Lady Joker, Volume 1 by Kaoru Takamura (lightest ebook reader .txt) 📕

briefly once he had amended the itinerary. His eye caught on five magnificent white tulips, mottled with pale red tinges, which had been arranged in a vase and placed upon his desk. The petals, curling and opening ever so gently, had a porcelain luster, like a still life by Jan Brueghel or Hans Bollongier, which transfixed him despite everything. Ms. Nozaki must have bought them with money out of her pocket.

As Shiroyama handed back the itinerary, he said to her, “Those must have been expensive.” A brief smile of satisfaction flashed on Ms. Nozaki’s face, but she did not say more.

“By the way, is Yamazaki the driver off today?”

“The police have been interviewing him for two or three days, so someone else has taken his place for now.”

“I see.”

“Now shall I bring in the light meal you requested? Would you like a little something to drink? I put a Hinode Meister on ice.”

Ms. Nozaki swiftly disappeared from the room and, once alone, Shiroyama turned to his desk. The items that had accumulated while he had been away were piled high, arrayed like a kiosk counter. At one end he saw the Nikkei, the Nikkei Marketing Journal, the food industry newspapers and other trade publications, along with a binder of important article clippings. One section of a national daily was folded to reveal the headlines written in bold, black letters: confined for fifty-six hours, hinode beer president abducted, and six hundred million ransom!

Wondering how the newspapers had covered the incident, Shiroyama could not stop from reaching for the evening paper. But then, reminding himself that this was not the time to further rattle his mind, he pulled his hand back.

Next to the newspapers was the set of business reports delivered every Monday morning and another set of monthly financial statements. Shiroyama leafed through the business reports, even though he had already received them last Friday, and reconfirmed that the numbers indicated that the cumulative order volume of their newest product had reached the targeted increase of 19 percent.

Next to these reports was a mountain of well-wishing telegrams from clients and government agencies—no doubt they had been astonished by this morning’s news—as well as from concerned peers within the industry. On top of the neat pile, Ms. Nozaki had attached a list of the senders, including the addresses to which thank-you notes should be sent and those whom Shiroyama should personally call. Also clipped to the list was a draft of the thank-you note, along with samples of the font, company letterhead, and envelope to be used when printing them. Beside this was a sample of the letter of apology to be sent to their valued customers, which Shiroyama had instructed Kurata to prepare earlier that morning at the Fujiyoshida Police Department, and a separate list for those addresses. There was another list of clients to whom executives had already paid personal visits and the names of those executives. Next, also per his instructions to Kurata, was the bundle of reports from each division on the general business that had been conducted that day. Shiroyama paged through those too, and for the time being, he placed the minutes from the meeting about the arrangements for the stockholders’ meeting, which had been submitted by general affairs, at the top of the pile.

Next to this was another bundle of letters, about twenty of them. And a tabulated list of internal and external calls that Ms. Nozaki had fielded today, charting the callers and their messages. She had underlined in red the names of those whom Shiroyama needed to call back at a later date. Among these names were shareholders from banks and insurance companies, and others from government agencies, financial organizations, as well as members of the Tokyo Metropolitan Assembly who had called with well wishes; also included were coded names of politicians as well as political organizations and ultranationalist groups. Although it wasn’t underlined, Shiroyama singled out a name that appeared on the list without a title—Kiyoshi Iwami. They were both alumni of the law department at Tokyo University and still saw each other a few times a year at public and private functions. For a moment, as Shiroyama pondered what Iwami must have looked like that day as he put in a call from the commissioner-general’s office of the National Police Agency in Sakuradamon, he almost reached for the phone, but then stopped himself. Instead, Shiroyama placed the list back on his desk.

Finally, he picked up a binder of fax messages and unfolded one. There, in a rushed hand, were the words: I’m coming home today. Now that you’re back with Mother and Brother, please get some rest—Shoko. This message had been sent from London by his daughter, who worked as a trader for Morgan. Concerned about whether it would be all right for her to leave her post at the opening of the market on a Monday—had it been the weekend, that would have been another story—Shiroyama quickly refolded his daughter’s fax.

Just then, he heard a knock and Ms. Nozaki came in, carrying a tray with his light supper. In addition to the food, there was a small bottle of Hinode Meister and a single pilsner glass on the tray. Had his secretary been one who enjoyed a sip of alcohol every so often, he would have offered her a glass, too, but after twenty years at a beer company, Ms. Nozaki still could not tolerate a single drop of beer.

“The executive chef sends his regards.”

With that, Ms. Nozaki left him, and Shiroyama looked down at the tray she had set on his side desk. The meal had been prepared in the beer restaurant on the fortieth floor, and it was Shiroyama’s favorite. Ordinarily the salted pork was simmered in white wine with sauerkraut and Irish Cobbler potatoes, but the chef had omitted the bones from the pork for Shiroyama. The small helping of pristine white sauerkraut with juniper berries, piping hot potato, and green beans sautéed in butter and still