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.
When 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 driver joined 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 five-dollar 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.