“But of course. I want you to think of us as buddies.”
“O.K., Nick, now why don’t you cut that crap about you being an agent for principals interested in this bank?”
“But it’s true, Doc.”
“So what was that stuff about Iran that you were telling the secretary outside?”
“Doc, I’m happy you brought that subject up. It might have slipped my mind.” Now it was Topping that grinned.
“When we heard of your interest in Iran,” continued Doc, “our only conclusion was that you were a rug merchant. Topping is an Armenian name, isn’t it?”
Topping laughed aloud.
“Are you big in rugs, Doc?”
“I can get fairly big on them,” was the reply. Which was quite enough for Albert.
“Mr. Topping,” he said, “I’d appreciate your showing us your credentials.”
Topping’s grin slowly disappeared. He looked at Doc, shrugged, and opened his briefcase. From it, he withdrew two small visiting cards, one for Albert, one for Doc. None for the prince.
“Nick,” said Doc in a disgusted voice, after just one glance, “what kind of Mickey Mouse stuff is that? International Mineral Consultants of Panama City, and Monrovia, Liberia. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Topping dipped into the thin leather case again. This time a letter appeared. He hesitated slightly, then gave it to Doc. Doc read it, then read it again, and finally gave it to Albert.
“It looks authentic,” Albert said just seconds later.
“It is,” replied Topping. “So return it.” Albert did.
“Why should the Chairman of the Board of a big American bank like the First National of California appoint your crummy little company as its agent?” asked Doc.
“Probably because Mr. Foreman knows my worldwide reputation for honesty and forthrightness.”
Doc liked that.
“Do you have an offer prepared?” interjected Albert.
“Yes. But it will have to be oral for the moment.”
“All right,” replied Albert, “Make it.”
“$50 million. Cash.”
“For a crummy little bank like this?” was Doc’s incredulous response.
“Provided one small thing,” said Topping. “You foreclose on your loans to Firdausi, and take over 100 percent of the equity of that property in Iran—prior to your getting that fifty million.”
“Firdausi?” asked Doc. “What’s that?”
“That’s an Iranian with a good-looking sister, who owes you guys a mint. Something to do with silver, they tell me in Dubai.”
“It’s not enough,” said Albert, quietly.
“What would be?” asked Topping.
“Sixty-five million,” was Albert’s reply.
“How about fifty-five?”
“Maybe we could split the difference.”
“Perhaps.”
“Hold on!” bellowed Doc. “Albert! Are you out of your fucking pinhead mind? That silver mine alone is worth a couple hundred million!”
“I know,” replied Albert. “But if the Swiss banking authorities ever get involved, we could well end up with neither the bank, nor that mine. They would probably put in a receiver, or liquidator, who could eventually sell off all the bank’s assets—the good ones to the Swiss, cheap, and the rest to some Americans, or Germans, or whoever, expensive. I suspect that the mining property would end up Swiss.”
“Whose side you on, anyway, Albert?” asked Doc, pleadingly.
“I am a realist, Doc.” For a minute Albert Fiore sounded exactly like his father. And his eyes behind the glasses had the same icy blue tint. In spite of this, Doc could not contain himself. His fist rose, and came down on the table with a resounding crash.
“I’m not,” he said, “not going to let the likes of this jerk and his big banking pals in California get away with this. I swear it, Topping. I’d rather kill you first.”
For the first time, Topping looked a bit nervous. His eyes went to Albert.
“Doc,” began Albert patiently, “there’s no sense in . . .”
“Now you shut up a minute, Albert. We have built this bank from nothing into something. Something to be very proud of.
We did it 100 percent straight. You and me and even Marvin. We did it and we did it together. Haven’t you got any goddamned pride? Or guts?”
Albert just sat there.
“And what about the Firdausis? You just going to sell them down the river after all they’ve done for us? In my opinion that would stink! What kind of a kid are you? A goddamned walking computer, that’s all. And one that can’t even figure too well.”
Albert asked a question.
“Mr. Topping, where would the funds come from?”
“My company, acting on behalf of our principal, the First National Bank of California, would place them in escrow, preferably in a bank in London. Provided my conditions on the foreclosure of that Iranian property are met. The funds would be released to whomever your owners appoint, upon delivery of 100 percent of the outstanding shares of this bank. The shares are in bearer form, I believe?”
“They are.”
“The key is the foreclosure on that property. Are you in a position to do it?”
“We are.”
“How quickly?”
“Theoretically within thirty days.”
“And practically?”
“The same period of time, provided Firdausi does not entangle us in some legal battle.”
“Is that possible?”
“Anything’s possible where that amount of money is involved.”
“Is it probable?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how this is presented to Firdausi. Obviously, we can’t just try to walk away with the whole thing. He must get some sort of reasonable compensation. On the other hand, the logic of our position must be explained to him. If we don’t foreclose on friendly terms, the Swiss will—on much less friendly terms, as you have so kindly pointed out.”
“Who would explain all this to Firdausi?”
“Probably the prince. He knows him best.”
“You mentioned reasonable compensation,” said Topping. “What do you have in mind?”
“He’s got a rather large inventory of silver in Dubai, as you no doubt know. Mine output was up to three million ounces a month last month. Much of it’s been warehoused. I would suggest we leave what’s in Dubai to Firdausi.”
“That we hadn’t planned on,” said Topping.
Now it was Albert that shrugged. “Well, as I said, the alternative could well be a legal battle. A long one.”
“That will add to our cost,” continued Topping, frowning.
Again Albert just shrugged.
“How do you know mine output is up to three million ounces?” inquired Topping.
“That’s what the latest warehouse receipts from Dubai indicate,” replied Albert.
“Albert, you I like,” said Topping. “You’re honest. We checked everything out in Dubai. Our estimates agree with your figure. What’s output projected at for the rest of the year?”
“By mid-summer, it should be up to five million ounces a month. That will be peak.”
“For how long?”
“That is impossible to determine, according to Firdausi’s engineers. But probably for quite a while.”
“That would mean around 60 million ounces a year.”
“Boy, are you ever smart,” said Doc, “smarter than Albert, in any case. Do you know how much that is worth a year, Albert?”
“At current prices, well over $100 million,” came the calm reply.
“So,” yelled Doc, “why don’t you tell this jackass to get the fuck out of here!” Then more quietly. “Albert, don’t let this guy psych you out. He’s bluffing. Believe me. Let’s stop this whole conversation right here. O.K.?”
Again no response from Albert.
So Doc turned to Topping.
“In any case, Topping, you’re wasting your time. No one in this room, including little Albert, has any authority whatsoever to talk about selling this bank. And I, for one, am going to make damn sure that no one does. You want this bank? Fine. If the owner says so, it’s fine with me. But if I know the owner, you are going to end up wishing you’d never walked into this place.”
With that Doc got up and left the conference room, slamming the door almost off its hinges in the process.
“I see that Doc is easily excited,” commented Topping.
“Topping,” replied Albert, “maybe you’d better leave too. There’s such a thing as going too far. With the resulting consequences.”
Topping got the point. Before he left, he asked just one further question.
“Shall I call you, or . . .?”
“I will be calling you. I’d suggest you stay away from here in the meantime.”
The prince sat there, apparently deep in thoughts.
“A great pity,” he said, as finally both he and Albert got up to leave.
Topping went directly from the bank to the Hotel Villa Castagnola. Luckman was waiting for him in the lobby. They went to Luckman’s suite on the fifth floor.
“Well?” asked Luckman, after the door had closed.
“They’ll deal.”
“How much?”
“Sixty million.”
“How much is that in dollars?”
“I’m talking dollars, sonny.”
“You are out of your mind!”
“You, as I’ve said once or twice before, are out of your depth, Luckman.”
“We’d never pay a price like that.”
“Who said you’re going to have to?”
“Sixty million dollars!” exclaimed Luckman, in an awed voice. Then, “Look, I think I’ve made it quite clear that our bank would never enter into a deal of that size for a little bank in Switzerland. It’s just plain stupid to even discuss the matter further. When I report this back to Mr. Foreman, that’s going to be the last we’ll ever see of each other. That I can guarantee.”
Topping said nothing. He just opened his thin leather briefcase.
“Here’s a letter that was waiting for me at the hotel when I arrived this morning. I think you should read it.”
Luckman read it. Then read it again.
“It’s not possible. Foreman appointed you as our agent? No.”
“But yes. And before you make a fool of yourself by calling Foreman, I would suggest you cool off, maybe have a nice little drinkie, and then I will sit down with you and map this whole thing out. Like I told you, I’m going to make a big hero out of you, Luckman. Now give me that letter back.” Luckman obeyed.
Topping glanced at his watch.
“I’ve got a few things to do. Hell, I’m not even unpacked yet. Why don’t we reconvene around five. I’ll come here. I like this hotel. It’s kind of run-down. Let’s meet in the bar.”
The bar at the Villa Castagnola has wicker furniture. It also serves one of the worst dry martinis in Europe—which means that they are sincerely vile. Luckman winced as he tried to get rid of the stuff in a second gulp. Topping approached his table at exactly this moment.
“Luckman, do I affect you that badly?”
“Worse.”
“What’s that you’re drinking?” as he took a chair.
“A really great martini. You must try one.”
“Not on your life.” Topping ordered a Campari and soda.
“Shall we get down to business?”
“Why not? It shouldn’t take long.”
“Donald, you don’t trust me.”
“Topping, why don’t you get on with it.”
“O.K. It’s really very simple. Step one: the bank here in Lugano is going to foreclose on the mining property in Iran by calling in the loans Firdausi has cosigned. That will give it 100 percent ownership. Step two: your bank in California transfers $60 million to an escrow account at Winthop’s Bank in London, to be released against delivery of all of the outstanding shares of the International Bank of Sicily and America. Originally, there were fifty thousand shares. But since then, the new owners have put in a lot more capital to keep up with the growth in deposits in the bank. Right now there are 250,000 shares outstanding. They will have to deliver every one of them, in good negotiable form, to collect their money.”
“The bank’s only worth $10 million at most. But be that as it may for the moment. What happens next in your scenario?”
“After taking over the Swiss bank, you transfer title of that Iranian property to a second escrow account at Winthrop’s. Against that we pay in $85 million.”
“Who is we?”
“A company in Liechtenstein. It’s called Friendship International.”
“It would be. But hold on a minute, Topping. Why $85 million?”
“Because your Swiss bank carries that Iranian property, with loans, at around $25 million book value on its balance sheet. Which they will have to write off if the property is sold. Right? Christ, Luckman, I thought you were a banker!”
“And then?” Luckman was struggling a bit.
“That’s it. We get our mine. You get your bank. For nothing! And you said yourself, the bank’s worth $10 million. You see what I meant, Luckman. I’m going to make a big hero out of you.”
“So simple.”
“Yes, except for one small additional detail.”
“Now it comes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Only that I knew there just had to be a little detail somewhere.”
“It’s something quite harmless.”
“What?”
“You’re going to have to make a full report on the Lugano bank, as a basis for the takeover, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“That means a type of audit. Right?”
“Yes. You don’t think the people back at head office are going to shell out that kind of money on the basis of a phone call, do you?”
“Exactly. Now that report will ultimately go to the full Board of Directors of your bank. Right?”
“Naturally, again assuming that we would enter into a deal like this, which I’m sure we won’t. Every acquisition involving more than $5 million must, eventually, receive full Board approval. In practice, such approval is normally given after the fact. Especially in our bank, where Mr. Foreman has been personally responsible for its growing from nothing to one of the largest banks in the United States during the past thirty years.”
“That’s not the point. My point is that eventually everybody on that Board gets into the act.”
“I’d hardly call it an act.”
“Well I would. Because you’ve got a lot of blabbermouths on the Board of that bank. Your boardroom is like a sieve.”
“Come off it, Topping. But even if what you say is true, so what?”
“This. We don’t want people, especially in the United States, blabbering about that Iranian mine. So we want any mention of it deleted from your audit report on the Lugano bank.”
“Impossible. It can’t be done. That would leave $25 million in assets unaccounted for.”
“Not necessarily. One would just have to create some alternate documentation related to those assets.”
“Like what?”
“That is where creativity enters in. What would you suggest, Donald?”
“Maybe a string of Iranian whorehouses?”
“But why should a bank want to sell a solid investment like that? Luckman, you disappoint me.”
“Now look, Topping, you cannot be serious?”
“But I am. Deadly serious.”
“Don’t you realize that would be a flagrant violation of the law?”
“Whose law? Not the Swiss law. You won’t be altering any records in Switzerland. It’s just a report you are making to an American bank. It has nothing to do with the Swiss.”
“And America?”
“No problem. We’ve looked into that.
The Federal Reserve has essentially no reporting rules whatsoever related to the acquisition of a foreign bank by a domestic U.S. bank. You can’t break laws when none exist.”
That stopped Luckman for the moment. He was on unsure grounds, especially because Topping’s words had the ring of truth. After all, it could be checked out very easily.
“So what do we say instead?”
“When you think of Iran, what first comes into your head?” asked Topping.
“Oil.”
“Good boy. Now is that Firdausi property anywhere near the Iranian oil fields?”
“How should I know.”
“Well it is. Right on the edge.”
“So?”
“So a quite logical project would be the financing of a storage facility. You know, big tanks full of crude oil, waiting to be shipped out as demand requires. They arise beside major oil fields all over the world. And banks love to get involved. What better collateral can a bank have than huge tanks full of crude oil?”
“I remember a few years back where American Express thought that huge tanks full of salad oil were pretty safe. Until they checked the tanks in Illinois and Texas, and found out they were empty.”
“Luckman, what’s that got to do with it?”
“Nothing. Except that the fellow who funnied up the documentation is sitting in jail for God knows how long.”
“Luckman, you’re going off in the wrong direction. That was a big swindle. People lost huge amounts of money. This is quite different. Nobody’s going to lose anything here. When nobody loses money, nobody cares. That is Nick Topping’s first principle regarding human behavior.”
“O.K., Topping. I’ll try to remember that. For a few minutes, in any case. And just to keep this lunatic conversation going a bit longer, might I ask who is going to produce all the phony documentation proving the existence of your oil tanks full of oil?”
“That’s easy. There’s a fellow named Marvin Skinner working in that bank here in Lugano. He’s one of the best counterfeiters on earth.”
“Working with the bank?” Luckman’s composure finally disintegrated.
“Sure. But don’t tell anyone. He could produce storage receipts for crude oil in Iranian tanks of a quality that would make Exxon blush.”
The Silver Bears Page 16
