“And I’m sure the stockholders would have voted to support the managing director for the simple reason that stockholder Cletus Howell Frade holds sixty percent of the stock of this corporation.”
Frade paused as he stared at Ernesto Dowling.
“Does that answer your question, Señor Dowling? And if there are no questions regarding my explanation of how things work around here, I’ll presume that now everyone understands where I fit in.”
There was a long silence before Perón broke it.
“You seem to be suggesting, Cletus,” he said just a little uneasily, “that you can do just about anything you want to do with the company, whether or not the rest of us agree.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, meeting El Coronel Juan Domingo Perón’s eyes. “That’s pretty much the way it is.”
Frade recalled a leather-skinned and leather-lunged Old Breed gunnery sergeant from shortly after he’d joined the Corps. The gunny had told Frade and the thirty other young men about to become Marine officers:
Frade had found it sage advice in his service as a Marine Corps officer and in the OSS, and had put it into practice now.
Perón shifted his gaze to Humberto Duarte, who looked both surprised and uneasy.
“Is Cletus correct, Humberto?”
“I’m afraid he is, Juan Domingo,” Duarte said.
Frade slowly looked around the table. Father Welner appeared both curious and amused. Claudia Carzino-Cormano could have been angry or sad, or both. When he looked at Captain Delgano, Delgano was shaking his head in either surprise—even shock—or amusement. Ernesto Dowling looked quietly furious. And when he returned his gaze to Perón, he saw that Perón was looking at him very thoughtfully.
“As a practical matter, of course,” Frade went on, “I am delighted to defer to the greater expertise of every member of the board. But I thought it important that all of you understand where I stand.”
There was no response.
“Cletus, I’m impressed,” Father Welner said. “Where did you get that mastery of procedure?”
Frade saw that Perón was waiting with interest for his answer.
“From my grandfather. I watched him conduct meetings of Howell Petroleum. He’s the majority stockholder.” He paused. Then, without thinking first, added: “He once told his board that they should keep in mind they were window dressing, nothing more.”
Humberto Duarte and Ernesto Dowling looked almost as shocked as Claudia Carzino-Cormano.
Father Welner smiled. “He actually said that to his board, Cletus?”
“I believe it, Father,” Perón said. “I know Señor Howell. He is a . . .
“So Jorge led me to believe,” the priest said dryly.
Frade looked at him and thought,
“But I was just thinking,” Perón went on, “that there’s blood in here, too.”
“Excuse me?” Claudia said.
“Not only of his grandfather,” Perón explained, “but of his father. Look at him standing there, Claudia, his eyes blazing, his chin thrust forward, his hands on his hips, just daring someone
She looked and, after a moment, she nodded.
“Yes, it does,” she said. “I often told Jorge he was the most arrogant man I’d ever known.”
“It is arrogance, my dear Claudia, born of confidence,” Perón said. “And I, for one, applaud it.”
Claudia glared at him, whereupon Perón put action to his words: He began to applaud. Duarte and Dowling looked at him incredulously.
Then Father Welner, smiling, clapped his hands, and, a moment later, Delgano followed. Then without much enthusiasm Duarte and Dowling joined in, and finally Claudia, with no enthusiasm at all.
“Well, you heard me read the radiogram we got—actually Seguro Comercial got—last night from Lloyd’s of London—”
“It should be read into the minutes,” Frade interrupted, “but before you do that, tell me this: Did Seguro Comercial send a letter when they sent you that cable? If so, that should be read into the record, too.”
