Everyone’s attention was on Ramsey as he stood. Tall and straight as an arrow, he was an imposing figure, with thick wavy silver hair and glacial blue piercing eyes. He dressed with careful intention; his perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit, pale blue shirt with gold monogrammed cufflinks and diagonally striped dark gray and blue necktie conveyed the mark of leadership he wished to make.
He adjured to Frank Wilson, “I don’t know how long this will take, go ahead with the meeting and we will confer later.” Most of those at the table continued to watch him as he exited; a few others looked in Wilson’s direction as he quickly took charge of the meeting. As the firm’s managing partner Wilson generated a monthly six figure income in business to the firm. Rearranging the papers in front of him, he stood and proceeded to call for discussion of client lists.
Lyle hurried to his private office, closed and locked the door before picking up the phone. “This is Ramsey.”
“Lyle,” the voice on the other end was crisp and businesslike, “my jet will be landing at Boeing field in about fifty minutes; meet me there. There is a delicate situation affecting GCI that has come up that I want you to handle. For the time being no one else in the firm is to know about it, but be certain Ramsey and Carr will benefit greatly. Oh, yes, by the way don’t have lunch; we will eat in Jackson Hole.”
Thursday September 11, 1980
Lyle Ramsey was in his office by six-thirty on Thursday morning. He had slept badly the night before and told himself that the whirlwind flight to Wyoming, a late lunch and two martinis with dinner contributed. But, the conversation with the client and his own response was the real reason for Ramsey’s sleeplessness.
Fifty year old Lyle Ramsey was born to wealth. His father, a lawyer, had been a financial wizard; building a monetary empire in the late thirties that included California oil leases, real estate holdings and later, investment in industry. When Lyle was twelve his father moved the family to Seattle from Southern California. He saw the Pacific Northwest as his next economic conquest.
It was 1942 and America had entered World War II; demands for war materiel, tanks, ships and planes opened wide the doors of opportunity. The Boeing Airplane Company in Seattle and Northwest ship building companies, Todd and Kaiser, were experiencing unprecedented growth. And Lyle Ramsey, Sr. was ready to establish a new legal empire. His interest in industry was now directed toward government defense contracts and negotiations. This would be his legacy to his son.
Young Lyle’s interest in law came at an early age. Like his father he realized that much control of corporations lay in the hands of legal departments and prestigious law firms negotiating those contracts.
Handsome and brilliant, he was blessed with a photographic memory and sailed through his undergraduate studies at the University of Washington. He then turned his eyes toward Harvard Law School specializing in corporate law and made his mark graduating Summa Cum Laude; he joined his father’s firm, Ramsey, Wilson & Carr and within a year was made partner.
Following his father’s death Lyle, now in charge, and senior partner, Harrison Carr, steered the blue chip firm into a solid gold future. By 1980 the firm had offices in New York, San Francisco and Washington, D.C. with representatives in Tokyo; corporate headquarters would remain in Seattle. The firm now occupied four floors of the SeaFirst Bank Building in the heart of downtown.
Lyle had never married. There had been one woman Lyle loved and who loved him, but she did not share his drive for power and eventually the relationship ended. Loyalty to his father was the only sentimental quality that remained. A life size painting of Lyle, Sr. occupied a wall in Lyle’s office. The intensity of the painting’s ice blue eyes under bushy white brows seemed to follow Lyle to every corner of the room. Each Friday afternoon he and Harrison Carr would meet in his office that had once belonged to his father, pour an expensive scotch in two Waterford crystal bar glasses and raise a toast to Lyle Ramsey, Sr.
This morning he stood at the window of his office looking to the West at the ships anchored in Elliot Bay thinking over the meeting of the previous day. Over lunch, in the shadow of the Grand Tetons, a place of grandeur and beauty, he had accepted a deal that would net the firm an immediate two million dollars with the promise of additional millions in future contracts. His client could guarantee ongoing business; long standing close connections with past and current government administrations had been well cemented by such clients.
He and the client had made an agreement that he now had to carry out, carefully. Precautions must be taken to ensure that he and the firm would remain completely in the clear.
Deep in thought, Lyle didn’t hear Harrison Carr enter the office. Carr’s voice startled him. “Here a little early aren’t you, Lyle?” Not waiting for a reply the elderly Harrison went on, “I can see something is weighing on your mind and I strongly suspect that it has to do with your abrupt departure from the meeting yesterday.”
Ramsey nodded moving to his desk and looking directly at the elder partner, “You’re right as usual, Harrison;” he paused, his manicured hands folded on the desk; “yesterday we were offered an opportunity that could potentially guarantee continued millions of dollars to the firm in future GCI contracts but there could also be a substantial risk.”
“What’s the problem, Lyle? Everything has some risk, everything that has value that is,” Carr’s deep monotone voice intoned solemnly. “I’ll not comment one way or the other since I’m not privy to all the information, but I will say that I have always trusted your instincts. It’s your call; if you want to talk further I’ll be in my office.”
“Thank you, Harrison. Thanks for your vote of confidence.”
Harrison nodded and arose from the side chair in which he had been seated and walked slowly out the door. Ramsey noted Carr moved slower than usual this morning and was using the cane he occasionally relied on. “He’s slowing up a bit, Dad,” he commented to the portrait.
Ramsey reached for his private phone and dialed a number in the Seattle Police Department. “Hello, Detective Maxwell, this is Lyle Ramsey. Listen carefully, you have my private number—I want you to call me from another location in no less than fifteen minutes.” Ramsey knew exactly who to press for favors within the police department and he knew homicide Detective Monte Maxwell would agree to most requests if the carrot was sweet enough.
Monte mumbled lamely, “Yeah, sure always good to hear from you.” He put the phone down thoughtfully. Monte hated to hear from Ramsey but the jobs he had done for him in the past had netted a few hundred dollars here and there; enough reward to take the pain out of the risk. Monte got out of his chair saying to his partner. “I’m goin’ down to the newsstand and get a candy bar. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.” Bending over his ample belly to close a desk drawer he grunted.
Detective Ed Peterson raised his eyes from a report he was working on; hearing Monte grunt while reaching for the lower drawer of the desk he commented, “You’re always hungry! But you’d better lay off those candy bars or you won’t be able to get your butt outta’ your chair.”
Ignoring Peterson’s verbal jab at his girth, Monte muttered under his breath that Peterson should “Get lost” as he walked to the corridor. He rode the elevator down from the fifth floor of the Public Safety Building wondering what Lyle Ramsey wanted this time. In the lobby he headed for a pay phone and quickly dialed a number. “This is Monte, what can I do for you Mr. Ramsey?”