"Mr. Cord bought the controlling interest in the company," David pointed out. "Therefore, his association with it is not in the ordinary category of employees."
"I'm quite aware of that," Sheffield said. "But are you quite sure control of the company still remains in his hands?
We now have as much and perhaps more stock than he has. We feel we're entitled to a voice in management."
"I'll be glad to relay your suggestion to Mr. Cord."
"That won't be necessary," Sheffield said.
"We are certain, because of his refusal to reply to our requests for a meeting, that he is not interested."
"In that case, why did you come to me?" David asked. Now the preliminaries were over; they were getting down to the heart of things.
Sheffield leaned forward. "We feel that the success of this company is directly attributed to you and your policies.
We have the highest regard for your ability and would like to see you take your proper place in the company as chief executive officer."
He ground out his cigarette in the ash tray before him. "With proper authority and compensation, of course."
David stared at him. The world on a silver platter.
"That's very gratifying," he said cautiously. "What if I were to ask you to leave things as they are?
What if I were to persuade Mr. Cord to adopt some of your suggestions?
Would that be satisfactory to you?"
Sheffield shook his head. "With all due respect to your sincerity – no. You see, we're firmly convinced that Cord is detrimental to the progress of this company."
"Then you'd launch a proxy fight if I didn't go along with you?"
"I doubt that it would be necessary," Sheffield said.
"I have already mentioned that we own a considerable amount of the stock outstanding.
Certain brokers have pledged us an additional five per cent." He took a paper from his pocket and handed it to David. "And here is a commitment from Mr. Bonner to sell us all of the stock in his possession on December fifteenth, the day of the annual meeting, next week.
Mr. Bonner's ten per cent of the stock brings our total to thirty-eight per cent.
With or without the five per cent you own, we have more than sufficient stock to take control of the company.
Even with proxies, Mr. Cord would not be able to vote more than thirty per cent of the stock."
David picked up the sheet of paper and looked at it.
It was a firm commitment, all right. And it was Bonner's signature.
He pushed the paper back to Sheffield silently.
Suddenly, he remembered the old Norman warehouse, where he had first gone to work.
The king must die.
But now it was no mere platform boss, it was Jonas.
Until this moment, he had never let himself think about it. Jonas had seemed invulnerable.
But all that had changed.
Jonas was slipping.
And what Sheffield was saying in effect was, string along with us and we'll make you king.
David took a deep breath.
Why shouldn't it be he?
It was something he had felt ever since that first day in the warehouse.
Rosa put the newspaper down on the bed and reached for a cigarette.
She looked at the clock. It was after eight. That made it after eleven o'clock in New York.
David should have called by now.
Usually, if he expected to be out late, he would let her know.
Could something have happened to him?
Could he be lying hurt in the streets of New York, three thousand miles away, and she'd never know until it was too late?
She picked up the telephone and called him at his hotel in New York.
She heard the rapid relay of the telephone across the country, then the phone ringing in his suite. It rang for a long time.
"Hello," he said.
His voice was low and cautious. "David, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," he said.
"I was worried. Why didn't you call?"
"I’m in the middle of a meeting."
"Oh. Are you alone?
Are you in the bedroom?"