by Stuart Woods
Stone watched Ms. Blaine walk toward a wet bar in the opposite room.
“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” Prince asked.
“Quite,” Stone said.
“I think one should make a good first impression before making a first impression. What brings you to Los Angeles, Mr. Barrington?”
“Come now, Mr. Prince,” Stone said. “You know why I’m here or you wouldn’t have seen me without an appointment.”
Prince nodded. “Quite so. Maybe not even with an appointment,” he said. “How is Mrs. Calder these days?”
“Healthy,” Stone replied.
“Is she considering my offer?”
“Anyone would consider a billion-dollar offer,” Stone replied, “but she has other business interests that she must attend to as well.”
“Ah, yes,” Prince said, “Champion Farms. How is old Rex?”
Stone wondered exactly how he knew about the racing farm deal. “Never met the gentleman,” he replied.
Their ice tea arrived, and Stone had the pleasure of watching Carolyn Blaine bend over to set it on the coffee table.
Prince raised his glass in a toasting motion. “Now to business,” he said.
9
Stone took a sip of his iced tea. It was flavored with tropical fruit and delicious. “I’d like to know why you want to buy Centurion Studios,” he said.
“I have no interest in Centurion,” Prince replied, “only its land. From my time in Los Angeles I have observed that making a profit from the production of motion pictures is a very iffy way to invest one’s money. One can make money from the movies, of course, but a better way to do it is to let the studios and the independent producers flail about judging scripts and putting together packages of directors and stars, then, when the projects are ready to go, deciding which ones to back. I have done very well that way.”
“I understand your point of view,” Stone said, “but without organizations like Centurion and the producers they have as partners, your choice of films in which to invest would be extremely limited.”
“In that event, I can always invest in something else,” Prince said. “I have no emotional involvement in motion pictures; I rarely even see one. I like investing in hotels, however. I’ve put together a group of some of the finest in cities across the country, and they make money. One makes more money, though, if one develops them, rather than paying a premium for the creations of someone else. The Centurion property will give me the kind of acreage to put a sumptuous hotel in a park, with enough land left over to develop offices and residences at the other end.”
“How many of the acres would you devote to the hotel?” Stone asked.
“Perhaps only a dozen or fifteen,” Prince replied. “There isn’t enough acreage for a golf course-you need a couple of hundred for that-but I might get a par-three, nine-hole course in. That’s about all a traveling businessman has time for anyway.”
Stone looked around the room. “Why don’t you have a model of what you want to build?” he asked.
Prince shrugged. “I don’t have any trouble visualizing what I want, and since I’m using my own money, or that of my hedge fund, I don’t need to convince people with no imagination to back me.”
“Surely, you must have architect’s plans.”
“Nothing I’d care to show you,” Prince replied.
“You understand that if Mrs. Calder decides not to sell you her shares, you won’t get the property?”
Prince allowed himself a small smile. “I don’t really think that’s going to be a problem,” he said.
Stone was stunned. This sort of confidence he had not expected, and there was nowhere for this conversation to go until he knew why Prince was not worried. He took another sip of his iced tea and set the glass on its coaster. “Well, I won’t trouble you further, Mr. Prince,” he said, rising and offering his hand.
“Thank you for seeing me on no notice.”
Prince shook Stone’s hand. “Any time at all,” he replied. “Carolyn, would you please escort Mr. Barrington to the elevator?”
“Oh, I wonder if I might call a taxi,” Stone said. “A friend dropped me here and took my car.”
“Carolyn, call down for my car and have Mr. Barrington delivered to…” He raised his eyebrows.
“Bel-Air,” Stone said. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It just sits in the garage until I need it,” Prince said, “and I won’t need it until this evening. If you have any shopping to do or other calls to make, please keep the car until seven, if you like.”
“Thank you again,” Stone said, then followed the gorgeous Carolyn out of the office and to the elevator. She stopped there.
“It will be only a moment,” she said. “Do you have friends in L.A., Mr. Barrington?” she asked.
“A few.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me while you’re here?”
“That would be very pleasant,” Stone replied, surprised, then he thought about it for a second. “Tell me,” he said, “will this dinner be tax-deductible for Mr. Prince?”
She gave a little laugh. “No, this isn’t business, just pleasure, and neither Mr. Prince nor I will be paying.” She handed him a card. “This is my address; eight o’clock tonight?”
The elevator arrived, and Stone stepped aboard. “Book us into your favorite restaurant,” he said, then the doors closed and Stone left his stomach on a high floor as the car plummeted to the lobby.
He walked out of the skyscraper to find a bright, silver Bentley Mulsanne awaiting him. A man with a shaved head in a black suit and tie held the door open for him. The car had only recently been introduced and Stone hadn’t seen one yet, so he had a good look around it before he got in.
The driver slid into the front seat and closed his door, sealing out all sound from Wilshire Boulevard. “Where may I take you, Mr. Barrington?” he asked.
Stone gave him the address of the Bel-Air house.
“No shopping?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for shopping,” Stone replied. “How do you like the car?”
“It’s superb,” the man replied. “Mr. Prince had an Arnage before, but this one is a considerable improvement in every way.”
Stone electrically adjusted his seat and settled in for the ride. “What else does Mr. Prince drive?” he asked.
“He has an Aston-Martin DBS for the occasions when he drives himself,” the man replied.
“He has good taste in cars,” Stone said.
“In everything,” the man replied.
As they approached the house, Stone gave the driver the code for the gate, and he was dropped at the front door. He thanked the driver and walked into the house, which seemed deserted, although he knew that Manolo was somewhere nearby. Dino was not back yet, and Stone changed into a swimsuit and took a plunge in the large pool. He swam a few laps, then put on a robe, and settled into a chaise longue, just as his phone buzzed.
“Hello?”
“It’s Eggers,” he said.
“Good afternoon,” Stone replied. “You still at the office?”
“I never get out of here before seven,” Eggers said.
“Do you have some news for me?”
“Do I! Rex Champion is close to bankruptcy. He’s been selling off his breeding stock piecemeal to create enough cash flow to keep afloat until he can sell. And every time he sells another Derby winner, the value of the business drops.”
“That’s very interesting,” Stone said. “Have you formed an opinion as to what the whole kaboodle might be worth?”
“Thirty-five million, tops,” Eggers said. “That price would allow Rex to pay his debts and walk away free and clear, but I don’t think he would have much left over. If Arrington wants to be generous, she could offer him thirty-eight million. In two or three years, if the economy bounces back and she can buy some good breeding stock, it could be worth half again as much.”
“So you think it’s a good investment
for her?”
“If I didn’t have to run this law firm, I’d put together some investors and buy it myself,” Eggers said.
Dino appeared from the direction of the house, shucked off his coat, tossed his tie aside, and sat down. Manolo was right behind him with two tall drinks on a silver tray.
“Gotta run,” Stone said. “Let me know if anything new comes up.”
“Arrington is going to have to move pretty quickly to get the place before word gets out and the buzzards start circling,” Eggers said. “Bye.” He hung up.
Stone picked up his drink from where Manolo had set it, raised his glass to Dino, and took a gulp. “Welcome back,” he said. “Did you learn anything scintillating?”
Dino took a similar swig and sighed. “Jennifer Harris died from something like an ice pick driven into her brain from the back of the neck, above the hairline,” he said, pointing to his own neck. “Whoever did it was cool enough to wait for the blood to stop leaking before he placed her head on the pillow, then he filled the tiny wound with spirit gum, so it wouldn’t drain further.”
“What’s spirit gum?” Stone asked.
“It’s a thick, gummy substance that actors use to create makeup, and undertakers use to fill indentations in a corpse. The ME might have overlooked the wound, since he wasn’t expecting it, if Rivera hadn’t asked him to be thorough.”
“Well, we’re in a whole new ball game, I think,” Stone said.
10
Dino looked at Stone. “You look worried.”
“I guess I am,” Stone said.
“Something to do with Mr. Prince?”
“Yes,” Stone said.
“What was he like?”
“Like Donald Trump, except with good taste and real money.”
“I’m trying to get my mind around that,” Dino said.
“He’s a very slick article, and I came away impressed, until you told me about Jennifer Harris.”
Stone’s phone buzzed. “Hello?”
“It’s Arrington. What are you doing out there?”
“Dino and I had lunch with Rick Barron today, and then I met with Terrence Prince.”
“And how did that go?”
“Have you ever met or spoken to Mr. Prince, Arrington?”
“No, neither.”
“He seems very cocksure about your selling your shares. Have you indicated to anyone that you intend doing so?”
“Nobody out there.”
“How about at home?”
“My lawyer and accountant.”
“Do you trust them both implicitly?”
“I guess. They’re the same man.”
“Does he have any special qualifications for managing your affairs?”
“I manage my own affairs; he’s the old-line go-to guy, and he has a good reputation, locally, for giving sound advice.”
“What is his name?”
“Howard Sharp.”
“I think you should fire him at once.”
“Why?”
“Because, if what you’ve told me is true, he’s the only person who could have given Terrence Prince the assurance that you’re going to sell your Centurion shares to him, and that is a serious ethical violation. It means you can’t trust the man.”
“And who should replace him, you?”
“No, I don’t have all the skills required to advise you in a credible way. However, Woodman amp; Weld does, and if you become their client, I can see that you get their best attention.”
“What can they do for me that Howard Sharp can’t?”
“They can keep your confidences, for a start. They can also tell you how much you should pay for Champion Farms.”
“Will you ask them to offer an opinion on that?”
“They already have,” Stone said. “Thirty-five million at the most, thirty-eight, if you’re fond of Rex Champion and want to be generous with him.”
“And how did they arrive at that number?”
“Through due diligence,” Stone replied. “Something Mr. Sharp is not acquainted with, apparently. Tell me, did Mr. Sharp recommend that you pay fifty million for the farms?”
“Yes, he said it was a steal.”
“Does he also represent Rex Champion?”
“I don’t know-possibly.”
“He sounds like trouble to me.”
Arrington was silent for a moment. “Why does Woodman amp; Weld think Rex will sell for thirty-five million?”
“Because he’s nearly bankrupt, and he’s selling off his breeding stock for the cash to keep going.”
“He assured me that both he and the business were doing well.”
“Then he’s desperate, and that has made him a liar.”
“I don’t relish looking him in the eye and offering him fifteen million less than he’s asking, and I don’t like putting his back against the wall.”
“You shouldn’t do that, you should let me or Bill Eggers do it, and, as Bill has suggested, if you want to be generous with him, you can offer him thirty-eight million.”
Arrington thought about it for a moment. “Offer him thirty-six million,” she said.
“Is that a firm price, or are you going to wiggle?”
“I’ll go to thirty-seven million, if I have to.”
“I think you should make him a take-it-or-leave-it offer, and walk away if he doesn’t accept.”
“All right, offer him thirty-seven million. If he accepts it, I’ll hire Woodman amp; Weld, provided you supervise their work.”
“Consider it done. In the meantime, don’t fire Howard Sharp, and don’t say anything to him that might make him think that you’re not going to sell Terrence Prince your shares.”
“All right, but I haven’t changed my mind about selling Prince my shares. I still need the money to pay Rex for the farms.”
“Here’s my first piece of advice as your new attorney: don’t sell a billion-dollar investment in order to raise thirty-seven million.”
“Well, all right, but where am I going to get the money?”
“Do you have a financial statement?”
“Yes, current as of a couple of weeks ago. Howard Sharp helped me get it together.”
“Fax it to me here, and give me your permission to share it with Woodman amp; Weld. We’ll find a way for you to have your cake and eat it, too.”
“I like the sound of that,” she said.
“And remember, not a word to Sharp about anything. Make him think nothing has changed. If he presses you for an answer on selling your Centurion shares, tell him you’re working on organizing things.”
“Why do you think Howard Sharp is in Prince’s pocket?”
“Because he’s the only one who could betray you, and Prince has apparently bought him. Sharp has probably given him your financial statement.”
“The son of a bitch,” she said with some heat.
“Keep cool, and don’t let on anything.”
“I’ll fax you the financial statement first thing in the morning; I’m on the way out to a dinner party now.”
“That’s fine,” Stone said. He hung up the phone.
“You didn’t tell her that the last person to refuse to sell her Centurion shares to Prince was murdered,” Dino pointed out.
“I didn’t want to panic her,” Stone said, “and she’s in no danger as long as Prince thinks she will sell.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” Dino said.
11
Stone found Carolyn Blaine’s house easily enough, on Camden Drive, off Sunset. From its generous size he reckoned that either she had family money or she had had a good divorce. No ordinary executive assistant could pay the property taxes out of her salary, he thought.
Carolyn didn’t ask him in; she came to the door with her purse and a shawl in her hand. “Let’s have our first drink at the restaurant,” she said.
Stone installed her in the Mercedes. “Where to?”
“Is Spago Beverly Hills all right?”
“One of my favorites,” Stone said.
“I managed to get a table in the garden,” she said.
Ten minutes later they were being seated among L.A.’s filmland glitterati, including a pair of movie stars and several faces familiar from television. Carolyn ordered a martini and Stone stuck with his usual Knob Creek.
“What’s Knob Creek?” Carolyn asked.
“My favorite bourbon.”
“The brown stuff?”
“American corn whiskey, this one aged for nine years. It’s the patriotic thing to drink, instead of all that foreign swill. Abraham Lincoln lived in a log cabin on Knob Creek, in Kentucky.”
Their drinks arrived, and she tasted his bourbon. “Not bad,” she said. “I like it better than scotch.”
“Smart woman,” Stone said. They clinked glasses and drank.
“So, was our having dinner Terrence Prince’s idea?” he asked.
“It was entirely mine,” she replied. “He doesn’t know about it.” She looked around. “Of course, he knows a lot of the people here, so it won’t be a secret for long.”
“I don’t care if he knows,” Stone said. “It won’t affect the business we have to do.”
“Why not?”
“Aha, that’s what Mr. Prince would ask.”
“I’m curious about this transaction, but purely on a personal basis,” she said.
“Prince wants to buy most of the land owned by Centurion Studios, so that he can build a hotel and some office buildings and condos.”
“Funny,” she said, “I haven’t seen the plans for that.”
“How about a model?”
She shook her head. “Terry only uses models when he has to educate investors. How much is he offering?”
“That’s not final, yet; somewhere between two and three billion dollars.”
“He can do that with a combination of personal and hedge fund money. He’ll finance a big chunk, too. He has excellent banking connections.”
“Good for him.”
“Is your client going to sell?”
“That is undetermined,” Stone replied.
“And if you knew, you wouldn’t tell me.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” he replied. “Client confidentiality. Of course, Prince has already pierced that veil.”
