An hour later, he was happy to see the flash of light on his telephone console. “Mangrum.”
“Dudley got a call late...” McQuade said.
“Scrambled?”
“Yes. Dudley got a call from Ed James, at Cavendish & Wasserman. Sloan and
Celia Morgan proposed Cavendish & Wasserman represent her in a demand we give the Morgan woman a fifteen percent position in ICP shareholders’ equity.”
“Based on what?”
“He showed Ed a photocopy of a note from Cement Products to Daphne Dryden and
a copy of a letter from the Cement Board of Directors repudiating the debt.” McQuade
paused. “Plus a copy of a letter from the Dryden woman to her parents in which she
alluded to the existence of a note.”
Mangrum was silent for a long moment, then said, “So the note still exists. Are we
getting a copy?”
“No, the Professor took his materials with him.”
“Smart. Wait—fifteen percent? That’s wrong.”
“That’s what Dudley said.”
“Hmm. What did James tell Sloan about taking the case?”
“They declined.”
“Clear thinking there. Give James’ firm some business.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now we know for sure how strong the enemy’s position is.” He paused. “Except
for the matter of the percentage. Ask Dudley to get back to his friend. Confirm the note
required fifteen percent.”
Mangrum watched the shadows shifting across the interior walls of the G-V. The euphoria he had felt at take-off had begun to fade.
How could he win? The professor will know how to use the note. Just the appearance of the note will drive share price into the dirt. He stared on the gray sea far below. My special buyers will watch their shares drop in price and be displeased with me. There are those who may demonstrate their displeasure in ways other than talk. The board might ask for resignations. He clasped his hands across his wide stomach and closed his eyes. After all he had accomplished, after all he had done for the Company, he was beaten. He didn’t have the strength to fight any more. He had failed.
Crossing the longitude of Reykjavik, Iceland, the flight attendant handed Mangrum a FAX. 7 July 1999 Chairman, Singapore I&S, to Walter M. Mangrum
Walter:
Heavy shorting in ICP stock yesterday on NYSE. Our purchases, based upon your recommendations, have provided up-ticks and zero-plus ticks needed for short executions. Request identification of shorter.
Kindest personal regards,
Ko
Ten minutes later, the flight attendant handed Mangrum another FAX. DATE: July 7, 1999
FROM: Pedro Silvestri
TO: Walter M. Mangrum
SUBJECT: Stock
Walter: Disturbed by yesterday’ s short activity in your stock. Please advise if problems. I would not like to discover my purchases are providing the up-ticks that are allowing the shorting.
Pedro
Mangrum looked at the outer door and wondered if it could be opened. A few moments of crisp, cool air, then oblivion. Mangrum was informed of another call. “A Mr. Desmond, sir. He assured me you’d take his call.”
Mangrum picked up the handset. “Ian, I’ve had all the bad news I…”
“Not bad, Walter—odd. Has anyone been asking about out new little enterprise?”
“No. Why?”
“Good. Our man at St. Helier says a couple of London-types have been asking questions.”
“First I’ve heard of it.”
“Good. The only person who would less like our venture to be penetrated than I is you.”
Chapter 30
July 8, the north Atlantic Ocean.
Mangrum had just changed his Rolex to Atlanta time when the telephone beside his
seat flashed again. It was McQuade.
“There have been several FAXes and e-mails for you this morning from your
associates.”
“Such as?”
“Mr. Mingle. Mr. Lee. Señora de la Flava. Mr. Sentano.”
“And?”
“And the subject is the stock’s behavior in the past few hours. The shorting appears
to be on the increase.”
“The tone of the messages?”
“Uh, hard to say from the printed word, sir, but I’d call it—not threatening, but, uh,
serious displeasure.”
Mangrum cracked the telephone base as he jammed the handset into its cradle.
At nine the next morning, Sloan, Tyler, and Celia were seated in Sloan’s office. “Our first step toward a press conference is what?” Tyler said.
“Where to have it should be the easy part,” Sloan said, “but I don’t think Dean Harwell would care for us to have it on campus.”
“No.”
“So where? Hmm. Easy. A hotel. They have meeting rooms.”
“Shouldn’t need much space.”
“Agreed.”
“OK, when?” Tyler said.
“ASAP.”
49 degrees, west longitude. The flight attendant knocked on the door to the cockpit. Clifford Sutton opened the door.
“Disculpe, Señor Sutton, but it’s Mr. Mangrum. I think you should look at him.” “What now?” The first officer murmured.
Mangrum was slumped in his seat, his eyes closed and his legs extended and askew.
He was mumbling.
“What’s he talking about, Juan?”
“I understand nothing, señor.”
Sutton shook his head and said, “Me, neither. We’ll be landing in Philadelphia in
about two and a half hours. Call me if there’s a change.”
Half an hour later, Mangrum’s mumbles became intelligible to the flight attendant. “Lack of attention. Neglected problem.” Mangrum, now erect in his seat, but with
his eyes still closed, pounded the arm. Mangrum was silent for fifteen minutes, when a smile appeared on his face and he began to speak again. “But at least there’s the money.” Mangrum opened his eyes and twisted his head toward the flight attendant. “Bloody Mary, Juan.”
“Now,” Sloan said, “as to our attendees?”
“All of the local TV stations,” Celia offered.
“The Journal-Constitution.” Tyler said.
“CNN. Got to have them,” Celia added.
“The The Atlanta Business Chronicle and Barron’s,” Sloan said. “The Wall Street
Journal .”
Sloan handed the list to Tyler. “While Celia looks for hotels, how about calling for
the names and direct numbers of business reporters?”
“And while we’re engaged in this dog work, Thomas?”
“I’ll be outlining what we’ll have to say.”
Fifteen minutes later, Celia handed a list of hotels to Sloan.
“Any recommendations?”
“The Ramada Inn, on Roswell Road. Close to I-285. Easy to reach, not too far out.
A suitable room for $175.”
“Good. Call them back and reserve it for—hmm.”
“Tomorrow,” Tyler said. “It’s quick, but it gives us enough time to inform the
media.”
“OK.”
“And the time?”
“4:00? Stock market’ll be closed.”
“You and Machiavelli,” Sloan said. He looked at Celia. “Agreed?”
Celia nodded.
“Better run this past Joe Earl.”
Sloan described the plans for the press conference and the outline of the presentation. “I like it all, Professor, except for the day.”
“Friday?”
“Bad day for press conferences. Conferences of any kind, for that matter. Too close
to the weekend.”
“OK, Monday?”
“Yes, and I recommend you three get out of town.”
“But, that will leave us with nothing to do until...”
<
br /> “That can’t be helped. Get out of town and stay out of town.”
Sloan described Harding’s security concerns and his own solution for a three -day hide-out.
“OK,” Celia said, “but what clothes do I need?”
“Hiking boots—jeans—maybe a sweater,” Sloan said.
“When do we..?”
“Let’s meet at Woody’s apartment at 4:00.”
McQuade caught the first flash of Mangrum’s light on his telephone console. “Yes, sir.”
“We’re late. More headwinds, but we’re in the pattern for Hartsfield now. I have an
immediate task for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call this professor and tell him I’m ready to meet as soon...”
“Meet with Sloan?”
“Do we have a bad connection, McQuade? Listen to me! I want to meet with the
Morgan woman.”
“Yes, sir,” McQuade stammered.
“The professor will know where she is.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As soon as possible. Say, tomorrow morning. Let them know I’m ready to settle
this thing.” He took a deep breath. “I have got to get back to business. Call me when you have an answer. On the plane or in the car.” “Me, Mother.”
“Hi.”
“Just wanted you to know Tom and his friend Woody and I are going away for a few
days.”
“Again? Why? Where?”
“Just a little getaway. Between the trip and my accident, I….”
“I understand, dear. When are you leaving?”
“This afternoon.”
“And back?”
“Middle of next week.”
“Where will you be?”
“The mountains. I'll call when I know where we're staying.”
Bea took the call. “He’s just leaving the office f or a few days, Mr. McQuade. May I have him call when he returns?
“That won’t do. I must reach him immediately. Quite important. Please connect me.”
Bea put the call on hold and yelled, “That darling Mr. McQuade on your line, Tom.”
Sloan returned to his desk. “Yes.”
“Daniel McQuade. Mr. Mangrum is arriving from Europe. He called me from his airplane and said he would like to meet with Ms. Morgan—and you, if she likes—at her earliest convenience. Would nine tomorrow morning be convenient?”
“Why the meeting?”
“Mr. Mangrum states he is ready to negotiate a settlement.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I believe Mr. Mangrum is quite anxious to talk.”
Sloan paused. “OK, I’ll talk with Miss Morgan and call you.”
Sloan caught Celia in the parking lot. “What’s the problem? If I’m going to meet you and Woody on time, I’ve got to move.”
“We’re not going—at least not right now.”
Sloan described his call from Daniel McQuade.
“‘Negotiate a settlement?’”
“McQuade’s words.”
“Really! Do you suppose it’s true?”
Sloan shrugged his shoulders. “You game?”
“Game?”
“To meet with him?”
“Are we?”
“How can we not be?”
“Then, I’m game.”
“OK. Do this. Go home and pack. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. We’ll still go to Woody’s and stay the night. We’ll meet Wally tomorrow at nine.”
“OK.”
“Excited?”
“Uh—sure.”
“You should to be.”
She took one step to the volcano’s lip, then jumped back.
“Don’t be afraid, Eve. If you don’t get closer, you won’t be able to see a thing.” “But the heat, Walter.”
“You can handle it. What’s the sense of traveling all the way to Mauna Loa and not
seeing it?”
She took a small step.
“Here, let me help.” He placed his hands on her waist. How exciting. How —how delicious!
“Walter, everything about you…
She picked up the phone.
“Where were you?” Mangrum demanded.
“On my way to my desk. Sorry, sir.”
“I’m still airborne. Have Seamus call.”
Sloan called Tyler to describe McQuade’s call and the altered plan. He then called Harding.
“I’m amazed. Hmm. Be careful. Wally Mangrum is not famous for giving up.”
Seamus Hanrahan returned Mangrum’s call.
“Where are you?”
“Brasilia.”
“I need...”
“No, Chairman, I have no time for any new duties right now. You have me on a
timed commission. I’m close to getting the Amazonian tree -huggers out of the picture and that fancy wood on the way to New Orleans, but every minute I spend with you cuts into my commission.” He paused. “Now, hurry.”
“I have a severe problem developing here. I don’t know whether I’ll need anyone as heavyweight as you are, but I don’t want to need and not have.”
“So?”
“I want you to get to Atlanta as soon as you can.”
“What about my commission here?”
“I’ll extend the period. Whatever time you need here plus four days for travel.” “Hmm.” Hanrahan was non-committal.
“OK, and five days to boot.”
“Done.”
“Do you have one of the Gulfstreams?”
“Yes.”
“Then I should see you here in nine hours?”
Now, Sloan wondered, where to meet? He considered the problem a moment, then called the offices of Grady, Grady, and Doyle.
“Now what, Tom? I’ve already told you the firm is not suicidal. If you think…”
“No, no, Henry. That’s not the reason for the call. This is a different matter, a favor.”
“Favor?”
“Yes, a favor. I just want to borrow a conference room. I’m having a meeting with Mangrum tomorrow and…”
“Really?”
“Yes. 9:00. Would you..?”
“Yes. Ask for Mary when you arrive.”
McQuade was staring out of his window when Sloan called. “McQuade.” “We’ll see you at 9:00 tomorrow.”
“Excellent.”
“In the offices of Grady, Grady and Doyle.”
“But...”
“Tenth floor of the Houston Tower.”
“I’ll contact Chairman Mangrum to determine if...”
“We’ll be at G, G and D at 9:00, McQuade. Your boss can join us there or not.”
After Celia had had a tour of Tyler’s apartment, he said, “I have said Uncle Wu to prepare dinner for us this evening. There should be a knock on the door at any moment.”
After Tyler had distributed drinks, he said, “While we wait, Thomas, tell me if you’ve noticed the activity in the stock?”
“No, what’s going on?”
“Heavy shorting, but plenty of ticks, obviously.”
“No, I haven’t seen…”
“Wait, please,” Celia said. “May I have the layman’s version of what ‘shorting’ means?”
“It’s a way of profiting from a stock’s declining price.”
When it was obvious Sloan had ended his description, Celia said, “Maybe a little more detail?”
“It goes like this,” Tyler began. “An investor who thinks a stock’s price is going to decline orders his broker to short the stock. Somewhere—there are many sources—the broker borrows the amount to be shorted, then sells it. The investor is now ‘short’ the stock. The investor must return the stock some day, meaning he will have to purchase an equal amount of shares sometime in the future. If, when the investor purchases the stock, the price has dropped in the intervening period, he pays less than the price he received when he sold the stock. The difference—except for the brokerage and borrowing fees— is his profi
t.”
“And if the price goes up?”
“Then he must pay more than he received and so has a loss.”
Celia nodded. “So whoever is shorting the ICP stock believes the price is going to go down?”
“Correct.”
“One more thing.”
Tyler nodded.
“You mentioned ‘ticks’. What does that mean?”
“Under the rules, one cannot sell a stock short unless the most previous transaction is a purchase at a higher price—called an ‘up-tick’—or a purchase at the same price as the latest ‘up-tick’—called a ‘zero-plustick.”
“And why is this?”
“It keeps a shorting run on a stock from occurring.”
Celia nodded. “Thanks.”
Chapter 31
July 9, Atlanta.
Just before nine the next morning, Celia was seated at the head of the table in G,G
and D’s small conference room, with Sloan and Tyler on either side.
“I’m nervous,” Celia laughed. “You’re going to handle this for me, aren’t you?” Sloan took her right hand and squeezed it. “I’ll lead, but you jump in if you don’t
understand something or don’t like how it’s going. This doesn’t have to be settled here
today.”
“I’d like to be done with it.”
“Well, he’s the one who blinked.”
Walter Mangrum and Brian Dudley entered the room. “Professor Sloan,” Mangrum
said, “I’m happy to see you again. And these are Ms. Morgan and Mr. Tyler?” Sloan nodded. Celia and Tyler made no move.
Mangrum walked to Celia’s end of the table and offered to shake Sloan’s hand. Sloan
remained seated, his hands folded in his lap.
Mangrum withdrew his hand.
“Mr. Mangrum,” Sloan said, “I intend for this meeting to be as cordial as possible,
but I do not intend to let any hypocrisy cloud the issues.” He paused. “I believe one of
your henchmen tried to kill Miss Morgan a week ago. I’m going to conduct myself in
this meeting accordingly.” Sloan paused. “Do I make my position clear?” “Abundantly.”
“Very well.” Sloan looked at the man at Mangrum’s left. “I presume this is your
counsel?”
“He is,” Mangrum said.
“All right, Mr. Mangrum, you requested this meeting. Proceed.”
Mangrum straightened the cuffs of his shirt, then said, “I said for this meeting to learn
what Ms. Morgan has in mind.”
The Dryden Note Page 16
