Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 10 (15 page)

 
          
“Your
shareholders told us that there’s always a need for fresh blood, new faces, and
innovative leadership,” Duffield added. “Sierra Vistas Partners has a long
track record of successfully reorganizing and reenergizing companies of all
sizes, while providing maximum value and benefits for shareholders and
employees alike. We want to be part of the future, Doctors. We have an
opportunity to use our talent and innovation to design our country’s next-generation
technologies at a minimal cost.”

 
          
“Talent?
What talent?” Jon asked irritably. “You keep on saying you have all this great
and wonderful talent. Where did you find it? We have a staff of recruiters that
travel ten months out of the year interviewing quality engineers and students
all over the world. If they’re out there, we’ve already identified them, and if
we can, we get them to come here or to our other design center in
Las Vegas
. I know all of them by heart—I’ve met and
spoken with all the top names in our related fields.”

 
          
“Mommy?”
It was the little girl, holding up the magazine to her mother.

 
          
“Just
a moment, sweetheart.. .”

 
          
“Maybe
it would be better if your daughter waited outside,” Jon suggested coolly. He
reached for the intercom on the phone on the conference table.

           
Duffield smiled at Jon; then, still
watching him, she bent down to her daughter. “Yes, dear?”

 
          
“Look”
She indicated one of the articles in the journal.

 
          
“Oh,
I see that. Isn’t that a nice picture.” Duffield took the journal out of her
daughter’s hands. “
Journal of the
International Association of Applied Energy Engineers.
The ‘Zap Mag,’ I
believe you call it?” she asked Jon.

 
          
“I
guess.” To the intercom, he said, “Suzanne, could you come and get little.. .
little .. .” Jon realized he did not know the little girl’s name. “.. . Mrs.
Duffield’s daughter for us for a few moments?”

 
          
“And
I see it’s an article about... what does it say?” Duffield said to her
daughter, still looking at Jon. Jon and Helen both looked at the woman in total
puzzlement. What was she doing, including her daughter in this conversation
about an article in a technical journal? “It says, ‘Conditions for improved
propagation of laser energy fields in the lower atmosphere.’ How interesting.
Have you read this article, Dr. Masters?”

 
          
“No,
I haven’t. Suzanne . .. ?”

 
          
“It’s
a fascinating article,” Duffield said, almost in mock excitement. “I believe
you were the one who developed the science that allowed the rollout of the
first viable plasma-yield weapon system, isn’t that right, Dr. Masters? But it
can generally only be used in the upper atmosphere because of the distortion of
the plasma wave by rare gases under higher pressures in the lower atmosphere.
This tells about how laser energy fields are more effective in tactical battlefield
scenarios.”

 
          
Jon
looked at Duffield in surprise, then accepted the magazine when she offered it
to him. Jon read the name of the writer, his brows knotting in confusion. “‘By
Dr. Kelsey Duffield’? But I thought you said you were an accountant?”

 
          
“I
am,” the woman said. “But my name is
Cheryl
Duffield.” She motioned to the little girl standing beside her with a
smile. “Dr. Masters,
this
is Dr.
Kelsey Duffield.”

 
          
Jon
made a little puffing sound with his mouth, as if he was about to laugh but
instantly knew the joke was on him. “You . .
.you're
Kelsey Duffield?” Helen asked incredulously.

 
          
“Yes,
Dr. Helen,” the little girl replied with a tiny giggle.

 
          
“Don’t
be too embarrassed—people make incorrect assumptions all the time,” Hudson
said. “Cheryl likes stringing along the charade as long as she can.” He smiled
mischievously and added, “I think this was a record.”

 
          
“This
was no ‘incorrect assumption.’ You did this deliberately,” Jon argued.

 
          
“This
article has
your
picture on it, Mrs.
Duffield,” Helen pointed out perturbedly.

 
          
“Would
you read an article that had the picture of a nine-year-old girl over it?”
Cheryl asked. “Most scientists and engineers wouldn’t. Even with as much as one
percent of today’s masters and doctoral candidates five or more years below the
average age—and Kelsey was
twenty-three
years below the average for her first doctorate—few accept young savants as
anything else but freaks. Besides, we thought it was funny.”

 
          
“I
don’t appreciate the humor in it, or your subterfuge for this meeting, intended
or not,” Helen said pointedly. “These meetings rely on a great deal of mutual
trust and professionalism, neither of which you’ve displayed. Jon?” She looked
over at her husband, expecting him to say something or even storm out of the
room. But he suddenly looked totally confused, at first reading bits of the
journal article, then looking quizzically at Kelsey Duffield. “Jon?” Jon opened
his mouth, closed it, pointed at the magazine, made a sound as he tried to say
something again, then started staring off into space. Helen was confused and a
little frustrated—her “good cop/bad cop” act was not happening here.
“Jon
... ?”

 
          
“It
looks like you have a question, Dr. Jon,” Kelsey observed, with that impish
smile—too similar to Jon’s, Helen noted with immense dismay. “About the
article?”

 
          
“I...”
He looked like a fish out of water. Now, Helen thought wryly, she knew what
some of the members of his doctorate boards must’ve looked like as he spoke to
them about technologies that wouldn’t become realities for a generation to
come—Jon Masters, the supergenius, was finally having to deal with his own
little supergenius. “A
laser
energy
field? A plasma energy field excited by a laser? That’s impossible. They don’t
exist at the same space-time. They
can’t
exist together.”

 
          
“You’re
still working around the notion of noninterchangeable space-time continuums,
Dr. Jon?” little Kelsey asked, truly surprised at the notion. She shrugged,
then nodded knowingly. “Well, I guess if you still subscribe to the idea that
matter and energy exist in only one spacetime as defined by things like
frequency, mass, and acceleration, then it’s true—they can’t exist together.
But I think there are an infinite number of continuums that exist in each
measurable space-time.”

 
          
“That’s
.. . that’s ridiculous,” Jon said, but even as he said it, he couldn’t convince
himself it was so ridiculous. “Measurement, predictability, quantification—all
those are space-time equivalents. Mathematically anything can be proven or
disproven, but you can’t build—or sell—something that only exists as an
equation on the blackboard. Even Einstein couldn’t do that.” At that, Kelsey
Duffield’s smile grew even broader. “Okay. How?”

 
          
“How
much is it worth to you to find out?” Hudson asked.

 
          
“Excuse me?”
Jon said, purposely raising
his voice. “You’re going to start haggling like we’re buying souvenirs in a
marketplace in the Bahamas or something?”

 
          
“I
didn’t mean to sound impertinent,” Hudson said. “But although I don’t
understand a fraction of what Kelsey does or says most of the time, she has
over and over proven to me that what she says is
real
and can work. I’ve invested most of my personal fortune in her
and her work, as I’m sure you guessed that her parents have.

 
          
“But
the Duffields know anyone can build a lab—the difficult part is getting the
products of the lab to be accepted and turned into something useful and
important. As much as Kelsey’s theories and experiments are revolutionary, they
will never gain acceptance in the real world because of who she is. Sky Masters
has a good reputation— the best in the world. That’s why we’ve come to you.”

 
          
Jon
Masters looked at his wife, to Hudson, then finally to the Duffields. Kelsey
stood quietly, her tiny little hands folded neatly before her. He then looked
back at his wife, his eyes silently asking the question he dared not verbalize.
Helen nodded, trying to reassure him with a faint smile. Jon turned back to
Kelsey. “You’re going to tell us everything? Lay it all out for us? Explain
everything?”

 
          
“Yes,”
Hudson said. “For a third.”

 
          
“What
did you say?”

 
          
“We’re
going to share, Jon,” Kelsey said. The more she spoke, the faster she seemed to
age—in just a few seconds it suddenly seemed as if her voice, her mannerisms,
even the look in her eyes had all grown up. “You and Helen and
I—”

 
          
“That’s
Dr. Masters to you, little girl,” Jon admonished her.

 
          
“I
feel much closer to you than all these boring titles, Jon and Helen,” Kelsey
said, her eyes smiling—maybe laughing, Jon thought. “I like you. I like you both
very much. You’re like my big brother, and Helen is like my big sister.”

 
          
“You
and Dr. Masters now own seventy-three percent of the outstanding stock,” Cheryl
Duffield said. “You will sell thirty-three percent of it to Sierra Vistas
Partners and then divest seven percent back to the company. You will then
cancel all other stock option deals you have with the corporation so you can
have no more than one-third of the outstanding stock. We will reapportion the
board accordingly—one-third controlled by you, one-third by Sierra Vistas
Partners, and one-third by the other shareholders.”

           
“What kind of crazy scheme is
this?” Jon retorted. “This is
my
company. I didn’t just acquire the stock—I didn’t even buy most of it. I
earned
it. I took my compensation in
stock when the stock was worth less than a dollar a share. I’m not going to
just give it up, especially to strangers.”

           
“The stock options that you’ve
negotiated in place of salaries and other compensation have ensured you total
control of the company for many years, Dr. Masters,”
Hudson
said. “Good or bad, you control the company
because you control the stock—”

 
          
“I’m
also the chief designer and engineer,” Jon interjected. “I built this company
by taking chances and by developing technologies that work and remain on the
cutting edge. I’ve given my life to this company, and I’ve taken nothing but
the paper value out. My shareholders
are
my shareholders because they like that arrangement.”

 
          
“That’s
not what I hear,” Cheryl Duffield said. “Your shareholders are not happy about
this, but there was nothing they could do about it—they either stuck with you
or got nothing. But now they’re riding the company with you into the ground.”

 
          
“That’s
your opinion,” Jon said heatedly.

 
          
“It’s
a fact,” Cheryl said. “Well, the tables are turned. Refuse this tender offer,
and you risk losing all your shareholders, bankrupting your company, and
opening yourself up to a lawsuit. Sierra Vistas Partners will be there to pick
up the pieces. If you accept our offer, you recoup some of your losses, you
gain my daughter’s knowledge and wealth of ideas, and your company survives. No
corporate raiders I know will give you a better deal.”

 
          
“The
stockholders won’t go for it,” Jon said. “The board will never vote to approve
it. None of this will stand up in court. You’d be wasting your time.”

 
          
“I
think we can make an offer attractive enough for most of your shareholders,”
Cheryl said. “As far as the courts— well, the last thing you need in this
market climate is a lawsuit. It’ll sink your company fast.”

 
          
“What’s
stopping me from just taking the cash you give me and buying more stock?”