Read Online The Bancroft Strategy by Robert Ludlum - Free Book Online Page B

want to take.”
    Andrea floated back to her desk, hydroplaning on relief and pride. She had kicked ass, just as Pete Brook said. His look of gratitude was genuine, and so was his praise afterward; there was no doubt about that.
    â€œAndrea Bancroft,” she said into the handset.
    â€œMy name is Horace Linville,” said the man who called, needlessly. That much was on the call slip. “I’m an attorney with the Bancroft Foundation.”
    All at once Andrea felt herself wilting. “And what can I do for you, Mr. Linville?” she said without warmth.
    â€œWell…” The lawyer paused. “Mostly it’s about what we can do for you.”
    â€œI’m afraid I’m not interested,” Andrea replied, almost testily.
    â€œI don’t know if you’re aware that a cousin of yours, Ralph Bancroft, recently passed away,” Linville persisted.
    â€œI wasn’t,” Andrea replied, her voice softening. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Ralph Bancroft? The name was only vaguely familiar.
    â€œThere’s a bequest,” he said. “Of a sort. Triggered by his death. You’d be the recipient.”
    â€œHe left me money?” The lawyer’s elliptical formulations were beginning to irritate her.
    Linville paused. “The family trusts are quite intricate, as I’m sure you appreciate.” He paused again, and then lurched into an elaboration, as if aware that what he said might have been taken the wrong way. “Ralph Bancroft had been a member of the foundation trustees, and his passing leaves a vacancy. The charter specifies eligibility, and the percentage of members that must belong to the Bancroft family.”
    â€œI don’t consider myself a Bancroft, really.”
    â€œYou’re a trained historian, no? You’ll want to be fully informed of the antecedent circumstances before you make any final decisions. But I’m afraid we’re on a very tight schedule here. I’d like to drop by and present these details to you formally and in person. Apologies for the short notice, but it’s an unusual situation, as you’ll see. I can come to your house at half-past six.”
    â€œFine,” Andrea said, her voice hollow. “That’s fine.”
    Horace Linville turned out to be a wren-drab man with a pear-shaped head, sharp features, and an unfortunate ratio of scalp tohair. A driver had taken him to Andrea Bancroft’s modest Cape Cod–style house in the Connecticut town of Carlyle, and waited outside as he entered. Linville brought with him a metal-sided briefcase with a combination lock. Andrea led him into the living room and noticed that he glanced at the seat of the armchair before sitting on it, as if examining it for cat hairs.
    His presence made her feel oddly self-conscious about her home, a place she had on a twelve-month rental, in a not-so-expensive neighborhood of a generally somewhat pricey town. Carlyle was one or two train stops too far from Manhattan on Metro North to make it a proper bedroom community, but some of its inhabitants did the commute. She had always taken some measure of pride in her Carlyle address. Now she thought about what her place must seem like to someone from the Bancroft Foundation. It must seem…small.
    â€œLike I said, Mr. Linville, I don’t really consider myself a Bancroft.” She had seated herself on the sofa, at the other side of the coffee table.
    â€œThat’s not quite to the point. By the foundation’s guidelines and charter, a Bancroft is exactly what you are. And with Ralph Bancroft’s passing—with the departure of any member of the board—a series of eventualities are triggered. There’s a…disbursement that accompanies this responsibility. A bequest, if you like. That’s how it’s always been done at the foundation.”
    â€œLet’s put history aside. I work in finance, as you know. We like