“You know I can’t do it. In the first place I don’t have a billion dollars lying around to invest. In the second place, it’s illegal. Not only do we release quarterly earnings next week, we’re about to launch America’s Warehouse. I’m in a blackout period, you know that. The SEC would crucify me.”
“We can take care of the legalities,” Kamin said, stepping closer. “The first thing we’ll do is collateralize your Musselman stock options through a foreign lender into a blind Nevada corporation owned by a Nevis Trust. Everything will be completely untraceable. The Nevis Trust will then use the proceeds from the collateralization to obtain a line of credit. That line of credit will be used to buy ninety-five million shares of Musselman stock on margin. Only twenty-five percent of the value of the stock will be required for deposit. The rest can be borrowed from the broker. The stock price doubles before margin call, and the Nevis Trust cashes out over a three-day period. You make a killing and prevent a takeover.”
“Why can’t your partnership of clients or this new suitor you’re going to arrange buy the remaining ten percent?”
Tate came back into the conversation, “Because they’ll want to know you’re in this with them, David.”
Quinn looked scared and trapped. He was in over his head. In less than forty-eight hours when the New York Stock Exchange reopened for trading, Musselman’s stock price would continue dropping and Hardware City would give shareholders a way out, by buying their shares at a premium. Life as Quinn knew it would be over by Wednesday, unless he accepted Tate’s offer. He should have done more to prepare for the possibility of a takeover, as remote as it may have seemed weeks ago. And he might have, had he not been so involved preparing for America’s Warehouse. Now, he had to choose. Either accept Tate’s offer and be beholden to Tate for the rest of his life or reject it and lose everything. There were no other options, at least none that could be developed in time to stop a Hardware City takeover, and Quinn knew it.
Tate didn’t expect it would take long for Quinn’s moral dilemma to give way to his obsession for preserving control of the J. B. Musselman Company.
Quinn rubbed his fingers across his large forehead and peered at Kamin.
“You’ve done this before?”
“Yes,” Kamin said.
“How many times?”
“Dozens.”
Quinn’s face froze in astonishment.
“No, David, we didn’t create this situation,” Tate said. “Actually, it happens more often than you might think. We just know how to turn it to our advantage.”
Small beads of sweat began forming across Quinn’s forehead. He took a deep breath. “You’re certain there’s no way to trace my involvement?”
“Absolutely no way,” Tate said with his characteristic arrogance.
“And if you’re wrong?”
“We’re not,” Tate said. “You once told me you wanted to buy a ski resort in Idaho.”
“I’ve considered it, but what does that have to do with…”
Tate interrupted, “The Nevada Corporation will be set up as a resort development company. The investment coming from your collateralized stock options will be made to look like foreign investment, to be used as working capital for the selection, acquisition, and development of ski resort properties. The cash will remain in the Nevada corporation at all times, and will only be used by the Nevis Trust as collateral for obtaining a line of credit to purchase the ninety-five million shares of Musselman stock on margin.”
Quinn folded his arms across his chest and glared at Tate. “Is this what you wanted, Wayland, to own me lock, stock, and barrel?”
“Don’t be silly, David,” Tate said, putting his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “This is what friends do for each other. Don’t forget, we all have a lot riding on the success of America’s Warehouse. A takeover by Hardware City could jeopardize everything.” Tate paused a moment to let his words register. “Your interest is our interest. We can have all of this worked out by Monday morning. It’s what we do for clients in crisis. In the meantime, enjoy your day of skiing with Andrea. They say it snowed all night at Sunshine Village, two feet of fresh powder.”
Quinn’s face was flushed. He said nothing.
“If you’re not comfortable, we won’t go through with it. It’s your call, David.” Tate could see Quinn’s anger, but the trap had already caught its prey. That was life. It was time for Tate to cash in on his investment in David Quinn.
Quinn walked over to the huge window and stared at the snow-covered pines. A couple of minutes later, he returned to where Tate and Kamin were standing. The look on Quinn’s face had changed from anger to resignation.
“Okay,” he said. “Tell me exactly how we go about borrowing the money against my stock options.”
That was it. Quinn was now theirs for as long as they wanted to manipulate him. He savored the moment as Kamin answered Quinn’s question in precise detail, assuring him that the funds could be made available immediately, through a European investment fund created for just this sort of emergency. After that, Kamin suggested they meet before dinner to sign all the necessary papers.
Looking stoic yet relieved, Quinn agreed to the meeting and then shook hands with Tate and Kamin before leaving for his room.
As Quinn walked away, Tate leaned over to Kamin and whispered, “I think events one and two of our plan can be considered a success.”
They exchanged roguish smiles.
Several hours later, alone in the private smoking lounge of the Banff Springs Hotel, with its dark cherrywood walls, plush Persian rugs, and soft leather sofas, Wayland Tate and Jules Kamin lit nine-inch Havanas and raised their Dirty Martinis to the initial success of their stock-manipulation plan. After a beautiful day of skiing with Andrea Vargas, Quinn had quietly acquiesced, signing all of the necessary paperwork to collateralize his Musselman stock options. The dinner that followed had been extremely pleasant, and Vargas later reported that she and Quinn shared several goodnight kisses before bedtime. Everything was going as planned. David Quinn had now been locked into the secret partnership until he died.
As the buzz from their martini’s and cigars grew, Kamin turned to Tate with a question. “Are you anticipating any last minute reversals from Quinn?”
“No,” Tate said. “We just need to make sure there are no hitches in the ongoing execution.”
“He’s feeling trapped and he doesn’t like it,” Kamin persisted.
“Of course he doesn’t like it. He’s addicted to running his own show. But what choice does he have?”
“Like I said before, we don’t want another Zollinger on our hands.”
“Where’s all this worry coming from? You keep asking me the same damn question,” Tate said without hiding his annoyance. Then he sucked on his cigar while considering Kamin’s enduring fear. Kamin had to be obsessing over more than the failed acquisition of Fielder & Company, Tate thought. Was it the neutralization of Charles Fielder? Whatever it was, Tate didn’t like it.
“I don’t know, Wayland,” Kamin said, exposing his feelings of uncertainty and vulnerability. “Maybe it’s the rising body count.”
“There’s huge risk in what we’ve decided to do, Jules,” Tate said. “Charles’ disclosure plan used to be our immunity blanket, but now it’s gone. This is a whole new ball game with higher stakes and even greater rewards, which means whenever things go bad, our damage control must be swift and merciless. Call it our new competitive advantage.”
Kamin smiled as Tate sucked heavily on his cigar and then blew perfect smoke rings into the air. They both laughed.
“You really think we’re moving too fast with Quinn?” Tate asked after a few seconds of silence.
“I’d feel more comfortable if he were sleeping with Vargas,” Jules said.
Tate sat back, his arms stretched out along the back of the sofa. With the confident air of a pimp fully in control, he said, “I didn’t believe I would ever say this, but it’s just a matter of time. When the Hardware City takeover is averted and Musselman stock starts climbing again, Quinn will be ready to celebrate. Mark my word, that’s when he’ll sleep with Andrea Vargas. I guarantee it.”
“I hope you’re right, Wayland,” Kamin said, smiling cagily.
“Would you like to wager on it?” Tate asked, displaying a toothy grin. “Let’s say your share of the Musselman take?”
Kamin immediately shook his head, “No thanks.”
They both laughed long and loud before lighting up another Havana and ordering more Martinis.
When they finally decided to call it a night, Tate was satisfied that Kamin, while not entirely happy with recent decisions and events, would get over it. What choice did he have? Tate was in control and as usual he would do whatever it took to stay there.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, Yankee pot roast and stuffed Cornish hen with all the trimmings were spread out on the thirty-foot dining table. His mother and Anita had outdone themselves, Wilson thought. Both of them were great cooks and they loved entertaining. The delicious meal was accompanied by urbane small talk and, of course, a lively discussion about stopping any further investigation and getting on with their lives. It felt like a “B” movie without the canned laughter, but he remained confident that the mock discussion would accomplish its purpose for long enough to fortify their protection. Even if the surveillance crowd didn’t believe everything, they would certainly conclude that Wilson, his family, and their friends were sufficiently scared to back off.
After dinner, Carter, Rachel, Emily, and Wilson removed themselves to the belfry library. Everyone else moved to the family room to listen to the string quartet that Wilson had arranged, rehearsing Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
and Bach’s Air from Suite No. 3. Once in the library, the four of them sat down at the Queen Anne table while Wilson made sure both nullifiers were turned on. Then, looking at Carter and Rachel, Wilson recounted what he’d found in his father’s office at Fielder & Company.
Rachel was as shocked and saddened as he had been when she found out about their great-grandfather’s murder. Wilson attempted to console her, but without much success. She remained morose throughout the rest of the meeting.
Carter asked a few questions and then shared his own revelation.
“There are a dozen primary suspects. One or more of them must have orchestrated everything,” he began.
Wilson looked at Emily who was studying Carter. “How did you narrow it down?” Wilson asked.
A dozen primary suspects
…
“To tell you the truth, it was quite simple. I merely identified the clients with the most entrenched patterns of questionable practices. There are twelve of them who surpass the others by a substantial margin.”
There it was, again, that same elusive enigma and cool resolve that Wilson loved and hated about his father. He glanced at Emily again. How many secrets do Carter and my father share?
“Did you know that my great-grandfather was murdered?” Wilson asked.
“Yes. I think it’s what started your father down this path.”
Wilson’s anger was rising again. “My father told my mother that one of his partners was being wined and dined by descendants of the people who killed my great-grandfather. Have you found anything that …”
Carter cut him off. “Four of the twelve primary suspects have restructured their corporate debt or acquired new equity funding through a consortium of European and Asian investment banks.”
Wilson stared at Carter, reminding himself once again to calm down. Carter would only share what he wanted and only on his terms.
“I’m not surprised,” Wilson said.
“From the inception of recorded history,” Carter said with a confident professorial air, “Certain malcontents, rebels, zealots, visionaries, and others of similar intent have entered into secret orders with blood oaths to keep their power-mongering and nefarious misdeeds hidden from the rest of the world. Subscribing to the maxim of ‘control or be controlled’ they formed secret pacts to minimize risk and maximize success. It is the inexorable nature of some men and women to form secret alliances for the purpose of gaining power, wealth, and advantage through whatever means available. As much as I’m loath to admit it, I cannot deny the overwhelming evidence that Charles created such a secret society among clients of Fielder & Company.”
Wilson remained silent, keeping his composure, not for the sake of appearance but concentration. He glanced over at Emily while squeezing her hand.
Carter continued, “As I pieced together my own experiences with Charles and the salient elements of Fielder & Company’s history, it became clear that his business practices were designed to manipulate stock market prices through sophisticated disinformation and shrewd business changes, thereby creating circumstances advantageous to himself and his clients. Once clients became entrenched in Fielder & Company’s methods, which on the surface appeared to be completely legal, they apparently qualified themselves to become members of an exclusive insiders club, where CEOs from the world’s largest corporations could amass unimaginable wealth by trading on each other’s company secrets. When Davis Zollinger was murdered for what I presume was a desire or threat to leave the club, it must have devastated Charles. He immediately placed a moratorium on corporate restructuring engagements at Fielder & Company and entered into merger talks with KaneWeller. But I suspect he had already lost control of the clandestine partnership and was attempting to regain it when he was shot.”
A heavy silence filled the room. Wilson felt a cold numbness spread from the back of his head. Carter’s bold conclusions were more emotionally jarring than he’d anticipated. If Carter was right, and Fielder & Company was an elaborate front for some sort of secret network of corrupt CEOs, then the Zollinger sisters were right. They really had uncovered a secret society that was getting away with conspiracy, fraud, and murder.
Carter saw the growing distress on Wilson’s face. When he spoke again his tone was quieter and more personal.
“When your father and I were in school together, we vowed to change the world just like the rest of our boomer generation. But Fielder & Company’s history suggests an activity level well beyond what I imagined possible from Charles. I’m as astonished and troubled by my findings as you are.”