Storymania - This Little Piggy by Matt Crisci

This Little Piggy (19)
Matt Crisci

Michael, damned with faint praise, said nothing.
“I’m in the throws of a genuine dilemma. I’m not sure I want to go forward with the financing. I’m queasy about putting my reputation and that of The Firm on the line, given the cast of characters.”
Michael masked his disappointment. He sensed there was more to come.
“At the same time, I am a pragmatist. I smell money. Big money. I didn’t get rich by walking away from deals! Since you’ve been on the inside since day one, I thought perhaps you might share your true feelings, particularly without Bob breathing down your neck.”
Talk about dilemma! Michael, like Scarborough, would have preferred to be totally straight. But that was impossible. If he spilled the beans, Whitlaw & Company would vamoose, shattering Michael’s dream to become filthy rich. It was time for an Oscar winning performance.
“Phil, Bob and I have become very close in the past year. There is no doubt in my mind Bob wants ITI to be a first class organization. We both recognize this first round of acquisitions have distorted values. But in a perverted way they all really admire Bob.”
“But Michael, you’re the guy who has got to make them to work together now, not Bob. He’s no operator. Can you pull this thing off?”
Michael played the sincerity card.
“Truthfully, it will be a challenge, but I’m up for it,” said Michael, “ ITI’s a pretty unconventional business, but hell, so was Microsoft in the beginning. Who would have thought some little skinny guy could create an operating system to run eighty percent of the world’s computers? I think ITI has that kind of potential upside for Whitlaw & Company.”
Scarborough paused and stared out the window for what seemed like an eternity.
“Okay Michael, we’ll go forward. But there’s a condition.”
Michael wondered what was next.
“I will expect you to work hand-in-hand with me in the coming months. I want to be an inside outsider. No surprises. Understand?”
“Fine,” said Michael, wondering what Scarborough meant by ‘hand-in-hand.’
“Let’s begin our new relationship right now, shall we? I’ll call Bob to tell him the Firm has agreed to proceed with the Private Placement under certain additional conditions. You can listen to his response first hand so there are no miscommunications.”
Scarborough motioned to be quiet as he began to speak. “Bob, this is Phil. Do you have a few minutes?”

Before Bob responded, Scarborough pressed the button on the tiny recording device sitting next to his phone.
    *
“MICHAEL, I WANT OUT.”
“You must be joking?”
“The money’s not worth it. We’re becoming people I don’t like.”
“I can’t. We’ve come too far. We’re too close.”
“Too close to what? Losing our values. Creating role models the kids will dismiss. Destroying our marriage.”
Michael grabbed Sandra gently but firmly.
“Stop, stop. ITI to you is Bob and Fred and Jesse and Berger.”
“And, Ray and Marty,” said Sandra.
“There’s another side. There are a lot of good people in the venture. Trust me.”
Sandra saw the intensity in Michael’s eyes, his tone, his demeanor. ITI was something he craved…badly. And, he had given so much of himself to her and the family. So against her better instincts, Sandra acquiesced.
Later that evening, Michael retired to the living room to sit in front of a crackling fire, reading his favorite periodical in the whole world, The New York Times. Michael found The Times fascinating not only for it’s prodigious coverage of world events, but for it’s surprisingly brilliant insights into New York City’s everyday life. This particular evening he was drawn to the story in the business section about Jason Eldridge, a wealthy philanthropist who had donated millions to the Guggenheim, MONA and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At last count, Eldridge’s fortune had been estimated at almost $600 million. For whatever reason, he had decided to jump out the window of his office on the 44th floor of the Pan Am building on the corner of Park Avenue and 47th Street.. There was no note, no explanation, and to the best of everyone’s knowledge, no particular motivation, family, business or otherwise.
To Michael the story was an incredulous as it was disturbing. All he could do was stare at the crackling flames and ask himself why? Why would someone who had it all do that? What does money do to people?
Sandra wandered in and saw Michael staring blankly. She assumed his mood was a remnant of their earlier conversation. She loved Michael so much, she never wanted to see him despondent, particularly because of something she said or did. They had that kind of relationship. That kind of marriage. That kind of friendship.
“Baby, tell mama what’s the matter,” she purred.
Knowing immediately what she was thinking, he set to put her mind at ease.
“Sandra, it’s not you or us, or anything like that. Just look at this story in The Times.”
She glanced at the Eldridge story. Seeing no connection to their life, she had only one comment.
“I guess I’m supposed to feel sorry for the guy, but what’s that got to do with us?”

##########


Chapter 16.
Dinner @ Joy’s

AN EMOTIONALLY DRAINED MICHAEL found the evening commute more of a struggle than usual, although Sandra’s effusive greeting transformed the ordeal into a distant memory.
“Michael, I got the nicest call from Tom Kugle’s wife, Joy. She sounded delightful. They invited us to dinner at their house on Friday.”
“Sounds great.”
Paranoia gripped his mind. Why now? Had Kugle found about the Scarborough conversation? Was Delano Mondrain Hudson on a witch-hunt to cover their ass? Was Edleberg using Kugle to sniff out Nachman extension terms?
“Michael, what’s the matter?” said Sandra.
“Nothing.”
“Honey, we’ve been married too long. I know you too well. Tell Mommy.”
“Things are getting a little bizarre.”
“OK, you have my attention.”
“I had lunch with Phil Scarborough today.”
“That doesn’t sound so terrible,” smiled Sandra.
“He told me they wanted to bail on the offering. The SEC complications, the unethical nature of the acquisitions, Bob’s incessant promoting, etcetera, etcetera. He wanted my opinion.
“What did you say?”
“I flat out lied. Told him it was a great business.”
“And…” said Sandra, concerned her accomodations to their newfound wealth was all for naught..
“And he agreed to do the financing.”
Sandra breathed a sigh of relief.
“He also very subtly alluded to dumping Bob and replacing him with me, in time.”
“Oh my God. That’s perfectly dreadful!”
“Relax. I just avoided praising Bob. That’s the way it’s done. He got the message. I could see it in his eyes.”
“This is starting to feel like an episode in the Sopranos. Each day gets a little dirtier. One lie, one exaggeration leads to another,” said a distraught Sandra.
Michael did an impersonation of an annoyed, totally dismissive Tony Soprano talking to his TV wife Carmella. “Let’s have a nice dinner at the Kugle’s. I don’t want to talk about ITI anymore right now. Understand?”
She did and she didn’t.
“You’ve got to talk to somebody. We need a reality check.”
“Okay. You tell me. Who?”
                         *
MICHAEL, SANDRA AND a bottle of 1986 Veuve Cliquoit arrived at the Kugle’s front steps around 7:30 p.m.
Michael noticed Sandra carrying a small bag. “What’s that?”
“Joy mentioned they just bought their house six months ago. She sounded so excited and proud I thought they might like a little house gift. It’s no big deal, just a pair of carved wooden Balinese candlesticks.”
Thoughtfulness was a trait of Sandra’s that Michael adored. “Ah Sandra, Queen of Gifts. You always seem to remember.”
“It’s a girl thing,” she teased.
The door opened. There stood an uptown wholesome white-bread blonde, right off the pages of Town and Country Magazine.
“Sandra. So delighted to meet you. I’m Joy, you sounded so delightful on the phone.”
Sandra handed Joy the box with a big red bow. “We thought you might like this, with the new house and all.”
“Oh what a nice surprise!”
The two girls had a giddy, teenager chemistry. Michael stood silently. Joy finally noticed him.
“Oh I’m so sorry, you must be Michael. Tom has told me so much about you.”
Tom cackled in the center hall as he watched the mutual admiration society.
“Joy, are we going to invite the Martini’s in or just serve dinner in the entrance hall?”
“Oh my goodness,” said an embarrassed Joy. “Do come in.”
“Hi, I’m Michael’s Tom,” said Kugle to Sandra as he gave her a big hug.
“Oh,” said a embarrassed, blushing Joy, “I didn’t realize you and Tom had never met. I just assumed…”
The house, a rambling 1920’s Victorian, had Joy stamped all over it—comfortable and homey and tastefully decorated, grand but not pretentious.
The obligatory house tour presented a space in transition.
“So far we’ve remodeled the kitchen, the master bedroom and bath and Kiely and Kiesha’s rooms. That leaves just twelve rooms to go plus the front and rear landscaping. We’ve already spent Tom’s Christmas bonus and it’s only July. So unless he appointed Managing Director this year,” she smiled, “we’ll probably wait until next year for round two. But there’s no rush, we love the house and the town and plan to be here a long, long time.”
Pre-dinner cocktails were next. One bottle of champagne turned into two and then a third.
Sandra and Joy continued their giggle fest.
“I think I’d better start dinner before it gets any later,” said Joy, bouncing off the walls as she stumbled in the general direction of the kitchen.
Sandra decided to assist her inebriated, newfound buddy. “Joy, let me give you a hand,” said Sandra, crashing into Tom’s glass as she rose.
Tom and Michael smiled. Moments later the sound of crashing dishes emanated from behind the swinging door.
“You girls need any help?” said Tom.
“No, no. We’ll be there in a minute,” said one voice. “The salmon terrine was a bit more complicated than I thought,” said the other voice. Over the next two hours, the girls somehow managed to serve all four courses and the boys volunteered to return the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Tom wanted to minimize further damage to the antique Lennox dinnerware, a recent house gift from his in-laws.
The evening was a smashing success on a number of levels. The Kugle’s gained two new friends, Sandra got a regular shopping buddy and Michael discovered a trusted advisor.
By dinner’s end the girls had sobered and were chitchatting in the living room while Tom and Michael retired to Tom’s study with a glass of port in hand.
“Tom, thanks for your hospitality. Joy is absolutely delightful—even if she is a drunken lush,” teased Michael.
Tom smiled. “Sandra is also a very sweet lady. They really bonded.” His facial expression became tortured. “Ever since that SEC meeting I’ve wanted to talk to you privately.”
Michael wondered if they were now at some moment of truth. “Well, you’ve got a captive audience.”
“Michael, the pieces of the ITI puzzle are going to be very difficult to fit together. Be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“To begin, we’re dead meat with SEC. Period.”
“Are you sure about that? Their follow-up letter didn’t seem that ominous.”
“Trust me. This letter will lead to another letter and so on. My sources tell me Chairman Bridges has a real bug in his bonnet over Goldstrom.”
“There are a lot worse guys walking around than Bob Goldstrom. What the hell’s his problem?”
“Apparently it’s a personal one. Seems Bridge’s daughter was a Hollywood starlet until she got hooked on cocaine at one of Bob’s parties in Malibu. The story goes, she passed out on the bed from an overdose while Goldstrom disappeared up the beach to avoid the cops.”
Michael was stunned. “Who else knows?”
“Nobody? You’re my client. My job is to protect you. Plus…”
“Plus what?”
“Plus, who can you trust? Phil’s got his money agenda, Bob’s a twisted bastard who’d sell his mother for thirty pieces of gold and your so-called advisors are all crooks. I’m not even sure about Marty anymore.”
“Does that’s mean Delano’s going to bail?”
“Naw, there’s too much money involved. Sefton and Ted know one hundred thousand dollar a month fees don’t grow on trees. Plus, we don’t have any liabilities. Remember the representations and warranties you guys signed?”
“That’s comforting.”
“My Firm’s support may be based on money. But mine isn’t. You need to be real careful, the odds are against you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re always going to have to stay a step ahead. To do that you’d have to make a deal with the devil so you think like him! I just don’t think that’s what you’re about.”
Tom was sure about Michael. Michael wasn’t.

##########

Chapter 17.
Dueling Attorneys

MICHAEL ARRIVED EARLY enough the following Monday to overhear Astrid in the middle of one of ‘news updates.’
“Jack,” she said in a hushed tone, “I don’t know a thing. Other than we’ve stopped ordering the fresh flowers, it’s business as usual. Gotta go. Someone just walked in.”
Moments later Astrid was on the intercom. “Michael, Jack Berger’s on line one for you.”
“What the hell is going on?” shouted Berger.
“And good morning to you too,” said Michael.
“Everybody’s getting nervous. You guys haven’t announced---or even hinted at---any new acquisitions. And Bob’s been quiet as a fucking monk about the financing. The rumor is ‘Boggsville’ at the SEC and the money’s running dry. How do you guys expect me to keep the stock propped up with shit like that flying around?”
Michael knew it was time for a Bob impersonation.
“ Jack…Jack. Why the hell all the angst? It’s real simple. Whitlaw & Company told Bob to keep his big mouth shut. I know that’s a scary phenomena, but everything’s fine. It’s just taking a little longer to clear the SEC.”
“Why?”
“Turns out the audited Nachman and Tothson historical net income and operating margins are so damn high the SEC is scouring the financials for income adjustments!”
Berger bit. “What do you mean, so high?”
“Jack, can you keep your mouth shut?”
“Mums the word, babe.”
“The Rockman audit generated numbers about forty percent higher than Bob originally expected. We all figured the SEC would be pleased—you know, better shareholder value and all. Well the prick’s decided to break our balls instead. Said nobody buys acquisitions that cheap!”
“That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” said Berger.
“I know, I know, but what can I tell you?” said Michael laying more pipe. “Worst case, we negotiate a settlement. Take a few bucks out of income. We’ll still wind up way ahead of the original projections.”
No sooner did Berger hang up than Dothan called Astrid asking for Bob. When he discovered Bob hadn’t arrived he told Astrid “Transfer me to Michael. It’s important.” Dothan started in the middle, assuming Bob had shared their ITI market research activities.

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