Dear Abel,
I’m taking the only way out after the bank’s decision. There’s nothing left for me to live for, and I’m too old to start over. I want you to know I believe you’re the one person who might make something out of this terrible mess.
I’ve made a new will in which I’ve left you my 75 per cent of the stock in the Richmond Group. I realize it’s worthless, but it will at least secure your position as the legal owner of the group. As you had the guts to buy 25 per cent with your own money, you deserve the right to see if you can make some deal with the bank. I’ve left everything else to Melanie. Please be the one who tells her.
I would have been proud to have you as a son-in-law, partner.
Your friend,
Davis
Abel read the letter again before placing it in his wallet.
He drove slowly over to the university campus soon after first light. He broke the news as gently as he could to Melanie. He sat nervously on the couch, not knowing what he could add to the stark message of death. She took it surprisingly well, almost as if she had known it might happen, although she was obviously moved. But there were no tears in front of Abel - perhaps later, when he wasn’t there. He felt sorry for her for the first time in his life.
28
ON JANUARY 4, 1930, Abel Rosnovski boarded a train for Boston. He took a taxi from the station to Kane and Cabot, and arrived at the bank a few minutes early. He sat in a reception room that was larger and more ornate than any bedroom in the Chicago Richmond. He started reading The Wall Street Journal, which was trying to assure its readers that 1930 was going to be a better year. He doubted it. A prim middle-aged woman entered the room.
‘Mr Kane will see you now, Mr Rosnovski.’
Abel rose and followed her down a long corridor into a small oak-panelled room. Behind a large leather-topped desk sat a tall, good-looking man who must, Abel thought, have been about the same age as himself. His eyes were as blue as Abel’s but that was the only similarity. There was a picture on the wall behind him of an older man, whom the young man behind the desk greatly resembled. I’ll bet that’s Dad, Abel thought bitterly. You can be sure he’ll survive the collapse; banks always seem to win, whatever happens.
‘My name is William Kane,’ said the man, rising and extending his hand. ‘Please have a seat, Mr Rosnovski.’
‘Thank you,’ said Abel coolly, shaking his hand.
‘Perhaps you will allow me to apprise you of the current situation as I see it,’ said William.
‘Of course.’
‘Mr Leroy’s tragic and premature death …’ William began, hating the pomposity of his words.
Caused by your callous attitude, thought Abel.
‘… appears to have left you with the immediate responsibility of running the Richmond Group until the bank is in a position to find a buyer. Although all of the shares in the group are now in your name, the property, in the form of eleven hotels, which was held as collateral for the late Mr Leroy’s loan of two million dollars, is legally in our possession. If you wish to disassociate yourself from the whole process, we will understand.’
An insulting suggestion, thought William, but it had to be said.
The sort of thing a banker would expect a man to do, walk away the moment a problem arose, thought Abel.
William continued. ‘Until the two-million-dollar debt to the bank is cleared, I’m afraid we must consider the estate of the late Mr Leroy insolvent. We at the bank appreciate your personal involvement with the group, and we have done nothing about disposing of the hotels until we had the opportunity to speak to you in person. We thought it possible you might know of some party interested in the purchase of the property, as the buildings, the land and the business are obviously a valuable asset.’
‘But not valuable enough for the bank to consider backing me,’ said Abel. He ran his hand wearily through his thick, dark hair. William didn’t respond. ‘How long will you give me to find a buyer?’
William hesitated for a moment when he saw the silver band around Abel Rosnovski’s wrist. He had seen that band somewhere before, but he couldn’t recall where.
‘Thirty days. You must understand that the bank is carrying the day-to-day losses on ten of the eleven hotels. Only the Chicago Richmond is currently showing a small profit.’
‘If you would give me enough time, Mr Kane, I could turn all the hotels into profitable concerns. I know I could. Just give me the chance to prove I can do it, sir.’ Abel felt the last word sticking in his throat.
‘Mr Leroy assured the bank that you were worth backing when he came to visit me last fall,’ said William. ‘But these are hard times. There’s no telling if the hotel trade will pick up, and we are not hoteliers, Mr Rosnovski, we’re bankers.’
Abel was beginning to lose his temper with this smoothly dressed ‘young puppy’. ‘They’ll be even harder times for my hotel staff,’ he said. ‘What will they do if you sell off the roof from over their heads? What do you imagine will happen to them?’
‘I’m afraid they are not our responsibility, Mr Rosnovski. I must act in the bank’s best interests.’
‘Don’t you mean in your best interests, Mr Kane?’ said Abel sharply.
The banker flushed. ‘That was an unjust remark, Mr Rosnovski, and I would greatly resent it if I did not understand what you are going through.’
‘Too bad you didn’t show some understanding for Mr Leroy,’ said Abel. ‘You killed him, Mr Kane, just as surely as if you pushed him out of that window yourself. You and your “wash your hands” colleagues, sitting here in your smart offices while we sweat our guts out so you can rake it in when times are good, and rub our faces in the dirt when times are bad.’
William, too, was becoming angry, but unlike Abel he did not show it. ‘This line of discussion is getting us nowhere, Mr Rosnovski. I must warn you that if you are unable to find a buyer for the group within thirty days, I shall have no choice but to put the hotels up for auction on the open market.’
‘You’ll be advising me to ask another bank for a loan next,’ said Abel sarcastically. ‘You know my record and you won’t back me, so why should anyone else take the risk?’
‘What you choose to do now is entirely up to you, Mr Rosnovski. My board’s instructions are simply to dispose of the assets and wind up the account as quickly as possible, and that is what I intend to do. Perhaps you would be kind enough to contact me no later than’ - he glanced at his diary - ‘February fourth to let me know whether you have had any success in finding a buyer. Good day, Mr Rosnovski.’
William rose from behind the desk, and again offered his hand. This time Abel ignored it.
He walked to the door, but paused before leaving the office. ‘I thought after the death of Davis Leroy, Mr Kane, you might feel embarrassed enough to offer a helping hand. I was wrong. Your only interest is the bottom line, but when you go to bed at night, Mr Kane, be sure to think about me. When you wake up in the morning, think about me again, because I’ll never stop thinking about my plans for you.’
William stood frowning at the closed door. That silver band bothered him - where had he seen it before?
His secretary entered the room. ‘What a dreadful little man,’ she said.
‘No, not really,’ said William. ‘He thinks we were responsible for the death of his business partner, and that we’re now dissolving his company without any thought for his employees, not to mention himself, when he has actually proved to be rather good at his job. Mr Rosnovski was remarkably polite given the circumstances. I’m sorry the board didn’t take my advice and back him.’ William sat down in his chair, suddenly feeling exhausted.
29
ABEL ARRIVED back in Chicago later that evening, still furious with his treatment at the hands of William Kane. He didn’t catch exactly what the boy was shouting at the corner newsstand as he hailed a cab and climbed into the back seat.
‘The Richmond Hotel, please.’
‘Are you from the newspapers?’ asked the driver as he moved out onto State Street.
‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, only because you asked for the Richmond and the place is swarming with journalists.’
Abel couldn’t remember any functions scheduled for the Richmond which might attract the press.
The driver continued: ‘If you’re not a newspaperman, maybe I should take you to another hotel.’
‘Why?’ asked Abel, even more puzzled.
‘Well, you won’t have a very good night’s sleep if you’re booked in there.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Abel.
‘Because the Richmond has been burned to the ground.’
They turned the corner of Drake Street, and Abel was faced head on with the smouldering shell of the Chicago Richmond Hotel. There were police cars, fire engines, charred wood and water flooding the street, while onlookers craned their necks from behind a barrier. Abel stared at the scorched remains of Davis Leroy’s flagship.
‘That’ll be two dollars,’ said the taxi driver.
The Pole is wise when the damage is done, thought Abel as he clenched his fist and started banging on his lame leg. He felt no pain - there was nothing left to feel.
‘You bastards!’ he shouted aloud. ‘I’ve been lower than this before, and I’ll still beat every one of you. Germans, Russians, Turks, that bastard Kane, and now this. Everyone. I’ll beat you all. Nobody kills Abel Rosnovski.’
The assistant manager saw Abel gesticulating by the cab and ran over to him. Abel forced himself to be calm.
‘Did everybody get out safely?’ were Abel’s first words.
‘Yes, thank God. The hotel was nearly empty, and luckily the fire started in the middle of the afternoon, so getting everybody out wasn’t a great problem. There were one or two minor injuries and burns - three people were taken to Chicago General - but there’s nothing for you to worry about on that count.’
‘Good, that’s a relief. Thank God the hotel was well insured - over a million, if I remember. We may yet be able to turn this disaster to our advantage.’
‘Not if what they’re suggesting in today’s papers is true.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Abel.
‘I’d rather you read it for yourself, boss.’
Abel walked over to the nearby newsstand and paid the boy two cents for the latest edition of the Chicago Tribune.
The banner headline told it all: RICHMOND HOTEL BLAZE - ARSON SUSPECTED.
Abel shook his head incredulously. ‘Can anything else go wrong?’ he muttered.
‘Got yourself a problem?’ the newsboy asked.
‘A little one,’ said Abel, and returned to his assistant manager.
‘Who’s in charge of the police inquiry?’
‘That officer over there, leaning on the patrol car,’ said the assistant manager, pointing to a prematurely balding man with deep sunken eyes. ‘His name’s Lieutenant O’Malley.’
‘It would be,’ said Abel. ‘Tell the staff I’ll see them all in the annexe at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. If anybody wants me before then, I’ll be staying at the Stevens.’
‘Will do, boss.’
Abel walked over to Lieutenant O’Malley and introduced himself.
The policeman stooped slightly and shook hands with him. ‘Ah, the long-lost ex-manager has returned to his charred remains.’
‘I don’t find that funny, officer,’ said Abel.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘It isn’t funny. It’s been a long night. Let’s go and have a drink.’
He took Abel by the elbow and guided him across Michigan Avenue to a corner diner, where he ordered two milk shakes.
Abel laughed when the white, frothy mixture was put in front of him. Since he had never had a childhood, it was his first milk shake.
‘I know. It’s funny, everybody in this city is secretly drinking bourbon and beer,’ said the policeman, ‘so someone has to play it straight. In any case, Prohibition isn’t going to last forever, and then my troubles will really begin, because the mobsters are going to discover that I really do like milk shakes.’
Abel laughed for a second time.
‘Now to your problems, Mr Rosnovski. First, I have to tell you I don’t think you have a snowball’s chance in hell of picking up the insurance money on your hotel. The fire experts have gone over the remains of the building, and found the place was soaked in kerosene. No attempt to even disguise it. There were traces of the stuff all over the basement. One match and it would have gone up like a Roman candle.’
‘Do you have any idea who’s responsible?’ asked Abel.
‘Let me ask the questions. Do you know anyone who might bear a grudge against the hotel, or against you personally?’
Abel grunted. ‘About fifty people, Lieutenant. I cleared out a real nest of vipers when I first arrived here. I can give you a list, if you think it might help.’
‘It might, but the way people are talking out there, I may not need it. If you pick up any definite information, let me know, Mr Rosnovski, because I warn you, you have enemies.’
‘Anyone in particular?’ asked Abel.
‘Somebody is suggesting that you did it because you lost everything in the crash, and needed the insurance money.’
Abel leaped off his stool.
‘Calm down, calm down. I know you’ve been in Boston all day, and more important, you have a reputation in Chicago for building hotels up, not burning them down. But someone did set fire to the Richmond and you can bet your ass I’m going to find out who. Let’s leave it at that for the moment.’ He swivelled off his own stool. ‘The milk shake’s on me, Mr Rosnovski. I may call in a favour from you at some time in the future.’
As the two men walked towards the door, the policeman smiled at the girl who took his fifty cents, admiring her ankles and cursing the new fashion for long skirts. ‘Keep the change, honey,’ he said.
‘A big thank you,’ the girl replied.
‘Nobody appreciates me,’ said the lieutenant.
Abel laughed for a third time, which he would not have thought possible half an hour before.
‘By the way,’ O’Malley added as they reached the door. ‘The insurance people are looking for you. I can’t remember the name of the guy, but I guess he’ll find you soon enough. Don’t get angry with him if he suggests you were involved. Who can blame him? Keep in touch, Mr Rosnovski - I’ll be wanting to talk to you again, when the milk shakes will be on you.’
Abel watched as the lieutenant vanished into the crowd of spectators, then walked slowly to the Stevens Hotel and booked himself in for the night. The desk clerk, who had already checked in most of the Richmond’s guests, couldn’t suppress a smile at booking the manager in as well.
Once he was alone in his room, Abel sat down and wrote a long letter to Mr William Kane, giving him whatever details about the fire he could supply, and telling him that he intended to use his unexpected freedom to make a tour of the other hotels in the group. He saw no point in hanging around in Chicago warming himself on the Richmond’s embers in the vain hope that someone would come along and bail him out.
After a first-class breakfast at the Stevens the next morning - it always made Abel feel good to be in a well-run hotel - he withdrew $5,000 in cash from the hotel account and gave every member of his staff two weeks’ wages, telling them they could stay on at the annexe for at least a month, or until they had found new jobs. He then walked over to the Continental Trust to apprise Curtis Fenton of Kane and Cabot’s attitude - or to be more accurate, of William Kane’s attitude. He added, without a great deal of hope, that he was looking for a buyer for the Richmond Group at $2 million.
