Storymania - This Little Piggy by Matt Crisci

This Little Piggy (30)
Matt Crisci

“My dear, it’s fine. Buddy lived a heck of a life. He went quick and quiet. We can’t ask for more than that. Plus I think Sam would enjoy the company.”
The Nachman’s were gracious hosts. The girls spent the afternoon chatting around the pool while the boys played a little tennis and Mary kept wheeling out trays of food. Around 7 p.m. they went to dinner at Nachman’s favorite restaurant, L’ Orangerie on Melrose, in Anke’s cream and brown Rolls Royce convertible. Sandra loved the car, was impressed with the food and thought she died and went to heaven when Jack Nicholson and Al Pacino sat down at the next table and waved hello to Nachman and Anke.
The following morning Nachman suggested a little business meeting at the office. “ I think everybody would like a corporate update. Okay with you?”
“Sam, I’d be happy to, but Sandra…”
“Michael,” said Anke, “Go with Sam. We girls will find something to do. How does a shopping excursion on Rodeo Drive sound?
“Sounds delightfully expensive,” said Sandra, as she looked at Michael. “Honey, have a nice day at the office.”
The girls devoured Rodeo Drive. After a slow start at Bijan and Giorgio’s, Sandra got into the swing of it. By lunchtime they had done $14,320 worth of damage on Sandra’s American Express card. Like hubby before her, she figured she had thirty days to explain. Besides, Michael loved the air miles!
They lunched at Nat & Al’s, the 38-year-old Brooklyn Deli in the heart of Beverly Hills. Two smoked fish platters and $87.27 lighter, the ladies headed back to the house for a shower, a swim and massage before dinner.
As Sandra was being kneaded, squeezed and rubbed with warm oils, there was a knock on the front door. Moments later an attractive black lady was screaming at Mary in the hallway, and ultimately at Anke in the living room. She alleged Nachman had fathered her two children and supported them for six years until he stopped making payments about ninety days prior. Her attorney’s phone calls to Nachman at the office went unanswered. Hence the visit.
“You tell that Sam unless he starts sendin’ those checks again, honey, we is going to court! I’ll sue his ass and drag him through the newspapers! Tell him maybe I’ll play a little poker with the judge for that beach house in Santa Monica!”
After Nachman’s surprise guest left, Sandra consoled a visibly shaken Anke.
“That damn man, every time I think he’s stopped, somebody else pops up.”
Sandra was horrified. “I don’t mean to pry, but how long has this stuff been going on?”
“My dear, the last twenty years. Maybe longer. It’s partially my fault.”
“You’re fault?”
“I contracted acute panic disorder about twenty years ago. I’m not even sure how the heck I got it. It’s restricted my mobility tremendously. I can’t travel far and never on planes. Sam loves to travel. Have fun. Loves the crowds, the action. We created two separate lives. Sam and me here, and Sam and whomever when he’s out of town.
“God, why did you put up with it?”
“He’s not a bad man, really. And in a lot of ways he’s a good father. You know, my dear, every man has his Achilles heel.”
“Anke, I’m not sure I agree with you. Michael has never and would never…”
“My dear remember ‘have never and would never’ are pretty absolute.”
     *
DOTHAN HAD GIVEN BOB a head’s up after his Scarborough tongue lashing. So he clearly understood the Board meeting was showdown time which required Bob to sally forth with a bold and totally unexpected counter-attack. As far as he was concerned, there would be no fucking coup!
Three days before the meeting, Krotsky uncovered the mother of all administrative errors! In the Company’s rush to move forward, the composition of the Board had never been technically reconfigured. It was still comprised of Bob, Michael, Krotsky, Edleberg and Scarborough. While Kugle had been slated to replace Edleberg as corporate secretary and had been operating as such for months, the resolution had never been formally drawn and adopted. As for Krotsky, it was a simple oversight. Since he had not attended a Board meeting in six months, everybody just assumed he had tendered his resignation.
“So if we can get Marty on our side, we still have control of the Board,” concluded Krotsky.
“You’re the attorney. What will it would take to cajole another attorney?” said Bob.
“The same thing that motivates you.”
“I can’t offer Marty a bribe that’s blatantly illegal. Phil would have my head on a platter.”
“I’m not talking about money I’m talking about ‘like-kind.’”
“Allan, I don’t have time for riddles. What ever are you fucking talking about?”
“Suppose, you offered Marty stock as compensation for his vote.”
“How can I increase the float without a shareholder vote?”
“There’s a perfectly legal, discreet and easy way around the issue. Privately transfer some of your founder shares to Marty.”
Bob hesitated. Krotsky knew what he was thinking. They had worked together too long, on too many deals.
“For God sakes Bob, this isn’t the time to quibble. You’ve got fifty million shares. You can afford to lose a few.”
“Okay, okay. What about you make the overture. In case Marty says no, that still leaves me a shot at massaging his ego.”
Edleberg and Krotsky met at the Sutton Place Coffee shop where Bob first met Michael. Krotsky explained the ironic situation. Edleberg, stunned that he had never been removed as Board Secretary, became hysterical.
“Those fucking bozos were so anxious to kick me out, they forgot to do the paperwork!”
“With Michael defecting to the other side we need your vote,” said Krotsky.
Edleberg reveled in the moment. “So what’s are you guys offering?”
“One million founder shares.”
The leverage was all Edleberg’s. “Allan, I’d be delighted to cast my vote for Bob, but I’m not sure one million shares is the right number. After all, the stock price has slipped noticeably in the last few weeks. Why not four?”
Krotsky realized he was sitting across from a ruthless pragmatist. The man who had advised Nachman and Tothson to screw Bob was perfectly content to dig deep into Bob’s pocket to save Bob’s ass. As lawyers do, they compromised. Bob was three million shares lighter.
“Fax the signed agreement to my home. I’ll countersign and get it right back to you,’ said Edleberg. “And Allan, please, no fucking curveballs, no 144 legends, no vesting, no contingencies, no quid pro quos.”
“I understand,” said Krotsky.
                                                                 *
MARK YOUR CALENDAR. TOMORROW’S THE DAY!” crowed Michael as he poured Snadra a generous glass of wine at the dinner table.
“What ever are you talking about?” she asked.
“The whole thing with Bob is coming to a head. By dinnertime tomorrow we’ll be toasting the new Chairman and CEO of Integrated Trading International.”
“Where’s Bob going?”
“Out the god damn door! Everybody has had enough.”
“Who’s everybody?”
“Phil and myself.”
“Doesn’t IBI consist of a Board of Directors. You can’t just tell Bob sayonara.”
“Baby,” smiled Michael, “You’re like a walking book of Robert’s Rules and Order.”
“Translation?”
“It’s the unofficial rule book for Board meetings.”
“And?”
“And, the rules don’t matter. We have the controlling votes.
“Honey, I rarely get into the middle of your business. You’ve done pretty well by me and the kids, but it sounds to me like you’re planning some kind of clandestine coup d’etat. Frankly, I’ve been thinking, the deeper we get into this thing, the more complicated it’s become. Ruthie Foreman was right. This whole thing can be a snake hole. Let’s walk away. Now. While we still can.”
“Ruthie Foreman. Are you kidding me? She turned the cheek how many times? She’s sitting in that multi-million dollar apartment giving you morality lessons?
“Michael, don’t be so damn condescending!”
“Here’s the deal. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! I’ve broken my ass to get this far. I’m not turning back. So you’re either with me or I’ll go it alone. I’ve tasted big-time, and I’m not going back to A&J to worship at the alter of Ed Ney. That corporate bullshit is long time past.”
Sandra sat silently. That was her decision.
                                                            *
AT PRECISELY 9:55 A.M. Scarborough, Clive Davis and Kugle walked into the ITI conference room. Michael and Bob were already present and seated. The meeting began. Bob wanted Scarborough to play his hand first. Edleberg and Krotsky waited in Bob’s office for the appropriate signal.
“Is there any new business?” said Bob, with the proper hint of arrogance.
Scarborough took the floor and made a motion to ask Bob for his resignation after providing a litany of reasons for the record. Not surprising, Michael seconded. Bob interrupted as Kugle readied to take a Board vote.
“Fellas, before we vote, I think all the current Board members should participate,” smiled Bob. At that point Astrid brought in Krotsky and Edleberg.
“Goldstrom, what the hell are you trying to pull?” said Davis.
“Clive, my man,” said a smirking Edleberg, “what ever do you mean? Krotsky and I are, and continue to be, members of the Board. Technically our appointments are not up for another three months.”
“That’s impossible, Tom and I…”
“Let’s be real clear. You and Tom did shit! In addition Clive, the Board majority could ask you to leave. You’re an uninvited outsider. So if you even want to sit in this room, shut the fuck up!”
Kugle realized Marty was correct. Scarborough turned beet red and Michael knew he was dead meat. Not surprisingly, the vote to oust Bob was defeated three to two.
Scarborough lost it. “You goddamn piece of shit! You’ve embarrassed me and my firm to no end! You should have the common decency to step aside.”
“Phil, I have two words for you---piss off!” said Bob.
The meeting was over---almost. Bob glared at Michael, “As for you, you disloyal piece of shit, your pain has yet to begin!”
                                                                 *
SANDRA WAS ANXIOUS ALL DAY at work.
“I have rarely seen you so distant,” smiled Chief of Surgery David Dinkins.
“Sorry doctor, I’ve just got a lot of personal stuff on my mind.”
“Well, you will make sure nobody leaves a sponge inside a patient today?” joked the doctor.
“David, what a dreadful thing to say!”
“Wow, Sandra, that was supposed to be a joke.”
“I’m sorry.”
David had no idea what was troubling Sandra, but he did rule out menopause since Sandra was only 37!
     *
BY NOON THE NEXT DAY, The Street was totally aware of the failed coup. The stock tumbled sixty percent to four dollars.
“Bob, you have a phone call,” said Astrid. “It’s Mr. Berger and Mr. Dyckman.”
“Tell them I’m in a meeting.”
“They mentioned if you used the ‘I’m in a meeting excuse,’ they were going to come over and ‘knock the fucking door down.’”
The relish with which Astrid delivered their message convinced Bob she also was a defector. He made a mental note: catch the cunt in the act of whatever she does so I can throw her the fuck out.
“Bobbie,” said Berger, “what’s going on? Did Whitlaw & Company really try to bump you? Rumors are flying everywhere, the stock is getting bombed! Bernie and I are looking for some fucking clarity.”
Bob began to give Berger his version of the truth, still promoting and still optimistic like nothing had ever happened. “Just a little hiccup. Happened to me in the hospital business, too. We’ll…”
A furious Dyckman interrupted, “Bob, stop with the bullshit! I mortgaged all my assets, including my home, to buy more ITI stock at fourteen dollars a share, because Berger told me ITI was weeks away from a new hundred million offering underwritten by Whitlaw & Company. Plus the completion of a fifty million dollar million Barter Bank offering headed by Billingham Chairman, Marc Melrose.”
“Well Bernie, you know how it is. We’ve had a bit of a setback.”
“No Bob, I don’t know how it is. You’ve misrepresented for the last time. After I sell my position, I’m telling everybody in my Rolodex to bail out. Then my investor friends and I are going to bring a class action suit. You’re going down!”
Bob wigged out. “Listen you greedy little pig, you’ll never make the suit stick. It’s totally frivolous. Any fool knows you play in the stock market at your own risk. You’re not buying CD’s.”
“Au Contraire. According to my new best friend Jerry Singleton, you remember him? We’ve got enough information to send you up the fucking river!”

##########

Chapter 27.
Strange Bedfellows

THE DESIRE TO SURVIVE demanded Bob and Michael become strange bedfellows. Neither would ever trust the other again. But each needed the other for their personal agendas.
Bob was driven to salvage his reputation on The Street. For him there would be other deals. Regaining his former wealth was now a secondary consideration. For Michael, he still believed salvaging ITI was ‘his moment’ to accumulate real wealth.
“Michael, I finally got it,” said Bob leaning back in his chair. “Despite that All-American organizational patina, beats the heart of a fucked up machiavellian bastard. You’d sell your mother for thirty pieces of silver.”
“You’re not exactly Mary Poppins. You’ve lied so many times, you can’t even remember the truth. To you there’s no such thing as black and white. The world is just shades of gray. But guess what, I don’t give a shit. Right now I just care about one thing, getting out of this mess with enough money so I don’t have to suck up to crap like you.”
“Likewise! So we understand each other perfectly,” sneered Bob.
The phone rang like a boxer’s bell to end the round.
It was Tothson bearing manna from heaven. He and Nachman had found an inventory so large, so potentially profitable it could solve all of ITI’s cash flow and credibility problems, in one fell swoop.
Tothson waxed as Michael and Bob were glued to the conference phone speaker. “Sam’s been talking to the entertainment giant, TLP records. They have an inventory of almost one hundred and fifty million units of vinyl records, cassettes and CD’s they want to unload. They’re willing to execute a receivable barter contract for the whole freaking amount, if we can re-market the stuff outside the United States”
“Is that possible?” said Bob.
“We’ve done some preliminary investigation. Sam thinks he has a wholesale distributor in Chile who’ll take the entire inventory.”
“How much?”
“Somewhere between ten and twelve million dollars. Since we wouldn’t have to put up a dime to buy the stuff, I’m guessing, after all expenses, the deal has about an eight million dollar profit.”
“Jesus, finally a break,” said Bob.
“However, there are two small twists,” said Tothson. “Our inside contact requires a ‘referral fee’ of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to guarantee a valid authorized contract.”
Bob protested the fee was ‘ improper.’ Tothson knew the issue was money.
“Bob, Sam and I are so confident about this deal, we’ll advance the two hundred and fifty thousand personally. Remember if you succeed, we succeed.”
Bob smelled a rat, “In exchange for what?”
“Twenty-five per cent of the deal.”
“In other words, two hundred and fifty thousand for two million, a modest eight hundred per cent return.”
“Something like that,” smiled Tothson.
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Bob, I’m just a businessman hustling to make a buck. Besides, we’ll do all the work.”
“Fine. Now what’s the second ‘small’ thing?’ asked Goldstrom.
“While TLP doesn’t want any cash, they want a two million put in escrow, just as a measure of good faith. When they’re confident the stuff has been sold and distributed into the appropriate channels, they’ll release the funds back to the Company.”
“Fred, give Michael and I a chance to huddle. Let us see if we can find the money in the coffers. You know the situation, ITI could really benefit from all the earnings.”
“Anything you say, Bob.”
“No hard feelings?” asked Bob.
“No hard feelings,” said Tothson.
Bob hung up and began to rant. “Those miserable bastards. They are the scum of the earth. They’ll sell their fucking kids for the right price!”
“Bob, let’s be constructive. We need the deal,” said Michael.
A light bulb went off in Bob’s head. His twisted brain had figured how to get the whole deal for the Company, and fuck Michael too!
“Michael, you’re right. I’ve got to leave my emotions out of this thing. We desperately need this deal. I’d put up the money myself but I talked to my accountant again last night. That miserable Aspen Club continues to be a money pit. I’ve even pledged my entire five million line. So I’m tapped out. I hate to ask but…”
“Bob, you know I don’t have that kind of money.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to take any money out of your pocket,” smiled Bob. “I figured we could just use some of your stock as a collateral loan. Remember your stock is legend-free, mine still has restrictions. Even though we’ve tumbled to four bucks a share, you should have no problem obtaining a secured loan. Jesus, after all you’re still sitting on almost ten million shares.”
Bob was still ‘the reigning master.’ He lied right to Michael’s face and got away with it!
“Tell you what, you front the collateral loan, and when the profit comes in we’ll give you a hundred grand finders fee off the top, as an expense of the deal. Compared to Tothson’s fee the company is still way ahead, and you keep Sandra happy by recovering the salary cut.”
Michael agreed.
“I suggest we keep these arrangements between us. I doubt Phil would be a supporter.”
     *

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