"If you're worried about it," Bender said, "fire both of them, then they won't be around to point the finger."
"I'll have to, but that doesn't change anything. Look, Bender," Gordon said with cold finality, "our relationship has been profitable for both of us, but it's over. It's too risky. Secondly, I think I'm going to be offered the interim presidency here. When that happens, I'll be completely out of the merchandising end of things."
Bender's voice turned menacing. "Listen to me very closely, you schmuck, because I'm only going to lay this out for you one time: You and I have had a very good thing going, and your ambitions are no concern of mine. I paid you a hundred thousand bucks last year—"
"I said the deal's over."
"It's not over until I say it is, and it's a long way from over. Cross me, and I'll make a phone call to old man Bancroft—"
"And tell him what?" Gordon jeered. "That I refused your bribe to buy your crap?"
"No, I'll tell him about how I'm an honest businessman, and you've been bleeding me for kickbacks before you'll let your people buy my excellent merchandise. That's not bribery, that's extortion." He paused a minute to let that sink in, then he added, "And there's always the IRS to worry about, isn't there? If they were to get an anonymous phone call and start checking you out, I'll bet they'd find out that you've got an extra hundred thousand bucks somewhere that you didn't declare. Income tax evasion is fraud, sweetheart. Extortion and fraud."
In the midst of Gordon's growing panic, he heard a sound on the telephone—a strange, muffled sound of a file cabinet being closed. "Hold on a minute," he said quickly, "I need to get something out of my briefcase." Ignoring his briefcase which was lying on his desk where he'd left it, he put the phone down, then he walked over to his office door and silently turned the knob, opening it a crack: His secretary was seated at her desk, a telephone receiver to her ear, her hand over the mouthpiece—and only one phone line was lit up on her telephone. White-faced with fury and panic, he closed the door and returned to his desk. "We'll have to finish our discussion tonight," he snapped. "Call me at home."
"I'm warning you—"
"All right, all right! Call me at home. We'll work something out."
Somewhat appeased, Bender said, "That's better. I'm not completely unreasonable. Since you have to turn down Bancroft's job, I'll raise your cut."
Gordon hung up the phone and punched the button on the intercom. "Debbie, will you come in here?" he said, then he released the button and added, "Stupid, meddling bitch!"
A moment later Debbie opened the door, her stomach in knots, her illusions about him all but shattered, terrified that her face would betray her guilty knowledge.
"Close the door and lock it," Gordon said, forcing a husky note into his voice as he came around his desk and walked over to the sofa. "Come here," he added.
Confused by the sensual note in his voice and the contrasting coldness in his eyes, Debbie approached him warily, then stifled a cry of panicked surprise when he yanked her into his arms. "I know you were listening in on my phone call," Gordon said, forcing himself to ignore the impulse to put his hands around her throat. "I'm doing it for us, Debbie. When my wife is finished with me after the divorce, I'll be cleaned out. I need money for us—to give you the things you should have. You understand, don't you, sweetheart?"
Debbie looked up at his handsome face and saw the endearing pleading in his eyes, and she understood. She believed. His hands were unzipping her dress, pulling it down, and when his fingers shoved into her bra and bikini pants, she pressed against him, offering him her body. Her love. Her silence.
Meredith was just picking up the telephone when her secretary passed her office door. "I was at the copy machine," Phyllis explained, walking into the office. At twenty-seven, Phyllis Tilsher was intelligent, intuitive, and completely sensible in every way except one: She was irresistibly attracted to irresponsible, unreliable men. It was a weakness that she had laughingly discussed with Meredith during the years that they had worked together. "Jerry Keaton in personnel called while you were gone," Phyllis continued, and with her usual smiling efficiency she began to report the calls she'd taken for Meredith. "He said there's a possibility one of our clerks is going to file a discrimination suit"
"Has he talked to the legal department?"
"Yes, but he wants to talk to you too."
"I have to go back to the architect's office to finish looking over the plans for the Houston store," Meredith said. "Tell Jerry I can see him first thing Monday morning."
"Okay. Mr. Savage also called." She broke off as Sam Green knocked politely on the door frame. "Excuse me," he said to them both, and then he added, "Meredith, can you spare me a few minutes?"
Meredith nodded. "What's up?"
"I just got off the phone with Ivan Thorp," he said, frowning as he walked up to her desk. "There may be a hitch in the deal for the Houston land."
Meredith had spent more than a month in Houston looking for suitable sites on which Bancroft's could build not only a new store, but an entire shopping center. She'd finally located an absolutely ideal spot within sight of The Galleria, and they'd been negotiating with Thorp Development, who owned the property, for months. "What sort of a hitch?"
"When I told him we're ready to write a contract, he said he may already have a buyer for all their properties, including that one."
Thorp Development was a Houston holding company that owned several office buildings and shopping centers as well as undeveloped land, and it was no secret that the Thorp brothers wanted to sell the entire company, that had been in the Wall Street Journal. "Do you believe they really have a buyer? Or is he trying to get us to make a higher opening offer for the land?"
"The latter probably, but I wanted you to know there could be some competition we didn't anticipate."
"Then we'll have to work it out, Sam. I want to build our next store on that piece of property more than I've ever wanted to build any other store anywhere else. The site is perfect. Houston is starting to recover from its slump, but building prices are still nice and low. By the time we're ready to open, their economy will be booming."
Meredith glanced at her watch and stood up. It was three o'clock on a Friday afternoon which meant traffic would already be getting heavy. "I have to run," she said with an apologetic smile. "See if your friend in Houston can find out anything about Thorp having another buyer."
"I'll have to, but that doesn't change anything. Look, Bender," Gordon said with cold finality, "our relationship has been profitable for both of us, but it's over. It's too risky. Secondly, I think I'm going to be offered the interim presidency here. When that happens, I'll be completely out of the merchandising end of things."
Bender's voice turned menacing. "Listen to me very closely, you schmuck, because I'm only going to lay this out for you one time: You and I have had a very good thing going, and your ambitions are no concern of mine. I paid you a hundred thousand bucks last year—"
"I said the deal's over."
"It's not over until I say it is, and it's a long way from over. Cross me, and I'll make a phone call to old man Bancroft—"
"And tell him what?" Gordon jeered. "That I refused your bribe to buy your crap?"
"No, I'll tell him about how I'm an honest businessman, and you've been bleeding me for kickbacks before you'll let your people buy my excellent merchandise. That's not bribery, that's extortion." He paused a minute to let that sink in, then he added, "And there's always the IRS to worry about, isn't there? If they were to get an anonymous phone call and start checking you out, I'll bet they'd find out that you've got an extra hundred thousand bucks somewhere that you didn't declare. Income tax evasion is fraud, sweetheart. Extortion and fraud."
In the midst of Gordon's growing panic, he heard a sound on the telephone—a strange, muffled sound of a file cabinet being closed. "Hold on a minute," he said quickly, "I need to get something out of my briefcase." Ignoring his briefcase which was lying on his desk where he'd left it, he put the phone down, then he walked over to his office door and silently turned the knob, opening it a crack: His secretary was seated at her desk, a telephone receiver to her ear, her hand over the mouthpiece—and only one phone line was lit up on her telephone. White-faced with fury and panic, he closed the door and returned to his desk. "We'll have to finish our discussion tonight," he snapped. "Call me at home."
"I'm warning you—"
"All right, all right! Call me at home. We'll work something out."
Somewhat appeased, Bender said, "That's better. I'm not completely unreasonable. Since you have to turn down Bancroft's job, I'll raise your cut."
Gordon hung up the phone and punched the button on the intercom. "Debbie, will you come in here?" he said, then he released the button and added, "Stupid, meddling bitch!"
A moment later Debbie opened the door, her stomach in knots, her illusions about him all but shattered, terrified that her face would betray her guilty knowledge.
"Close the door and lock it," Gordon said, forcing a husky note into his voice as he came around his desk and walked over to the sofa. "Come here," he added.
Confused by the sensual note in his voice and the contrasting coldness in his eyes, Debbie approached him warily, then stifled a cry of panicked surprise when he yanked her into his arms. "I know you were listening in on my phone call," Gordon said, forcing himself to ignore the impulse to put his hands around her throat. "I'm doing it for us, Debbie. When my wife is finished with me after the divorce, I'll be cleaned out. I need money for us—to give you the things you should have. You understand, don't you, sweetheart?"
Debbie looked up at his handsome face and saw the endearing pleading in his eyes, and she understood. She believed. His hands were unzipping her dress, pulling it down, and when his fingers shoved into her bra and bikini pants, she pressed against him, offering him her body. Her love. Her silence.
Meredith was just picking up the telephone when her secretary passed her office door. "I was at the copy machine," Phyllis explained, walking into the office. At twenty-seven, Phyllis Tilsher was intelligent, intuitive, and completely sensible in every way except one: She was irresistibly attracted to irresponsible, unreliable men. It was a weakness that she had laughingly discussed with Meredith during the years that they had worked together. "Jerry Keaton in personnel called while you were gone," Phyllis continued, and with her usual smiling efficiency she began to report the calls she'd taken for Meredith. "He said there's a possibility one of our clerks is going to file a discrimination suit"
"Has he talked to the legal department?"
"Yes, but he wants to talk to you too."
"I have to go back to the architect's office to finish looking over the plans for the Houston store," Meredith said. "Tell Jerry I can see him first thing Monday morning."
"Okay. Mr. Savage also called." She broke off as Sam Green knocked politely on the door frame. "Excuse me," he said to them both, and then he added, "Meredith, can you spare me a few minutes?"
Meredith nodded. "What's up?"
"I just got off the phone with Ivan Thorp," he said, frowning as he walked up to her desk. "There may be a hitch in the deal for the Houston land."
Meredith had spent more than a month in Houston looking for suitable sites on which Bancroft's could build not only a new store, but an entire shopping center. She'd finally located an absolutely ideal spot within sight of The Galleria, and they'd been negotiating with Thorp Development, who owned the property, for months. "What sort of a hitch?"
"When I told him we're ready to write a contract, he said he may already have a buyer for all their properties, including that one."
Thorp Development was a Houston holding company that owned several office buildings and shopping centers as well as undeveloped land, and it was no secret that the Thorp brothers wanted to sell the entire company, that had been in the Wall Street Journal. "Do you believe they really have a buyer? Or is he trying to get us to make a higher opening offer for the land?"
"The latter probably, but I wanted you to know there could be some competition we didn't anticipate."
"Then we'll have to work it out, Sam. I want to build our next store on that piece of property more than I've ever wanted to build any other store anywhere else. The site is perfect. Houston is starting to recover from its slump, but building prices are still nice and low. By the time we're ready to open, their economy will be booming."
Meredith glanced at her watch and stood up. It was three o'clock on a Friday afternoon which meant traffic would already be getting heavy. "I have to run," she said with an apologetic smile. "See if your friend in Houston can find out anything about Thorp having another buyer."
