California to speak with Charles Tiedman. After a phone call to the
Federal Reserve, Sawyer learned that Tiedman was actually in Washington
for a conference. Although it was almost three in the morning, Tiedman,
still operating on West Coast time, had quickly agreed to speak to the
agent. In fact, it seemed to Sawyer that the San Francisco Federal
Reserve Bank president was very eager to talk to him.
At the Four Seasons Hotel in Georgetown where Tiedman was staying,
Sawyer and Tiedman sat across from each other in a private room adjacent
to the hotel restaurant, which had closed several hours earlier. Tiedman
was a small, clean-shaven man in his early sixties who had a habit of
nervously clasping and unclasping his hands. Even at this hour of the
night, he was dressed in a somber gray pinstripe with a vest and bow
tie; a tasteful gold watch chain spanned the vest. Sawyer could
envision the dapper little man wearing a soft felt cap and tooling
around in a roadster with the top down. His conservative appearance
smacked much more of the East Coast than the West, and Sawyer learned
quickly in the preliminary conversation that Tiedman had spent a good
many years in New York before heading to California. For the first few
minutes of their meeting he would only occasionally seek direct eye
contact with the FBI agent, usually keeping his watery gray eyes, which
were covered with a fragile pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, squarely on
the carpeted floor.
“I take it you knew Arthur Lieberman quite well,” said Sawyer.
“We attended Harvard together. We both started out at the same banking
firm. I was the best man at his wedding, and he at mine.
He was one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
Sawyer took advantage of the opening. “His marriage ended in divorce,
right?”
Tiedman eyed the agent. “That’s right,” he replied.
Sawyer consulted his notebook. “In fact, that was right about the time
he was being considered to head the Fed?”
Tiedman nodded.
“Lousy timing.”
“You could say that.” Tiedman poured out a glass of water from the
carafe on the table next to his chair and took a long drink. His thin
lips were dry and chafed.
“I understand the divorce started out being really nasty but was soon
enough settled and really didn’t affect his nomination. Guess Lieberman
lucked out.”
Tiedman’s eyes blazed. “You want to call that lucky?”
“All I meant was he got the Fed job. I assume that as a close personal
friend of Arthur’s you probably know more about it than just about
anyone.” Sawyer looked at Tiedman with frank, questioning eyes.
Tiedman didn’t say anything for a full minute, then he let out a deep
breath, put his glass down and settled back in his chair. Now he looked
directly at Sawyer.
“While it’s true that he became chairman of the Fed, it cost Arthur just
about everything he had worked for over the years to make his ‘nasty’
little divorce go away, Mr. Sawyer. It wasn’t fair after a career such
as his.”
“But the chairmanship paid good money. I looked up the salary.
A hundred thirty-three thousand six hundred dollars per year. He was
much better off than most.”
Tiedman laughed. “That may be true, but before Arthur joined the Fed he
earned hundreds of millions of dollars. Consequently, he had expensive
tastes, and some debt.”
“A lot of debt?”
Tiedman’s eyes again went to the floor. “Let’s just say the debt was
somewhat more than he could afford on his Fed salary, despite its
relatively large size.”
Sawyer let that information sink in while he asked another question.
“What can you tell me about Walter Burns?”
Tiedman looked sharply at Sawyer. “What do you want to know?”
“Just general background stuff,” Sawyer replied innocently.
Tiedman rubbed at his lip in a distracted manner and eyed Sawyer’s
notebook. Sawyer caught the glance and abruptly closed the pad. “Off
the record.”
Tiedman looked resignedly at Sawyer. “I have no doubt Burns will
succeed Arthur as chairman. It’s quite fitting. He was a follower of
Arthur’s. However Arthur voted, Walter did too.”
“Was that a bad thing?”
“Not usually.”