Falcon stopped abruptly when he spotted a tiny shaft of light emanating from an office ahead. He laughed to himself. It was probably some hungry associate burning the midnight oil. Firms that constantly catered to the biggest U.S. corporations, firms such as Davis, Polk or Shearman & Sterling, went all night, every night. It would have seemed like the middle of the day at those places right now. Not at Dunlop & Latham, though. Dunlop & Latham was a quiet labor-relations practice where people sacrificed some level of compensation for quality of life. Bartholemew was the only hard charger at the entire firm. Except for this associate.
Falcon resumed his footsteps over the thick carpet. As he neared the door he recognized the whispery voice. Chambers. What the hell was he doing here? He had left at eight o’clock this evening, before Falcon had gone to the Four Seasons to meet Jenny.
“Yes, I know. You’re certain Rutherford has completed his task? No more interference from them? Good. Yes, you were correct. He was a valuable addition to the team. You are always right.”
Falcon strained to hear the words, but Chambers was barely audible from behind the slightly open door.
“What did Smith tell you? What was the reaction from the rest of the FOMC? They bashed Butler. Good. I suppose we’re on our way. Yes. Yes, poor Mr. Filipelli. May he rest in hell. Right, I need to go too. All right.”
The phone clicked.
Falcon slipped inside the darkened office next to the one Chambers was using. He left the door open a crack and listened, trying not to breathe. Chambers exited the office, moved down the corridor toward the reception area, and pushed through the glass doors into the elevator waiting area. Falcon heard the elevator bell ring but waited a full three minutes before moving.
Finally, Falcon moved stealthily out of the pitch-black office and to the doorway of the office Chambers had just exited. He flipped off the office’s overhead lights, allowing himself to be guided only by the dim glow from the hallway. His heart was in his throat as he stared at the telephone. He picked up the receiver and then pressed the automatic redial button. Immediately the line clicked and began to dial. He stared at the numbers lighting up on the phone’s display. Area code 516. It couldn’t be.
“Hello.”
Falcon gazed at the phone. His hands began to shake.
“Hello! Devon, is that you again?”
Falcon put down the phone slowly. This was getting crazy. Why would Devon Chambers be talking to Granville Winthrop? And what was all of that stuff about Filipelli resting in hell?
22
The phone in front of them whistled shrilly. “Bartholemew. Yeah, wait a minute.” Bartholemew glanced at Falcon. “For you. It’s Bhutto.”
Falcon felt his pulse quicken instantly. “Here we go. At least he’s calling to let us know what DuPont’s next offer price is going to be.” He shook his head. “God, we only increased the bid to eighty-five dollars a share at nine o’clock this morning. You would think Bhutto would have waited a couple of days to raise the ante.” Falcon took the telephone from the lawyer. “Hello.”
“Falcon, Kiran Bhutto calling.”
“Hello, Kiran. Listen, would you mind if I put you on the speakerphone? Our attorney here at Dunlop & Latham, Scott Bartholemew, is in the room, as are Devon Chambers, the senior executive from Veens & Company, and Phil Barksdale, vice chairman of NASO. I’d like them to hear what you have to say.”
Bhutto paused. “I suppose I have no problem with that.”
Falcon switched on the speakerphone and replaced the receiver. “Go ahead, Kiran.”
“Okay. So you want to buy Penn-Mar. Well, I got news for you. If we can work out a few things, I think you may have a deal.” Bhutto’s voice was loud and clear.
A tremendous rush of adrenaline coursed through Falcon’s entire body as he felt Bartholemew grab his arm. Penn-Mar management was conceding defeat. Bhutto was calling to make a deal. This was an incredible development. DuPont was out at eighty-five. It didn’t mean the fight was over. In this game the battle was never over until the requisite number of shares had been duly tendered and paid for. After all, someone could come up with another hostile, unsolicited bid for the company, just as Veens had done. But this telephone call did mean two very important things. First, Penn-Mar management was going to embrace or endorse Veens’s higher bid, which would significantly lower the odds of success of any other competing bid. Second, it meant that DuPont was backing out, and they were the only real competition.
“Are you telling me that Penn-Mar management is endorsing the Veens offer?” Falcon’s voice was controlled. He glanced at Chambers, who sat serenely across the table.
“That is exactly what I am telling you.”
“Are you also telling me that DuPont is out of the bidding?”
“Yes.”
“Why, Kiran? Why is DuPont dropping out of this? They have a lot more dynamite in their keg. They could keep going.”
“I dunno, Falcon. Honestly. They said something over the phone about the price being way out of hand.”
“But we only upped the bid three dollars from their first offer….”
Chambers reached across the table and turned on the mute button. “Are you out of your mind, Falcon? The man just said DuPont wasn’t going to bid any further. Leave it at that. Don’t try to convince Bhutto he ought to push DuPont harder. Let it go. We won. Who the hell cares why DuPont decided not to bid higher? Just accept it.” Chambers turned off the mute button.
Falcon stared at Chambers for a moment. He wanted to ask Chambers how he knew Winthrop; why they had been talking about Filipelli so early this morning; what had happened to those two senior executives at Penn-Mar; and why there was no Westphalia Nord anywhere in Germany. All of these things he wanted to ask but didn’t. Five million dollars were almost in his grasp.
“Falcon, we need to put this deal together.” Bhutto’s voice crackled-through the speaker.
“The deal’s already together, Kiran. Once we’ve closed on the tender offer, we’ll meet with Penn-Mar management out in Toledo. Until then, tell them to manage the company as if nothing was going on. Got that, Kiran?”
“What about DuPont? We gotta give them something.”
“I’m sure they own a few shares of Penn-Mar, right?”
“Probably.”
“Then they’re doing fine. They’ve already made some good money. You keep them at bay. You got it?”
“Sure, I got it.” Kiran was resigned to the directive.
“One more thing, Kiran. Let me write the press release announcing that Penn-Mar has accepted our offer. You can look at it before it goes out.”
“No problem.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch later on.” Falcon switched off the telephone. It was done. They had Penn-Mar. Another bidder might crawl out of the woodwork, but, as he thought about it further, that development would be unlikely at this late juncture. He had his spies out there listening, and they had heard nothing.
It was incredible news, but now the work began all over again. NASO had committed thirteen billion dollars to the deal, and he had to get rid of most of that commitment at supersonic speed. That or risk the bank’s collapse if Penn-Mar had a problem before he could sell the paper to other institutions. At least now he could get some help. The takeover was official, and he could physically return to the bank and not have to use his apartment as an office. He would be able to bring others onto the team to help him sell the notes and the bonds. Selling eleven billion dollars, the amount Boreman and Barksdale had determined that they wanted to get rid of, by himself, and quickly no less, would have been impossible.
He should have been ecstatic. They had Penn-Mar. Once the tender was closed and the commitments sold, NASO would deposit five million dollars into his account. But he was uncomfortable. Something was wrong. DuPont should not have given up so easily. In his years as a merger-and-acqui
sition specialist, he had never seen a deal go this way. He had never seen a huge multinational corporation back out of a hostile-bidding situation so meekly.
Falcon stared at the other three men seriously, then broke into a wry smile as he focused on Devon Chambers. “Mr. Chambers, may I present you the keys to Penn-Mar Chemicals!”
The other three men rose to their feet instantly and began to yell, shake hands, and pound the table. Even Chambers. Falcon sat quietly watching them. He could not show that kind of excitement. It was not in him.
* * *
—
Alexis danced effortlessly to the music booming from the speakers in the upstairs room of Club Tatou. Falcon sat at a booth table and watched her move as he sipped on a martini. She danced with several men, keeping perfect rhythm to the bass. They rubbed themselves lewdly against her in time with the Spanish beat. Two weeks ago he would have been insanely jealous. Now he didn’t care.
She glanced at him every so often through the dancing bodies, aware that he was watching, but also aware that he seemed indifferent to her escapades. Falcon was able to mask every emotion but one, jealousy. Had he been jealous, he would have pulled her firmly from the dance floor and taken her home as he had done before. But tonight something was wrong. He sat calmly in the chair as the men groped her. She glanced at him again. Something was definitely wrong, and it hurt her deeply, more deeply than she could have imagined it would at the beginning of all of this.
Falcon looked away from the dance floor and scanned the room. He didn’t like this place. It had been hot in the early nineties when it first opened, but now it was full of greaseballs and low-level professionals. And the music was fringe stuff, nothing he recognized, much less liked. But Alexis was wild about Tatou, so of course they came here.
He was getting drunk, very drunk. And why shouldn’t he? He had managed to put together the biggest takeover in history in less than three weeks. He had delivered Penn-Mar Chemicals to Chambers and Veens & Company on the proverbial silver platter. He had done what even he had not thought possible. He deserved to get drunk.
Barksdale had been ecstatic, unable to control himself. They had spoken several times after the conversation with Bhutto, and each time Barksdale reminded Falcon of a child. He actually giggled on the other end of the line. Boreman must be throwing him a big bonus for this one, Falcon thought. He had to kowtow to Barksdale for a few more weeks, until the five million dollars had been deposited into his account at NASO and then subsequently spirited away across the wire to an account he had set up at J. P. Morgan this afternoon.
After the initial jubilance, Chambers had seemed almost sad at the news of the victory, as if he were sorry to see the battle end so quickly. Perhaps it was the fact that the man did not have long to live, and the end of the bidding for Penn-Mar probably marked the last major accomplishment of his life. He did not want to let go of life yet, but there was no choice, and the completion of the takeover would give his last few days little meaning. There was nothing left to drive him on.
Falcon looked up to find Alexis standing directly in front of him. She was wearing a low-cut evening dress which had shifted to one side as a result of her gyrations on the floor. Her right nipple was almost exposed.
“Fix your dress.” Falcon nodded at Alexis’s chest.
“What’s the matter, don’t you like what you see anymore?” She was giving him her vulture stare. Her head was tilted down so that her dark eyes gazed at him from just beneath her eyebrows, and her mouth was slightly open. “I thought maybe it might turn you on to see me exposed in public.”
“What?” Falcon could not suppress a smile. This was a side of Alexis he had never seen before.
She sat in his lap and put her arms around his neck. “Why don’t you take me home and show me some things?”
“Things?”
“Yes, you’ve told me that you wished I would be more passionate in your bed.”
“It’s your bed too.”
“No. You’re the man of the house. It’s your bed and I’m only there because you want me to be. If I haven’t been satisfying you, then I need to fix the problem. If you’re willing to teach me, then I’m willing to learn.” Alexis brought both of her hands to Falcon’s face and kissed him deeply.
Jenny stared at them from the other side of the room. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Falcon respond to Alexis.
23
The air was stifling in New York City. It had been hot as hell all summer and this was the worst day yet—at least ninety-five degrees, with the humidity close to a hundred percent. And it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
Falcon emerged from the subway, dripping with perspiration. It was unbearable down in the hole, at least ten degrees hotter than street level. And it was made worse by the fact that he was slightly hungover from the late night at Tatou. He tugged at his dress shirt several times. “Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous.” The temperature at street level actually seemed refreshing. What was he thinking about? He should have taken a cab. He was going to be a millionaire soon, and he ought to start living like one.
Five minutes later, after a short walk through midtown, Falcon negotiated Fifth Avenue and moved over the open courtyard before NASO’s headquarters. He had not been here since the day Barksdale had recruited his help on the Penn-Mar transaction. It was nice to be back. Working at home was all right for a short while, but he wouldn’t want to make a habit of it. At least not until “home” meant a farmhouse in Vermont.
“Mr. Falcon!”
Falcon turned in the direction of the voice as he was about to enter the revolving doors of the NASO building. An attractive black woman sat on the four-foot wall of the huge flower garden that ran the length of the NASO building. Falcon removed his sunglasses and moved slowly toward the woman. “Yes, can I help you?”
The woman slid gracefully down the face of the granite wall. “I hope so.” She smiled, and suddenly Falcon forgot the heat for a moment.
He smiled back. “What can I do for you?”
The woman moved smoothly toward him, hand outstretched. As Falcon was about to take it, he could not help but notice the fresh scent which reached his nostrils. It was not perfume, just a clean, natural smell, and it was pleasing.
“My name is Cassandra Stone. I’m a reporter for the Financial Chronicle.”
“Whoa.” Falcon’s hand recoiled as if shocked.
“What’s the matter with you?” Stone looked at him curiously.
Falcon replaced the sunglasses on his face. “My mama told me never to talk to reporters, especially attractive ones.”
“Your mother never met me.”
“No, I guess she didn’t.” Slowly, beneath the sunglasses, Falcon’s eyes covered her body. Her skin was a rich brown and her hair shoulder-length and wavy. Her face was thin, accented by huge, dark eyes that were surrounded by long, curving lashes. She was dressed sharply in a light blue sweater, white blouse, pleated pants, and half heels. Falcon decided that beneath the loose-fitting clothes was probably an extremely attractive body.
“Have you finished ogling me yet?” Stone smiled again. Evidently she had been through this before.
“Almost.”
“And how do I stack up?”
“Very well.” Falcon ran his fingers through his hair. “And how about me? What do you think of me?”
Stone rubbed her lips for a moment. “Well, I don’t really go for white men, but I suppose one of those prissy preppy girls might find you acceptable, in a pinch.” She winked at him.
“Well, thank you so much.” Falcon spoke sarcastically, as though hurt by her barb, but he was enjoying himself immensely. The woman was easy to talk to and, somehow, instantly trustworthy, which, of course, was one of the reasons she was a reporter. She could probably draw a story out of anyone, he thought. Falcon drew back slightly, then shook her hand in earnest. “A
ndrew Falcon. I’m sorry for all of that.”
Stone smiled widely and waved the hand she withdrew from Falcon’s. “Are you kidding? I enjoy that kind of stuff. Most of the people I deal with are pretty stiff.”
“I can imagine.” Falcon glanced at his watch. “So, what can I do for you?”
“The Financial Chronicle wants to run an article on you, front page, left column.”
“Why?”
“Aren’t you running the Penn-Mar deal for NASO? Aren’t you the investment banker advising Veens & Company?”
Falcon hesitated. “Maybe.”
Stone laughed. “You act as if you’ve seen All the President’s Men one too many times. You really don’t have to be afraid of the press, at least not me. There are lots of aggressive types in the business, but I’m not one of them.”
Falcon smiled. “How do I know? You could be a shark.”
“I’m not trying to expose anything deep and dark about you. Promise. I just want to do a story on the man behind the biggest corporate takeover in history. I don’t think you should have a problem with that. In fact, you should be flattered. I could give you the names of people on whom I’ve done stories. You could talk to them. That would probably help.”
“I’d want to be able to edit it before it went out.”
“You know I can’t let you do that.”
Falcon stared up the side of the NASO Building to the sky beyond. A front page Financial Chronicle story. There could be no more effective way than that to flaunt his success in Granville Winthrop’s face. He might even be able to get in a few digs at Granville through the article without Stone realizing. He turned his gaze back to Stone. “Day after tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Sparks.”
“I’ll make the reservation and meet you there at noon.” She turned and moved away without another word.
Falcon’s gaze followed her until she reached the corner of the building. She had a nice walk.
The Takeover Page 24
