Due Diligence: A Thriller (47 page)

Leary continued to stare.

“You remember all those things you never wanted to know too much about, Ed? You remember those things you signed off on so happily? Well, those things are coming home to roost. They’re right outside the window. They’re knocking to get in.” Wilson paused. He leaned back, watching Leary with a cool, evaluating gaze.

“There was nothing wrong with anything I signed.”

“Wasn’t there just? You never had an inkling, did you? Never had the slightest suspicion.”

“But you said everything was okay. And Lyall, Lyall said everything was okay…”

Wilson smiled pitilessly. “Yeah. And you believed him, right?”

“What about the last quarter? The last quarter results were great!”

Wilson didn’t even reply to that. He just laughed.

Ed Leary looked around in despair, as if someone else in the restaurant might offer him a way out. He was like a fish, thought Wilson, flailing on the end of a line.

“What are you going to say in court, Ed? That you didn’t know? That you forgot to ask what exactly it meant that you were signing?” Wilson raised an eyebrow. He laughed softly. “Ed, Ed … that don’t wash no more. Little Kenny Lay done closed that door for us all a long time ago.”

Ed Leary looked at him in horror.

“Just imagine the headlines, Ed. Not even when it gets to court. Way before that. When the press starts to get the scent. You were the chairman, Ed. Just what were you doing in return for your emoluments? Your very generous emoluments. Hell, to the undiscerning eye, it might look like you were taking all that money just to look away. You know what the press is like, Ed. You know how they twist things. What’ll it do to Catherine?”

Leary flinched. Physically.

“They’re knocking, Ed.” Wilson knocked on the window pane beside them. “They’re knocking just outside.”

Wilson watched him. Ed Leary seemed to have aged ten years right in front of his eyes.

“What have you done?” whispered Leary.

“You don’t want to know. Besides, it’s a little late to start asking questions.”

“Is it really that bad?”

Wilson nodded.

“How long?”

“The next filing will kill us.”

Leary’s hand went to his mouth. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

“We do this deal, Ed, there isn’t a next filing. Not for Louisiana Light. That’s the point.”

Leary shook his head. He still couldn’t believe it.

“Come on, Ed. Don’t you sit there and say you didn’t have a clue. Every time you signed, what were you thinking? Those stock options of yours just kept going up, didn’t they? You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Don’t say that.”

Wilson shrugged.

Ed Leary looked away from him. Out the window.

“There’s no such thing as a free lunch,” murmured Wilson. “What do you know? It’s payback time.”

Leary kept looking out the window.

Everard, the maître d’, approached. His steps were tentative, and he stopped a full two yards away, leaning forward from the waist.

“Excuse me, Mr. Wilson,” he said. “Are your salads all right? It’s just … I notice neither of you have been eating them.”

“They’re fine,” said Wilson.

“Can I get you or your guest something else instead?”

“Everard, they’re fine.” Wilson skewered a piece of lettuce. “Thank you.”

Everard nodded. “Sorry to disturb you.” He backed off a few steps, like a courtier in front of some kind of king, before turning away.

Ed was still staring out the window. Wilson watched him. It would take an exceptionally strong man, exceptionally principled, to stick to his guns in Leary’s position. And nothing Mike Wilson had ever seen or heard from Ed Leary suggested that he was such a man. If he were, he wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place.

Leary turned back.

Wilson gazed at him questioningly.

“Imogen DuPont will be the problem,” said Ed, his jaw set so tight he could barely get the words out.

The both knew what that statement signified. Leary’s capitulation was clear.

Wilson smiled for an instant. “How so?” he asked, and he skewered a piece of lettuce on his fork.

“She’s new. I doubt she’d understand the imperative even if we explained it.”

“Yes, I doubt that as well,” said Wilson. He ate the lettuce thoughtfully. “Here’s how I think we should handle it, Ed. You give Dave and Mal a call when you get back to the hotel tonight. Give them the heads-up on the extra debt and the premium and let them know just how bad we need the deal. I won’t tell you what to say. I’m sure you can handle it better than me.”

Leary closed his eyes for a second.

“Gordon … well, Gordon’s just going to go along with what everyone else says, like he always does. I agree with you, by the way, he is kind of pliable. Now when it comes to Imogen…” Wilson paused, crunching a piece of cucumber out of his salad. “I figure Imogen wouldn’t know a chunk of junk-rated debt from her own sweet ass. You give the lead, come out strong, say this is a great deal, talk a lot about how strong Buffalo’s balance sheet is and don’t even mention that there’s any issue over the loan premium, and Imogen won’t know she even ought to ask about it. Especially if you make sure Mal and Dave stay clear of it as well. And especially if we spend a lot of time going through the legal detail of the due diligence report. A whole
lot
of time. So let’s start with that tomorrow, huh? Start with the legal matters. Let her talk about that as much as she likes, the whole day if she wants. Because not only does Imogen want to show all us men that she’s the one who knows the law, she also wants to cover her ass. Ed, this is the same ass she doesn’t know from a chunk of junk-rated debt, and by letting her cover it, we’ll make sure that at the end of tomorrow she still doesn’t know it.” Wilson paused. “Ed, what do you think about that plan? We may not get you out for a round at Emory Point after all, but it’s a pretty good one, don’t you think?”

Leary nodded, a kind of nauseated grin plastered across his face.

“Yeah. I kind of like it myself.” Wilson skewered another piece of cucumber on his plate. “Go ahead, Ed. Eat. The salad’s good.”

49

The faucet dripped all night. Rob finally fell asleep and then slept deeply, exhausted. He awoke with a gray light filtering through the curtains and Emmy lying beside him. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Then everything came back.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Eleven,” said Emmy.

He sat up. His mouth felt dry and disgusting. Eleven o’clock. He had been planning to make the call at nine.

“Have you been awake long?” he asked.

Emmy shook her head.

Rob got up. His head felt as if it were filled with lead. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, then came back and sat on the edge of the bed. He just wanted to lie back and sleep again. The phone was on the bedside table. Propped up against the wall behind it was a laminated card. There wasn’t much to it: 0, reception. 9, external line. Then a bunch of British and international dialing codes.

Rob rang reception and asked for the directories number. The voice at reception asked if he was staying another day. Not so much asked, told him, or at least that he would be paying for it. Fine, said Rob. And that he’d missed breakfast, which they had stopped serving at ten. Fine. Now could he just have the number for inquiries?

He got it and rang through to get the number he needed. He wrote it down.

He was going to call from the hotel phone. He hadn’t turned on his cell phone since leaving New York. Neither had Emmy. The location of cell phones could be traced when they were on, he knew. He didn’t know exactly how it could be done, but the last thing he or Emmy was going to do was walk around with a device constantly signaling their location to someone who might know how to trace it.

He paused, thinking through what he was going to say. Then he picked up the receiver and punched the number into the phone.

“Wish me luck,” he said as he waited for the call to go through.

“Luck!” said Emmy.

The phone rang twice before it was answered. “BritEnergy,” said a voice.

He asked to be put through to Andrew Bassett. The line went silent and then clicked.

“Mr. Bassett’s office. This is Georgina.”

“Georgina,” said Rob, “I’m looking for Mr. Bassett’s assistant.”

“I’m Mr. Bassett’s secretary.” The voice on the phone sounded as if it belonged to a woman in her thirties. Maybe forties. “How can I help?”

“I wonder if I could speak with Mr. Bassett,” said Rob.

“Mr. Bassett’s unavailable, I’m afraid. Who am I speaking with?”

Rob knew that tone. Territorial, guarded. Just about ready to shut the gate. The tone of a million secretaries in a million offices when someone they don’t know wants to talk with their boss.

“My name’s Robert Holding. I’m from Dyson Whitney. That’s an investment bank in New York. Mr. Bassett will know of it. I have something very important to discuss with him and I need to set up a meeting. It’s urgent, so if you could let him know who I am, I’ll hold.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Bassett’s unavailable, Mr. Holding. Can you let me know something about the matter you’d like to discuss with him?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential. But I can tell you it’s important and Mr. Bassett will want to know about it right away, so I’ll hold while—”

Georgina’s tone was firm. “I’m afraid he’s unavailable, Mr. Holding.”

“Can you set up the meeting?”

“Certainly, if you tell me what it’s about and I can check with Mr. Bassett first.”

Rob glanced at Emmy and rolled his eyes. “Does he have a voice mail I can leave a message on?”

“If you give me your contact number, I can pass your message on to him.”

“I can call back,” said Rob. “Can you let me know what time—”

“Mr. Holding,” repeated Georgina, “if you leave me a contact number, I will pass your message on.”

It didn’t sound negotiable. If they were going to do it, they were going to do it Georgina’s way. Rob hesitated. His cell phone was on the table. If he gave the number, he’d have to have it on all the time.

“Mr. Holding?”

Rob grabbed the card with the phone directions. The hotel’s number was at the bottom. “I’m at the Bartlett Hotel.” He gave the number. “And I’m Robert Holding. That’s H-O-L-D-I-N-G. From Dyson Whitney.” Rob spelled that as well.

“What room?” asked the secretary.

“Excuse me?”

“What room number at the hotel?”

“Twenty-four.” Suddenly Rob remembered he’d given a different name when he checked in. “Room twenty-four,” he said again to Bassett’s secretary. “Make sure he asks for room twenty-four. That’s very important. They’ve already had one mixup here. Apparently there’s another guest with the same name. He just has to ask for room twenty-four. It’s very unlikely he’ll get to me if he doesn’t ask specifically for that room.”

“Room twenty-four…” said the secretary.

“Georgina, this is a really urgent matter,” said Rob. “I just want to make sure you understand.”

“I understand, Mr. Holding. Room twenty-four.”

“I need to speak with Mr. Bassett as soon as I can.”

“I’ll pass your message on, Mr. Holding.”

“Georgina—”

“I’ll pass it on. Good-bye, Mr. Holding.”

The phone went dead. Rob put down the receiver. He lay back on the bed and looked at Emmy.

“Well?” she said.

Rob shook his head. That hadn’t gone well.

There was a knock on the door.

Emmy got it. It was a maid. Emmy told her they didn’t need anything done and came back to the bed.

“He wasn’t there?” she asked.

“Not available,” said Rob. “Could mean anything.”

Rob thought about it. It was likely Bassett really had been unavailable. Eleven o’clock. He should have rung at nine. He was much more likely to have gotten him at nine. Or maybe it was standard practice for Bassett’s secretary to take messages and tell everyone he’d get back to them. He might have been right inside his office, just a few yards from the secretary Rob had been speaking to.

In which case, Bassett might call back any minute.

Rob examined the phone. There was no answering facility on it. And the chances of reception at a place like this taking and successfully delivering a message, he figured, were small. If Bassett even went to the trouble of leaving one.

He glanced at Emmy. “I’m going to have to wait here.”

50

The board meeting at Louisiana Light ran for four hours. Mike Wilson, Ed Leary, Stan Murdoch, Lyall Gelb, Dave Ablett, and Imogen DuPont were in the boardroom in Baton Rouge. Gordon Anderton and Mal Berkowitz hadn’t been able to get down and were hooked in from different locations by phone. After the preliminaries, they dived into the due diligence report and were soon deep in the legal section. Imogen DuPont took them deeper and deeper, putting numerous clarifications, caveats, and qualifications on the record. Doug Earl dutifully noted them all down. Mike Wilson couldn’t have been happier. From time to time he glanced at Ed Leary. Ed seemed to have trouble meeting his gaze. After they finished with the due diligence report, they moved on to the loan schedule. Again, Leary avoided Mike Wilson’s eyes. He had spoken to Mal and Dave, just as Wilson had told him to. They were as subdued as Ed. For the sake of the record, Mal asked whether Mike and Lyall thought the combined company could service the debt. Mike said it was his belief that the company could, and for the sake of the record he asked for Lyall Gelb’s opinion. Lyall said it could as well.

Stan Murdoch watched it all happening. He knew the way Mike Wilson operated, he knew the vote at the meeting would have been fixed in advance. But he was surprised the deal had gotten this far. Every day for the past few days, he had been expecting to hear the noise of the explosion that would go off when BritEnergy saw the data on Grogon and ExPar. Now he was expecting it by the end of the day. Not from in here. It would happen in the BritEnergy board meeting—which was already under way in London when their own meeting kicked off in Baton Rouge—when the BritEnergy board looked at their due diligence on Louisiana Light. That was what he was waiting for.