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Greed might be good, but his greed got the better of him.
The knock at the door is stern, and with a brisk “come in”, he enters, sharp gray suit, clean shave and newly shined shoes and all.
“Ronald, welcome,” I reply, coming around my desk and directing him over to the seating area. With a gentle nod, he greets me and thanks me for seeing him.
I only nod in return, turning my attention to the bar table on the left side of the room.
I offer him a drink. “Whiskey? I’ve got a new bottle of Port Ellen in that I’ve been waiting to try.”
“Sounds lovely,” Ron says, taking a seat. He looks out the window, shaking his head.
“Your company is overextended,” I start, cutting to the chase. Some businessmen like to dance around, say nothing but niceties until the rope is fully wrapped around someone’s neck before pulling the strings tight.
I’m not that type. I’m more of a stab-in-the-front kind of guy.
Ron knows this. “What can I say?” he says, accepting the crystal tumbler from me when I offer it.
Ron takes a shaky sip, and I feel a bit for him. After the dot-com crash that ironically brought a certain wonderful presence to my life, Ron leaned on his family’s real estate holdings to tide the group through. He leveraged and mortgaged over ten thousand square feet of office space that turned out to be a money pit.
“I just need a little to get by this year. I’ve sold off everything, and the company’s back in the black, but cash flow is limited.”
I inhale deeply and lean back. “How much?”
“Two hundred million,” Ron says. “I know it’s a lot, but I also know you’re able to make it happen.”
I pretend to think about it, even though I already knew my answer before he arrived. “Two hundred million... agreed,” I reply. “In exchange for two million shares of voting rights stock in Johnson Financial.”
“Two million?” Ron asks, gasping lightly. “That’s enough to control the board. Even I—”
“Oh, I’d put a rider in the contract. You can buy the shares back,” I assure him. “I’m not trying to take over your company. You can keep Johnson Financial for another generation if you want. Or you can find someone else...”
Ron swallows and nods. “Fine.”
“And,” I add, leaning forward, “I want your estate in Scotland. Those shares aren’t going to be worth two hundred million when next quarter’s financials come out. We both know it. So I want a sweetener, something for me personally. Consider it the interest to the loan.”
Ron’s fingers tighten on his tumbler, and I know he’s debating the wisdom of this maneuver. There are other people he can talk to, banks and such. But if he goes to them, the paperwork will be filed in public.
Ron doesn’t want that. He’s already made far too many mistakes to allow any more negative press or doubts about the company’s financials and endeavors.
“Fine,” he relents, and I lift my tumbler. We clink whiskeys and toss them back, closing the deal. After savoring the taste, he swallows and gives me a look. “When?”
“Friday. Send me the account numbers. I expect they’ll be numbered accounts in the Caymans or Switzerland?”
“Correct,” Ron says, standing up. I stand with him and offer my hand. “They said you drive a hard bargain.”
“You’d be just the same if you were in my position,” I reply, half-complimenting him. He wouldn’t because Ron will never be in my position. But I don’t have to twist the blade I’ve put in his ribs today. Not when I don’t have to.
“I probably would. I bet you’re a hell of a poker player, Gabriel. In fact, I heard a little rumor. You host poker nights?” My lips tick up slightly in an attempt to find amusement. Adrenaline spikes, and for a moment, I consider him.
I glance at Ron’s hand, seeing the groove where a wedding ring used to be. I know the details, of course. His wife divorced him last year. Apparently, she had little faith in his ability to recoup his financial losses. Although there are other rumors as well.
I inhale deeply, rocking back on my heels and slipping my hands into my pockets. “Is that what you heard?” I ask him, curious as to who’s been talking. And whether I need to take countermeasures.
My little whore is ... well, she’s mine. What’s said about her is a reflection of what’s being said about me.
“Something like a game night of sorts,” Ron says easily, but I don’t relax. I need details.
So I smirk and play it off. “Well, I enjoy a game every now and then. Would you like me to keep you in the loop?”
