"A little under fifty grand."

Dudley burst out laughing. "Can you believe anybody actuallysurvives on that kind of salary? Christ, that's minimum wage."

"It's not that bad, Bob. It isn't the three million you pulled down last year, but she's able to live comfortably. She rents a two-bedroom apartment in the Fan for twelve hundred a month, drives a Saab convertible she bought new a year ago, and vacations in the Caribbean twice a year. She was in Saint Bart's a few weeks ago, and she'll go again in the fall if she follows her pattern of the last four years. She doesn't live extravagantly, and she doesn't have any real expenses as far as her son is concerned. The Reese family takes care of all that." He paused. "Oh, and by the way, it's the top drawer."

Dudley looked up. "Huh? What is?"

"The drawer she keeps her panties in."

Dudley flashed a quick smile.

Hill shook his head. "I know what you're thinking, Bob. If she doesn't work with us on this Jake Lawrence thing, we could threaten her. But she's a talented banker. With her contacts, she'd get another job."

"Not in Richmond," Dudley replied confidently. "There aren't any other big banks with corporate lending operations here in the city anymore now that the Carolina banks have acquired all the other big Richmond houses except us. All the important positions have been moved out of town. Mostly just administration stuff here now. And I could make certain no one in Baltimore, Washington, or Charlotte would hire her either. Especially if I let people know that she was fired because she was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g married men in the bank. Everybody from tellers to Ken Booker."

Hill gazed at the chairman, then chuckled. "Bob, I think you might actually give Jake Lawrence a run for his money if the b.a.s.t.a.r.d does decide to launch a hostile bid. I don't think he understands what he's up against, the lengths to which you'll go."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I'm sure that's how it was intended."

"Of course-"

"Back to Angela Day."

"Okay."

"You see, Carter, shehas to live in or near Richmond," Dudley said. "Chuck probably had the judge insert some tough language into the custody order about that. Like if Ms. Day misses more than three consecutive visits with her son, she has constructively abandoned the boy and automatically relinquishes any further rights to visitation unless the Reeses give her specific permission to see the boy-which, of course, they wouldn't." Dudley smiled, pleased with himself. "So, we've figured out how to manipulate Ms. Day. Now she'll have to be loyal to me if she was telling us the truth this morning and Jake Lawrence really did try to get into her pants. Even if she can't stand the sight of him, she'll have to do what I want." Dudley pointed at Hill. "Next week you will have a conversation with Ms. Day and deliver the gist of what we've just discussed."

"Bob, I don't think that's necessary. She got the message this morning. If Lawrence contacts her, she'll let us know right away. She seems levelheaded. She knows where her bread is b.u.t.tered."

"I'm sure Jake Lawrence can be very persuasive," Dudley said. "I want Ms. Day to understand exactly how vulnerable she is."

"Bob, she seems plenty smart. I'm sure she gets it. I don't think we need to get into the intimidation racket."

"Carter," Dudley snapped, frustrated with Hill's pa.s.sive nature, furious with his penchant to search for a middle ground. "I don't want to hear any of your Good Samaritan bulls.h.i.t. Do as you're told."

"I'm sure if I didn't, you'd make it as tough for me to get a job as you would Ms. Day," Hill muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"On second thought, you have your chat with Ms. Day tomorrow," Dudley decided. "There's no need to put it off until next week."

Hill nodded obediently. "All right," he agreed, standing up. "I'll do as you wish."

"Good boy. Oh, one more thing, Carter."

"Yes?"

"I noticed in the internal second-quarter operating report that the growth of our on-line mortgage portfolio was off." One of the ways Dudley had grown Sumter so quickly was to implement an aggressive Web-enabled mortgage offering.

"Year-to-year we were still up 14 percent," Hill protested.

"That's not enough, Carter. I want at least twenty."

"Okay, I'll talk to Russ Thompson about it tomorrow."

"Call him tonight at home."

"All right," Hill agreed stiffly.

The intercom on Dudley's desk buzzed.

"What is it, Betty?" Dudley called to his a.s.sistant in the anteroom.

"Ken Booker is here to see you."

Dudley glanced up as Hill's eyes flashed to his. "Tell him it will be another few minutes. I'm just finishing up my meeting with Mr. Hill now."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you want me to stay?" Hill asked.

"No."

"Why do you need to see Ken?"

"I haven't had a chance to speak with him one-on-one for a while. I think it's a good idea for me to keep in touch with the men a rung below you." Dudley's only direct report was Carter Hill. He'd turned over all other reporting responsibilities to Hill several years ago to free himself up to focus on strategic initiatives, mostly acquisitions. "Don't you?"

"I suppose," Hill agreed tepidly.

Dudley suppressed a smile, aware of the stress the other man was feeling. He had deliberately arranged the Booker meeting right after this one so Hill would know. It was an effective management technique to keep a direct report back on his heels, wondering. "Good."

"You sure you don't want me to stay? Ken and I have been working on several important projects together, but he isn't up to speed on all of the developments. It might help if I were here to fill in the gaps."

"No need," Dudley replied brusquely. "This will be mostly social." That would make Hill feel even worse. "We're done, Carter."

Chuck Reese leaned back in his office chair and gazed out into the darkness at the lights of the Sumter Tower a quarter of a mile away, visible again now that the snowstorm had let up. Bob Dudley was up there at the apex of that tower, twenty stories above the top of the building Albemarle Capital leased. Probably looking down here right now with smug satisfaction, Reese thought to himself glumly, catching his reflection in the gla.s.s. Winning the golf grudge match wasn't enough any longer. There had to be more.

Reese turned to the side, checking his profile: still no spare tire and not even the hint of double chin, still a full head of blond hair, still in pretty d.a.m.n good shape for sixty-two years old. He took great pride in the fact that, late last year, theWall Street Journal had run an extensive article on him, describing him as "a high-energy executive who looks and acts half his age. A man who turns one day into four because he accomplishes twice as much as others do in half the time." The reporter had doc.u.mented the fact that Reese was a natural-born risk-taker, parachuting from airplanes, driving his collection of Porsches in a southern road-race circuit, and, last summer, sailing from Newport News to England solo.

Which was why he was completely at ease in the ulcer-inducing equity markets and Bob Dudley had chosen banking. Bob Dudley had no appet.i.te for risk. He was a bully when he had the odds in his favor, but he never took a chance without them. He'd never go for that long shot over water with a fairway wood. He'd always lay up, which was why he would always lose.

Reese turned away from the window and punched up a couple of stock tickers on his computer, wondering how he and Dudley had become such bitter rivals. They'd been close in college and during the first few years at Sumter. But somewhere along the way, the relationship had soured.

"Chuck."

"Yeah, come on in, Andy," Reese called, looking up from the computer screen.

Andy Phillips was Albemarle's head of equity research. Only six years out of Harvard Business School, Phillips already had a growing reputation on Wall Street as a superb stock picker. "Had another idea, Chuck."

Everyone was on a first-name basis at Albemarle, no matter the age or seniority of position. And dress was business casual every day. Reese liked all of that. Being comfortable made for a better working environment. He knew full well how staid and stiff things were at Sumter. "What's that, young gun? What's your next billion-dollar idea?"

"I think we oughta short General Datacom in a big way. It's a-"

"A storage device company out in San Jose," Reese interrupted. "About six hundred million in revenues and they've suffered delays getting their next-generation device to market. So what?"

Phillips chuckled. Of course, Chuck Reese knew that. Chuck Reese knew everything. "They're about to report bad results for the last quarter."

"The market already seems to know that," Reese said, punching up a chart of the company's stock. "The share price is off 10 percent in the last two weeks."

"Right, but what the market doesn't know is that the senior managers out there are about to mutiny. They can't stand the CEO. The stock's probably going to fall 30 to 40 percent when the s.h.i.t hits the fan in a couple of weeks."

"How do you know this?"

"A friend. He says the product is ready, but the problem is that there's infighting among senior management."

Reese held up his hand. "Andy, never attribute to malice what can be explained by inept.i.tude. Hold off on that one. They'll end up getting it right out there. But I liked your ideas earlier today concerning the health-care sector. Go for it there."

"Right."

"That'll be all."

"Thanks, Chuck."

"Sure." Reese watched the young man exit the office, then turned back to the window and glanced up at the Sumter Tower again. Everything else in his life was good. If only he could lookdown on the Sumter Tower.

CHAPTER SIX.

The Fan-named for the way its main avenues spread west from Richmond's downtown like the spokes of a lady's fan-is an eclectic neighborhood nestled between the outskirts of center city and the upscale, old-money residential area of the West End. The antebellum homes overlooking the Fan's tree-lined streets are large but built close together, with small yards taken up mostly by flower gardens. Over the years many of the old homes have been divided into apartments, so the Fan is densely populated. Health food stores, art galleries, and offbeat boutiques dot the main avenues, and, unlike other areas of the city, backgrounds, creeds, and colors are as diverse as the residents' interests. Blacks and whites. Young and old. Hippies, professionals, creative types, and students. It's the city's melting pot.

Angela slid into a wooden booth in Castro's, named not for Fidel but for a rhythm and blues band, Skip Castro, that had gained a measure of fame in Virginia during the seventies and eighties, but never quite made it onto the national scene. On the other side of the scratched table sat Kate Charboneau, a slim woman in her early forties. Kate had long blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders in unruly waves, penetrating hazel eyes, thin features, and fair skin.

They hadn't spoken in two years. Not since a last-ditch appeal to win Hunter back had ended in an emotionally painful defeat, and now Angela found herself wishing they had kept in touch. Kate was always optimistic, even when the situation seemed bleak. She had pledged to Angela that someday they would win Hunter back. Maybe she'd been right after all.

"Sorry I'm late," Angela apologized. It was quarter to seven and she'd promised to be at Castro's by 6:30. She hated to keep people waiting. "Traffic was terrible because of what's leftover of the snow. The streets coming out of downtown are pretty icy." Kate's office was in the bas.e.m.e.nt of a four-story mansion a few blocks away, so she would have gotten to Castro's without much trouble.

Kate smiled. "No problem. Was it hard to find a place to park?" she asked in her heavy Southern accent. She had come to Richmond from New Orleans for law school and never left.

"I got lucky. Someone was leaving just as I pulled up in front of my apartment."

"So you still live out here?"

"Yes, same place as before. It's just a few blocks away." Angela spotted Kate's half-empty gla.s.s of white wine as she placed her coat down beside her on the bench seat. "How've you been? Practice going OK?"

"I'm finding a way to make ends meet." Kate practiced mostly family law, mostly by herself. She'd had several partners over the years, but only for short periods of time. They inevitably became frustrated with her penchant for giving away her services to the poor. "Same as always."

Angela motioned to a waiter that she wanted a gla.s.s of wine, too. She'd hired Kate six years ago because she seemed determined. Plus, she was affordable. If money hadn't been a problem, she would have hired the other prominent law firm in town-the one Chuck Reese hadn't hired. But the partner Angela had spoken to there wanted five hundred dollars an hour and a ten-thousand-dollar retainer just for starters. And he'd given her a condescending look that had told her he didn't really want the case.

"You look great."

Kate laughed. "You're always so nice, Angela. The truth is I look three years older, and I ought to start using more makeup. You're the one who looks great." She reached across the table and touched Angela's hand. "I don't know how you do it. I think you're prettier now than the first time I saw you. You really ought to give up all the banking stuff and go into modeling."

Angela scoffed. "I wish you'd been in charge of the agencies I talked to in college."

Most of the fashion people who had visited campus had used phrases like "so close" and "just on the edge of what we're looking for" when Angela had interviewed with them in her freshman year. It hadn't helped that she didn't have a portfolio-she couldn't afford the expense-but one firm had invited her to their main offices in New York City anyway. They'd put her up overnight in the Plaza Hotel, wined and dined her, and told her that she had a real future in the business. But, after returning to campus, she'd never heard from the agency again, despite her repeated attempts to contact the people she'd interviewed with. She'd always wondered if the silence had anything to do with her background. The other girls visiting the agency that day were from places like East Hampton on Long Island, Darien, Connecticut, and the Main Line in Philadelphia.

"Unfortunately, the decision makers didn't share your enthusiasm for my prospects in the industry. And that was almost fifteen years ago."

"Well, they were wrong," Kate replied adamantly.

Angela shrugged. "So what's up?" she asked. "You sounded so mysterious on the phone this morning."

"Danny Ford's lawyer called me late yesterday afternoon."

Danny Ford was one of the two men who had accused Angela of adultery in divorce court, one of the men who had helped ruin her life. "And?" she asked, picking up the gla.s.s of wine the waiter had just delivered.

"It seems Danny has some things on his mind he wants to talk about."

Angela's heart skipped a beat. Jake Lawrence must have made good on his promise. That was the only explanation for Danny's sudden desire to talk. The timing was too convenient. "What does he have to say after all this time?"

"I don't know yet. His lawyer wouldn't be specific on the phone. He just said that they wanted to get together. I've arranged a meeting with them this coming Monday afternoon in my office." Kate hesitated. "I think it would be best if you let me handle this one myself. Ford might not be as forthcoming if you're there staring him down. He knows what he did to you."

Angela nodded, gazing into her winegla.s.s. She was certain of what Danny was going to say. He was going to say that he'd lied about the affair. Jake Lawrence had pulled some very powerful strings. G.o.d, the things money could do. "Let's a.s.sume for a second Danny admits to you that he lied on the stand during the divorce proceedings," Angela said.

"Don't get your hopes up, Angela," Kate was quick to warn. "You never know. He might just be-"

"I'm not getting my hopes up," Angela interrupted. "I just want to make certain we antic.i.p.ate all the possibilities, then react accordingly. As quickly as possible. What if Danny looks across the table at you on Monday and admits that he committed perjury six years ago? That he lied about having s.e.x with me. That, other than in photographs, he'd never even laid eyes on me before the first day of the proceedings. What then?"

Kate thought for a second. "We might be able to get you some alimony, and-"

"I don't care about alimony. All I care about is-"

"Getting Hunter back. Yes, I know that. I was going to say that we might be able to reopen the custody case as well." She glanced away. "I wouldn't be so confident except that . . . "

Angela couldn't hear the rest. It was Thursday night and the bar was becoming crowded. Kate's voice had faded into the growing hum of conversation and music. "What did you say?" she asked, leaning over the table.

Kate pushed her blonde bangs out of her eyes. "It's so strange."

"What is?"

"Remember you told me that you had once caught Sam in bed with another woman while you were married?"