by Bryan Devore
Michael thanked the twins, and they left the room as suddenly as they had appeared. The heavy glass door closed slowly behind them. Once they were out of sight, he stepped toward the corner window, as far as possible from the door, and speed-dialed Sarah Matthews.
19
DON SEATON TAPPED his index finger on the large rosewood conference table on the second floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Expansive windows looked out on New York’s financial district in lower Manhattan, while those opposite looked down on the vacant trading floor of the exchange. Seaton looked out at the financial district, the seat of an endless cycle of transferring wealth, run by ambitious men and women. It was a world determined to change faster than society could control it, so that the masses had little choice but to react to the decisions of the few. It was a world with a short attention span, quickly bored, always hungry for more—a world that couldn’t have been further from the reclusive lifestyle Seaton had chosen more than two decades ago when he built the huge chalet on his isolated estate outside Aspen. But as with so many men who retired to the mountains, his ambitions had been formed by an earlier life in the energetic, chaotic city. New York had been his first home, and it had taught him most of the lessons that he carried with him still.
The masters of finance sat around the table: Randle Cuttingham, the NYSE chairman; Todd Farrell, the U.S. trade commissioner; Richard Donnelly, economic adviser for the Securities and Exchange Commission; and Fredrick Kavanaugh, CEO and Chairman of Cygnus International. Both Kavanaugh and Seaton were accompanied by legal counsel from their corporations. The meeting had been called to discuss preliminary responses to Cygnus’s acquisition bid for X-Tronic’s common stock and to thresh out any antitrust issues that were likely to result from a merger. The meeting was being held one month before the highly anticipated X-Tronic annual shareholders’ meeting in Denver.
“Mr. Seaton? Excuse me, Mr. Seaton?”
He looked up from the table to find the trade commissioner looking at him. “I’m sorry, Todd. Could you please repeat the question?”
“Mr. Seaton, I was hoping to get your initial reaction to the proposed acquisition.”
“There isn’t going to be any acquisition,” Seaton proclaimed.
“Come on, Don,” Kavanaugh interposed. “If the shareholders of X-Tronic vote to accept the generous offer my company is making, we will all walk away rich.”
“I’m already rich.”
“Richer, then,” Kavanaugh corrected himself. “X-Tonic’s software products would compliment Cygnus’s products. It will strengthen our competitive position in the market and expand our customer base. Everyone wins with the acquisition, Don.”
Seaton shook his head. “What you’re trying to create is dangerously close to a monopoly. Research and development in the industry will suffer because of decreased competition. Innovation will lag. Massive layoffs at X-Tronic will be inevitable. The results of Cygnus’s previous acquisitions are well documented, Fred. You assimilate your target acquisitions into Cygnus, destroying every shred of independence in their entrepreneurial spirit. This is something I’m not going to let you do to X-Tronic.”
Kavanaugh’s wide mouth puckered, as if he had just tasted something sour. His dark, shifty eyes scanned the other faces at the table almost as if he expected someone else to protest in his defense. No one did.
“You’re missing the big picture,” Kavanaugh said, returning his gaze to Seaton. “We’re talking about massive international expansion of our companies’ operations.”
Richard Donnelly leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Technological innovation and ongoing deregulation have driven the globalization process by tearing down barriers. A merger of this size would have a dramatically positive effect on the economy.”
“Dr. Donnelly,” Seaton said with a sigh, “I respect your understanding of economic theories, but with all due respect, the merger would have a dramatically negative effect on X-Tronic’s workforce.”
Donnelly shook his head. “A key element of the U.S. economy is a flexible labor market. Short-term layoffs from inefficient or obsolete jobs are good for the economy in the long term. In other words, your employees will find new jobs.”
“That is not acceptable,” Seaton replied. “I have a responsibility to all fifty thousand employees at X-Tronic.”
“You have a responsibility to the X-Tronic shareholders,” Kavanaugh retorted. “In any event, I don’t think your shareholders will join in your efforts to prevent the merger.”
Seaton stood up from the table and shuffled some analyst reports into his leather portfolio. “Fred, you’re forgetting that even though I’m not a majority shareholder of X-Tronic any longer, I still have thirty percent ownership in the company—and a great deal of influence with both our board of directors and our shareholders. I built X-Tronic from the ground up, and I’m not going to let you take control of it. Now, please excuse me, gentlemen. It’s obvious to me that this meeting is over.”
Taking one last look to survey the disappointed faces around the table, his eyes met Kavanaugh’s. The man’s arrogance made Seaton dislike him more now than ever before in their long, adversarial history. Even as Seaton left the table, he knew he was taking a risk walking away from the meeting. He had much to do if he wanted to save his company.
He found Marcus waiting for him in the hallway, and together they walked toward the grand marble staircase and the looming chaos waiting below.
Lance and Lucas Seaton sat drinking their Singha beers in the Gold Room of the Geiberstein ski lodge, overlooking the base of Aspen Mountain. The VIP dining room was the premiere place for intermission luncheons amid the day’s skiing and snowboarding. It was one of the many places in Aspen where the rich and famous could be seen.
The region hadn’t had a decent snowfall in over a week, but the high altitude and low temperatures had maintained the slopes’ sixty-inch base. The flow of skiers and snowboarders riding up in the chair lifts and flying down the mountain created an endless bustle of activity in and out of the lodge.
The waiter returned to the twins’ table with their papaya salad with crab, tiger prawns, and grilled squid encircled with tangy limes, sweet coconut, and lemongrass. They ordered another round of Thai beers.
“You know Dad’s going to try to stop the merger,” Lucas said after inspecting his salad.
“He won’t succeed,” Lance replied.
“He doesn’t usually fail at things?”
“He’s doing it for all the wrong reasons—everyone will be against him.”
“Everyone’s been against him before, and he’s still prevailed.”
Lance chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “This time will be different. He’s getting old—he’s not the man he used to be.”
But Lucas didn’t feel as he imagined Lance did. For Lucas, it felt as if events were accelerating out of his control. He was surprised at the suddenly nostalgic turn his thoughts had taken in recent weeks. He had recalled that last happy summer in their youth, only months before their mother’s death, when they all learned to ride horseback. Their father had been so excited with the idea at first, he had a large stable built on the Aspen property. Their parents had even flown to Wyoming for a weekend to pick out the four horses they eventually bought from a top breeder. Lucas could remember with perfect detail the day the horses were delivered, when Lance and he had practiced posting and cantering under the trainer’s watchful eye while their beautiful mother and proud father looked on. Even their butler, Hopkins, whom he and Lance had always loved growing up, had stood at the back porch rail, applauding and calling, “Bravo!” and “Good show, lads!”
Lucas dipped a prawn in the saucer of coconut broth. He was silent for a moment. “Do you think he’ll be proud of us? When everything’s finished, do you think he’ll look back and be proud of what we’re about to accomplish?”
“How would I know what he thinks?”
“Aw, come on, Lance, you must have thought about it.�
��
“All right, then. No, I don’t think he’ll be proud. But fuck ’im. We both know he would have done the same thing when he was our age. Hell, he practically did. He ran out all his business partners to gain control of X-Tronic. Then he abandoned us after Mom died. He’s not the saint people think he is.”
“So it’s his fault?” Lucas asked, as if looking for confirmation that they were doing the right thing.
“It’s his fault,” Lance confirmed. “Everything that’s about to happen is his fault. Don’t ever forget that.”
Hearing this surprised Lucas. Seeing how easily Lance waited for the denouement to all they had worked toward over the years, it occurred to Lucas—perhaps for the first time—that he and his brother were not so alike as they had once been. The idea of a weakening bond with his brother made him suddenly uneasy, and a certain lightheadedness enveloped him. Perhaps they were about to make a horrible mistake. For the first time, he wondered if there might be another way, another option to consider. But he knew better than to mention any such thought to Lance.
“And the guys’ll be there tonight?” Lucas asked after refocusing. He needed to be sure the plan hadn’t changed.
“Yes,” Lance replied, “but not till real late—almost dawn.” He took the last sip of his beer and tried to flag the waiter down from across the room.
“And Michael Chapman?” Lucas asked. His survival instinct kicked in at the very thought of the new auditor at X-Tronic. He knew a threat when he saw one. “He’ll be there tonight.”
“Has he left Denver yet?”
“No, but he’s being watched. We’ll get a call once he hits the road. What do we do when he gets here?”
Lance smiled as if amused by the slight challenge they both sensed from Michael’s mysterious actions. “We let him come and have fun. We get to know him socially. And then we see what happens.”
“I think he’s trouble.”
“Maybe, but we don’t know for sure. Falcon says he won’t cause any problems.”
“I don’t trust Falcon anymore.” Lucas’s expression had turned hard, and he held eye contact to make sure his brother saw how serious he was.
“Well you’d better pretend to trust him,” Lance said in a tone that came a little too close to sounding like an order. “We don’t have a choice. He knows too much, so we’re all in this together now.”
Yeah, all in this together, Lucas thought. He had never liked having so many people involved in their plans—that was a big part of why things felt so out of control. This, more than anything else, frustrated him. But then again, it would be unwise to let his brother know he was beginning to lose faith in what they were about to do.
Marcus Graham followed Don Seaton down the marble staircase toward the grand entrance of the New York Stock Exchange building. He watched as his employer caught the attention of the old suits of Wall Street, whose careworn faces, engraved by a lifetime of maneuvering amid the battle dust of high finance, showed their jealousy of the spry old billionaire with the shiny blue eyes and skier’s athleticism.
Marcus couldn’t help admiring his employer’s stature in the business world. He wondered, what was it that made the man so intriguing to the media? Was it his billions of dollars in net worth, his groundbreaking software company that had outlived so many competitors, or his legendary heli-skiing and mountain climbing adventures? In the business community, Seaton seemed to have acquired the stature of a retired general, a man who had found inner peace at the end of a lifetime of war.
Cameras flashed as they moved down the stairs. Reporters threw a barrage of questions.
Don Seaton turned to Marcus and said, “Last time I enjoyed talking to the press was in the eighties, back when they were interested because I was building a new type of corporation. But that was a long time ago. These days it feels like they’re just out for blood . . . or dirt.”
Marcus smiled at the remark, though never taking his alert eyes from the crowd as he scanned each face for signs of tension.
“Mr. Seaton, what did the commission discuss during your meeting?” one journalist asked. “Has Cygnus changed its offer?” another queried. “Why were you the only representative from X-Tronic at the meeting?” “Mr. Seaton, what sort of transformation do you anticipate if the merger goes through?” “Mr. Seaton . . .” “Mr. Seaton . . .” “Mr. Seaton . . .” A symphony of camera flashes threw strobelike shadows on the wall behind them.
“Everyone, please!” Seaton said at last. “You need to slow down. I’m an old man, so I’m afraid I can handle only three or four questions at a time.” The press corps laughed. Don took a step forward, and with a smile that charmed even the hardboiled veterans, he pointed to the first journalist he made eye contact with. “Go ahead, please.”
“Mr. Seaton,” the man said formally, as if he were an attorney cross-examining a witness, “Some say you are less concerned about your company’s shareholders than about the welfare of your customers and employees. Are you ignoring your responsibilities to the X-Tronic shareholders? If the merger goes through, who do you think will be the victims?”
Seaton nodded as if he had thought long and hard on the question. “As we all know,” he said, “a business can be broken down into terms like ‘profitability’ and ‘operational efficiencies.’ But the responsibilities of corporations are changing. There is also a new school of business that emphasizes the relationships a business has with all its stakeholders: customers, employees, citizens in the surrounding community . . .”
Marcus’s thoughts drifted away from his boss’s words as he found what his eyes had never stopped looking for: something suspicious in the crowd. Among the dense throng of journalists and onlookers, he found a face that was not dazzled or intrigued. Instead, it was a face like his own: so serious and focused, it was oblivious to the outside world. Focused like the face of a predator about to spring.
Just as Marcus had singled him out in the crowd, the heavyset man began to move, pushing his way through the crowd, getting closer to the steps. Marcus stood loosely on the balls of his feet, watching, waiting, playing a dozen scenarios in his mind. He even glanced around the crowd for a half second in case this was a decoy, making sure that this one man was the only immediate threat and not part of a team. Nothing. His eyes shot back toward the man. He was alone. Then Marcus saw the final warning as the man’s right hand lowered to his side, resting, fumbling with something out of sight.
“Get down!” Marcus shouted as he moved forward, drawing his gun.
Heeding his bodyguard’s command, the older man dropped to the ground. As the crowd stood baffled and stunned, Marcus leaped in front of Seaton and squatted in a low triangle position, partly to shield the billionaire and partly to steady his firing stance amid the crowd. A woman screamed, and journalists milled and collided in panic as the assailant came barreling through the crowd, yelling, his gun half raised. He looked like an amateur, unsure of his aim. The gun waved about as it fired two shots. The first ricocheted with a whine off the thick marble of the stairs; the second grazed Marcus’s shoulder. Without flinching from the pain, the bodyguard returned three steady shots to the man’s chest. The assailant fell like a poleaxed bull at the base of the stairs. The journalists, shaken but recognizing the opportunity, rushed back to snap their cameras at the unknown corpse. Marcus maintained a strong hold, keeping Seaton flat on the staircase, and yelled at the crowd to stand back from the body. Eyes watering from the pain in his shoulder, he kept his gun trained on the prostrate, unmoving form in its growing pool of blood.
20
MARCUS SAT IN the back of an ambulance in front of the New York Stock Exchange building. The street was obstructed by three police cruisers and another ambulance. The entryway was blocked off with yellow police tape that brightened with each flash from the police photographer’s camera. And as if the earlier horde of journalists hadn’t been enough, all the news networks had now sent reinforcements for their coverage of what the media had dubbed “t
he Wall Street shooting.”
Don Seaton sat in a daze among the bustling investigators outside the trading floor. As he watched the NYPD officers moving throughout the corridor, he reminisced on the life he had enjoyed when starting X-Tronic. The addicting passion of being a new entrepreneur, putting his all into an idea—not just a company, but the possibility of developing a product that would change the marketplace forever. It had never been about the money—the money was only a way of keeping score. He would never admit it, but at first he had been terrified by the rapid growth of the company that would eventually make him billions. He was nostalgic for the excitement he had experienced with his original business partners when they were starting X-Tronic thirty years ago. But life had taken some tragic turns since those days. Even Seaton’s legendary life was turning toward disaster. He had just survived an assassination attempt; his own bodyguard had been wounded in the attack. But the most horrifying thing for him to accept was that he had known the man who tried to kill him. Once, long ago, they had been good friends.
Thirty years ago, Seaton was beginning to build X-Tronic and had recruited two childhood friends: Nick Kemper and Jack Ross. All three men were bursting with ideas and the energy to pursue them. But as they developed X-Tronic in San Francisco, in the wake of the software boom of the early 1980s, the company had produced only flat earnings.
Nick, fearing that the company wouldn’t succeed, had exercised his stock options and left for another promising start-up in Silicon Valley. But Don and Jack had planned to stay at X-Tronic for the long haul. He remembered working eighteen-hour days for two years with his friend as they prepared for the company to go public. Eventually, they had developed an array of business software applications that dazzled corporations across the globe.
Seaton could still remember the night he and Jack rented a yacht for the company party after the initial stock offering. Drifting under the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset, they had led the toast to all the employees, for everyone’s hard work and for the future. It was the pinnacle of their friendship.
