The LeBaron Secret (45 page)

1. To consider the acquisition offer by Kern-McKittrick, Inc., of your Company for 13.25 (thirteen point two five) shares of Kern-McKittrick per each one (1) share of Baronet Vineyards now outstanding.

2. To conduct a shareholder vote on above offering.

3. To transact any other business that may come before the meeting.

Shareholders of record at the close of business on March 4, 1984, are entitled to notice of and to vote at the meeting or any adjournment thereof.

March 15, 1984

By Order of the Board of Directors,

William C. Whitney

Secretary

It is important that your shares be represented at the meeting. Even if you expect to attend the meeting, PLEASE SIGN AND RETURN YOUR PROXY PROMPTLY
.

“Well, the fat's in the fire!” Sari says to Gabe Pollack. “This is it! Here we go!” Her tone is almost jubilant, and Gabe knows that now that the fight is actually at hand, with a date, place, and time for the showdown settled, this fact alone has done much to buoy her spirits. Everything that has gone before has been as dust in the mouth. But now that the fighters are actually in the ring, have exchanged the perfunctory gloved handshake, and are squared off to do battle, Sari is in her element. “Have some more coffee,” she says to him. It is Monday morning, and they are in Sari's drawing room, sipping coffee and enjoying a plateful of Cookie's sweet rolls, like old times. “Even if I lose, Gabe,” she says, “and I may, I'm going to go down fighting. There's fight in the old girl left, Polly, and I've still got one or two pieces of heavy ammunition I haven't brought out. There's some fight left, and even if I don't win there'll be casualties, wait and see. The casualties won't be all on our side, either.”

“What's your secret weapon?” he says with a little smile.

“Never mind!” she says with a wink. “If you tell what your secret weapon is, it's not a secret anymore, but I've got one and it'll be a real crowd-disperser that will turn this little meeting of theirs into a rout! It'll send lawyers running to their casebooks, it'll—but never mind. Whatever happens, this is going to be my last hurrah.”

“Well, I wish you luck,” he says.

“Don't. Don't wish me luck. I don't want luck. I want success. Wish me success, if you want to—success with my last hurrah!”

He raises his coffee cup. “To success, then,” he says.

“And now, on top of all this, get a load of this new development, Polly,” she says, and hands him another piece of the morning's mail. He takes it and reads:

Law Offices

BARTLESS, MATHER, BROOKS & KLINE

Two Embarcadero Center

Assaria L. LeBaron, Esq.

2040 Washington Street

San Francisco, California 94109

re: Estate of Peter Powell LeBaron, Deceased

Dear Mrs. LeBaron:

This firm has been retained as counsel by your niece, Miss Melissa LeBaron, in a claim Miss LeBaron will be making against the Estate of your late husband, Peter Powell LeBaron, based on the recent disclosure to our client that she is the natural daughter of your late husband's sister, Ms. Joanna LeBaron of New York City.

As I am sure you are aware, under the terms of your late husband's Will, our client was specifically bequeathed five percent (5%) of all outstanding shares of Baronet Vineyards, and an additional fifteen percent (15%) was to be divided equally among all living issue of Joanna LeBaron. It will be our client's claim, therefore, that she is rightfully entitled to an additional seven and one-half percent (7½%) of outstanding Baronet shares at the time of your husband's death.

Further, it will be our contention that our client is rightfully entitled to any and all dividends paid on said 7½% of shares and which have thus far been unrightfully paid to our client's half brother, Mr. Lance LeBaron of Peapack, New Jersey. In this regard, it would be helpful to have from your office a full accounting of dividends paid, whether in cash or stock, to its shareholders of record since October 10, 1955, the date that our client became a beneficiary of the Estate.

Let me add that our client is fully aware that this is a family situation of some delicacy. Therefore, it is her wish and ours that all shares and monies due our client should be delivered to our client promptly and
in specie
fully, in order that litigation may be avoided. Meanwhile, until this matter is settled to our client's satisfaction, we have advised our client to avoid direct communication with other members of her family.

Sincerely yours,

J. William Kline, Jr.

“When did I get to be an ‘Esq.'?” Sari asks.

“It's a form all lawyers seem to use nowadays,” he says, handing the letter back to her. “Well, this is a hell of a note, Sari.”

“Isn't it?” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Isn't it wonderful? What a damned fool I've been, Gabe! Why didn't
I
think of this?”

“I don't understand,” he says.

“Don't you
see?
I've been so busy thinking about voting shares that I never even thought about
dividends
. Do you see what she's asking for—half of Lance's dividends for the past thirty years,
half of his entire income!
Do you realize how much that would amount to, Gabe? Millions! Millions and millions! Plus interest! If she's smart she'll ask for thirty years' interest on top of it all! Lance can't pay it, of course, nobody could, and there's no way she could try to get that kind of money out of me. She'll have to sue Lance, and if she wins she could send Lance LeBaron straight to the poorhouse. Then Lance could probably sue Joanna. Then maybe Joanna could try to sue me, though I can't see what she'd base a case on. Failure to disclose?
She's
the one who's failed to disclose. Don't you see, Gabe? This company is going to be so tied up in lawsuits that you won't be able to see the sky for the legal paperwork, and nobody is going to want to touch us with a ten-foot pole till it's settled, and that could be years! Oh, I almost hope that Harry Tillinghast wins his takeover bid. Then
he'll
inherit this whole can of worms. But the fact is that until this is settled nobody's going to want this company but me—
me!
”

“I see what you mean,” he says.

“Gabe, this is simply the best thing that could happen to me at this point,” she says. “And the damned thing is, why didn't I think of it? Dividends!” She waves the lawyer's letter in her hand. “And this is only the beginning. Hand me that,” she says, pointing to a small pocket calculator that sits on a table. He hands it to her. “Let's see,” she says, “let's figure how much she stands to collect. Let's say, in round figures, Lance has been getting six hundred thousand a year, and Melissa wants half of that—that's three hundred thousand, times thirty years. That's nine million! Plus interest, cumulative interest—”

“The letter doesn't mention interest,” he says.

“If they're smart, they'll ask for it. So, let's see—” She begins punching more figures into her calculator.

Watching Sari like this, greedily poking away at the little calculator, totting up sums of money and achieving totals that surely will never change hands, is not, Gabe thinks, to see Sari at her most attractive. In fact, as he sits there sipping his cooling coffee, there is almost something a little depressing about it all, and he can remember a pretty young girl, flushed from her first success on a stage, with whom it is hard to reconcile this old woman who sits opposite him now, licking her lips as millions are added to more millions of dollars. Yes, this morning Sari suddenly looks old, old and desperate, and even ugly in her thirst for power. He looks at his watch, and decides he must think of some excuse to go.

“Lance will be wiped out!” she cries gleefully. “
Wiped out!
At least twelve million, with interest—maybe more!”

“I wonder what Peter would have said,” he says.

“Who knows?” she says breezily. “But isn't it funny, isn't it ironic, that Peter should have been—should have died—just when our company began to move into the really big time, in nineteen fifty-five? That was the year the really big money started to come in again.”

Gabe Pollack shifts in his chair. “Well, it looks like you've got your secret weapon,” he says.

“Oh, I've got one or two more arrows in my quiver,” she says with another wink. “But I'll tell you this—I've never felt more sure of winning this thing than I do right now. And the press! Think of the field day they'll have with this! The illegitimate daughter, the mystery father, the daughter suing the man who turns out to be her half brother! Then the half brother suing his own mother! Maybe there's some way they can
both
be wiped out, Gabe.”

“Well, that would be nice,” he says a little dryly, “to have them both wiped out. But speaking of the press, Archie McPherson is already dropping little hints about a story. He knows something's up, and if he knows, then others will be finding out, too. When do I get my story, Sari?”

“Just give me a few more days,” she says, “and I promise you you'll have it. You'll have it, and it will be an exclusive. Your name will be in all the papers, too! Now tell me, Gabe, when I answer this lawyer's letter, should I bring up the matter of interest they may have overlooked?”

“I'd let Melissa deal with her lawyers, if I were you. In fact, I don't see why you need to answer that letter at all. You're a family-owned company. You don't have to reveal any figures to outside lawyers at all.”

“Wait for them to subpoena them, do you mean? But don't you see, I want them to have these figures. I want them to know how much is involved. I want to get these lawsuits started—right away!”

“Well,” he says, “do what you want. You always have.” He rises, a little stiffly, from his chair. “I've got to go.”

“I'm certainly going to mention the interest business to Melissa.”

“You're not supposed to communicate with Melissa.”

“Oh, bull-do! Bull-do and double bull-do, Pollywog!”

“Well,” he says a little lamely, “keep in touch.”

“Give me a kiss,” she says, and he pecks her on the cheek. “Dear old Pollywog,” she says. And then, as he is going out the door, she calls after him, “Don't act so glum! I know you're worried that I'm going to use my
final
secret weapon. Don't worry—it doesn't look now as though I'm going to have to!”

Immediately, when she is alone, she seizes a pen and stationery and writes another note to Melissa. This is against the lawyer's instructions, of course, but Sari doesn't give a damn. Sari has no intention of obeying lawyers whom she isn't even paying.
Dearest Melissa
, she writes:

I think your legal maneuver is absolutely brilliant! I could kick myself for not having thought of it myself, but I've been so preoccupied with the Tillinghast business that I haven't been thinking clearly
.

If you pursue this matter of Lance's dividends, be sure to ask for
cumulative interest.
You're going to be richer than Gordon Getty!

Meanwhile, I have a proposal for you. How would you like to help run Baronet
—
with me, as a team. We could do it, you know, with what we now know you control. I'd be prepared to offer you a very important and powerful position in the company
.

Think about this, and let me know
.

XXXX

A.L.LeB
.

P.S. I know we're not supposed to have “direct communication.” How about banging once on the radiator pipes if you're interested, and twice if you're not? Smoke signals, I'm afraid, would bring the S.F.F.D. screaming down Washington Street!

Then she adds, as a calculated afterthought,
Remember that I always loved you as though you were my own
.

Now it is night again, and the big house is silent. There have been no thumps on the water pipes, no smoke signals, no word whatsoever from downstairs. All Thomas can report is that he has not seen Melissa go out, and that Mr. Littlefield is apparently still there. He used the swimming pool, alone, for a short time this afternoon. With Melissa in the apartment, it is difficult for Thomas to search the place for clues as to what the two are up to. All Thomas can do is leave a pair of breakfast trays just inside Melissa's door in the morning, and pick them up, outside the door, when they are finished later on. Sari has tried telephoning Melissa several times, but Cora, Melissa's maid, who answers, will only say that Melissa is “unavailable,” or “taking a nap,” or “on her other line.” What are they doing, plotting down there? Sari tries to imagine them in an orgy of illicit drugs and sex, but that is not Melissa's style.

It is night, and her dinner is finished, and the guards across the street at the Russian Consulate have changed, exchanging their stiff salutes. The curtains on the Washington Street side of the house have been closed, and only the curtains on the north side, facing the Bay, have been left open to take in the famous view. Sari is alone now, and feeling a little lonely. She would like some company, but there is suddenly no one. Gabe, she got the distinct impression, was more than a little disapproving of the new stratagems she outlined this morning. Gabe, she sometimes thinks, has never really understood her. No one has. Gabe cannot understand, for instance, how a woman who has so much, so many possessions, can ever be lonely … desperately lonely.

For company, now, there is only Thomas, and Thomas, when he has no news to impart, can be more than a little boring.

Her secret weapon. She moves now, in her motorized wheelchair, into the portrait gallery where the secret of her secret weapon reposes. In December of 1941, the world was suddenly at war again, and Peter had tried to enlist in the navy. He was only thirty-six, but had been turned down because of high blood pressure, which he found it hard to believe he had. And that was the year and month of Melissa's fifteenth birthday, and she had sat for her portrait in the family tradition.