A-Splendid-Ruin(100)

Mr. Johnson looked surprised.

I said firmly, “You do understand that any monies drawn from this account from this point on will be approved only by me?”

“Of course.” Mr. Johnson slid papers toward me. “Here are the checks Mr. Sullivan has written and the bills he’s approved for payment. I assume you wish to honor them.”

“No.”

Mr. Johnson pushed his spectacles farther up his nose, as if they might aid his hearing. “No?”

“No,” I affirmed. “I will be paying nothing more for the Sullivans.”

“But Miss Kimble, there are several outstanding accounts—”

“Those are not my concern. I still haven’t decided, in fact, if I mean to sue my uncle for what he’s already spent. I would appreciate it if you could please provide me with a history of the transactions.”

Mr. Johnson looked to Stephen, who merely smiled and gave a slight nod.

Johnson said, “Perhaps you don’t understand that they have few funds of their own. I had assumed, given that you are Mr. Sullivan’s niece, you would continue to support the family.”

“You assumed wrong. I want nothing to do with them. Can I trust you to obey my instructions in this, Mr. Johnson, or will I be better served by another bank after all?”

He looked shocked. “No. No, no, of course not! A Van Berckyl! Absolutely unthinkable.”

“You have had a long relationship with my uncle.”

“Long, yes, but hardly exclusive. In fact, if that association troubles you, I would be happy to suggest that Mr. Sullivan find another bank for his business.”

“Why, I think that would be a wonderful idea. Thank you for suggesting it, Mr. Johnson. I should like that very much. I know I will feel much more comfortable if my uncle is nowhere near my money.”

“Consider it done.” Mr. Johnson wrote hastily on a piece of paper. “I’ll inform Mr. Sullivan by the morning.”

“I’d prefer it done by the end of today,” I said.

He bobbed his head. “Absolutely. End of today.”

I smiled. “Very well, Mr. Johnson. The account stays here for now. And just so you know, in the event that anyone asks, not only will I have nothing to do with the Sullivans, I will not do business with anyone who does. Is that clear?”

Mr. Johnson straightened, and I saw in his face a respect that I had not seen when we first came into this study. “Completely, Miss Kimble. Completely.”

“Now,” I said with satisfaction, “I would like to make a small withdrawal . . .”





Sullivan Scandal: Debt, Theft, and Murder!

Jonathan Sullivan Accused of Murdering His Wife.

Sullivan Heiress Well Known in Chinatown Opium and Gambling Halls.

Graft, Corruption, and Lies.

The headlines were on everyone’s lips, as was the name of the reporter who’d written the story—Dante LaRosa.

The Bulletin sold so many copies it had to go back to press.

For a week, it was all anyone spoke about.

But then, well . . . the main witness to Florence Sullivan’s murder was a Chinese maid, and it was rumored that Florence Sullivan was a laudanum addict. No doubt she fell.

As for Goldie Sullivan, it was unfortunate, but she was not the first woman in society to have a love of gambling, or opium, for that matter. Her debt was regrettable, but it wasn’t as if she owed money to anyone respectable, and Chinamen had their own ways of dealing with such things, and it was really no concern of anyone else’s.

And who could blame Ellis Farge’s business for declining after such a shock? It was not at all surprising that he could not work and talked of retiring for a few months to the country. Those rumors that he’d stolen another interior architect’s ideas . . . What harm was done, really? His clients were satisfied, and could anyone even remember the other man’s name?

As for the accusations that Jonathan Sullivan plotted to keep the Chinese out of Chinatown and buy up the land himself . . . It was one thing when it was only the Chinese nattering on about it, but when it was China threatening to stop trade, and the white landowners of Chinatown saying that they didn’t want to lose their lucrative Chinese renters, and the threat of millions of Chinese business dollars moving elsewhere, well . . . The Chinese had won that battle, and all was as it should be. It was time to move past it and get San Francisco back on her feet.

Surely too the concerns over city hall and Sullivan Building’s crimes in its construction were overstated. So much hullabaloo when no one had actually died in its collapse! Everyone had escaped, and not that many people had been badly injured. And all that about the board of supervisors and Ruef and the mayor involved with the denizens of the underworld in city graft . . . What mattered now was vision and rebuilding. How could the city prosper if it was tangled up in indictments and arrests and trials? No one cared about corruption.

And wasn’t it astonishing that a Van Berckyl had landed in San Francisco? It was proof indeed that San Francisco had no reason to feel inferior to New York City. The highest echelons of society were right here. As for the difficulties of May Kimble’s arrival and all that nonsense about insanity and inheritances—she had come at a trying time for her family. It had been such a terrible misunderstanding. Best that the parties agree to put it aside.

San Francisco herself, after all, was the main concern.