“But I don’t want to sell. How did the few that escaped do it?” Coleman asked.
“You won’t like the only possible solution. You’ll have to find another powerful organization—what’s called a ‘white knight’—and sell to them. You’ll still lose control of your magazines, but to somebody who is more congenial, and who’ll let you keep a minority share. But they’ll definitely be in charge,” Jonathan said.
“Either way I lose my magazines,” Coleman said. She’d never felt so helpless, so trapped.
“You know what you should do? Ask Heyward Bain for help,” Jonathan said.
“Why him? What can he do that you can’t?” Coleman said, annoyed. Was this another ploy to make her get in touch with her half-brother? Jonathan avoided his own ghastly relations whenever it was possible, but like everyone else, seemed determined to see her involved with Bain. She already owed so much to Bain, she felt awkward about asking him for help.
“He can do plenty. This is not my kind of banking, Coleman. A battle to fight off a hostile takeover is a specialty. Bain’s a billionaire with an international reputation for winning any battle he enters. Colossus might back off just knowing he’s involved.”
“I can’t call him. He gave me all this money, and I’ve never even thanked him properly. Can’t you find someone else?” Coleman asked.
“I’ll try, but I doubt if I can get you a deal you’ll like,” he said.
When Coleman hung up, she was near despair. She’d been so thrilled with the acquisition of First Home. Now it seemed she might lose everything. If Jonathan was right, she’d have to beg her half-brother for help. She’d never had to beg; she’d always managed to take care of herself. And she’d lose her magazines anyway—Heyward would be in control. For the moment, all she could do was wait to hear from Jonathan. She didn’t do waiting well.
Forty-Five
London
Heyward Bain’s library was the first public room the decorators had completed. He’d asked for an oasis where he could work while the rest of the house was finished, and the decorators had selected the library because they could complete it quickly. The walnut paneling had needed only polishing; the Oriental rugs and the furniture were antiques, requiring cleaning and minor restoration. The scent of the blue hyacinths in the blue-and-white Chinese pot on the coffee table added the perfect final touch. But the room’s serenity and beauty seemed to increase his restlessness.
When he’d moved to London, he’d thought that after his busy and stressful months in New York, he’d enjoy a quiet life. He’d lived as a recluse for many contented and productive years. But now that he had the peace he’d sought, he couldn’t seem to concentrate. Simon’s incarceration in the clinic in Switzerland was part of the problem. Not that he missed Simon—far from it. Living with Simon would be intolerable. But Heyward felt duty bound to visit the poor wretch every weekend, and the tedium of those weekends was beyond belief. Simon was a bore, with no interests except himself and money. Why he hadn’t seen that sooner was a mystery. Heyward’s brief infatuation with Simon had been expensive in ways more important than money. Simon had cost Heyward the esteem of people he admired.
He wanted Simon out of his life, but he couldn’t abandon him in his current physical condition, nor could he ignore Simon’s financial situation. Simon had been beaten badly by a lover he had cheated and, because of his battered hands, couldn’t even sign a check. He had given Heyward power of attorney, probably thinking Heyward would pay all his debts. Not a chance. He was paying Simon’s expenses in Switzerland, but when he emerged from the clinic, Simon would have almost nothing left of the small fortune he’d illegally amassed. Simon had owed every penny of that money and more to Rachel Ransome, for whom he had worked. He’d repaid all she’d done for him by stealing from her. Of course, Simon had also treated Heyward badly, but Heyward, unlike Rachel, could afford the losses, and Simon’s perfidy had set Heyward free. Or nearly free. Heyward was taking steps to rid himself completely of Simon, but it was slow going.
Heyward had settled Simon’s debts to Rachel, partly with his own money, and partly by arranging for Rachel to buy back Simon’s interest in the Ransome gallery for almost nothing. Because of what Heyward had done to make amends both on his own and on Simon’s account, Rachel and he had come to an understanding, perhaps the beginning of a friendship. If so, Rachel might be his only friend in London. Maybe his only friend anywhere.
Of the others to whom he’d insisted that Simon was a good person, and that everyone who disliked and mistrusted him was wrong, only Rob Mondelli seemed willing to forget Heyward’s mistakes. Heyward had enjoyed his recent London dinner with Rob. It had been good to have news of Coleman, Dinah, and Jonathan. He wished they were his friends. But he didn’t see how he could do more than he had done to win them over.
He walked to the window and stared out at Zachary Square. The mild weather, the yellow daffodils and pale pink and white blossoms on the fruit trees in the square should have cheered him, but all he felt was an unfamiliar emptiness. Could he be lonely? Surely not. He’d always been alone and had long ago come to accept it. When he felt sorry for himself, he had worked: inventing, investing, writing. He’d published six successful books, fiction and nonfiction, under pseudonyms, and by the time he was twelve, he’d made millions from his inventions, mostly devices to help people stop smoking, or to improve the quality of air corrupted by cigarette smoke—air cleaning filters and the like.
His empire was far larger and more diversified than anyone knew, and his riches far greater, even after he’d settled a fortune on his half-sister to try to atone for her impoverished childhood, a childhood he could have made better, if he hadn’t been so self-centered. He sighed. He neither needed nor wanted more money, but until recently, he’d found intellectual challenge in making it. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do.
The intercom buzzed. He frowned. He’d asked not to be disturbed. It was unlike his staff to ignore instructions. “Yes, Hicks? What is it?”
“Jonathan Hathaway is calling from New York. He says it’s an emergency.”
He grabbed the phone. “Jonathan, what is it? Has something happened to Coleman?”
“Coleman is okay, at least physically. I apologize for bothering you. I wouldn’t have called if I could have figured out anything else to do. Colossus Publishing is trying to take over Coleman’s magazines—she asked me to find a white knight, but her two magazines are fairly small, and no one’s interested—”
Heyward interrupted. “I understand. I’ll come at once. Coleman is my sister, and this is my fight.”
“I have to warn you: I couldn’t persuade her to ask you for help. She’s embarrassed because you’ve done so much for her, and she hasn’t thanked you properly—”
“Never mind all that. Will you have someone e-mail me everything you have on her magazines and Colossus’s approaches?”
“Of course. But Heyward, another thing—I might have been able to help Coleman more if I hadn’t been preoccupied with another problem: Dinah’s been accused of murder, and I’ve been told she could be arrested. But even if she isn’t arrested, her reputation could be ruined.”
“Nonsense. That’s ridiculous,” Heyward said.
Jonathan sighed. “You sound like my friend Blair Winthrop. That’s almost exactly what he said.”
“I know Blair. He’s nearly always right. For that matter, so am I. On Dinah, we agree—anyone who thinks she’s a killer is insane. As for Coleman, I’ll be in New York tomorrow morning. You can dismiss Coleman’s problems from your mind; consider everything taken care of. And I will do all I can to help Dinah,” Heyward said.
“Do you know anyone at DDD&W? I think they’re trying to frame Dinah,” Jonathan said.
“I know of them. At one time they had a good reputation, but in the last few years, it’s declined. While your office is e-mailing, ask them to send me everything you have on DDD&W.”
“Rob’s done a lot of investigating—”
“Send me whatever he’s turned up, too. You never know—I might know someone, or think of something. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jonathan.”
Heyward was rarely angry, but this was too much. Damn those pirates at Colossus. They’d rue the day they attacked his sister. And what were those idiots at DDD&W thinking? Dinah Greene was incapable of taking home an office-owned pencil, let alone murder. His family and friends were in trouble. But not for much longer.
What an extraordinary feeling: his sister needed him. Well, Coleman didn’t know it yet, but she could relax. He’d deal with Colossus. He’d wanted a project that intrigued him, and this one certainly did. His mind was already working overtime.
He pressed the intercom. “Hicks? Come in, please. I need to speak to every executive who works for HB Enterprises. Set up a conference call, and ask your assistant to make our travel arrangements. Get the two of us on a British Airways flight to New York tomorrow morning—the one that leaves around eight or nine and gets in before lunch.”
Hicks tried to speak, but Heyward didn’t have time for questions.
“Ask Mrs. Carter to pack for me. Tell her I don’t need much—I have clothes at the house in New York. She hasn’t been my housekeeper long, but she’s sensible, she’ll know what to pack.” He was making notes on the pad on his desk while he talked.
“Yessir,” Hicks said.
“We have a crisis on our hands. Colossus Publishing is attacking Coleman. They’re after her magazines. They’ll do their usual—strip them, destroy them, keep a few people, a few ideas, ruin the magazines and expand their reach a little. We’ll get rid of Colossus and make sure she’s armed against any other pirates.
“You and nearly everyone else in the London office will come with me to New York. Leave a skeleton staff here to answer the phones, deal with the mail, or any emergency. I want you on the plane with me, but scatter the others around—no more than two on the same flight, this afternoon or tonight, or at the latest tomorrow. Put everyone up at the Sherry Netherland or the Pierre—I want them within walking distance of my house. Ask your assistant to call the house, and let Horace know I’m coming so he can prepare for my arrival. They’ll need to order food, and get some additional help—we’ll have a lot going on. And I want our real estate people on the phone—I don’t care what time it is. I want to buy a building in New York, and I want to do it fast.”
Forty-Six
When the plane took off from Heathrow Thursday morning, Hicks was still trying to talk Bain out of his plans. “Mr. Bain, I can’t understand why you want to enter the publishing business. It’s an unattractive industry—low margins, highly competitive, many failures, in consolidation. Book sales are declining, bookstores closing, and publishers are laying off employees. Magazines disappear daily. And you want a vertically integrated company? There are difficulties with that strategy—at least one major company, Carsen Publishing, apparently went under trying it—”
“Yes, I know,” Heyward said. “We’ll do it differently. Coleman will be in charge of publishing the two magazines, which she already owns. I’ve investigated them and I’m confident about their future. She has two perfect niches: ArtSmart, the top magazine in the art world, and First Home is perfect for her talents—its mission is how to save money without sacrificing style. I’ll acquire whatever’s needed for the manufacturing side of the business and run it myself until I can find a CEO to take over. Or maybe I’ll enjoy running it and decide to continue as CEO.”
Hicks shook his head. “Where’s the growth? Where are the profits? I don’t see the advantages of integration.”
“The problem with a fully integrated publishing company is that the tail wags the dog: so many people work in manufacturing, data processing, and so on, and so much money is tied up in equipment that manufacturing overpowers the creative side and eventually runs the magazines into failure. We won’t make that mistake. The two sides of the publishing business are totally different and require different talents. Production can’t be dominant. As I said, we’ll run the two parts of the business separately. I’ll take over the production side of Coleman’s business with a company I’ll control with 51 percent ownership, and my sister will own 49 percent. That will give her plenty of incentive to use our paper and other materials and services. She’ll keep her magazines and concentrate on what she does best: hiring writers, selecting articles, writing and editing, dealing with the art world, and the decorating and homemaking worlds. It’s her talent that will make the magazines a success.”
Hicks nodded, but he didn’t look happy.
“As for the other side of the business, we’ll buy a paper mill and a printer, and modernize them. I have ideas for improving the papermaking system, raising the standards for air and water purity, and making paper mills more attractive to nearby communities. My work in cleaning up tobacco smoke will be useful in dealing with the sulfurous smell of the fumes the paper industry produces. Every time I’ve been on the coast of North or South Carolina or Louisiana or Mississippi, I’ve encountered that repellent odor, blown by the wind to the beaches. It’s a problem in a beach resort like Kiawah, South Carolina, where people come to play golf and tennis and relax. They want to lounge on the porches of their multimillion-dollar houses, swim in their pools, and breathe in the salty scent of the ocean, the green smell of newly cut grass, and the sweetness of the honeysuckle and magnolias, not rotten eggs.”
Hicks perked up. “You’ll invent again?”
Heyward smiled to himself. Hicks knew how much money Bain’s inventions brought in, and he’d been trying to persuade Bain to return to inventing. “Why not? There’s not a lot of scope for my antitobacco activities these days. Most developed countries have stopped their citizens from killing themselves with cigarettes, and there’s very little I can accomplish in the countries that still permit smoking.
“I’ve been thinking about testing some of my ideas on a new industry, and this is the perfect opportunity. We’ll own and run everything, from the forests through the printing, and we’ll be able to study the industry from every perspective. We’ll cut costs while we make everything greener. Coleman will always be our most important client, but we’ll take on others, too. I’m sure we can make a success of it, but we have to move fast. Pay what you must, but get what we need as quickly as you can. I don’t want to give anyone time to get in my way.”
Heyward sipped the black coffee the flight attendant had brought him, while serving huge English breakfasts to most of the other passengers. “The most important technical developments in paper manufacturing in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century have occurred in Asia and Europe. Put together a team to research major breakthroughs abroad. Hire the people to do the research, or work with an investment banker, or a consultant—I don’t care—just get me information on what’s going on where. We may have to hire some overseas papermaking experts to help us get started. Find out who’s good and who might be available. Don’t worry about the cost.”
Heyward took several magazines from his briefcase and handed them to Hicks. “Here are the most recent issues of ArtSmart and First Home. Ask someone to analyze them for their physical properties, paper size and quality—that kind of thing. What do Coleman’s magazines have in common physically? Page size? Paper quality? How do they differ? Can we standardize them? You know what to look for. I think magazine publishing should be a real business—one that makes money. Remember all those stories about this or that magazine that burned money until the owner closed it down? Ridiculous.”
“This project will be expensive,” Hicks warned. “You may end up burning money, too.”
Heyward laughed. “Not a chance. I promise you: in time, we’ll coin gold.”
“What about this building you want to buy?”
“That’s a top priority. I’ve asked our real estate people to contact the Fishley Brothers’ office, and ask Reuben Fishley to sell me the Third Avenue building wher
e ArtSmart’s offices are. It’s not much of a building, so I doubt if the Fishleys will care; it’s probably scheduled for eventual demolition and replacement. When we get to New York, I want you to make the sale happen. Tell the Fishleys I’ll be grateful if they’ll let me have it—explain that I want it for family reasons. I’ll pay their asking price, and I’ll also owe them a favor. We should be able to work out something about demolition and replacement when the time comes. If it’s going to take long to finalize the sale, ask if I can lease the building immediately. Check on available office space in the building, see if I can move in fast. I want to take possession as soon as possible. We’ll work out of my house till we have office space.
“Now to the entertaining part: my other priority is taking out Colossus. I don’t think that will be difficult,” Heyward said.
“Got it. Which banker will deal with Colossus?” Hicks asked.
“Jeb Middleton—my friend, Jeb the Reb—I don’t think you’ve met him. I called him and put him in touch with Jonathan. We’re going to lock in supplies for Coleman, to make sure Colossus can’t shut her down. Jeb’s a South Carolina Middleton, but he was a poor relation and went through Harvard with scholarships and a lot of hard work, including waiting on tables and bartending. He graduated from Harvard Business School at the top of his class, and he’s one of the best bankers I’ve ever met. He’s also got deep-South manners, and could charm a mockingbird out of a tree.
“When you meet him, don’t let his low-key style deceive you. He can come across as half-asleep. When the opposition relaxes, he pounces. He worked for Morgan & Morgan until he went out on his own. As soon as I heard he was available, I retained him. There’s no one I’d rather have on my side. I’ll ask him to help with the paper and printing businesses, too.”
Fatal Impressions Page 18
