Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [80]
A long pause followed. “I couldn’t let it go,” said Speyer at last. “What do you want with me?”
“The NYPD provides security when presidential candidates come to town,” answered Littlemore, not untruthfully. “We have plainclothesmen at every dinner. You were overheard at one of those dinners threatening a J. P. Morgan man.”
“Nonsense.”
“You deny telling a Morgan partner to watch out because the Morgan firm was combining with others to deny you credit?”
“What? I wasn’t threatening Lamont. I was warning him.”
“You might be surprised, Mr. Speyer, but the law doesn’t draw too fine a distinction between threats and warnings.”
“You don’t understand. I was warning Lamont about the Mexicans—despite everything Morgan’s done to me. Mexico’s new financial agent, he was the one doing the threatening. Making the wildest claims about what would happen to the House of Morgan—to Morgan himself—if they didn’t lift the embargo.”
“What embargo?”
“The Morgan embargo against Mexico. You must know about the default?”
“No.”
Speyer shook his head. “Where to begin? Twenty years ago, J. P. Morgan—the old man—floated the entire Mexican national debt. A big gamble, unheard of for a United States bank. It was a bold wager. Worked out handsomely for a long time. Made Morgan a fortune. But then Mexico had its revolution, and in 1914, the Mexicans defaulted. They haven’t paid a penny since. By now they owe hundreds of millions in interest alone. Morgan pressured all the other houses not to lend Mexico any new money until they’ve paid what they owe on the old.”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Littlemore.
“Wrong? There’s no right and wrong in banking. There are only bets, good ones and bad ones. Morgan didn’t see the revolution coming. That’s why the Morgan people are so unhinged about me.”
“I don’t follow you, Mister.”
Speyer took a deep breath. “I’m betting on the revolutionaries. I’m breaking the embargo. I’m the only one. Lamont knows I have funds lined up, but he doesn’t know where the money is coming from. That’s why I ran from you on Sunday. I couldn’t afford to be arrested. I can’t afford the delay—or the publicity.” Speyer sat down awkwardly, his hands still shackled behind him. “Lamont knows I’ll take my money and lend it straight to the Mexicans. He’d do anything he could to stop me.”
Littlemore took this in. “If Mexico can’t afford to pay Morgan, why would you lend them money?”
“Oh, they can afford to pay. They have railroads. They have silver. Most of all, they have oil. More oil than anybody else on earth. I have to make this trip, Officer. It’s my last chance. My wife is very ill. If I’m not on the Imperator, I’ll lose everything. I promise you I’ll be back on the eighth. I can give you collateral.”
“What kind of collateral?”
“Any kind. Name it.”
Littlemore named it. Speyer swallowed hard.
The same morning, Younger sent Colette a reply to her request that he accompany her to Vienna. His letter could not be faulted for excessive length:
September 21, 1920
No.
—Stratham
Back outside on Fifth Avenue, Littlemore let Roederheusen take the driver’s seat of their car. The detective’s hands were occupied with a rectangular object wrapped in a heavy blanket. When Roederheusen asked what the object was, Littlemore told him it was a quarter-million-dollar bond.
As they drove off, Littlemore noticed the limousine up the street pulling away as well, in the opposite direction.
Because it was still early, Littlemore decided to spend an hour in a law library. The librarian was eager to help, but she knew less about researching the law than did the detective. They found nothing.
The telephone was ringing when Littlemore arrived at his office. Rosie, the operator, informed him that a Mr. Thomas Lamont was on the line—and that he’d been calling all morning.
“Did you speak with Mr. Speyer?” asked Lamont when the connection was made.
“You know I did, Lamont. Your man was keeping watch.”
“I see. Well, we do like to keep an eye on things.