that he missed. He held all the cards. She knew that as well as he did. And yet she continued looking at him as if whatever he had to say really made no difference.
He sought another taste of his brandied coffee, but realized that he had once again drained his cup. "You have my letter, " he said. "In it, I stated that it was quite possible the board and Ultramed would be able to work things out."
"Judge, we have reason to believe that the situation up here, at least in your eyes, has changed since you wrote that. I'd like to know what's going on."
"Nothing's going on. I've done what I was supposed to do as chairman of the board here, and sent you a letter. The meeting's tomorrow. We expect you'll be there to represent Ultramed's interests. At the end of the meeting there'll be a vote. Cest tout."
He held his hands out, palms up. Leigh Baron rubbed at her eyes wearily.
"Judge, that list you just consulted, was that compiled by Dr. Beaulieu? "
"As a matter of fact, it was."
"Then I can assume that you have all the other material he had been scraping together against our company."
"You did try to drive him out of practice."
"That, Judge, is ridiculous. Ultramed has grown faster than any company of its size in the field. We know exactly what we are doing. So does our parent company. If we wanted somebody out, believe me, they'd be out.
Where did you get the idea that we would do such a thing?"
"Well, actually, it was from my-Actually, it's none of your business.
You can find out everything you want to know at tomorrow's meeting."
"Your son Zachary was a pall bearer at Dr. Beaulieu's funeral. Is he the one who's taken up Beaulieu's cause? "
"If he has, then like I said, you'll find out tomorrow."
"If he has, then he's wrong. If Guy Beaulieu was being driven from practice, it was not by us."
"Perhaps, " the Judge said, sensing a shift in control back toward himself. "If that's true, that should come out at the meeting also."
"Tell me something, Judge. You've already made up your mind, haven't you?"
"I wouldn't say that at all."
She flashed that same disquieting smile. "You don't have to, " she said.
"Judge, if your board does vote to repurchase Ultramed-Davis from us, what were you planning to do about Frank?"
"Do? Why, keep him on, of course. If-and mind you, I said, if-we do vote to return the hospital to the community, we'll need him. He's done a terrific job. You told me that yourself."
"And I meant it, too, " Leigh said, "with one slightly enormous exception… Here, Judge, I think you'd better look this over carefully."
She removed a thin folder from her briefcase and handed it to him.
"While you're doing that, " she went on, "if you could just point me toward your bathroom…"
"Huh? " He had already started scanning the material. "Oh, it's over there. Down that hallway and on the left "Thanks."
Clayton Iverson finished reading the first page. Written by a well established, highly respected Boston accounting firm, it was basically an explanation and summation of the material to follow. Before going on, he went again to the kitchen. This time, he poured brandy into his cup but did not bother adding coffee. By the time Leigh Baron returned to the study, he had reread the cover letter and begun to skim the lists of figures and transactions, all of which seemed to bear up the accountants' contention that almost three years before, Frank had embezzled nearly a quarter of a million dollars from the Ultramed accounts. Whether it was the hour or the brandy or the acid anger welling in his throat, the Judge was having increasing difficulty concentrating on the specific financial transfer maneuvers, which were characterized by the bookkeepers as "rather superficial efforts to obscure the missing funds, efforts which any reasonable audit would uncover, and therefore ones which suggest Mr. Iverson's intention of making good the shortfall at some near date."
"So," Leigh Baron said. "Suddenly this all becomes very serious business, wouldn't you agree?"
"Why haven't you done anything about this before now?"
"Oh, come now, Judge. It's unbecoming for you to ask a question with so obvious an answer. Besides, as we've both been saying, Frank's done a terrific job for us. It's apparent that he just got a little greedy back there three years ago. He does have a way of being headstrong sometimes.
But I guess you know that… Well, I had actually decided that once the sale of Davis to our company was a fait accompli, I would write off the $250, 000 as sort of a bonus for his good work. After all, anyone can make a mistake…"
"Sure, sure. And now you're saying that I would be making a mistake to vote against turning our hospital over to you."
"You won't have left us much choice, Judge, other than to press charges.
And believe me, the evidence against Frank is solid-absolutely rock solid."
In keeping with his overall outlook, Clayton Iverson had always reserved his strongest emotions-positive and negative-for men. But at that moment he hated the woman sitting across from him with more passion than he had ever hated anyone. "o in the hell did she think she was?
The question echoed impotently, over and over again in his mind. She looked like some sort of high fashion model, and discussed issues with the naivetd of a schoolgirl, and yet, there she sat, smiling quietly as she viciously blackmailed him. The life of his son and, by inference, the lives of his daughter-in-law and granddaughters, in exchange for a vote. He should have retired, he thought. He had clearly lost his edge.
He should have stepped down from such dealings long ago. His head was spinning. "I… I need time to think, " he said. "I understand…
Unfortunately, you have only until tomorrow."
"I was right in wanting your company out of our town, Mrs. Baron. You're a very callous and self-serving woman."
"Let's not lower ourselves to name-calling, Judge. It's so unprofessional." She stood. "So, then. Tomorrow at one minute after noon everything will be"-she shrugged-"exactly as it is right now. Only more permanent.