by Peter Ralph
“Bond Corporation went broke, and golden handcuffs went out of vogue years ago.”
“That’s not right; the National Bank used a form of them quite recently.”
Gidley-Baird looked flustered. “What are you getting at?”
“If your client’s prepared to offer me a five million dollar signing on fee, it will make the balance of the package considerably more attractive.”
“Five million dollar golden handcuffs?” Gidley-Baird gasped.
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure I can get my client to be that generous, and I’m not sure I want to try.”
“Generous? When I was appointed at Mercury its shares were trading at $1.80, and they’re now $5.20 − that’s an increase of nearly two hundred per cent in less than two years. If I can do that with Philmont’s shares, the value of the family’s investment will increase from six hundred million to nearly two billion, and you’re quibbling about a mere five million.” Aspine smiled, all charm.
“I’ll check with my client and come back to you, but I’ll need to give them an undertaking that you’ll accept before they’ll even countenance making such an offer.”
Aspine sat for a long time, deep in thought. “Let them know that I’m prepared to execute a contract this week, and commence within six weeks from the date of execution. I will of course want the five million as soon as I sign, which will not be refundable, should they later change their minds for any reason. I want you and your principals to understand that acceptance will be a very big decision for me, given what I’m giving up at Mercury.”
They shook hands at the front door. “I’ll phone you. Thanks for taking the time to see me, Douglas.”
“It was nice meeting you, Hamish.”
Aspine let out an almighty whoopee as he walked across the car-park. He was confident that he’d soon be receiving an offer from Philmont.
-33 -
ASPINE SLEPT RESTLESSLY but woke from an early morning drowse alert, with adrenalin pumping through him. He’d spent most of the night plotting his exit from Mercury, and devising plans by which he could tidy up any loose ends that might see him end up in jail. The traffic was surprisingly heavy and, as he crawled along Punt Road, and he phoned Brad Hooper telling him to be in his office at 9am.
Brad had moved from browns to blues, and Aspine thought he looked more like a merchant banker in his navy blue pinstripe suit, than a hard-nosed apartment salesman. “You’re looking very prosperous, Brad.”
“It’s my manager’s garb. What is it that you want to see me about?”
“I want to thank you for the great job that you’ve done over the past six months. You’ve sold nearly everything.”
“I told you I could sell.”
“Yes. Well I want to reward you with a midyear bonus of three hundred thousand dollars,” Aspine smiled.
“Shit, that’s unexpected. Do I get options as well?”
“No, but you should exercise the four hundred thousand options that you already have. When you do, you’ll make a tidy eight hundred thousand.”
“What’s going on? Why do I need to exercise them now? You know I’ll only be able to afford to keep a hundred thousand shares.”
“I never said this, but if I were you I wouldn’t keep any.”
“Something’s going down. What’s happening? Fill me in,” Brad said, his face filled with apprehension.
“I can’t say anything, but don’t worry, I’ll look after you. I want you to phone Phil Kendall at the bank and tell him that you want to exercise your options. He’ll handle the funding, but make sure you sell the shares at the same time.”
“I don’t like the sound of this. What are you up to? Has this got anything to do with those fucking apartments I’ve been buying? I’m not going down for that.”
“No-one’s going down. You might have to take a holiday sometime soon, but you’ll have plenty of spending money to enjoy yourself. Don’t worry, Brad, just do as I say, and I’ll take care of you. Now get out of here and phone Kendall.”
Another loose end tied up. He’d thought about telling Kurt Metzger and Jack Gillard to exercise their options, but the dumb Kraut had nearly got him jailed over the death of Bert Stuart, and Gillard had goofed up the completion of the office blocks. They didn’t deserve any special treatment, and they couldn’t hurt him. Bad luck for them!
Gidley-Baird’s call came just before midday. “My principals are prepared to make you an offer in the terms that we discussed last night, subject to one change. If you accept their offer, but later renege on your undertaking, you will return their five million plus another three million in damages. In addition, Helen and Phillip Philmont want to meet you before any offer is committed to paper.”
“Why do they want to meet me? I thought you said you knew all you needed to know? If they ask me anything about Mercury, I won’t be able to answer, because I won’t breach any information entrusted to me,” Aspine said, anxious to ensure that he’d have no difficult questions to answer.
“Look, they’re just trying to get a feel for you as a person. They were impressed by what they saw as your softer side.”
“Softer side?”
“Yes, your work with the National Homeless Foundation. They know you’re not afraid to make tough decisions, but were also impressed to see you helping the needy.”
Aspine smiled. He couldn’t care less about the poor and the homeless, but was elated that others thought he did. “It’s important to put something back into the community, Hamish.”
“I agree, Douglas. Helen lives in Toorak and wondered whether you might be available for morning tea at ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll be there. If I pass inspection, when can I expect an offer?”
“I’ll courier it to you tomorrow afternoon, with an acceptance in the form my principals require. I’m sure you’ll want to take your own legal advice. Upon your execution, I’ll make sure that I’m in a position to complete the agreement.”
“You’ll have a bank cheque for five million?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be looking to complete on Friday morning. If need be, can you attend my lawyer’s offices?”
“Yes, Douglas.”
The Sting echoed around his office and Aspine glanced at his mobile’s screen and cursed. “Yes, Barbara, what is it?” He snarled.
“It’s Trevor,” she sobbed. “He tested positive for driving under the influence of drugs this morning, and the police have locked him up.”
“Fuck! Where? How can you test positive in the morning. What is he, a bloody pothead?”
‘He’s at Flinders Street Police Station. Can you go and get him?”
“I ought to let him rot in there, it’d teach him a lesson. How long have you known that he’s been taking dope?”
“I-I didn’t,” she sniffled.
“Christ, he’s taking it under your nose and you don’t know. What kind of mother are you?”
“After you left he moved out of home and into a flat with his girlfriend. He’s nearly nineteen and has his own life.”
“I never left, you kicked me out.”
“This is not about you, you selfish bastard. Are you going to help him?”
“Of course I am.”
The desk sergeant at Flinders Street was courteous and helpful. “Yes, we do have a Trevor Aspine in custody. Hold on,” he said, nodding to a young constable, “we’ll get him for you.”
Two minutes later the constable returned with Trevor. His hair was below his shoulders, he had a three-day growth, his clothes were dirty, and he looked like he could use a good wash. “Hello, Dad,” he said, grinning nervously.
Aspine ignored him and looked over at the desk sergeant. “Is there somewhere I can talk to my son in private?”
“Show them to an interview office, constable.”
The door hadn’t fully closed before Aspine backhanded Trevor, crashing him into the wall. “You stupid fucking crack-head.”
“Da-Dad, I smoked a little bit of pot. It was noth...”
Trevor never finished before another backhand, crashed into face, drawing blood.
“Dad, it’s no big deal.”
The sound of the slap that followed echoed around the small room.
The door was flung open and Aspine felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on here?” He shrugged the hand away and turned in a blind fury, his right fist cocked.
“Why don’t you throw it?” Detective Bill Muller said. “I’m not like your son, Mr Aspine. I’ll hit back.”
“Da-Dad.”
“Shut-up, you’ve caused enough trouble you bloody drug addict,” Aspine snarled. “So you’re involved, are you Detective Muller?”
“No, I was here when the traffic police brought him in. I never knew that he was your son. If you hit him again, I’ll charge you with assault, and all your money won’t help you then.”
Aspine was angry and fighting to regain control. “I’m sorry. I just hate drugs, any form of drugs, and I’d like to line all drug dealers up and shoot them.”
“What do you think Jack Daniels is?” Trevor sneered.
“He’s right you know, Mr Aspine.”
“Don’t you dare fucking side with him.”
“Why don’t you take him home? He’s done the wrong thing, and he knows it, but it’s not like he’s committed mass murder,” Muller said, trying to placate Aspine.
“Where do you want to go, Trevor?” Aspine asked.
“You can drop me back at my car,” Trevor scowled, the side of his face red and swollen
“Is that smart?”
“I got done at ten this morning, and I barely registered anything.”
“Ten o’clock? How can you get caught that early? Do you wake up smoking the shit or something?”
“Didn’t you ever have an all-nighter when you were young? I didn’t get to sleep until six o’clock.”
“Why’d you leave home?”
“I gotta girlfriend and we’re gunna backpack around Asia next month. We moved into a flat to get some privacy.”
“I hope you’re using protection.”
“She’s on the pill. My mouth’s hurting, so can we drop the small talk?”
“What’d your Mum think about you leaving home?”
“She was okay with it. After you left, Jemma, wanted to leave home too and move in with her boyfriend, but Mum nearly had a fit. Said she was too young and Jemma got really upset. Mum’s worried about money, and said that you cheated her out of the cash you promised, and had given her some shares that she’s sold but hasn’t been paid for.”
“I didn’t leave and those shares were worth three million.” Aspine snarled. “How’s Mark?”
“He misses you, and he’s hurting because you don’t phone or see him anymore. You really are a prick, aren’t you?”
“Don’t talk to me that way or you’ll get some more of what you just got.”
“If you ever hit me again, I’ll fucking deck you. I didn’t hit back today, but the next time I will.”
Aspine glanced at his son. His right cheek was blue, he was biting his lower lip and his eyes were filled with anger. “Sorry, I overreacted, I just hate drugs. You be careful in Asia. They hang druggies up there you know.”
“I know that, I’m not stupid,” Trevor sneered.
“And pack your own bags and make sure you’ve got solid locks on them. You know the dealers plant drugs in them if they’re left unatt...”
Trevor cut him off. “I’m not naïve. Let me out at the next intersection. My car’s just around the corner.”
Helen Philmont’s house was the size of a medieval castle, and it was no surprise when the front door was opened by a maid wearing a white blouse and a perfectly pressed black skirt. “Mr Aspine, Ms Philmont’s expecting you. She’s just on the phone, but she won’t be long. Can I get you anything?” She asked, leading him out to a sun-drenched room with large glass windows that overlooked a perfectly manicured lawn tennis court.
“No thanks,” he responded, taking a chair and picking up a magazine from the coffee table.
Ten minutes elapsed and there was no sign of Helen, and he started to become annoyed. He had plenty of time on his hands, but that wasn’t the point − he didn’t like being insulted, especially by people who needed his services.
“Hello, Douglas,” she said, as she strolled into the room. She was diminutive, late twenties, and was wearing jodhpurs, riding boots and a starched white blouse. Her dark black hair was pulled severely back from her forehead and contrasted with her porcelain white skin and, while not a ravishing beauty, she was an attractive young lady.
He extended his hand. “Helen, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Where’s Hamish and will your brother be joining us?”
“I told Hamish I’d prefer to meet you without him, and Phillip has other matters to attend to. How do you have your tea?” she said, ringing a small gold bell.
“I’ll have coffee, thanks.”
“A shame. I thought you might have more civilized tastes,” she sniffled, “but, with your business history, I should have known better.”
He felt himself colouring but didn’t say anything. Helen Philmont was a first-rate snob who probably hadn’t a decent fuck in years. Maybe she played on the same team as Kelly?
“How do you justify asking for that amount of money as a signing on fee? It’s a real cheek.”
“You need me far more than I need you,” Aspine said, gambling that he was right. “I can increase the value of your family’s investment in Philmont by at least a billion dollars over the next two years. For that, a five million dollar signing on fee seems more than reasonable − almost too reasonable.”
“Would you down-size the company in the same way you did at Mercury?” she asked, ignoring his response.
“Yes.”
“I thought so. We, the family, might have to appear critical of you − in fact we may have to publicly admonish you. Would that upset you?”
“You want me to come in and crack the whip, make the hard decisions and ruthlessly turn the business around, but you don’t want to be seen to be condoning it.”
“Exactly,” she said, not flinching. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You can say what you like, do what you like and even fire me if you like, but not without paying me five million upfront.”
“The golden handcuffs?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve discussed your request with our lawyers, and I want you to know the handcuffs will be cast iron, and you won’t have the keys − not for at least two years anyway. You would be dangerously underestimating us if you think that we’ll pay you five million only to have you resign six months after. If you withdraw your services for any reason other than death, incurable illness or dismissal within the first two years, you will have to return the signing on fee in full and pay us damages of three million. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, I’ll to agree to that.”
“Good. Tell me about the work you do with the National Homeless Foundation.”
Aspine went into great detail, exaggerating his role and the time that he spent at board meetings and other functions, knowing Helen Philmont would be impressed.
For the first time she did not respond immediately. “If you had to put a value on the work you do for the foundation, would it run to half a million dollars?”
“I’d like it too,” he lied, “but it’s probably between fifty and a hundred thousand. Why do you ask?”
“I want you to resign from the board. We’ll donate one hundred thousand dollars annually to the NHF, and write a letter giving you the credit for it. We don’t want you to become distracted from turning Philmont around.”
“You mean you don’t want me to become distracted from increasing your family’s wealth by a billion dollars.”
“At least a billion,” she said. “Do you have any questions?”
“A number
of your family members work in the business. If I have to get rid of them, will there be any restrictions on their dismissal?”
“I’d expect them to be the first to go, but Phillip and I will not be able to support you. You do understand this?”
“You don’t want any dirt on your hands?”
“Correct. Look, I have to get changed for tennis now,” she said, dismissing him.
On the way back to the office Aspine used his prepaid to phone Norman Pell on his direct line. “Norman, it’s Doug, I want you to send your final account to Mercury in the next few days.”
“You didn’t phone me about that.”
“No. I want you to transfer two months interest in separate payments to Mercury, and the balance of what’s left over in the account at the end of October.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, and I want you to transfer Balmoral’s registered office from your premises to another address.”
“You mean fictitious address don’t you?” Pell laughed.
“Yes.”
“Somewhere like 920 Pier Street, Geelong or 500 Bay Road, Queenscliffe.”
“I take it those addresses don’t exist.”
“If they do, they’ll be in at least fifty fathoms.”
“ASIC will still talk to you about Balmoral. What will you say?”
“There are five hundred companies that have their registered offices at my office. I couldn’t tell you the names of hardly any of them. With Balmoral I’ll have a signed resolution changing the address of the registered office, and I’ll have copies of invoices that I’ve rendered for providing registered office services, which will have been paid in full – by internet transfer, of course.”
“Good. What about your dummy director?”
“And his dummy address. They’ll never find him and even if they do, he has the mental competence of a six-year-old. Don’t worry; I had a lot of experience with bottom of the harbour tax schemes when they were in vogue. Do you remember them?”
“Sorry. No.”
Pell laughed. “They got their name because the principals of these tax evading companies dumped all their records in the Sydney Harbour. We’re not going to be as crude, but all roads regarding the formation and management of Balmoral will lead nowhere.”
