The Shadow of Your Smile

32

Now that she was aware that Greg Gannon was under investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission, Esther Chambers was keenly attuned to the tension building in him. It seemed to her that every day, Greg’s expression became increasingly more troubled except, of course, when a client dropped into the office.

If his door was partially open, she could hear him on the phone, and the tone of his voice was either warm and jovial with a client, or abrupt and curt when he was speaking to one of his fellow three foundation board members, Dr. Hadley, or Dr. Langdon, or his brother, Peter. The gist of what she could gather he was telling them was to forget any new grants they wanted to suggest, that there was already too damn much money being spent supporting Hadley’s heart research and Langdon’s mental health clinics, and that there wouldn’t be another dime for Peter’s theatre projects.

On Thursday morning he came into the office scowling, his shoulders bunched together, and dropped a list on her desk.

“Call them,” he said abruptly. “When one of them is available to talk, give me the name fast.”

“Of course, Mr. Gannon.” Esther had only to take one look at the list to know they were all potential clients, and that he was going to try to rope them in.

The first three were not able to take his call. Others stayed on the line for only a few minutes. Esther guessed that whatever bond or stock issue Greg was hawking had been turned down. But at twenty past eleven Arthur Saling accepted the call. Saling, a prospective client, had lunched with Greg last week. A timid-looking man in his early sixties, he had come back to the office with Greg, and had been duly impressed with the lavish setup. He had confided to Esther that he was considering investing with a number of money managers, and had heard glowing reports about Greg. “I want to be very sure of whom I select,” he had said quietly. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

Out of curiosity Esther had googled him. After the recent death of his mother, Saling had come into the principal of a family trust, close to one hundred million dollars.

The door was closed, but she could hear Greg’s booming jovial tones even though the words were muffled. Then for a long time she could not hear a sound from his office. Which means, she decided, that now he’s oozing charm and giving Saling his confidential pitch. She knew it by heart: “I’ve been following this stock for four years and its time has come. The company is about to be bought out, and you can imagine what that means. It’s the best opportunity in the market since Google went public.”

Poor Arthur Saling, she thought. If Greg is frantic to cover his losses, a lot of these paper profits he’s been posting probably don’t even exist, and this is one more victim in the making. I wish I could tip him off.

When the call to Saling ended, Greg got back on the intercom. “That turned out to be a good morning’s work, Esther,” he said, his voice warm and relieved now. “I think we’ll hold the other calls until this afternoon. My wife is joining me for lunch and I should be on my way.”

“Of course.” I wish I was out of here, Esther thought, as the clock on her desk registered the noon hour. Not just for lunch, but out of here altogether. It makes me feel slimy to be reporting on Greg to the SEC, even though he might have just convinced someone else to trust him with his money.

Greg was still at his desk when Pamela Gannon swept in at quarter past twelve. “Is anyone with him?” she asked Esther.

“No, Mrs. Gannon,” Esther said, trying to force a friendly note into her voice. I’ve got to admit that woman is beautiful, she conceded, as Pamela strode past her desk, stunning in a fur-trimmed red suit and suede boots. But her kind marries people like Greg Gannon for one reason only, a five-letter word spelled m-o-n-e-y.

She watched as Pamela, without knocking, turned the handle of Greg’s door and flung it open. “Surprise, I’m here, Papa Bear,” she called. “I know I’m early but I couldn’t wait ’til one o’clock to meet you at Le Cirque. I’m sorry I wasn’t awake before you left this morning. I wanted to wish you a happy tenth anniversary of the wonderful day we met.”

Papa Bear! God spare me, Esther thought, shuddering at Greg’s delighted response.

“I’ve been thinking about it every minute,” Greg was saying, “and I’ve had such a good morning that I planned to stop at Van Cleef and Arpels before I met you for lunch. But now you can go with me and help me pick out something really special.”

How about a tiara? Esther asked herself as they passed her desk, ignoring her. They’re going out to buy pricey jewelry on the poor guy who’s probably just committed a fortune for Greg to handle.

It’s not going to happen, she told herself. On her way to have lunch, Esther stopped at a CVS pharmacy and bought plain paper and a plain envelope. In block letters she wrote, “THIS IS A WARNING. DO NOT INVEST WITH GREG GANNON. YOU WILL LOSE YOUR MONEY.” She signed it, “A friend,” then put a stamp on the envelope, addressed it, and took a cab to the main post office, where she dropped it in a mailbox.