I do,’ Steve assured him. ‘You will see that Mr Stanford’s body is released to me tomorrow, or you’re going to find yourself in more trouble than you can possibly imagine.’ Steve turned to leave.
‘Wait! Monsieur! Perhaps in a few days, I can –’
‘Tomorrow.’ And Steve was gone.
Three hours later, Steve Sloane received a telephone call at his hotel.
‘Monsieur Sloane? Ah, I have wonderful news for you! I have managed to arrange for Mr Stanford’s body to be released to you immediately. I hope you appreciate the trouble …’
‘Thank you. A private plane will leave here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning to take us back. I assume all the proper papers will be in order by then.’
‘Yes, of course. Do not worry. I will see to –’
‘Good.’ Steve replaced the receiver.
Capitaine Durer sat there for a long time. Merde! What bad luck! I could have been a celebrity for at least another week.
When the plane carrying Harry Stanford’s body landed at Logan International Airport in Boston, there was a hearse waiting to meet it. Funeral services were to be held three days later.
Steve Sloane reported back to Simon Fitzgerald.
‘So the old man is finally home,’ Fitzgerald said. ‘It’s going to be quite a reunion.’
‘A reunion?’
‘Yes. It should be interesting,’ he said. ‘Harry Stanford’s children are coming here to celebrate their father’s death. Tyler, Woody and Kendall.’
Judge Tyler Stanford had first seen the story on Chicago’s station WBBM. He had stared at the television set, mesmerized, his heart pounding. There was a picture of the yacht Blue Skies, and a news commentator was saying, ‘. . . in a storm, in Corsican waters, when the tragedy occurred. Dmitri Kaminsky, Harry Stanford’s bodyguard, was a witness to the accident, but was unable to save his employer. Harry Stanford was known in financial circles as one of the shrewdest …’
Tyler sat there, watching the shifting images, remembering, remembering …
It was the loud voices that had awakened him in the middle of the night. He was fourteen years old. He had listened to the angry voices for a few minutes, then crept down the upstairs hall to the staircase. In the foyer below, his mother and father were having a fight. His mother was screaming, and he watched his father slap her across the face.
The picture on the television set shifted. There was a scene of Harry Stanford in the Oval Office of the White House, shaking hands with President Ronald Reagan. ‘One of the cornerstones of the president’s new financial task force, Harry Stanford has been an important adviser to …’
They were playing football in back of the house, and his brother, Woody, threw the ball toward the house. Tyler chased it, and as he picked it up he heard his father, on the other side of the hedge. ‘I’m in love with you. You know that!’
He stopped, thrilled that his mother and father were not fighting, and then he heard the voice of their governess, Rosemary. ‘You’re married. I want you to leave me alone.’
And he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He loved his mother and he loved Rosemary. His father was a terrifying stranger.
The picture on the screen flashed to a series of shots of Harry Stanford posing with Margaret Thatcher … President Mitterrand … Mikhail Gorbachev … The announcer was saying, ‘The legendary tycoon was equally at home with factory workers and world leaders.’
He was passing the door to his father’s office when he heard Rosemary’s voice. ‘I’m leaving.’ And then his father’s voice, ‘I won’t let you leave. You’ve got to be reasonable, Rosemary! This is the only way that you and I can …’
‘I won’t listen to you. And I’m keeping the baby!’
Then Rosemary had disappeared.
The scene on the television set shifted again. There were old clips of the Stanford family in front of a church, watching a coffin being lifted into a hearse. The commentator was saying, ‘. . . Harry Stanford and the children beside the coffin … Mrs Stanford’s suicide was attributed to her failing health. According to police investigators, Harry Stanford …’
In the middle of the night, he had been shaken awake by his father. ‘Get up, son. I have some bad news for you.’
The fourteen-year-old boy began to tremble.
‘Your mother had an accident, Tyler.’
It was a lie. His father had killed her. She had committed suicide because of his father and his affair with Rosemary.
The newspapers had been filled with the story. It was a scandal that rocked Boston, and the tabloids took full advantage of it. There was no way to keep the news from the Stanford children. Their classmates made their lives hell. In just twenty-four hours, the three young children had lost the two people they loved most. And it was their father who was to blame.
‘I don’t care if he is our father.’ Kendall sobbed. ‘I hate him.’
‘Me, too!’
‘Me, too!’
They thought about running away, but they had nowhere to go. They decided to rebel.
Tyler was delegated to talk to him. ‘We want a different father. We don’t want you.’
Harry Stanford had looked at him and said, coldly, ‘I think we can arrange that.’
Three weeks later, they were all shipped off to different boarding schools.
As the years went by, the children saw very little of their father. They read about him in newspapers, or watched him on television, escorting beautiful women or chatting with celebrities, but the only time they were with him was on what he called ‘occasions’ – photo opportunities at Christmas time or other holidays – to show what a devoted father he was. After that, the children were sent back to their different schools and camps until the next ‘occasion’.
Tyler sat hypnotized by what he was watching. On the television screen was a montage of factories in different parts of the world, with pictures of his father. ‘. . . one of the largest privately held conglomerates in the world. Harry Stanford, who created it, was a legend … The question in the minds of Wall Street experts is, What is going to happen to the family-owned company now that its founder is gone? Harry Stanford left three children, but it is not known who will inherit the multibillion-dollar fortune that Stanford left behind, or who will control the corporation …’
He was six years old. He loved roaming around the large house, exploring all the exciting rooms. The only place that was
