The Game Players of Meridien

by Robert I. Katz

  Curtis nodded. “Nothing yet. We’re trying.

  “I have a meeting in one hour with Guild Master Anderson.”

  Curtis nodded, unsurprised. “Did you ask for the meeting or did he?”

  “He did. Any idea what he’s going to say?”

  He shrugged. “No need to guess. You’ll know in an hour.”

  “True,” I said.

  “Meanwhile,” Curtis said. “You’ve received this from Erik DeLaney.” He held out an envelope. It was heavy, off-white paper, sealed with wax.

  “Oh, shit,” I said.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Curtis said. “The sharks are circling.”

  Guild Master Anderson looked pale. His hands lay listlessly on top of his desk. “There have been additional developments,” he said. He shook his head and sighed. “You’ve stirred things up. It appears that we are under assault.”

  “We? Who is ‘we’?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat and took a small sip from the glass of clear liquid sitting in front of him. It looked like water but I could smell something medicinal. I didn’t recognize the scent. “The financial infrastructure of this nation,” he said.

  I glanced out the window. Cars and pedestrians moved sedately along the street. Pedestrians strolled. The shop windows were full of goods. The sun shone, the air was clear. This did not look like a nation under any sort of assault. “Tell me about it.”

  “This recent challenge against your corporation, by parties who are essentially unknown, prompted me to make inquiries regarding a number of other incidents.” He sipped again from the glass and grimaced. “Incidents that I have long regarded with unease.” He shook his head and looked pained. “It started five years ago. A challenge against Sutton Industries. Sutton lost and was taken over by Five Star Holdings.” I knew this. It was a notable contest but not unusual.

  “So?”

  “Five Star Holdings, it turns out, is a dummy corporation. We didn’t realize it, not at first. They’re fronted by members of Niger, all seemingly legitimate.” Niger was an old, respected Guild, almost as old as Argent. “A year later, Riva Lending came under attack. One of our largest banks wound up changing ownership. Again, all seemingly legitimate, sponsored by one of our own Guilds, Tarentinus, but again, the actual ownership cannot be determined.”

  “And this only came to light, now?”

  “It did not occur to us to look more closely until now.”

  “So, I’m not the first,” I said. That actually made me feel better. Many centuries ago, an ancient military leader named Eisenhower once said, ‘If you have a problem that you cannot solve yourself, then make it a bigger problem’. Also, of course, misery does love company

  The Guild Master nodded. “As I said, I’ve made inquiries. We have discovered that Meridien is not the only nation that has come under this sort of surreptitious infiltration. The same thing has been happening with almost all of our allies. Major industrial conglomerates, important financial institutions have been bought out. A few refused to sell. Those few were subjected to escalating attacks and have either changed ownership or have ceased to exist.”

  “Aside from Sutton and Riva, which ones have changed ownership?”

  “Only one more: Davos Holdings. It’s become a division of Clarion Enterprises.”

  “Graham Reid,” I said.

  The Guild Master inclined his head. “Clarion is expanding at a rapid rate. It appears that Mr. Reid has considerable financial backing.”

  “What does Aureus say about that?”

  “They are not pleased.”

  The lifeblood of the Guilds was money. New money, money outside of the Guilds, uncontrolled money, posed a threat to the entire system. This, of course, was bad enough, but there was more. I thought I knew what he was going to say. I could see it in his face and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all. It seemed quite, quite obvious where the Guild Master was going. Successful men know how to evaluate the risks versus the benefits, and this did change things. Oh, yes, it did. “Oliver Enterprises is not that big. Why me?”

  “You’re not the smallest organization they’ve gone after. Every one of their targets has been highly profitable and well run.” He cracked the merest hint of a smile. “You should feel complimented.”

  I suppose, in some distant part of my brain, I did feel complimented. I also felt pissed off. “Leon Sebastian was my friend.” I meant the comment to be dispassionate but I must have sounded bitter.

  Guild Master Anderson gave a small grimace. “Leon Sebastian left his copy of the contract in a locked drawer, so he cannot be accused of revealing confidential information. Nevertheless, you found it without much difficulty. I think we can assume that he wanted you to find it.

  “I was contacted this afternoon by Brittany Gannett, the Guild Master of Gentian. She informed me that Leon Sebastian was instructed by her to sign that contract. Both Gentian and Sebastian Securities were offered an extraordinary amount of money by Presideo Dynamics. That usually does it.”

  “Winston Smith, whoever he really is, does not belong to a Guild. Why would they accept?”

  “I suspect that Gentian is trying to cover up their actual interest. It probably seemed at first like easy money for very little effort. Guild Master Gannett claims that Mr. Sebastian protested this assignment. She claims that she ordered him to take the contract and to use his association with Winston Smith to obtain as much information as possible on his organization’s resources and motives.”

  “They’re claiming that Leon was a spy?”

  Guild Master Anderson held up one hand and rocked it back and forth. “That might be overstating the case. Nothing in the contract pre-empted Mr. Sebastian’s loyalty or allegiance to his own Guild, and Winston Smith would have known that. Nevertheless, Guild Master Gannett seems to have been at least dimly aware that this contract could reflect badly on her own judgment and leadership.”

  “An offer Leon couldn’t refuse,” I said, “and Brittany Gannett has a convenient excuse for approving it.”

  Anderson sat back in his seat. “Exactly.”

  “So, what do you want from me?” He was going to say it, anyway. It might as well be now.

  He tapped one finger slowly against the desk. His eyes grew sharp and suddenly, he looked not at all infirm. He smiled, wolfishly. “This is no longer a problem that the governing body of this nation can ignore, and it extends far beyond any of the Guilds and far beyond the borders of Meridien. We are in negotiation with our allies. Action will be taken, but it won’t be swift and it won’t be soon. We need to know what we’re dealing with.

  “In the meantime, I want you to do as you’ve been asked. Sell your shares in Sindara. Be grateful that they didn’t ask for more.”

  So, there it was, as I figured. “And then what?”

  “Sit tight. I’ll keep you informed. In the meantime, the Guild may have some work for you.”

  “Bribing me?” I didn’t mean to sound resentful. I was almost embarrassed at my tone of voice.

  “If I need to bribe you, then I’ve misjudged you. Like your friend, Leon Sebastian, you’re smart enough to see what has to be done. And I know I don’t need to tell you, but I’ll tell you anyway: keep quiet about all this.”

  Distantly, I could feel my hands tremble. Guild Master Anderson waited while I took a deep breath, then another. “Alright,” I finally said. “I guess that I have no choice.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “There is always a choice. Sometimes there is no right choice but there is always a best choice. I think that in this case, you’ve made it.”

  Chapter 11

  Erik DeLaney hated me. He had hated me for at least five years, ever since I underbid him on a series of contracts to construct residential towers on the banks of the River Hastings. The towers were divided into very large, very luxurious apartments and the project had made Oliver Enterprises a lot of money.

  Evidently, DeLaney felt that the challenge by Winston Sm
ith made me vulnerable.

  DeLaney had no idea that Winston Smith had already won.

  The transference of my ownership went smoothly enough. My admin, Benedict Howell, was an expert in administrative law before deciding that in-house council suited his personality more than the courtroom. He handled our side of the paperwork. We were of course intensely interested in who might show up to assume ownership but we learned nothing. A large, stocky man in a conservative suit entered the conference room, nodded to the actuaries, the secretaries and the official stenographer, sat down in a chair across from us and said, “How are you, Ben?”

  “Not bad, thanks.” Benedict turned toward me. “This is Justin Cleaver, of Cleaver and Barrow. Douglas Oliver.”

  We shook hands and exchanged the usual pleasantries before Cleaver said, “Shall we proceed?”

  “Who else is coming?” I asked.

  “Nobody. I have full power of attorney. The new owner wishes to remain anonymous.”

  “Of course,” I muttered.

  I sat back in my chair and scowled but the paperwork was in order and we had no choice. We had already received the documents and they had been extensively reviewed. I signed each one as it was placed in front of me and a few minutes later, Justin Cleaver rose to his feet. “Thank you, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure.”

  I said nothing. Benedict cracked a tiny smile. “Likewise,” he said, and Cleaver bowed his way from the room.

  Benedict inspected my face and gave me a sympathetic frown. “Win some, lose some,” he said. “Don’t let it go to your head, and don’t let the bastards get you down.”

  “I’m not a rookie. I know how the game is played.”

  Benedict nodded and prudently said nothing more, but he still looked worried.

  So, DeLaney…I needed an outlet for my frustration and DeLaney had volunteered to provide it.

  I had never issued a challenge, myself. I preferred to build things rather than to take them. I do know how the game is played, however. Good men may feel differently about these things. Men that I admire and respect have issued challenge, have taken over businesses, incorporated them into their own domains, and usually improved them.

  I did not, however, admire and respect Erik DeLaney. DeLaney’s wealth was inherited. Nothing wrong with that, but DeLaney was not as smart as his father and grandfather, or at least, he was not as careful. He had inherited a diversified corporation, focused on ship building and construction. He hadn’t run it into the ground but his profit margins were less than they should have been, primarily because he had taken on too much debt.

  DeLaney was overextended. DeLaney preferred to take rather than build.

  On the surface, DeLaney, Incorporated was a larger firm than Oliver Enterprises, but his finances were shaky and mine were rock solid.

  The opening moves were standard. I wasted no time refusing his offer. Then I waited. As expected, a few minor contracts were canceled. Rumors began to circulate that my profits were decreasing, and my corporation’s stock began to drop.

  Truly, an idiot, I thought. I was the majority shareholder in Oliver Enterprises. Nobody could buy the corporation away from me unless I agreed to sell, and the stock price reflected nothing except unsubstantiated rumor and investor paranoia. I shrugged and bought back a few shares at excellent prices.

  Ten of my workers quit and joined DeLaney, then fifteen more. Two projects had to be slowed as I reshuffled my staff. This was annoying but nothing more than that.

  Still, I waited. Finally, I received a call from Frank Malone, a supplier of concrete, steel and plasticine. His face in the vid looked worried. “Douglas,” he said. “I’ve received a proposal from Erik DeLaney. He’s offering a premium on all of my product.”

  “Do tell,” I said.

  Malone nodded. “He’s paying outrageous amounts if I can assure immediate delivery. The only merchandise that I have on hand is designated for Oliver Enterprises.” He smiled wanly. “I’m not going to break our contract. I just wanted to let you know this is happening.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Sell it to him.”

  Malone blinked. “You’re sure?”

  “I would be doing you a favor. Charge him as much as you possibly can. Perhaps, someday in the future, I will ask you to do me a favor in return.” I already had enough materiel on site to finish my current projects. Two new projects might have to be delayed. I shrugged. It was worth it.

  A slow grin spread across Frank Malone’s face. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”

  A week or so more of DeLaney chipping away and I had more than enough ammunition. “Release the Kraken,” I told Benedict.

  “Excellent,” Benedict said, and rubbed his hands together. “Nothing I enjoy more than separating a fool from his money.”

  “Think of it as the rescue of a poor, abused corporation.”

  As I said, DeLaney was overextended. He knew it and I knew it but DeLaney didn’t know that I knew it, or he didn’t care, and now he was overextended even more. The next morning, the financial press was full of stories—true ones—regarding DeLaney, Incorporated’s shaky foundations and uncertain future.

  It’s good to have people on the inside, I reflected. God knows, I paid them enough.

  DeLaney’s stock began to fall, then it began to plunge. Rumors of bankruptcy were floated, and I began to buy.

  A few nights later, I walked into the Guild Hall, Jennifer at my side. My mood was conflicted. I had been forced to give up my interests in Sindara but now possessed a good portion of DeLaney, Incorporated. DeLaney had withdrawn his offer for Oliver Enterprises and I owned a third of his corporation and a seat on his Board.

  As they say…win some, lose some.

  The cage had been disassembled and the center of the room was empty. There were no bouts or any other entertainment scheduled for the evening. A few players sat at the gaming tables but the room was quiet. Fine with me. We took our seats and our waiter appeared almost immediately.

  I had thought about going back to Arcadia but the place was too public. I wasn’t in the mood for any drama. The food here was almost as good, the wine cellar was superb and security was not an issue at the Guild Hall. We could relax.

  Aside from a few superficial vid calls, this was the first time I had seen Jen since our evening out. Her honey gold hair shone in the light. Her eyes, I noticed for the first time, were green. She wore a dark blue dress that covered her shoulders and upper arms, dipped modestly low on her chest and ended above the knees. There was probably a name for the style but I was hardly an expert on women’s clothing. I did know that I liked the way she looked.

  “Are things better?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s over, at least for the moment.”

  She leaned forward. “Tell me about it,” she said.

  At that moment, the wine arrived. I waited until it was poured and the waiter out of earshot before replying. I had been instructed to keep quiet about the silent battle that some unknown entity seemed to be waging against our nation, and of course, I was far from satisfied with the most recent outcome. I found myself reluctant to speak. “I gave up,” I finally said. “It seemed…wiser.”

  Jennifer examined my face. She sipped her wine. “That seems unlike you,” she said.

  “There were extenuating circumstances. I’m not at liberty to reveal them.”

  She frowned.

  “I received a reasonable price for my shares,” I said.

  I suppose my tone must have been caustic. Jennifer gave me a half-hearted grin. “The players may change but the game is never-ending. Isn’t that so?”

  I sipped my wine and carefully nodded my head. “There may come a time when the outcome will be…re-visited.”

  “So, tell me about DeLaney. Everyone is talking.”

  “Everyone?”

  “I know all about Eric DeLaney. His former mistress, Carey Evans, is a customer, also an old friend. We went to collegium toge
ther.”

  That was interesting. “What does she say about him?”

  “He has a high opinion of himself. He can come four times in a night but he’s still lousy in bed.”

  I paused, my wine glass half way to my lips. “That was perhaps too much information.”

  “Oh?” She grinned. “Carey had much to say on the subject. She doesn’t like him.”

  “Then why was she involved with him?”

  “She doesn’t like him now. She liked him, then.”

  Our food arrived. We paused our conversation while we ate. Finally, I said, “There isn’t much to tell about my dispute with DeLaney. He has a tendency to misjudge both his opponent and the strength of his own position. Sooner or later, he’ll get over that, or he’ll end up poor. Or dead.”

  We finished our meal soon after and walked out into the covered parking lot. I paused for an instant, sniffed the air and wrinkled my nose. I smiled. “This way,” I said, and turned to the right.

  Jennifer gave me a sharp glance. The car, she knew, was to the left. “Of course,” she said.

  Smart girl, Jennifer.

  The lot, technically speaking, was run on consignment and was not actually a part of the Guild Hall. The same rules and strictures did not apply.

  The night was quiet. We were alone. Jennifer, I noticed, wore shoes with low heels and reinforced toes. They would be good for either running or, if necessary, for fighting. I didn’t think it likely that she would have to do either, but Jennifer obviously believed in being prepared.

  “Tell me,” I said, “where are Darryl and Claudia, tonight?”

  She looked at me and frowned. “Oh, shit,” she muttered.

  I smiled. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  She considered that for a moment then shrugged. “If you say so.”

  A single car was parked at the far end of the lot. The few rows in front of it were empty, leaving a large, open space, sufficient for a group of men to maneuver. I sampled the air, smiled and stepped forward.