There followed several more questions in the same vein, which Russell had warned Armstrong was likely. ‘It’s simply stockholders exercising their goddamn rights,’ he had explained.
As each question was answered, Townsend turned round and looked anxiously toward the door. Every time there were more people blocking it. Tom could see how nervous his client had become, so he slipped out of his seat and went to the back of the room to have a word with the chief usher. By the time the chairman was satisfied he had answered every question from the floor, several of them twice, Tom had returned to his place. ‘Don’t worry, Keith,’ he said. ‘Everything’s under control.’
‘But when will Andrew...’
‘Patience,’ said Tom, as the chairman announced, ‘If there are no more questions from the floor, I am left only with the pleasant task of inviting Mr. Richard...’ He would have completed the sentence if Andrew Fraser hadn’t risen from his place a couple of rows behind Armstrong and indicated that he wished to speak.
Cornelius J. Adams frowned, but nodded curtly when he saw who it was wanting to ask a question.
‘Mr. Chairman,’ Fraser began, as one or two groans went up around the room.
‘Yes?’ said Adams, unable to disguise his irritation.
Townsend looked back toward the entrance once again, and saw a trickle of people making their way down the center aisle toward the shareholders’ seats. As each of them reached the red rope barrier, they were stopped by the efficient woman who checked their names on the long list before unhooking the rope and allowing them through to fill up the few remaining places.
‘I wish to bring to your attention,’ continued Tom’s colleague, ‘rule 7B of the company’s statutes.’ Conversations started up around the room. Few people on either side of the rope had ever read the company’s statutes, and certainly none had any idea what rule 7B referred to. The chairman leaned down to allow the company secretary to whisper in his ear the words he had just looked up on page forty-seven of the rarely consulted little red leather book. This was one question he had not anticipated, and for which he did not have a prepared answer.
Townsend could see from the frenzy of activity in the front row that the man he had first seen climbing into the back of the limousine outside 147 Lower Broadway was trying to explain the significance of rule 7B to his client.
Andrew Fraser waited for the furor around him to settle before he attempted to continue, allowing more time for the steady stream of people entering the room to take their places beyond the red rope. The chairman found it necessary to bang his gavel several more times before the room was quiet enough for him to inform everyone: ‘Rule 7B allows any shareholder attending the annual general meeting’ — he was reading directly from the little red book — ‘“to propose a nominee for the position of any office-holder of the company.” Is that the rule to which you are referring, sir?’ he asked, looking directly at Andrew Fraser.
‘It is,’ responded the elderly lawyer firmly. The company secretary tugged the sleeve of his chairman. Once again Adams leaned over and listened. Andrew Fraser remained in his place. A few moments later, the chairman drew himself up to his full height and stared down at Fraser. ‘You are of course aware, sir, that you are unable to propose an alternative nominee for chairman without giving thirty days’ notice in writing. Rule 7B, subsection a,’ he said, with some degree of satisfaction.
‘I am aware of that, sir,’ said Fraser, who had remained standing. ‘It is not the position of chairman for which I wish to propose a nominee.’
Uproar broke out in the hall. Adams had to bang his gavel several times before Fraser could continue.
‘I wish to propose a nominee for the position of director of the Summers Foundation.’
Townsend kept his eye on Lloyd Summers, who had turned white. He was staring at Andrew Fraser and dabbing his forehead with a red silk handkerchief.
‘But we already have an excellent director in Mr. Summers,’ said the chairman. ‘Or are you merely wishing to confirm his position? If that is so, I can assure you that Mr. Armstrong intends...’
‘No, sir. I propose that Mr. Summers be replaced by Ms. Angela Humphries, the current deputy chairman.’
The chairman bent down and tried to ascertain from the company secretary if the motion was in order. Tom Spencer stood up in his place and began checking to make sure that all his recruits were safely in front of the red rope. Townsend could see that every seat had been taken, and several late arrivals had to be content with standing at the side or sitting in the aisles.
Having been told by the company secretary that the motion was in order, the chairman asked, ‘Do I have a seconder?’ To his surprise, several hands shot up. Adams selected a woman in the fifth row. ‘May I have your name, please, for the record?’
‘Mrs. Roscoe,’ she said.
The company secretary turned to another page in the little red book, which he passed up to the chairman.
‘It is my duty to inform you that a ballot will now take place under rule 7B, which allows any shareholders present to cast their votes,’ he read directly from the red book. ‘Ballot papers will be distributed, as directed by the statutes, and you may place a cross in one of the boxes provided, indicating whether you are for or against the motion to replace Mr. Lloyd Summers as director of the Summers Foundation with Ms. Angela Humphries.’ He paused and looked up. ‘I feel it appropriate at this juncture to let you know that it is your board’s intention to vote as one against this motion, as we believe that the trust has been well served by its present director, Mr. Summers, and that he should be allowed to continue in that position.’ Summers looked nervously toward Adams, but seemed to be reassured when he saw the board members nodding in support of their chairman.
Attendants began moving up and down the aisles, handing out voting slips. Armstrong placed his cross in the square marked ‘AGAINST.’ Townsend placed his in the square marked ‘FOR,’ and dropped the slip into the tin box provided.
As the voting continued, some people in the room began to stand and stretch. Lloyd Summers remained silently slumped in his chair, occasionally mopping his forehead with his red silk handkerchief. Angela Humphries didn’t once look in his direction.
Russell advised his client to remain cool and use the time to go over his acceptance speech. He was confident that, after the board’s clear lead, the motion would be heavily defeated.
‘But shouldn’t you have a word with Ms. Humphries, just in case it isn’t?’ whispered Armstrong.
‘I think that would be most unwise in the circumstances,’ said Russell, ‘especially in view of who she is sitting next to.’
Armstrong glanced in their direction, and scowled. Surely Townsend couldn’t have...
While the counting was taking place somewhere behind the stage, Lloyd Summers could be seen angrily trying to ask his deputy a question. She glanced in his direction and smiled sweetly.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Cornelius Adams as he rose again from his place. ‘Can I now ask you to return to your seats, as the counting has been completed.’ Those who had been chatting in the gangways went back to their places and waited for the result of the ballot to be declared. The chairman was passed a folded slip of paper by the company secretary. He opened it and, like a good judge, gave no clue from his expression as to the verdict.
‘Those voting for the motion, 317,’ he declared in senatorial tones.
Townsend took a deep breath. ‘Is it enough?’ he asked Tom, trying to calculate how many people were sitting in front of the red rope.
‘We’re about to find out,’ said Tom calmly.