Final Option

He said something about wanting to know about Chicago Magazine .”
    “Call him and tell him I’ll do it. Ask him not to set anything up until after next Friday. I’d rather keep my calendar clear until after I’ve finished the answer to the CFTC. Do me one more favor while you’re at it. Call over to Hexter Commodities and talk to someone named Victoria Lloyd. She’s a runner, so you might have to try her later in the afternoon after the market closes. Tell her I want to see her this weekend. I’ll go to her place. She’ll know what it’s about.”
    “Will do.”
    “Tell me, am I doing anything with Stephen this weekend?”
    “Saturday night,” replied Cheryl, grabbing my calendar off my desk. “You’ve got an eight o’clock dinner at Charlie Canter’s with a Swedish chemist and his wife. I write all this stuff down for you. You should try reading it sometimes.”
     
    Ken Kurlander came to see me in the middle of the afternoon, looking distressed.
    “What can I do for you, Ken?” I inquired, motioning him into a chair. “I heard they allowed Mrs. Hexter’s bail. Is she home yet?”
    “Just outrageous!” he said, shaking his head. “Nearly two million dollars. I never thought I'd see such injustice.” It took an effort of will to keep from asking whether he was referring to the amount of money or the arrest. “When Barton and I were at the bank making arrangements this morning, we took the opportunity to empty Bart’s safe-deposit boxes. We came across something I was rather hoping you’d be able to shed some light on.”
    “I didn’t think you’d be able to get into the box,” I remarked. “Not until you’d begun the probate process.“
    “At my suggestion, Bart didn’t maintain any safe-deposit boxes in his own name,” replied Kurlander. “I’ve seen too many occasions when, once the appropriate papers have been filed, and the time comes to inventory the contents of the boxes for the estate, some greedy family members with access to the key have already helped themselves to articles of value. Bart kept his box in the name of the family corporation with Barton Jr. and myself as co-signators.”
    “How prudent,” I remarked, thinking about the underbelly of human nature that Ken Kurlander must have been exposed to over the years of his practice. “What is it that you wanted to show me?”
    “It’s a real-estate contract for a condominium.” Ken handed me the document. It was for the new River North development that was going up near South Water Street. It must have been some apartment, since the full purchase price was in excess of a million dollars. According to the papers, a payment of one hundred thousand dollars in earnest money had been paid six weeks previously. A further payment of five hundred thousand was due on April fifteenth, three days from now, with another five hundred thousand due on July fifteenth.
    “This is all news to me,” I said honestly. “I assume, since you’re asking me, Pamela doesn’t know about this.”
    “I spoke to both Barton and Krissy. Neither of them has heard their mother speak of it. When I called the developer just now to see if I could get some additional information, he said that it was his understanding that Bart was buying the condominium for a young lady.“
    “Any chance it’s for Margot?”
    “When I suggested that it might be for one of his daughters, he laughed most unpleasantly. I think we can assume we are dealing with a very different relationship. Unfortunately, unless the five hundred thousand is paid, the earnest money will be forfeited. I hesitate to trouble Barton Jr. at such a difficult time, but it is not an inconsiderable sum. Unfortunately, the developer is not prepared to be flexible. He says he has a waiting list of people interested in units.”
    “And, of course, it wouldn’t hurt to just take the hundred grand and turn around and sell the condo to someone else,” I ventured.
    “You understand. Since it appears that you and Barton have become quite close recently, I thought you might be willing to discuss the matter with him.”
    “Of course, I’ll talk to him.”
    After he’d gone, I buzzed Cheryl and asked her when she had scheduled me to meet with Torey Lloyd.
     
    I had dinner with Elliott Abelman at Scoozi’s, a noisy Italian restaurant on Huron in the heart of the gallery district. Formerly a warehouse, the restaurant looked more like the set of a Fellini movie than a place where they