To Save a Son by Brian Freemantle Read Free Book Online Page A

that. Hard, tough businessmen whom you couldn’t expect to enter any sort of agreement merely on my say-so and your presentation. Of course they wanted a separate, independent analysis. And could have got it, from any of a hundred lawyers or market research specialists. By doing it myself, I kept control of everything: made sure you weren’t being cheated. Sure I went down. I went down and I saw most of the people and I gave Dukes and Pascara and Flamini the information they wanted when I got back. It was an objective, realistic report. From it they knew I wasn’t showing any sort of bias toward your presentation. That they can trust me to remain neutral—professionally neutral—and because of that trust I would have known if they’d decided to go ahead without you.” Nicky had been speaking with his body forward over the desk, eager to be understood. Now he sat back, enveloped in his large chair, and said, “If that was failing you then I’ve failed you. I’m sorry you think I cheated you, and I’m sorry that you think I’m a bastard. I don’t honestly think you’d succeed on any breach of trust accusation, but if you feel strongly enough about it, then of course you must go ahead. I don’t know how it’s going to be on your side but as far as I’m concerned I’ll try not to let it spread over, into the family. It won’t be easy, but I’ll try.”
    Franks had been angry—in the islands and then here in the office—partly from his belief that he’d been made to look foolish, and that part of his anger increased, but aimed at himself now, for being so hasty. It was a perfectly reasoned and understandable explanation. Acceptable, too. “Do you know what it’s achieved?” he said. The effort at continued outrage didn’t quite succeed. He continued, “Every single person whom I’d approached to sell me land has jacked up the price, imagining they can run an auction. Because of what you’ve done the original costing has gone up by twenty-two million dollars at least. And that doesn’t include what I’ve had to concede in extra demands from the governments. That’s another 4.5 million dollars.”
    â€œThe landowners will fall back into line soon enough when they realize there wasn’t a contest,” said Nicky calmly.
    â€œIsn’t there a contest?” demanded Franks, unconvinced.
    â€œNot as far as Pascara and Dukes and Flamini are concerned,” assured Nicky. “If you withdraw, then I’m certain now that they intend to go ahead without you. But at the moment they still want to go on with you. That’s what they’ve always wanted. What about you?”
    â€œMe?” said Franks.
    â€œIs there a contest from your side?”
    Franks felt a further surge of anger, a feeling without direction. If he made it a contest and the financiers decided to oppose him, then the island vendors would have an auction on their hands. And be able to force the whole project up in price. From his efforts over the preceding weeks and months Franks knew he would have difficulty in raising the initial estimated costs. He’d never be able privately to find sufficient capital to meet the additional demands. And if the other three men were determined enough they could bid up the price anyway, poker players with better hands. Franks continued the metaphor. It was a poker game they couldn’t lose, either way. If he threw in his hand, they would go on without him. And if he opposed them, they’d still beat him. A good poker player always knew when to quit, to preserve his stake for another game. But Franks didn’t want to quit. He didn’t want to admit that he had been outmaneuvered or outbid. Franks said, “It never has been a contest, on my side.”
    â€œSo there doesn’t seem to be any cause for us to fall out?”
    â€œYou should have warned me