The Fourth Estate (70 page)

“So many
wonderful walls for hanging,” enthused the director.

Armstrong tried
to appear fascinated by a building he had absolutely no intention of buying.
But he knew that he couldn’t admit as much until he had been confirmed as the
Star’s chain-nan on Monday, and that wouldn’t be possible without Summers’s 5
percent. He somehow managed to punctuate the director’s effusive monologue with
the occasional “Wonderful,” “Ideal,”

“Perfect,” “I do
agree,” and even “How clever of you to find it,” as they entered each new room.

When Summers took
him by the arm and started to lead him back down to the ground floor, Armstrong
pointed to a staircase that led up to another floor. “What goes on up there?”
he asked suspiciously.

“It’s just an
attic,” replied Summers dismissively. “it might prove useful for storage, but
not much else.” Angela said nothing, and tried to remember if she had told Mr.
Townsend what was on the top floor.

By the time they
arrived back at the ground floor, Armstrong couldn’t wait to escape. As they
stepped out onto the sidewalk, Summers said, “Now you’ll understand, chairman,
why I consider this to be the ideal spot for the foundation to continue its
work into the next century.”

“I couldn’t
agree with you more,” Armstrong said. “Absolutely ideal.” He smiled with relief
when he saw who was waiting for him in the back of the limousine. “I’ll deal
with all the necessary paperwork just as soon as I get back to my office.”

“I’ll be at the
gallery for the rest of the day,” said Summers.

‘Then I’ll send
the documents round for you to sign this afternoon.”

“Any
time-today,” said Summers, offering his hand.

Armstrong shook
hands with the director and, without bothering to say goodbye to Angela,
stepped into the car. He found Russell, yellow pad on lap, pen poised. “Do you
have all the answers?” he asked, before the driver had even turned the key in
the ignition. He turned to wave at Summers as the car moved away from the curb.

“Yes, I do,”
Russell replied, looking down at his pad. “First, the foundation is currently chaired
by Mrs. Summers, who appointed her son director six years ago.” Armstrong
nodded. “Second, they spent a little over a million dollars of the Star’s
profits last year.”

Armstrong
gripped the armrest. “How in hell’s name did they manage that?”

“Well, to start
with, Summers is paid a salary of $150,000 a year. But more interestingly,”
said Russell, referring to his notes, “he’s somehow managed to get through
$240,000 a year in expenses-for each of the past four years.”

Armstrong could
feel his pulse-rate increasing. “How does he get away with it?” he asked, as
they passed a white BMW he could have sworn he’d seen somewhere before. He
turned and stared at it.

I suspect his
mother doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“What?”

I suspect his
mother doesn’t ask too many questions,” Russell repeated.

“But what about
the board? Surely they have a duty to be more vigilant.

Not to mention
the shareholders.”

“Someone did
raise the subject at last year’s AGM,” said

Russell,
referring to his notes. “But the chairman assured them-and I quote – that’the
Star’s readers thoroughly approve of the paper being involved with the
advancement of culture in our great city’.”

“The advancement
of what?” said Armstrong.

“Culture,” said
Russell.

“And what about
the building?” demanded Armstrong, pointing out of the back window.

“No future
management is under any obligation to purchase another building once the lease
on the old one runs out-which it does on December quarter day.”

Armstrong smiled
for the first time that morning.

‘Though I must
warn you,” said Russell, “that I believe Summers will need to be convinced that
you have purchased the building before the AGM takes place on Monday.
Otherwise, as director of the trust, he could still switch his 5 percent at the
last moment.”

‘Then send him
two copies of a lease prepared for signature. That will keep him quiet until
Monday morning.”

Russell didn’t
look convinced.

Wh,zn the BMW
arrived back at the Carlyle, Townsend was already waiting on the sidewalk. He
climbed in next to the driver and asked, “Where did you drop the girl off?”

“SoHo, Lower
Broadway,” the driver replied.

‘Then that’s
where I want to go,” Townsend said. As the driverjoined the Fifth Avenue
traffic, he remained puzzled by what Mr. Townsend saw in the girl. There had to
be an angle he hadn’t worked out. Perhaps she was an heiress.

When the BMW
turned into Lower Broadway, Townsend couldn’t miss the stretch limousine parked
outside a building with a “For Sale” sign in the front window. “Park on this
side of the road, about fifty yards short of the building where you dropped the
lady earlier this morning,” he said.

As the driver
pulled on the handbrake, Townsend squinted over his shoulder and asked, “Can
you read the phone numbers on those signs?”

‘There are two
signs, sir, with different numbers on them.”

“I need both,”
Townsend said. The driver read the numbers out, and Townsend wrote them on the
back of a five-dollar bill. Then he picked up the car phone and dialed the
first number.

When the line
was answered with, “Good morning, Wood, Knight & Levy. How may I assist
you?” Townsend said he was interested in the details of 147

Lower Broadway.

“I’ll put you
through to Offices, sir,” he was told. A click followed and a second voice asked,
“How may I assist you?” Townsend repeated his query, and was put through to a
third voice.

“Number 147
Broadway? Ah, yes, I’m afraid we already have a prospective buyer for that
property, sir. We’ve been instructed to draw up a lease, with a view to closing
on Monday. However, we do have other properties in the same locality.”

Townsend pressed
the END button without saying another word. Only in New York would no one be
surprised by such bad manners. He immediately dialed the second number. While
he waited to be connected to the right person, he became distracted by a taxi
drawing up outside the building. A tall, elegantly-dressed middle-aged man
jumped out and walked over to the stretch limousine. He had a word with the
driver, and then climbed into the back as a voice came onto the line.

“You’ll have to
move quickly if you’re interested in number 147,” said the agent. “Because I
know the other firm involved with the property already has a party interested
who is close to nailing a deal, and that’s no bullshit. In fact they’re looking
over the building right now, so I couldn’t even take you round before ten.”

‘Ten will suit
me just fine,” said Townsend. “I’ll meet you outside the building then.” He
pressed the END button.

Townsend had to
wait only a few more minutes before Armstrong, Summers and Angela came out onto
the sidewalk. After only a short exchange and a handshake, Armstrong stepped
into the back of the limousine. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find someone
waiting there for him. As the car moved off, Summers waved effusively until
Armstrong was Out of sight. Angela stood a pace behind him, looking fed up.
Townsend ducked as the limousine passed him, and when he looked back up, he saw
Summers hailing a Yellow Cab. He and Angela got in, and Townsend watched them
as they disappeared in the opposite direction to the limousine.

Once the cab had
turned the corner, Townsend got out of his car and walked across the road to
study the building from the outside. After a few moments he walked a little
further down the pavement, and found that there was a similar property up for
sale a few doors away, the number of which he also wrote down on the back of
the fivedollar bill. He then returned to the car.

One more phone
call, and he had discovered that the price of number 171 was $2.5 million. Not
only was Summers getting an apartment thrown in, but it also looked as if he
was making a handsome profit on the side.

The driver
tapped on the internal window and pointed toward number 147.

Townsend looked
up and saw a young man climbing the steps. He put the phone down and went
across to join him.

After an
extensive viewing of all five floors, Townsend had to agree with Angela that at
$3 million it was perfectbut for only one person. As they stepped back out onto
the sidewalk he asked the agent, “What’s the minimum deposit you would require
on this building?”

‘Ten percent,
non -returnable,” he replied.

“With the usual
thirty days for completion, I assume?”

“Yes, sir,” said
the agent.

“Good. Then why
don’t you draw up a lease immediately,” Townsend said, handing the young man
his card. “Send it round to me at the Carlyle.”

“Yes, sir,” the
agent repeated. “I’ll make sure it’s with you by this afternoon.”

Townsend finally
extracted a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and held it up so that the
young man could see which president was on it. “And I want the other agent
who’s trying to sell this property to know that I will be putting down a
deposit first thing on Monday morning.”

The young man
pocketed the hundred-dollar bill, and nodded.

When Townsend
arrived back in his room at the Carlyle, he immediately called Tom at his
office. “What have you got planned for the weekend?” he asked his lawyer.

“A round of
golf, a little gardening,” said Tom. “And I was also hoping to watch my
youngest pitch for his high school. But from the way you phrased that question,
Keith, I have a feeling I won’t even be taking the train back to Greenwich.”

“You’re right,
Tom. We’ve got a lot of work to do before Monday morning if I’m going to be the
next proprietor of the New York Star”

“Where do I
start?”

“With a lease
that needs checking over before I sign it. Then I want you to close a deal with
the one person who can make this all possible.” When Townsend eventually put
the phone down, he leaned back in his chair and gazed at the little red book
that had kept him awake the previous night.

A few moments
later he picked it up, and turned to page 47.

For the first
time in his life lie was grateful for an Oxford education.

NEW YORK TIMES

11 DECEMBER 1986

S
tar Wars
ARmSTRONG SIGNED THE lease, then passed his pen to Russell, who witnessed the
signature.

Lloyd Summers
hadn’t stopped grinning since he’d arrived at Trump Tower that morning, and he almost
leaped out of his chair when Russell added his signature to the lease on 147
Lower Broadway. He thrust out his hand at Armstrong and said, ‘Thank you,
chairman. I can only say how much I’m looking forward to working with you.

“And I with
you,” said Armstrong, shaking his hand.

Summers bowed
low in Armstrong’s direction, then gave a slightly lesser bow to Russell. He
gathered up the lease and the draft for $300,000 before turning to leave the
room. When he reached the door, he looked back and said, “You’ll never regret
it.”

I fear you
might, Dick,” said Russell the moment the door was closed. “What made you
change your mind?”

I didn’t have a
lot of choice once I discovered what Townsend was up to.”

“So that’s $3
million down the drain,” said the lawyer.

“Three hundred
thousand,” said Armstrong.

I don’t
understand.”

I may have paid
the deposit, but I have absolutely no intention of buying the bloody building.”

“But he’ll issue
a writ against you if you fail to complete within the thirty days.”

I doubt it,”
said Armstrong “What makes you so sure)”

“Because in a
couple of weeks’time you will phone his lawyer and tell him how horrified I was
to discover that his client had signed a separate lease on a penthouse
apartment above the gallery, having described it to me as an attic.”

“That will be
almost impossible to prove.”

Armstrong
removed a small cassette from an inside pocket and handed it over to Russell.
“it may be easier than You think.”

“But this could
well be inadmissible,” said Russell, taking the tape.

“Then you may
just have to ask what would have happened to the $600,000 the agents were going
to pay Summers over and above the original asking price.”

“He’ll simply
deny it, especially as you won’t have completed the contract.”

Armstrong paused
for a moment. “Well, there’s always a last resort.” He opened a drawer in his
desk and withdrew a dummy front page of the Star The headline read: “Lloyd
Summers Indicted for Fraud.”

“He’ll just
issue another writ.”

“Not after he’s
read the inside pages.”