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“I don’t relish looking him in the eye and offering him fifteen million less than he’s asking, and I don’t like putting his back against the wall.”
“You shouldn’t do that, you should let me or Bill Eggers do it, and, as Bill has suggested, if you want to be generous with him, you can offer him thirty-eight million.”
Arrington thought about it for a moment. “Offer him thirty-six million,” she said.
“Is that a firm price, or are you going to wiggle?”
“I’ll go to thirty-seven million, if I have to.”
“I think you should make him a take-it-or-leave-it offer, and walk away if he doesn’t accept.”
“All right, offer him thirty-seven million. If he accepts it, I’ll hire Woodman amp; Weld, provided you supervise their work.”
“Consider it done. In the meantime, don’t fire Howard Sharp, and don’t say anything to him that might make him think that you’re not going to sell Terrence Prince your shares.”
“All right, but I haven’t changed my mind about selling Prince my shares. I still need the money to pay Rex for the farms.”
“Here’s my first piece of advice as your new attorney: don’t sell a billion-dollar investment in order to raise thirty-seven million.”
“Well, all right, but where am I going to get the money?”
“Do you have a financial statement?”
“Yes, current as of a couple of weeks ago. Howard Sharp helped me get it together.”
“Fax it to me here, and give me your permission to share it with Woodman amp; Weld. We’ll find a way for you to have your cake and eat it, too.”
“I like the sound of that,” she said.
“And remember, not a word to Sharp about anything. Make him think nothing has changed. If he presses you for an answer on selling your Centurion shares, tell him you’re working on organizing things.”
“Why do you think Howard Sharp is in Prince’s pocket?”
“Because he’s the only one who could betray you, and Prince has apparently bought him. Sharp has probably given him your financial statement.”
“The son of a bitch,” she said with some heat.
“Keep cool, and don’t let on anything.”
“I’ll fax you the financial statement first thing in the morning; I’m on the way out to a dinner party now.”
“That’s fine,” Stone said. He hung up the phone.
“You didn’t tell her that the last person to refuse to sell her Centurion shares to Prince was murdered,” Dino pointed out.
“I didn’t want to panic her,” Stone said, “and she’s in no danger as long as Prince thinks she will sell.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” Dino said.
11
Stone found Carolyn Blaine’s house easily enough, on Camden Drive, off Sunset. From its generous size he reckoned that either she had family money or she had had a good divorce. No ordinary executive assistant could pay the property taxes out of her salary, he thought.
Carolyn didn’t ask him in; she came to the door with her purse and a shawl in her hand. “Let’s have our first drink at the restaurant,” she said.
Stone installed her in the Mercedes. “Where to?”
“Is Spago Beverly Hills all right?”
