I smiled to myself. The trading was on. The old man figured the best way to get what he wanted was by attacking me. Already, the propriety of my presence at the meeting had been forgotten. "The price I offered was twice what I paid on the open market."
"You made the market."
"I wasn't running the company," I retorted. "You were-and for the last six years, running it at a loss."
He strode around the table. "And you could do better?"
"If I didn't think so, I wouldn't be putting up better than seven million dollars."
His eyes stared into mine angrily for a moment, then he walked back to his chair and sat down. He picked up a pencil and tapped it on the table in front of him. "The regular meeting of the board of directors of the Norman Picture Company, Incorporated, is hereby called to order," he said in a quieter tone of voice. He looked over at his nephew. "David, you will act as secretary until we appoint a new one."
The old man continued. "A quorum is present, and also present by invitation is Mr. Jonas Cord. Make a note of that, David. Mr. Cord is present by invitation of certain of the directors but over the objection of the President."
He stared at me, waiting for me to react to his statement. I sat there impassively.
"We will now proceed to the first order of business, which is the election of officers of the company for the coming year."
I nodded to McAllister. "Mr. President," he said, "may I suggest that we postpone the election of officers until after you and Mr. Cord have completed discussions regarding the sale of your stock?"
"What makes you think I'm interested in selling my stock?" Bernie asked. "My faith in the future of this company remains as strong as ever. I've made plans to insure the successful operation of this company and if you fellows think you can stop me, I'll throw you into a proxy fight like you never saw before."
Even McAllister had to smile at that. What would he fight with? We were voting forty-one per cent of the stock already. "If the President's concern for the future of this company were as sincere as ours," McAllister said politely, "surely he would see the damage that could be done by starting a proxy fight he couldn't possibly win."
A look of cunning came over Bernie's face. "I'm not such a fool as you think," he said. "I've been busy all afternoon. I got pledges from enough stockholders to give me control if I fight. I should live so long as to give up my own company – the company that I built with the sweat of my brow – to Cord so he can donate more money to his friends the Nazis." He slammed his fist dramatically down on the table. "No, not even if he gave me seven million dollars for my stock alone."
I got to my feet, tight-lipped and angry. "I’d like to ask Mr. Norman what he would do with the seven million dollars if I did give it to him. Would he donate it to the Jewish Relief Fund?"
"It's no business of Mr. Cord's what I do with my money," he shouted down the table at me. "I'm not a rich man like he is. All I got is a few shares of my own company."
I smiled. "Mr. Norman, would you like me to read to the board a list of your liquid assets and holdings, both in your name and your wife's?"
Bernie looked confused. "List?" he asked. "What list?"
I looked at McAllister. He handed me a sheet of paper from his brief case. I began to read from it. "Deposits in the name of May Norman: Security National Bank, Boston – one million, four hundred thousand; Bank of Manhattan Company, New York – two million, one hundred thousand; Pioneer National Trust Company, Los Angeles – seven hundred thousand; Lehman Brothers, New York – three million, one hundred and fifty thousand; plus other minor accounts throughout the country amounting to six or seven hundred thousand more. In addition to that, Mrs. Norman owns one thousand acres of prime real estate in Westwood, near Beverly Hills, conservatively valued at two thousand dollars an acre."
Bernie stared at me. "Where did you get that list?"
"Never mind where I got it."
The old man turned to his nephew. "See, David," he said in a loud voice, "see what a good wife can save from her house money."
If he wasn't such a thief, I'd have laughed. But a look at his nephew's face showed that the boy hadn't known about those particular assets. Something told me David was in for further disillusionment.
The old man turned back to me. "So my wife put away a few dollars. That gives you the right to rob me?"
"During the past six years, while your company was losing about eleven million dollars, it seems strange to me that your wife should be depositing about a million dollars a year in her various accounts."
Bernie's face was flushed. "My wife is very clever with her investments," he said. "I don't spend my time looking over her shoulder."
"Maybe you should," I said. "You'd find out she has deals with practically every major supplier of equipment and services to the Norman Company. You can't tell me you're not aware that she takes a salesman's commission of from five to fifteen per cent on the gross purchases made by this company."
He sank back into his chair. "So what's wrong with that? It's perfectly normal business practice. She's our salesman on such sales, so why shouldn't she collect a commission?"
I'd had enough of his crap. "All right, Mr. Norman," I said. "Let's stop fooling around. I offered you a better than fair price for your stock. Do you want to sell it or don't you?"
"Not for three and a half million dollars, no. Five and I might listen."
"You're in no position to bargain, Mr. Norman," I said. "If you don't accept my offer, I'll put this company into receiver ship. Then we'll see if a Federal referee finds anything criminal in your wife's so-called legitimate transactions. You seem to have forgotten that what you do with the company is a Federal matter, since you sold stock on the open market. It's a little different than when you owned it all yourself. You might even wind up in jail."
"You wouldn't dare."
"No?" I said. I held out my hand. McAllister gave me the Section 722 papers. I threw them over to Bernie. "It’s up to you. If you don't sell, these papers will be in court tomorrow morning."
He looked down at the papers, then back at me. There was a cold hatred in his eyes. "Why do you do this to me?" he cried. "Is it because you hate Jews so much, when all I tried to do was help you?"
That did it. I went around the table, pulled him out of his chair and backed him up against the wall. "Look, you little Jew bastard," I shouted. "I’ve had enough of your bullshit. Every time you offered to help me, you picked my pocket. What's bugging you now is I won't let you do it again."
"Nazi!" he spat at me.
Slowly I let him down and turned to McAllister. "File the papers," I said. "And also bring a criminal suit against Norman and his wife for stealing from the company."
I started for the door.
"Just a minute!" Bernie's voice stopped me. There was a peculiar smile on his face. "There's no need for you to go away mad just because I got a little excited."
I stared at him.
"Come back," he said, sitting down at the table again. "We can settle this whole matter between us in a few minutes. Like gentlemen."
I stood near the window, watching Bernie sign the stock transfers. There was something incongruous about the way he sat there, the pen scratching across the paper as he signed away his life's work. You don't have to like a guy to feel sorry for him. And in a way that was just how I felt.
He was a selfish, despicable old man. He had no sense of decency, no honor or ethics, he'd sacrifice anyone on the altar of his power, but as the pen moved across each certificate, I had the feeling his life's blood was running out of the golden nib along with the ink.
I turned and looked out the window, thirty stories down into the street. Down there the people were tiny, they had little dreams, minute plans. The next day was Saturday. Their day off. Maybe they'd go to the beach, or the park. If they had the money, perhaps they'd take a drive out into the country. They'd sit on the grass next to their wives and watch the kids having themselves a time feeling the fresh, cool earth under their feet. They were lucky.