Due Diligence: A Thriller (35 page)

“The fuck we don’t!”

“I’m going to tell you something, Mr. Wilson. Your company is not well regarded in certain sectors of the investor community. In fact, that’s putting it mildly.”

“What the fuck?”

“Do you understand me, Mr. Wilson? Or do I need to spell it out? Now, if you think you know how to get the funds for the ridiculous amount of cash you offered your target, I suggest you take your little deal and go elsewhere and get them. Because I sure as hell can’t.”

“John…” said Pete.

“No, Pete. Mr. Wilson should know what’s going on out there. Now, it’s very nice that Mr. Gelb has found a further four hundred million, but right now that’s about as useful to me as a bite on a rat’s ass. When you find another billion and three quarters, Mr. Wilson, give me a call.”

There was a deathly silence on the line.

“Pete,” said Wilson at last. His voice was quiet. “Is that your attitude as well?”

Stanzy looked at Golansky. Golansky didn’t return his glance.

Pete didn’t know what to say.

“John,” said Wilson. “Okay. Listen. You’re right. What you put in is your business. I was out of line.”

“I don’t think you’ve been listening to me,” said Golansky. “There’s a smell about your company.”

“John, John, come on.” Wilson laughed. Even across the phone line it sounded desperate. “You guys can do this. Right, Pete? You guys can do this.”

Stanzy didn’t say anything. He was in the middle. He had the sense that he had better just shut up at this point and leave it to Golansky or Golansky really might walk.

“Come on, John,” said Wilson. “Think of the fees. Think of the business you’ll get in the future. You do this for me, who do you think I’ll be coming back to? Merrill? Fuck Merrill!”

“There are some things that are more important than money, Mr. Wilson. That’s how a firm like Dyson Whitney builds its name.”

Pete stared at Golansky.

“But you’ll do it, right?” said Wilson.

“How much did I say we still needed?” said Golansky.

“One-point-seven-five billion.”

“Well, I’ve told you. I’m not saying we’re there. I’m not saying we’re going to get there.”

“But you’re saying we might, huh?”

Golanksy paused. He let the silence go on until it was almost intolerable. “We might,” he said at last.

“You know the timelines,” said Wilson. “You have the due diligence review Monday, right? I go to my board Wednesday. Bassett goes to his board the same day. We’ve got to have the loan set up by then.”

“We’re aware of the timelines,” snapped Golansky. “If I were you, Mr. Wilson, I’d be more concerned about the premium you’re going to be paying for this loan if I do manage to get it.”

“Well, let’s just see you get it.”

“I’d be more concerned about what your board is going to say.”

“You just do your job, Golansky. Just worry about getting your fee. I’ll handle my board.”

Pete Stanzy could feel the hostility mounting again. He wanted to get this call finished before any irreversible damage was done. “Mike,” he said hurriedly, “we’ll talk Monday after the due diligence review. I’ll call you when it’s finished.”

“Fine.”

“We’re done. Have a good weekend. You, too, Lyall.”

“Yeah,” said Wilson irritably. “You guys have a good weekend as well.”

Stanzy killed the line.

He glanced at John.

Golanksy shook his head. “Fuck Wilson. He can keep his fucking deal.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Stanzy.

Golansky shrugged. “You like that guy? He’s a king-size prick.”

“Yeah. But you’ll get the money, right?”

Golansky shrugged.

Stanzy smiled. “Come on, John.”

“What?” said Golansky. There was no smile on his face. “We’re not there, Pete. Nowhere near there. I’m serious. I wasn’t kidding.”

*   *   *

In Baton Rouge, Wilson noticed the way Lyall Gelb was looking at him.

“What?” he said.

Lyall Gelb didn’t say anything.

“You were worried about that?” Wilson forced a smile. “That was banker’s bullshit, Lyall.”

That wasn’t what had shocked him. It was the look on Wilson’s face in that first moment when John Golansky told him to forget the deal. Desperation. Panic. Lyall Gelb had never seen a look like that on Mike Wilson’s face before.

“What is it?” Wilson laughed. “All they care about is the fees. They’re prostitutes, Lyall. They’re all the same. They’ll get the money. You’ll see. It won’t be a problem. You watch. They’ll get it easy.”

There was silence.

Wilson grinned. “Listen, Lyall, if we need to, we can get another few hundred million, right?”

Lyall stared at him.

“Huh?”

Lyall began to laugh.

“What?”

“Mike, do you think I’ve got some kind of bottomless piggy bank of cash where you can keep going every time … every time…” Lyall gave up, grinning in utter, despairing disbelief. “This last four hundred … Jiminy Creeper, Mike! We are so overloaded out there, we’re pulling in debt from so many places, even the Hungarian authorities are going to start asking questions.”

“Yeah, and my grandmother’s going to play for the Jets.”

“Mike. You don’t get it, do you? There’s nothing more! Do you understand? Nothing! I can’t get another cent.”

“Take it easy…”

“No!” Gelb jumped up. “You don’t understand! We’re done! We’re through!”

“Lyall, get a grip!”

“Get a grip? Get a what? Mike, you’re—”

Wilson grabbed him by the shoulders. “Get a fucking grip!” he said, and he shoved him back into the seat.

Lyall fell silent. He clutched at his belly.

“Now, listen to me. You’ve got to get a grip.” Wilson watched him. “Okay? Listen, Lyall. We’re gonna be all right. We’re going to do this deal, and we’re going to be all right. Lyall, you hear me? We’re not through. This is only the beginning.”

Lyall had closed his eyes. Only the beginning? He just wanted it to end. He felt as if he were wrapped up in coils, as if a giant snake were wrapped around him, squeezing tighter and tighter.

He opened his eyes. Wilson was watching him.

“Okay?”

Lyall nodded.

“We’re gonna be all right. And guess what? Your contract says there’ll be a big bonus for you when we do it as well. Remember?”

Gelb wished he could forget. The thought of the bonus that was waiting if the deal went through just made him feel even more sick. It made everything seem even more wrong, if that was possible.

“Can I go now?” he said.

“Sure, Lyall.”

Gelb got up.

“You seen a doctor yet? About that ulcer?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised Margaret hasn’t driven you down there herself. You give her my love when you see her tonight, Lyall.”

“Sure.”

“And the kids. How’s little Becky?”

“She’s fine.”

“Good. You going to get any rest this weekend? I bet the kids keep you busy, huh?”

Lyall nodded. He looked ill.

“Get some rest, Lyall. We’re gonna be okay.”

Lyall closed the door behind him. Mike Wilson sat down at his desk. He looked at the pictures of his own kids. No wives, just the kids. He hadn’t seen them in a while. Especially the older two. When this was over, maybe he’d get them all together. Maybe fly them all down to the chalet in Aspen.

When this was over …

Wilson stared out the window, face set. Very calm. Very blank. Just as if he were sitting at a poker table, deep into an outrageous, almost inconceivable bluff.

He had almost blinked, just now, when John Golansky came back at him. Hell, he had blinked. And in front of Lyall Gelb.

That was bad. Lyall wasn’t the man he’d been. Right now, Lyall had to be bluffed just as much as anyone else. More than anyone else. He was falling apart. Wilson had to keep him together, and the only chance he had of doing that was if Lyall saw nothing from him but the strongest, most unshakable belief that this deal was going through. That’s what everyone had to see.

Wilson thought over what he’d said to Lyall after they’d gotten off the phone. He hoped he’d done enough to repair some of the damage. He’d go talk to him again later.

It was sad, the way Lyall was unraveling. Wilson doubted Gelb would ever have the nerve to be any good again. He’d keep him for a couple of years, treat him with kid gloves as Lyall quietly unwound the structures he had created. No one could do that but Lyall himself. Then he’d have to get rid of him. Give him a big payout and send him off.

Maybe he would let Bassett step up to CEO. Wilson thought about it. No, Bassett was useless. He’d get rid of him as well. In a couple of years he’d need replacements for both of them, Bassett and Gelb. That meant it wouldn’t be more than a year or so before he’d have to start looking. A conversation with Gordon Anderton, the head of the recruitment consultancy who sat on the board. Very private.

Wilson brought himself back to the present. The deal wasn’t done yet, he reminded himself. He couldn’t afford to let anyone see him blink again.

He ran through the elements in his mind, everything that still had to fall into place. For a start, raising the loan. He had overreacted. As far as walking away over some matter of the bank’s reputation, Wilson was almost certain Golansky was all talk. If he wasn’t, he’d be the first banker Mike Wilson had ever heard of who’d done such a thing. The fee at stake was too large. As long as the money was there to be had, Golanksy would get it. Pete Stanzy would see to that. Wilson knew there was nothing he could do now on that front but hold his nerve and wait for the bankers to deliver. Next, there was the issue of BritEnergy’s due diligence on Lousiana Light’s data. He didn’t think that was going to be a problem. There was so much information in that data room in New York, they wouldn’t know where to start. Besides, they weren’t going to be looking too hard. What did that leave? Getting the final terms of the deal past his own board, whose members hadn’t been told about the increased cash he had put into the offer. He thought about Ed Leary and the other members of the board. There were ways of managing that.

Actually, everything was on track. The conversation with Golansky had unsettled him, but when you took it piece by piece, everything was as good as it could be at this stage. Now he just had to keep it all going. Everyone had to believe that he believed it was a certainty. In the middle of it all, that was the thing that held it together.

One more week of bluffing. One more week to hold his nerve.

The phone rang.

“It’s Ms. Bellinger, Mr. Wilson,” said Stella.

“Put her through.” Wilson composed himself. “Mandy!” he said ebulliently when she came on the line. “You’ve saved me a call.”

“Really?”

“Do you remember I told you there was something big I’d need you to work on? Well, I was just about to call. I’m going to need your help with an announcement.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Amanda. “Louisiana Light is doing a deal.”

Wilson laughed. “You’re smart, Mandy. I knew you’d guess.”

“I didn’t guess. I know.”

“Confident, aren’t you?”

“No. I
know,
Mike. That’s what I rang to tell you.”

Wilson laughed again. “What are you talking about, Mandy?”

“I know already. You’re doing a deal with a company in Europe. You’re announcing Friday.”

In an instant, the ebullience drained out of him. Mike Wilson felt a horrible, cold contraction in his stomach. Then the sensation spread through his body, as if infiltrating down his veins in icy tentacles. Like the feeling he got when he saw a winning hand go down on the table against an enormous stake that he knew he should never have bet, couldn’t afford to lose.

“And I believe a pair of companies called Grogon and ExPar are of interest.”

For an instant, Mike Wilson couldn’t breathe.

“I got a call from our friend. You have a leak, Mike. A hostile leak. And make no mistake, this leak wants to scupper your deal.”

“Where’s it coming from?” whispered Wilson. He could barely form the words.

“Your bank. Dyson Whitney.”

Wilson closed his eyes. “Who is it?”

“Don’t worry, Mike. I’ve got his details.”

36

Stella knocked on Mike Wilson’s door. She waited for a moment, then went in.

“Mr. Wilson?” she said. “Are you all right?”

Wilson was sitting at his desk, gazing blankly at the window. Slowly, he turned and focused on her.

“Mr. Wilson? You didn’t answer the phone.”

“Didn’t I?”

“Are you all right, Mr. Wilson? Can I get you something?”

“No, Stella.”

“I have Mrs. Rubin here to see you. That’s what I just called you to say.”

“Does she have an appointment?”

“Yes. It’s on your daily itinerary, Mr. Wilson.” Stella took a couple of steps closer to the desk. “Shall I find it for you?”

“No, Stella. What does Mrs. Rubin want?”

“I believe it’s about the company’s annual donation to the Livingston Young Entrepreneurs’ Association.” Stella paused. “Do you want to reschedule?”

“No.” Mike Wilson shook his head. “Send her in.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Wilson?”

“Please, Stella.”

Stella nodded quickly. She watched him for a second longer and then went out.

Jackie Rubin came in. She was a big woman with a habit of wearing sleeveless dresses and a lot of makeup. “Looks like that nasty business with the
Herald
has gone away,” she remarked as she sat down.

Mike Wilson almost wanted to laugh.

He had meetings through the rest of the afternoon, routine stuff that had been building up with all the time he had been spending on the deal. Don Lepore, the sales and marketing director, briefed him on a new contract they had designed for their top corporate customers. Hannah Grainger from personnel came in with a couple of her people to talk through a new training program for management inductees. Then there was another marketing thing and Don came back with one of his people. Then there were a couple of IT people who gave him an update on a project he couldn’t remember anything about. One of the Mexican plant managers was visiting and he had half an hour with him and Ernesto Poblán, the operations guy for South America. Then it was something else. And something else. All the crap a CEO had to sit through. But Wilson didn’t mind. He was grateful for it. Grateful to have his mind taken off the other thing and what he was going to have to do.