Due Diligence: A Thriller (56 page)

“Dyson Whitney,” said one of the journalists. “Isn’t that the bank that’s acting for the acquirer?”

Rob went farther toward the front. The television camera swung to follow him. At the back of the room, Nick Prinzi cut his losses and slipped quickly out the door.

On the podium, Andrew Bassett wondered what he should do. He could see the journalists glancing through the text of the announcement that he was making, which they had been given at the start of the conference and which was embargoed for another half hour.

“Andrew Bassett,” yelled Rob. “I’m here to tell you the truth.”

“Get out!” said Bassett. “This is unauthorized! I’m telling all of you here, this press conference goes no further until this man leaves.”

“Don’t you want to know the truth?” said Rob.

“What is the truth?” demanded one of the journalists. “Let’s hear it!”

Rob was at the very front now, standing right below the podium. “Do you want to know the truth or not, Mr. Bassett? I have names. I have proof. Do you want to know the truth or do you want to end up like Enron?”

“Enron?” said a journalist. “Did he say Enron?”

“What names?” demanded another journalist.

Andrew Bassett glanced at Oliver Trewin, who was on the platform with him. Trewin came closer and murmured something to him. Bassett frowned.

“I’m going to give you two names, Mr. Bassett,” Rob was saying loudly. “You investigate those two names, and
then
decide whether you want to—”

“That’s enough!” said Trewin. He took the microphone out of Bassett’s hand. His voice boomed. “Don’t say another word! Ladies and gentlemen. We’re going to have a slight delay.” He tugged on Bassett’s arm and virtually dragged him off the platform.

There was silence for a moment as Bassett and Trewin came off the podium. Trewin grabbed one of Rob’s arms and began to take him with them. They went past Emmy and headed for the door.

“What about the names?” shouted one of the journalists. Then others shouted it as well, or something similar, all demanding the names that Rob had promised.

“What about you?” one of them shouted at Emmy. “Can you tell us?”

Sophie Greene came forward. “Please stay in your seats, ladies and gentlemen. Stay in your seats!”

That was the last thing they were going to do. The journalists were on their feet, shouting, gesticulating. A couple tried to intercept Bassett as he headed for the door. Oliver Trewin fended them off.

“Please stay … please stay…” Sophie Greene gave up saying that. Suddenly she saw there was a greater danger. “Turn off your cell phones!” she yelled. “Turn them off!”

“Make us!” growled one of the journalists.

“Turn them
off
!” she shrieked. And then, as Bassett and Trewin left the room with Rob, she ran to the back and locked the door behind them.

“You can’t do that!” shouted the lanky journalist. “You’re fucking imprisoning us!”

By way of reply, Sophie Greene stretched out her arms and pinned herself against the door. Bassett and Trewin and Robert Holding, whoever he was, were gone, and martyrdom would come to her before any of those hacks got out to follow them.

62

The only place they could think of to go in a hurry was the men’s room. There was no one there. Andrew Bassett turned on Rob.

“Now, you tell me what this is about! And let me tell you, if you don’t want to be arrested for creating a public nuisance, it had better be good.”

“I told you in there,” said Rob. “I’ve got details. I’ve got names. Louisiana Light is an Enron waiting to happen and if you let them buy you, they’ll take you down with them.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not stable! They told me about you. You’re disturbed.”

“Just listen!” said Rob.

Bassett glanced impatiently at Oliver Trewin, who was stationed at the door to keep people out.

“Louisiana Light is in debt up to its neck,” began Rob.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” retorted Bassett.

“
Off
the balance sheet, Mr. Bassett. And another thing, Lousiana Light has been booking revenues ahead as fast as it can.”

Bassett scoffed. “How can it do that?”

“That’s something you ought to ask Lyall Gelb. There are two main vehicles it uses to do things. I’m going to tell you their names. Grogon and ExPar. Grogon’s a subsidiary registered in Hungary. ExPar’s a JV in Delaware. If you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, just go look at its list of directors. Lyall Gelb’s wife is one of them.”

“And?” said Bassett.

“Just go look at those companies and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Bassett stared at him incredulously. “You’ve come here to tell us to
look
somewhere? They were right about you. Get out of my way! We’re announcing this deal. We’re going back right now and—”

“A man is dead,” said Rob.

Bassett stopped.

“One man is dead already over this. I’ve had thugs chasing me for the past week. My girlfriend was held hostage with a gun at her head. Now you listen to me. If you just do the due diligence about these companies, you’ll find out the truth. It’s as simple as that. Just do the due diligence.”

“We’ve done the due diligence.”

Rob looked knowingly at Trewin. “How much time did they give you, Mr. Trewin? How much information did they supply?”

“Plenty!” said Bassett. “You’ve never had more information, have you, Oliver? Isn’t that what the team said?”

“Exactly,” said Rob. “Mr. Trewin? Can you honestly swear that you know, to the best of your ability, that these two companies are aboveboard? Grogon and ExPar, Mr. Trewin. Those are the entities I’m talking about. Tell me you’ve looked at the financials on those companies and you’re satisfied with them, and I’ll go back in there and make an apology and walk away. Huh? Can you honestly tell me you’re satisfied with them?”

Trewin shook his head slightly. “Never heard of them,” he murmured.

“Oliver!” said Bassett. “What do you mean—”

“Come on, Andrew!” retorted Trewin sharply. “Let’s stop pretending, shall we? They have two hundred entities, the likes of some of which I’ve never even seen. You know just as well as I there wasn’t time for us to do the due diligence properly. Heavens above, Andrew! You never expected us to. You as much as told me not to.”

“I never did!”

“Oh, grow up, Andrew,” muttered Trewin.

Someone opened the door of the men’s room.

“Out of order!” said Trewin brusquely, and bundled him out.

“Look,” said Rob. “It doesn’t matter what you have or haven’t done. You still have the opportunity to do the due diligence now. Just tell Wilson you need to look at the books on those two companies. See what he says. You know what? Just see what he says. It’s as simple as that. My bet is his response will tell you everything you need to know.”

Andrew Bassett backed up against a wall between a pair of hand dryers. He crossed his arms. Then he began to shake his head. “I can’t do it. It’s too late. It’d be an insult. It’d be an insult to Mike. To Louisiana Light. That’d be the end of the whole thing. And how could I go back to the board? What would they think?”

“What would they think?” said Rob incredulously. “What would they
think
? What about your shareholders, Mr. Bassett?”

“The deal’s good,” said Bassett quietly. He repeated it again, as if it were some kind of mantra that was his only hope of security. “The deal’s good.”

“The deal is not good!”

“The deal’s good.”

Rob came closer to Bassett. He was shaking with rage. “You listen to me. My best friend is
dead
because of this deal that you think is so good. You understand that? My best friend’s dead and my girlfriend’s almost been killed and I’ve been chased over
two
continents.… And if you think you’re just going to ignore what I’ve got to say … if you fucking think you’re just gonna shake your head—”

“What if I do?” demanded Bassett. Suddenly he regained his belligerency. “What if I do, Mr. Holding? You come here with your ungrounded suspicion, disrupt a press conference, publicly humiliate me and your client, I might add. And you
bet
I’d get a certain response? You bet? I need more than your bets, Mr. Holding. Maybe one day, a long time from now, when you’ve grown up a bit, you’ll understand something about responsibility.”

Rob stared at him. “Responsibility?” He shook his head. “Screw you, Andrew Bassett! I came here to give you a chance. But you know what? I’m done with you. You do what you want. I’ve just said, in front of the cameras of the world’s press, that you’re doing a deal with the next Enron. And you know what I’m going to do next? I’m going to go right back in there and give them every last detail I know. But yeah, you go ahead. Ignore it. And when it’s all shown to be true, you can just tell everyone you never knew. You never had a clue. And you know what? If they all get a case of amnesia, they might even believe you.”

Rob turned and headed for the door. Trewin stopped him from leaving.

“Get out of my way! I’m done here.”

Trewin continued to block him. “Just wait a minute,” he said to Rob. Then he turned his gaze on Bassett.

Bassett snorted. Trewin continued to stare at him. If Oliver Trewin had to make a choice between believing Mike Wilson or the young man who stood in front of him, he’d take this young man every single time. Nothing about Wilson or his deal smelled right. Trewin had known it since the moment Mike Wilson upped the cash without even being asked to. And Andrew Bassett knew it as well.

Reluctantly, Bassett looked Rob in the eye. “What if it’s not true?” he said. “What if you’re lying?”

“Why would I lie?” said Rob. “Do you think I’ve got a job after this? What can I possibly have to gain?”

“What if you’re misinformed, then?”

“Sue me.”

63

In New York, Mike Wilson was on his feet. He had started speaking at precisely ten o’clock.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, reading the script. “Thank you for coming this morning. As I speak to you, my friend and soon-to-be-colleague Andrew Bassett is making this same announcement in London. I am here to tell you that our two companies, Louisiana Light and BritEnergy, have agreed to join forces to create what we believe is the first truly global electricity generation and supply company. Although in technical terms this is an acquisition of BritEnergy by Louisiana Light, in all other senses it is a true merger of equals. In the next few minutes, I am going to describe to you what makes this such a compelling deal.”

Wilson paused to heighten the sense of expectancy. As Mandy Bellinger had suggested, he avoided the temptation to glance straight at the camera, but maintained his gaze at the center of the audience, showing his strong left half profile to the Bloomberg cameraman.

He continued. “In many ways, this is the culmination of the strategy that both our companies have been following for some time.”

On the screen in the boardroom in Baton Rouge, Wilson looked masterful as he spoke. Stan Murdoch, Lyall Gelb, Doug Earl, and Jackie Rubin watched. Jackie was ready to go with an e-mail to all staff the minute Wilson stopped talking.

“In terms of our assets,” said Wilson, “the portfolio that we will create is second to none.”

The shot on Bloomberg cut back from Wilson’s face to include a display behind him showing a map of the world girdled with dots representing the combined assets of the two companies.

Doug Earl glanced at Jackie Rubin and smiled. Stan Murdoch watched the screen stone-faced. Lyall Gelb gripped his stomach, unconsciously grimacing.

Mike Wilson moved smoothly through the first part of the presentation. Even fifteen minutes into the announcement, to the four people watching in the Baton Rouge boardroom, it seemed as if everything was still going to plan. Only a slight frown that had appeared on Wilson’s face gave a hint that anything unexpected might be happening. And then the way he was starting to look from side to side, not in the way of someone trying to make sure he includes all his audience, but in the way of someone trying to work out what the hell his audience is doing.

In front of him, all over the room, journalists were pulling out cell phones. Wherever Mike Wilson looked, as he tried to maintain his poise and keep going, he saw journalists gazing at texts or even holding their phones to their ears.

*   *   *

They had to knock to get back into their own press conference. Sophie Greene let them into the room.

Bassett and Trewin went back up to the front. Rob waited below the podium with Emmy.

A number of hotel security men had appeared in the room now. The journalists watched the BritEnergy CEO sullenly. The mood was hostile, to say the least. But for the moment they stayed silent, waiting to hear what Bassett had to say, sensing that the event unfolding in front of them was going to be something special. It had all the hallmarks of a great story—climbdown, scandal, humiliation. Deep down, the journalists in that room were salivating. If there turned out to be a sex angle as well, it would have everything. A huge number of photos of Emmy had been taken while the journalists had waited. She was young, attractive, and disheveled. They hoped like hell she had been sleeping with someone she shouldn’t as the lynchpin of the drama.

“The announcement that I was going to make today…” began Bassett. “Ah … we’ll be delaying this for a short time.”

Cameras clicked. Bassett made the mistake of pausing, and instantly the shouts came thick and fast.

“How long?”

“Why?”

“What have you just been told?”

“Is Louisiana Light the next Enron?”

“Please!” said Bassett. “Please! I would advise you not to publish anything you can’t fully support.”

“And I’d advise you not to lecture us after this disgraceful shemozzle!” threw back one of the journalists angrily.

There were shouts again.

“We have further due diligence to carry out,” said Oliver Trewin, stepping in. “That’s all we can say.”

“Why didn’t you carry it out before?”