by Stephen Frey
“And from four million dollars.”
“If she didn’t do exactly as we ordered.”
“And that is to find Commonwealth Electric not guilty of all charges at the end of the trial.”
“Yes,” Rockwell confirmed.
“We must find a way to get to her,” one of the men said.
“Mr. Rockwell?”
“I’m trying.”
“No trying, Mr. Rockwell. You must succeed. Rockwell & Company won two huge M&A deals this week.”
“Yes, yes we did.” Rockwell hadn’t liked that ominous tone, the same one he’d heard last time. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll get to Felicity somehow.”
“You do that.”
“What about Keystone Systems?” the man from NSA asked. “Now that the trial has concluded favorably, what’s going on with that contract?”
“I spoke to the CEO yesterday,” another man answered. “The helicopter contract is back on track thanks to the work of Mr. Rockwell and JD.”
“As are the profits of those two oil companies in California,” another man added, “thanks again to JD and Mr. Rockwell.”
“Hear, hear!”
The men stomped the floor in unison, sending Rockwell’s nerves flying—again. At least this time they were extolling his work.
“We’re tough with you, Mr. Rockwell,” the NSA man said when the sharp echo of hard soles to wooden floor had faded. “But we appreciate what you and your messengers do.”
“Thank you.” He made certain not to exhale too obviously in relief. He’d needed that confidence builder. “What about Victoria Lewis?” he asked. “Do you want me to have JD go after her again?”
“It turns out JD was quite right about her having bodyguards,” one of the men answered coyly.
“We’ll take care of Ms. Lewis from now on,” another assured him.
That seemed strange to Rockwell. They’d taken something else away from him.
Another prolonged silence filled the room, and Rockwell prepared himself for one of the Grays to escort him to the porch and then tell him they were done with him until the next time.
“Stand up, Mr. Rockwell.”
Just as he’d assumed, they were kicking him to the curb.
“You may take off your blindfold, Mr. Rockwell. You are one of us now. You are a Gray.”
CHAPTER 28
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
“I like Excel Games very much.” Mao Xilai pointed first at Racine and then at Bart Stevens with a perfectly manicured finger. “You and you have done very good jobs. In the end, there could be great value here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Xilai,” Racine answered respectfully from across the polished sheen of the long conference-room table. He and Stevens had buffed it hard before Xilai arrived. “We appreciate you coming all the way from China to visit us in Richmond.”
Xilai grinned as he tugged on his dress shirt’s perfectly pressed French cuffs, clasped together by links of onyx and gold, and then adjusted the sharp lapels of his navy-blue suit. “I had other business in Washington, Mr. Racine. Yes, there is great value to Excel Games. But you two aren’t that important.”
The three men shared their first laugh. Until this moment, Xilai had been unfailingly formal, maintaining a poker face the entire time. This sincere display of relaxed emotion was a positive sign, Racine figured. Xilai was going to make an offer. That seemed clear.
But what would it be? And it wouldn’t be just the amount that mattered. The terms would be vitally important—one in particular.
The man from China had spent the last three hours touring Excel Games, interviewing programmers and salespeople in depth, and scouring the financial statements for ninety minutes one-on-one with Bart Stevens. A driver was waiting outside in a limousine to take Xilai back up to Dulles Airport. But that was it. Xilai hadn’t brought the legion of assistants they’d been expecting.
According to the investment bankers, Xilai was worth six billion dollars, depending on the day and the exchange rate. The stocky, dark-haired man stood barely over five feet tall. But, now that they’d met in person, Racine fully understood how the man had generated his huge wealth. He was relentless in his pursuit of answers, and nothing slipped past him. It might seem to momentarily, but he always circled back to the open issue and corralled it.
Xilai leaned over the table as the laughter faded. “Gentlemen, it is look-each-otherin-the-eye time. Now that we are on the doorstep of partnership, I must have something that is much more important to me than all the due diligence and all the background checks in the world. I must have your word. I must know that as long as I am an investor in this company, you will treat it as you would treat your child.” He gestured to Stevens. “Do I have your word, Mr. Stevens?”
“Yes, sir,” Stevens answered immediately.
Xilai shifted his attention to Racine. “Mr. Racine?”
“Absolutely,” Racine replied evenly, staring straight back at Xilai. “You have my word.”
“All of your attention, Mr. Racine, every second?”
“Yes.” Racine added a touch of defiance to his tone. He needed this man’s money—desperately—but he wasn’t going to beg.
Xilai picked up a white porcelain cup and sipped a special tea he’d brought all the way from China. “There is, of course, one other thing I demand. And that is your honesty.” He placed the cup back down on its saucer. “And let me tell you about my definition of honesty just so we are all perfectly clear. I assume that you both will give me one hundred percent truthful and reliable answers to all my direct questions. That is a given. But I don’t want to have to dig, either. I don’t want to hear later from either of you that I didn’t ask a question specifically enough.
“Please forgive my forwardness on this matter,” he continued, “but I detest this American phenomenon of using situational ethics when it is convenient. I am very black-and-white when it comes to honesty. I expect full transparency at all times. No hiding behind technicalities. You will both sign employment contracts next week. But my opinion of contracts and laws is that they were invented for criminals and stupid people. My attorneys demand these contracts be put in place. But, for me, your word will be your real bond.” Once again Xilai gestured at Stevens. “Am I making myself clear on this? Do you fully understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Xilai pointed at Racine.
“Absolutely.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Racine caught Bart flinching. The reaction had been slight, ever so slight, but Racine had seen it. He just prayed Xilai hadn’t—which he realized was naïve given how Xilai seemed to notice everything.
“I completely understand, Mr. Xilai.”
The investment bankers had told Racine and Stevens on a conference call that the Chinese venture capitalist was a reasonable man—as long as he believed you were honest with him. But, the I-bankers had also warned them that Xilai could be ruthless in exacting revenge if he believed he’d been lied to or defrauded in any way.
Bart was terrified—he was aware of one of Racine’s options, which would put both of them in direct conflict with Xilai’s transparency demand.
“Before we close our meeting and begin our partnership, is there anything either of you want to tell me?” Xilai’s eyes narrowed. “Anything at all?”
“No, I think we’re—”
“One of our major software applications still has a bug,” Stevens interrupted. “You need to understand that before you make this investment. It’s almost stamped out, it’s almost gone, but the last tail of it is still avoiding our programmers. I don’t want you to think otherwise.”
“Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Stevens. Actually, I was aware of that,” Xilai said, casting a deliberate glance in Racine’s direction. “I didn’t tell you this, but my technical people identified that bug during our technical due diligence. The good news is they believe they can fix it relatively quickly. You see, I don’t just bring money to the table. I bring everything I hav
e. And I ask the same of you two.” His focus returned to Stevens. “I appreciate you making me aware, Mr. Stevens.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Here’s the even better news,” Racine spoke up with another trace of CEO defiance. “A week ago I hired an ace from Silicon Valley to fix that software roach. His name is Frankie Federov.”
“I think I have heard of him,” Xilai said quietly, nodding. “He is one of the best out there at debugging systems. He goes by the name of—”
“The White Russian,” Racine interrupted. “As of this morning, our software is fixed.”
“You didn’t tell—”
“I didn’t want to bother you, Bart.”
“How did you pay for him?” Stevens asked.
“Yes,” Xilai seconded, “now that I’ve seen your books, how did you pay him?”
“I gave Federov some of my company shares so there was no dilution to any of the existing shareholders. I took it as a major positive that he would take shares as compensation instead of cash. He told me this morning we have a tremendous engine here.”
Xilai considered this, then nodded again, seemingly with approval. “We have discussed offer terms prior to today via e-mail, but here is my final proposal.” Xilai stood. “I will invest four million dollars in Excel Games equity for fifty percent. It isn’t the five-for-fifty you wanted, Mr. Racine, but it is fair.”
Racine kept his expression neutral, but his mind was going a million miles an hour. If Xilai would personally advance him just a small percentage of that four million, maybe, just maybe he could …
“I want to say one more thing,” Xilai continued, “before I take a short restroom break and give you both a chance to consider my offer in privacy. I am worth almost nine billion dollars. I am sure your investment bankers gave you some sort of estimate as to that figure, but they really have no idea.
“I don’t give you that figure to brag or be arrogant. I give you that figure simply so you truly understand what I think of the upside for Excel Games. I believe this company can revolutionize the online-gaming industry with what you have here, along with what you will build onto it with the help of my investment.” He chuckled. “And Mr. Federov, of course. Based on my meetings in Washington the past few days and certain gratuities I have extended to states around the country, I believe the overall online-gaming market will expand dramatically in the near future, making this company even more valuable.
“Here is the bottom line with respect to what I am saying. When a man who is worth nine billion dollars wants to invest four million dollars in your company, you should sit up and take notice. It means he thinks his four million will be worth enough someday to matter to him. That logic has excellent implications for both of your personal fortunes as well.” He shook his head. “But, remember, I hate lies.” He smiled for the second time in four hours. “I believe in both the stick and the carrot, as you like to say here in this country.”
He nodded respectfully to both of them and then headed for the conference-room door.
“One more thing,” Xilai spoke up as he turned back.
Racine’s eyes raced toward the door. “Yes?”
“If we do agree on a deal and I put four million dollars into this company, there will be no sly moves with the money.”
“Sly … moves?”
“I saw on the books that you haven’t paid yourself in a while, Mr. Racine, and I am sure that has been difficult. When my money is here, you will certainly begin taking your salary again.” Xilai pointed at Bart. “As will you, Mr. Stevens.”
“Thank you.”
“But neither of you will take loans or advances from that money.”
Xilai had just put a stake in the ground as far as that one vital term went.
“Of course not,” Stevens answered. “You have my word on it.”
“All the same,” Xilai spoke up, “my people will be watching your corporate bank account very carefully.”
“I don’t blame you,” Stevens agreed. “We need to earn your trust.”
“Exactly. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I hope to have a deal done when I return.”
Claire’s beautiful face rippled through Racine’s mind as he watched Xilai disappear through the doorway. Every risk he took from now on would be for her, even if she didn’t understand what was going on, even if she were disillusioned with him, even hated him for a time. He had to act in her best interest, even if that meant bearing the brunt of her tears and her anger.
The thing was, just having his salary spigot turned back on wouldn’t cut it. He had an angry contractor with two large sons after him—and that was only scratching the surface of his money problems.
“Hello, Salvatore.”
“Mitch.”
Mitch swatted a hand in front of his face as he eased onto the limousine seat. The cigarette smoke was unbearably thick tonight.
Salvatore gestured at the package Mitch had set beside him. “You got some good stuff on Jury Town for me tonight?”
“All the latest.” Mitch coughed. “You got my cash?”
“Of course.”
“What exactly do you do with this information, anyway? How are you profiting?”
Salvatore shook his head. “No questions like that, son. You should know that.”
“Sure, sure, but if I knew how you were profiting, maybe I could get you even better data. Maybe you’d even cut me in on it a little.”
He cringed as he said it. His number-one priority was transitioning from the Supreme Court to the law firm of Knowles & Williams, and reaping the benefits from the amazing parachute package Eldridge had arranged for him there. The key to that transition was getting away clean from the mobster he was sitting across from.
Salvatore chuckled loudly. “So the war hero wants to get his fingers even deeper into the crime pie.”
But it wasn’t just getting away clean from Salvatore. Even Salvatore would have to understand that once Mitch left the court and his uncle retired, he’d have no more access to the information. Before that time came, he needed to know exactly what Salvatore was doing with the Jury Town files. He couldn’t risk somehow being tied later to what he’d been sneaking out.
“Why hold back? I’m already in, and I could use the juice. My wife’s pushing for a bigger diamond, and I don’t know how I’m gonna pay for that. She claims the women in her ‘high tea club,’” he continued with a snobby accent, “are laughing at it behind her back.”
“All right,” the mobster said, “so what can you offer me?”
Salvatore was so predictable. He was always open to a moneymaking scheme. That was the way to get to him. That was his ultimate vulnerability.
“I can think of one opportunity in particular. But I’d have to know there would be reciprocity.”
Mitch had considered asking Salvatore to go after Sofia, but she was insulated now—there was no way to get to her at this point without being blatantly obvious. Besides, apparently, Sofia hadn’t said anything specific about her suspicions—probably because she had no real evidence from Raul. She’d acted strangely enough when she’d met with Eldridge that his uncle had noticed and said something, but nothing had come of it. And it didn’t seem as if anything would. His uncle was too preoccupied with guilt over Raul’s death.
“What is the opportunity?” Salvatore demanded.
“It’s real estate, and it’s big. The possibility of making millions very quickly. A case the high court will decide in the next month, and I know how they’re going to come down. You can get the land on the cheap now. After the case is decided, the land’s value will instantly skyrocket.”
Mitch was careful not to react when Salvatore’s eyes went greedy wide.
“Go on.”
“Like I said, I need reciprocity.”
“I’ll cut you in a little.”
Mitch grabbed the package lying beside him and held it up. “I need to know what you’re doing with this, too.”
And then it hi
t Mitch—exactly what Salvatore had been doing with the information. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
“You cannot become a professional juror,” Stevens seethed through clenched teeth when Xilai had exited the conference room. “You cannot be away from this place for two years.”
Racine had been under strict orders from Victoria and Cameron to tell no one about potentially joining the ranks at Jury Town. But Bart Stevens was his business partner and best friend. He had to tell Bart.
“Relax, Bart.”
“Relax? Relax? Did you hear what Xilai said about honesty and transparency, David? Or did I just imagine him saying all that?”
“Of course, I heard it.”
“Not being here for two years is the worst fraud you could play on him,” Stevens said, shaking his head. “Xilai’s investing in you personally as much as he is in this company. He said that very specifically a few minutes ago. You are the face of Excel Games. You are the man who makes this place go. Xilai expects you to be here every day. You told him you would be.”
“I know.”
“And did you hear what the investment bankers said this afternoon about what Xilai does to people who lie to him?”
“They were exaggerating.”
“Really?” Stevens asked sarcastically as he dug into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slammed it down on the conference-room table. “I printed that off the Internet this afternoon, after our call with the I-bankers. Read it.”
Racine unfolded the paper and began to read, but stopped abruptly two sentences in. He’d spotted the words “the body showed signs of torture prior to death” a few sentences ahead. “This happened in China, and the article is very clear that there was never a direct link to Xilai.”
“There were other articles about corporate executives of his portfolio companies dying suspiciously. The one you just read wasn’t the only one by a long shot. Several others in China, two in Europe, and then there was a guy in Illinois six months ago. Xilai is vindictive as hell, David. I’m not going to be a part of this. I’m not risking my life for this.”
