It was a lovely May day in Chicago. Janice Stewart, Jennifer Chapman, and their mother, Allison Clifford, entered the headquarters of Chicago Trust Company. Formerly one of the most conservative banks in the country, Chicago Trust had an old-line clientele composed of high-net-worth individuals and corporate customers. For nearly ten years, though, it had been under new management. Because the management had vowed "to get the bank moving again," the bank's personality had changed dramatically. Although total assets had increased enormously, profits were down sharply. It was Chicago Trust that had sold the Illinois Technologies note to Hugo Bingham who was now on his way to a Federal penitentiary.

The three women were stunning. They were all very tall: Ali and Jennifer were five feet eight, while Janice was an inch taller. They all had golden hair, beautiful blue eyes, and magnificent slender figures. All were impeccably dressed and appeared wealthy. They were. Allison was married to Bill Clifford whose net worth was well over $4 billion and rising fast; Jennifer, in addition to being the Clifford's daughter, was married to Steve Chapman whose father was number eight on the Forbes list. Janice had recently been adopted as the Clifford's daughter and as a result was now also very rich.

Jan opened the door for the others. "Mom, why do you suppose I'm looking forward to this so much? Am I a sadist, do you suppose?"

"No, dear. You're a girl who was made to suffer inhuman mental torment because some idiots in this institution became so greedy they forgot some basic principles of banking." Then she grinned at the others and said, "Well, shall we have some fun?"

The three walked to the elevator bank and went up to the executive floor. Going up to the receptionist Ali said, "Mrs. Clifford and daughters to see Mr. Horace Paterson, please." Paterson was the chairman and chief executive of the bank. It was under his regime that the bank had changed its character so dramatically.

The receptionist was used to overawing visitors but swallowed hard as she looked at the three women standing in front of her desk. Although she did not identify the Clifford name, it was obvious that money was dripping from these women. She smiled faintly and called Paterson's office. Quickly and as quietly as possible she explained to his secretary that the chairman had visitors who appeared to be important. The secretary buzzed the chairman who happened to be in his office and relayed the story. The Clifford name rang a faint bell in the back of his mind, but he couldn't place it either. He told his secretary to bring them back to his office.

Paterson came out from behind his desk to greet the women. He was astounded by their appearance: he had never seen three more beautiful women in his life. Paterson was a tall distinguished-looking man with silver-gray hair. He was the personification of the dignified banker and liked to think of himself as a lady's man. Preening like a peacock, he greeted them effusively. They took seats in front of his desk while his secretary disappeared to get coffee. They exchanged pleasantries while they waited for it.

"Now what may I do for you lovely ladies this morning?" Paterson asked after the coffee was served.

Ali Clifford smiled warmly and said, "You can vacate your office immediately."

Paterson was stunned. He couldn't reconcile the warm smile with the harsh words. "I beg your pardon? What did you say?"

"I said you can vacate your office immediately. You see, Mr. Paterson, you're no longer chairman of this bank. Or you won't be this afternoon after a special election of directors is held."

He couldn't believe his ears. "Madam, surely you're joking! What's this nonsense about a special election? We had our annual meeting almost two months ago."

"That's true, Mr. Paterson. However, the election of directors took place before we bought the bank." Ali smiled brightly and added, "Why don't you ask the corporate secretary to check with the transfer agent for the stock? I think he will find that there are three families that now own virtually all of it." She looked at Jan and said, "Jan, you're the finance whiz. How much do we own?"

"Mom, you and Dad own 51 percent, the senior Chapmans own 20 percent, Pete and I only have five... And Mom, it's not fair! Why do Jen and Steve have ten? Oh! Chip and Connie have 10 percent, too. But we don't really own the bank. There's still nearly 4 percent outstanding. For example, I think Mr. Paterson owns half a percentage point or something like that." She looked over and smiled brightly at Paterson who had turned gray, "I'm sorry, sir. I rounded off the numbers, but I didn't think you cared about hundredths of a percentage point."

Suddenly, Horace Paterson, who had turned pale at Jan's recital, brightened visibly. He had just remembered his golden parachute. The agreement had been ratified at the annual meeting; it would pay him nearly $10 million. "I guess I don't have much to say then, except good day. When will I receive my check?"

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