Читать книгу This Little Piggy - M.G. Crisci - Страница 9

Victor hadn’t spent time at a library since his college days. This Saturday would be different.

Victor rummaged through old newspapers and magazines at the Greenwich Library looking for United Medical stories and analysis. To his utter amazement, everything Ryman said was true, right down to the torrid romance with Brit Samantha Brighton, a distant cousin of Prince Andrew.

However, Ryman ignored a few tasty morsels. Samantha had indeed jilted Ryman for a well-known Swedish jetsetter, Ingrid Bourne. The British and Scandinavian tabloids had a field day with the story because Ingrid, some eight years prior, had a sex change operation. Ryman ultimately became the laughingstock of corporate Europe. The widely-read daily tabloid, the Daily Mirror, derided Ryman in its headlines as “The man who loves women dumped by a woman who had a sex change.”

The sordid experience changed Ryman’s point of view concerning women. Never again would he allow himself to become victimized by something as silly as true love. To restore his persona, he publicly dated only voluptuous, high-profile women. He would wine and dine them beyond their wildest imagination so that they would fulfill all his sexual desires and fantasies. A typical night out in Manhattan would routinely lead to dinner in Paris, followed by dancing the night away at Harry’s Bar in London, all compliments of his private jet. If his female companion resisted his advances, wanted a meaningful relationship, or just stuck around too long, they were shown the door.

~

On the business side, Victor learned Ryman operated on the ethical edge. His friends said Franklin had a knack for identifying unique niches, raising capital, and making associates wealthy. His foes implied he had absolutely no conscience and did whatever was necessary to achieve his corporate, financial, and personal objectives.

Victor wondered with whom he had breakfasted. In article after article, Franklin pontificated about the importance of personal integrity: “In business, there can be only black and white. As one of his former business associates succinctly pointed out, “Ryman believes his bullshit, despite reveling in a world of murky gray.”

~

Katz called first thing Monday morning. This time Victor was in his office. Alone. “What the hell did you do?”

“About what?”

“Franklin claims you blew him off,” said Katz.

“I did not,” insisted Victor. “I said I needed a little time to think about it.”

“When was that?”

“Last Friday.”

Katz exploded. “Get fucking real! You can work your ass off for another ten years in your snooty A&J, tower, revel in your big fancy office, and walk away with peanuts. Then what? You’re forty-nine, out on your ass, and still saddled with a humongous mortgage and a mountain of college tuition bills. My advice, as a friend, is simple. Don’t blow it, asshole.”

Victor wavered. “Assuming I want to go forward, and I’m not committing mind you, what’s the next step?”

“Franklin said you agreed to meet his attorney Allyn Tishman and his financial advisor Martin Diamond.”

“Fine, fine,” said Victor, knowing full well the subject had never even come up.

~

It was Tuesday. Victor was disappointed to learn through unnamed sources that his long-time buddy, creative director Phil Osgood, was seen huddling with Rhoda Barbuto immediately after the Piedmont meeting the week before. To make matters worse, Victor’s long-time administrative assistant, the pudgy, fiercely loyal Janet Francis, mentioned rumors were circulating about “changes on the Piedmont account.” Ryman’s vision of big bucks was starting to look like a profitable exit strategy. He imagined calling the shots and a fully equipped, white stretch limo picking him up at the door each day.

By the time Victor’s train reached the Greenwich Station, he was on the verge of convincing himself ITI was the perfect wave surfers dream about! The trick was to get Sandra equally stoked. The last thing he needed was a familial albatross. Victor set the stage. “Honey,” he said on his cell phone as he drove out of the parking lot at the train station. “Do we have any health care crises on this beautiful, sunny afternoon?”

“No, all’s quiet on the western front,” she responded. “I should be leaving the hospital in about twenty minutes.”

“How about I make an early dinner reservation at the Paradise Grill? I’ll go home, round up the kids, and meet you there. We can sip a few Bloody Marys, have a piece of fresh fish, and I can watch the sunset in your eyes.”

“Sounds wonderful. I’ll freshen up a bit and be on my way.” Sandra, like her mother before, made sure she always looked well-groomed and well-dressed when in public — be it work or pleasure. She lived by her mother’s axiom, “It's one thing to catch the man of your dreams, and it’s another to keep his attention for as long as you both shall live!”

~

Thirty minutes later, the kids were pounding down cherry cokes while Sandra was feeling no pain as she ordered her third Bloody Mary.

“What a surprise, huh Ma?” remarked the precocious thirteen-year-old Mark, sporting his spanking new $40 Afro. “So, Pops, what’s the occasion? Home early enough to have dinner with your wife and kids. Get fired?”

Mark’s comment made Victor feel guilty about the time spent on building his career, trying to provide a good life for his moderately spoiled but loving children.

“No, Mark, but I did get offered a big job on Wall Street.”

Sandra’s body stiffened. Like her father and mother, she wasn’t fond of sudden change. “Oh, really,” murmured Sandra, rattled.

“Will you make more money?” asked Mark boldly.

“Considerably more,” said Victor.

“Is that considerably more as in a new dirt bike?” asked Mark.

“Didn’t we just get an expensive hairdo?” rebutted Victor.

“What’s a new dirt bike got to do with a haircut?” brazenly challenged Mark.

“Boys, why don’t we let Mom and Dad talk about this after dinner? If everything turns out as Dad says, I’m sure you clever young men will be able to extract plenty from Mr. Soft Touch.”

The sunset was spectacular, but Sandra hardly noticed. All she could think about was the potential disruption to her nice, neat world. Finally, they were at home. Now she would get the full story. Victor and Sandra headed to the study as the kids made their customary mad dash to the family room to get a face full of video games.

~

Victor’s presentation of our unique opportunity bordered on brilliant but was flawed. In full Madison Avenue flower, he told the whole Ryman story to his best friend, Sandra, his best friend. However, he avoided discussion of Ryman’s Franklin’s fungible business ethics and the world of penny stocks.

“Franklin is a standup guy,” said Victor, “honest enough to admit he was once a casual marijuana smoker – reminded me of us before the kids changed our world.”

Sandra was interested but unconvinced. “Maybe it’s the fact that Katz introduced you. I never liked him, and I certainly wouldn’t trust him with something as important as your career. And, I don’t get this acquisition talk and all the financing stuff.”

“Sandra, Wall Street is not my strength. Franklin says raising capital for emerging concept companies happens every day. And, he’s willing to teach me the fine points as we go.”

Sandra got up and stood directly over Victor. “I know less about Wall Street than you do. But I read the papers. I see people struggling to make ends meet, and self-funded 401Ks replacing pensions, and this guy tells you it’s easy to raise money?”

Sandra’s continued reluctance became a creative challenge. “Honey, like Franklin said, there is an entirely entrepreneurial side to Wall Street that people like us don’t know, and people like him know where all the skeletons are buried.”

“What did you expect me to say?” said Sandra, sweetly but firmly. “You buy me dinner, feed me a few drinks, and then tell me you want to disrupt a lifestyle that has taken us seventeen years to build. And for what? To take a chance on the possibility of becoming filthy rich based on a business concept you don’t fully understand with somebody you hardly know.”

“Look, honey, you’re coming at it from the wrong perspective! You’ve always been a little resistant to change. It’s in your DNA. Your dad was a serviceman for General Electric for thirty-seven years. He told me he never even applied for a supervisory position. How many years did he work for that measly pension? I mean, your parents still plan vacations to a precise budget. Is that any way to live?”

“It was a great way to live,” responded Sandra hurt. “We had love; we had fun. We never wanted for anything. My mom and dad don’t owe anyone a penny. Plus, they’ve got great friends and good health. What more can you want out of life?”

“You want to know? I want to stop having to suck up to every boss I work for because they are either insecure, dumb, or politically wired at the top. At A&J, I’m nothing more than a well-paid hired gun. When I’m used up, I’ll be discarded like the legions of forty-somethings before me.”

“I’m confused; weren’t we just thinking president when Gordon retired?”

“That’s a dead issue. The other day Gordon told me he decided to anoint Rhoda Barbuto his heir apparent.”

“Rhoda Barbuto? As a woman, that’s a great thing to see. But that vicious tart? I thought A&J was the blueblood of bluebloods.”

“It still is, but meeting Franklin has given me cause to rethink who I am. I’m not sure I’m meant to be an organization man. I may be running away from my real roots. Down deep, I think I’m an entrepreneur, just like my Dad.”

~

“Wasn’t your dad a butcher?” asked Sandra.

“Not by choice. When I was a kid, my dad had built quite a wholesale meat business. He and his partners expanded into retail, opening gourmet butcher shops in major cities around America.”

“I don’t want to seem mean or disrespectful, but what happened to the money? As I recall, it was my dad who helped us pay for most of the wedding.” Sandra had touched a delicate nerve ending.

“I know my dad was embarrassed that he contributed so little. What happened was sad. I barely got the details before he passed. In his late thirties, Dad took our family's life savings and went into business with a childhood buddy, Nino Marucci, who had made big money on the black-market during America’s World War II meat rationing. Nino supplied the well-to-do with the finest cuts of meat every day of the week at premium prices, while the unwashed masses were limited to hamburgers and cheap cuts of meat a few times a week. Eventually, the FBI caught up with his illegal activities. But Nino served only a minor prison term because he was clever enough to hide the vast majority of his profits in a labyrinth of financial institutions.

“My dad knew Nino’s expansion capital was tainted,” continued Victor. “But he saw the partnership as the chance to leverage his expertise and industry reputation to make a small fortune quickly. Unfortunately, Nino had other plans. Thanks to Dad’s retail experience and a lot of hard work, by the end of the second year, the operation turned cash-flow-positive. Three years later, the venture owned sixteen stores and was generating significant profits. While my dad worked in the stores, Nino worked the books! Dad never knew what hit him. Nino’s crew professionally and efficiently embezzled millions, bankrupted the business, and left Dad with virtually all the tax liabilities.

“By the time you and I met, my dad had been forced to go back to work as a part-time butcher and Mom, after spending thirty years as a stay-at-home mom, was forced to work to make ends meet. That’s how she wound up a telephone operator.

“Finally, after seventeen years, I get the whole story,” said Sandra sweetly.

“There’s more. Remember when my dad died of a sudden heart attack just twelve months after we married? He left Mom with a real mess. The IRS slapped Mom with a claim for $249,547 in back taxes, plus twice that in penalties and interest.”

“She’s never said a word.”

“Personal pride. She’s a tough old bird. The IRS harassed her for years, believing she hid the money in Switzerland.”

~

Victor kept pouring it on.

“Franklin’s been around the block. He wants to teach me what he knows about Wall Street. About being a real entrepreneur. That would never happen at an organizational behemoth like A&J.”

Sandra protested weakly. “I’m a little confused. When did you develop this infatuation with Wall Street? Other than A&J, what stock do we own?”

Victor dodged the question with another question. “What would you say if I told you in less than five years, we’d have enough never to be concerned about money again?”

“Suppose Franklin’s brilliant plan doesn’t work?” grilled Sandra. “What happens to all the monthly bills, the kids’ private-school tuition, country-club dues, and our brand spanking new $1.9 million mortgage? Just thinking about the size of it sends chills up and down my spine.”

Victor became defensive. “Are you trying to say I coerced you into a bigger house with a bigger mortgage?”

“Not at all. We agreed, we both wanted more. But, we made the decision based on the assumption that we both had great jobs.”

“We still will.”

“Don’t we lose the unvested A&J stock options and those other deferred plans you keep raving about?”

“Honey, those deferred corporate things are all paper assets. Virtually all our cash is locked up in this house and our illiquid A&J shadow stock programs. I, for one, would like some breathing room. Franklin is making me a founding stockholder. That means I will own ten percent of the company with no adverse tax consequences. As the company grows, that stock will be worth significantly more than any A&J stock program. We’re talking $50 million, maybe more within a few years.”

Sandra wasn’t convinced but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. They were exploring possibilities, and Victor seemed to have a passion. Besides, she was also starting to like the sound of $50 million.

She also remembered something she repeated to friends when asked, “How do you do it? Your marriage seems like a storybook.”

Her answer was always, “Victor and I have based our marriage on a simple premise: ninety percent of everything is not important. That eliminates squabbling and bickering about non-essentials. We know when one of us feels strongly about something, we respect that request.”

“You really, really want to do this?” she asked, knowing she would follow Victor anywhere, anytime. Theirs was a magical marriage based on mutual trust and respect.

“I really, really want us to do this. And as a bonus, I get to learn big-time finance from the master.”

“Does that mean you’ll also take over paying the monthly bills?”