Storymania - This Little Piggy by Matt Crisci

This Little Piggy (29)
Matt Crisci

Chapter 26.
Boardroom Brawl

HERB WITLAW JR. WALKED stridently into Scarborough’s office.
     “Phil, what the hell is going on at ITI? I thought that hair-brain Barter Bank idea was on ice?”
“It is.”
“I just got off the phone with Marc Melrose. He talked like it was business as usual. Obviously Goldstrom’s doing his own thing---again. Maybe we should think about getting him the hell out of there before we become a laughing stock.”
Scarborough got the message. Two nights later Michael again found himself dining at Scarborough’s home only this time without Sandra.
Scarborough cut right to the chase. “Michael, you know we all think highly of you.”
Translation: the powers that be at Whitlaw & Company have made some decisions.
“Frankly, we’ve become grossly disenchanted with Bob. While he’s delivered on his promise to avoid drugs, his shadings of the truth, his indiscriminate leaks, and his uncontrollable behavior have made him an embarrassment. He’s totally consumed with regaining his former wealth and stature. He doesn’t give a damn about our investors or shareholder value.”
This was Michael’s moment. The chance to bury his mentor. “While I may agree with your assessment, I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
“I want to force Bob’s resignation at the next Board meeting.”
Michael did his naive routine.
“Suppose he says no?”
“Between you, myself and Kugle, we control the Board. We can drag his ass into court if necessary. But I suspect Bob’s ego is too big for that kind of public flagellation.”
“I agree.”
“But my action is contingent.”
“On what?” said a phony, humble Michael.
“That you accept the title of Chairman and CEO. Do I have your commitment?”
Michael feigned surprise and politically appropriate hesitation.
“I feel a little awkward. After all, he was my mentor.”
“Times change,” said Scarborough.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
As they shook hands, Michael exhibited his own political cunning.
“Phil, I think we need a symbolic gesture to set a new Company tone.”
“Like what?
“I take a forty percent pay cut.” Michael knew the cut was like giving away snow in the winter. It had to be done regardless.
Scarborough chuckled, “Excellent idea. Although this is the first time I’ve ever offered somebody a promotion and a salary cut!”
“Phil,” said Michael with a smile, “you know me. Nothing comes without a price. Once we right the ship, the Board can vote me a bonus and some stock options.”
“At a multiple of twenty times, I presume,” joked Scarborough.
“I was thinking more like forty,” joked a dead serious Michael.

                                                                *
THE WHITLAW ‘COME TO JESUS’ meeting started promptly at 10 a.m. in the main trading room. Each group huddled around the senior partner’s computer terminal so they could hear Scarborough’s update while not missing a market tick. Their million-dollar investment, increased rumors on The Street, the roller coaster stock price from ten to thirty and back to fifteen in a span of five months and the controversial presence of one Robert Goldstrom made the event a sell-out.
“Gentleman, we’ve been family for a long time, so there is no point in sugar coating. ITI is in major financial trouble because of poor cash management, faulty initial acquisition agreements and non-cooperative key employees. As I stand here before you this morning, I’m not sure we can turn this thing around without major surgery. I will be asking for Goldstrom’s resignation at the next Board meeting,” said Scarborough.
For the next hour he was grilled about the most intimate details. In the end, the group agreed with his assessment. Bob had to be ousted and replaced by Michael. The group also strongly suggested attorney Clive Davis attend the Board meeting.
“For the record, with respect to partner investments, I will personally make you whole should the company fail. However, there is also the embarrassment of our investors losing their entire fifty million, since the Company has no hard assets to speak of. We need to develop a public relations plan to manage this possibility. I would appreciate any insights or suggestions you might have in the coming days since this is a career first.”
Later in the day, a flustered Scarborough lashed out at Dothan in his office, admonishing him for bringing the deal in the first place, and acting as though he had been totally victimized.
“Goddamn it Ray, I’m the first failure at Whitlaw in almost twenty years.”
“Easy Phil. I understand you’re embarrassed. But I’ve got my own problems. Jesse’s clients have lost millions on ITI, and are threatening a class action suit, which could destroy us both financially.”
Scarborough was unsympathetic. Preferring to wallow in his own self-pity. “That bastard fucked me!”
Dothan exploded. “Phil, cut the crap. We all jumped on the bandwagon for the same reason—to make a huge score and quickly. Who knew Goldstrom would totally self-destruct?”
After Ray left, Scarborough accepted the validity of Dothan’ observations. With a net worth of more than $200 million, what addiction made him crave the action? And why hadn’t enough been enough?
*
BOB, UNAWARE OF THE WHITLAW ruminations, had determined his corporate survival depended upon establishing a new détente with his politically savvy former student.
“Michael,” said Bob exuding honesty. “This thing’s a mess because of my lack of focus.”
Michael waited for the inevitable curveball. Bob crossed him up with a fastball right down the middle of the plate.
“I’ve decided to take a fifty percent salary cut to show Scarborough and our greedy subsidiary heads that I care about the Company’s success. My accountant also found a clever way to collateralize my remaining assets so I can personally guarantee a five million dollar line of credit. That should help us close some of the existing deals and relieve some of our cash flow pressures.”
Michael was concerned that Bob’s plan might actually work, royally fucking up the planned coup d’etat. “Are you sure you want to expose yourself to that level of risk?,” he asked.
“Michael, I’ll do what I have to do to protect my credibility. Nothing is more important in business than your credibility. I’ve got to salvage that at all costs. Besides we can turn the Company around. The deal flow is there. We just need a few damn breaks. I didn’t come this far to throw it all away!”
Michael realized the coup was about to become an open conflict.
“Are you still with me?”
Michael nodded yes—like the Apostle Judas at The Last Supper.
“ I need you to do some stuff,” said Bob. “We’ve got to slash our general overheads. Plus, how about we share Astrid?”
“You mean fire my Janet?”
“Yes.”
“But she’s a much better administrative assistant than Astrid.”
If Bob weren’t banging Astrid, his rationale would have been plausible. “I know but Astrid’s like a bomb waiting to go off. She knows too much. We’ve got to keep an eye on her.”
Reluctantly, Michael agreed, figuring he would hire Janet back after Bob was out.
“You also need to take some kind of symbolic cut.”
Michael started to cry poor mouth. “Sandra will go ballistic.”
Bob knew better. Jesse had told him about Michael’s birthday present.
“Come on give me a break, you’ve already bought yourself a seven-figure apartment. Besides, when we get out of this mess, I’ll make you whole, plus some.”
Michael assumed the meeting was over but Bob wanted to seal the détente.
“There’s one last thing.”
Michael smiled. “Let me guess, you want me to mortgage my kids for collateral.”
“Seriously, it’s about Jerry. At his request he and I had this private meeting about cut plans.”
“Yeah.”
“The son-of-a-bitch recommended I fire you and make him COO and CFO. So, tomorrow his ass flies.”
Michael nodded “That fucker. Never know who you can trust.” Michael knew Bob’s recommendation was more out of desperation than loyalty. Bob knew Michael’s pained expression was bullshit.
   *
THE FOLLOWING DAY was like ‘The Valentine’s Day Massacre!’
Michael fired administrative staff, closed down corporate flower and limo accounts and called the acquisitions to inform they of the reduction in finder’s fees.
While Michael was dealing with his project list, Bob was addressing Singleton. “Jerry, I’ve been thinking about your redundancy observation.”
Jerry was confident the moment had arrived, his elevation to COO.
“I think you’re right.”
Singleton beamed like a Cheshire cat.
“I’ve decided to give both jobs to Michael. He knows operations, is well respected by everybody and has got a pretty solid grasp of finances.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” said an astonished Singleton.
“Plus, he’s loyal.”
“Goldstrom, you’re a fucking fraud! You don’t know how to build shit! And Michael’s a fucking amateur! You haven’t seen the last of me!”
Singleton stomped out of Bob’s office, grabbed his laptop knocking over a vase on the way out.
It was now about 5 p.m.and the London office had just been shut down. Janet walked into Michael’s office and put her feet up on his desk.
“We had one hell of a day. Didn’t we? Thank Christ it’s over.”
A lump formed in Michael’s throat as the beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead. “Well, not quite.”
Nothing more needed to be said. Janet looked into Michael’s eyes.
“You can’t be serious. We’ve been together ten years.”
“We need to consolidate to one administrative assistant, but I….”
“Astrid?”
“Yes, but…”
“Christ, she’s no admin. She’s just an easy lay for Bob. I can’t believe it. After all we’ve been through.”
She fled the office in tears.
An hour later Michael’s phone rang.
“Michael, this is Janet’s husband Jack. She told me you just fired her. I want you to know you’re the ultimate piece of shit! How you can keep a tramp that’s been stealing your confidential files for months, to feed her habit, is fucking beyond me! I hope you rot in hell!”
*
IT WAS TIME TO FESS UP to Sandra. She had been on the sidelines far too long.
After dinner, as they sat quietly reading the newspapers in their study, Michael poured himself some support—a massive shot of Grappa, the super-premium Italian liqueur made from crushed grape vines. It tasted like a cross between turpentine and paint varnish.
“How can you drink that stuff?” said Sandra.
“It’s an acquired taste, like me.”
“You said that not me.”
“Seriously Sandra, a lot of weird stuff has been going down at the office.”
Michael then explained the business situation. The cash flow issues, the terminations, the halting of the Barter Bank, and the SEC problems with future financings.
“God, it sounds perfectly dreadful.”
“That’s only the half of it. I met with Phil privately at his place. He told me Whitlaw & Company is committed to forcing Bob’s resignation at the Board meeting a week from Monday. They want me to replace him. Except they want me to take a temporary salary cut, until things get back to normal.”
“Does Bob know?”
“He knows he is in big trouble.”
“Has he said anything?”
“In his own way. He apologized for being such a horse’s ass. Then told me Jerry Singleton…”
“The creep with the scary bug eyes and permanent sneer pasted on his face?”
“One and the same,” smiled Michael. “Apparently Singleton secretly lobbied Bob to fire me as a cost saving measure. Told Bob he was willing to be the CFO and COO. The scumbag!”
“I get the feeling there’s more,” said Sandra.
“According to Bob, he fired Jerry because of his disloyalty. Which is pure bullshit. He simply needs me more than he does Jerry because of my relationships with the companies and Phil.”
“Honey, I know you had practice in this kind of stuff at A&J but...”
“It gets better. Bob volunteered to take a fifty percent salary cut and somehow is going to personally guarantee five million in deals.”
Michael then laid out his own twisted agenda.
“I figure I’ll lull Bob to sleep with a dose of his own bullshit. Tomorrow, I’m planning on telling him, you and I talked and we agreed to take a forty percent pay cut. Then we just sit back and let Phil and Bob slug it out.”
“Can we really afford to do that?” said a concerned Sandra.
“Sweetie, you keep forgetting we’ve got almost ten million shares and a great apartment in the City. The cut is pocket change. Remember this deal is all about equity. Nobody gets rich on salaries. Besides,” said Michael with a Machiavellian smile, “I got Phil to agree, once we kick Bob the hell out of there, I get another million options.”
Sandra then took Michael by surprise. “Michael, let’s take the money and run before the Board meeting. We can cash in the stock while it’s still worth a ton and be comfortable the rest of our lives. Call it what you want—woman’s intuition, paranoia, fear. This saga can only have a horrible, twisted ending like one of those Alfred Hitchcock movies.”
Michael refused. He was in too deep. Too close to the TOTAL payoff. Oink, oink.
*
SIX DAYS BEFORE ‘THE’ board meeting, Nachman’s best friend, entertainment legend and drummer Buddy Richman suddenly died in his sleep at his mistress’s beach cottage. The by-invitation-only funeral took place in L.A. at the celebrity-frequented Westwood Episcopalian Church on Wilshire.
Michael saw it as a particularly timely ‘allegiance’ opportunity.
“Sam, Sandra and I send our heartfelt condolences. I gather you guys went all the way back to elementary school in Brooklyn. It just so happens my best friend Jim Grady and I have that same kind of relationship. Started in the eighth grade,” said Michael creating a fictitious childhood friendship. Would you’d mind if we attended the funeral service?”
Nachman bit.
“Mind? That would be great. Why don’t you and Sandra plan to stay at the house for a few days? I know it’s a difficult time at ITI but Sandra might enjoy getting away. I think the girls would get along famously.”
The perennially social Sandra was delighted to be included. She had heard so much about Sam from Michael. She also figured she’d contribute to ‘the cause’ by charming the pants off Sam and his wife.
The Church, an 18th Century Gothic knockoff, was filled to the brim with the famous and the not-so-famous. Buddy’s simple pine casket was engulfed in a sea of his favorite flower—purple orchids.
For almost two hours, friends and family rose to pay their last respects. As the tributes ended, Nachman took to the podium carrying a small black box. “I’ve never been much of a public speaker,” said Nachman with tears in his eyes, “and you guys have said all there is to say. So I think I’d like to bid adieu in my own way. Buddy, until we meet again.”
Nachman took his clarinet out of the box and played a lilting, moving rendition of Sentimental Journey. When he finished there was not a dry eye in the Church.
After the funeral Nachman introduced Anke to Sandra.
“So nice to finally meet you, my dear. Sam and I have become very fond of your husband. We’re delighted you’ll be able to spend a few days with us.”
Sandra, a little self conscious about being a house guest after such a moving funeral, asked, “Are you sure this is a good time?”

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