by T F Lince
Doreen was next in line. “Hi, Doreen.” Dean gave her a hug; Sarah had mentioned how Doreen had been there for her.
“Glad you’re OK, Dean. Kyle has got something to ask you.”
Doreen shuffled Kyle in front of Dean. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world than standing in front of Jodie’s dad right now.
“Kyle!” Doreen prompted.
In the background, Jodie mouthed the words, “Sorry, Kyle.”
“Mr Harrison, Jodie and I have been playing this mad game of chess, and…er…”
“I know, Kyle, she said she couldn’t have done it without you, and it meant so much to her. And me.”
“Well, she said…err…”
“She said what, Kyle?”
Doreen was just about to let out another “Kyle!” prompt when he finally plucked up some courage.
“I was wondering if you would mind me taking Jodie to the Christmas prom?”
Dean looked at Jodie.
“Well, Kyle, I cannot think of anyone I would rather she went to the dance with. But I want you here on time and back on time, and…”
Jodie rolled her eyes, wondering what the last ‘and’ would be.
“…make sure you give her the time of her life. She deserves it, Kyle. Is that OK?”
“Of course, Mr Harrison, I promise.”
Doreen allowed Kyle to shuffle back out of the limelight, and Dean made his way to Oliver and Martin who were outside on the patio area.
“Oliver, I have been meaning to have a word.” Oliver took a gulp of air, expecting the worst. “Jack told me what you and the guys have done at work. I really appreciate your help. And yours, Martin.”
Oliver flicked his hair to the side.
“It’s the least we could do, Dean. I’m really sorry. I mean it, you know.” All of the cockiness had gone from Oliver. He was still on the ‘he’s a dick’ register in Dean’s head, but maybe a bit lower down it than he had been before the accident.
“Well, Oliver, I’m still here so no damage done, eh?”
Dean moved back into the house to find Sarah with the girls from the gym, helping to offer food round to the guests.
“So glad you’re back, Dean, I thought I had lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me again, Sarah. I love you to pieces, and thanks for the welcoming committee. It means a lot.”
The guests left one by one. Respecting that Dean was still not well, they didn’t want to tire him out. Jack and Holly were the last to leave after washing up and putting the kitchen back together.
“Bye, Yorkie, we’ll be off. I’ve put some fruit in the fridge – you need your five a day.”
Dean shook his head at Holly. “He hasn’t, has he?”
She gave him a kiss. “Of course not, Dean, he’s joking with you.”
Jack and Holly left, leaving Dean with his loving family.
“Well, you don’t know how hard a journey it’s been to get back. I love you both and will never let you get away from me again. I don’t know how I can ever repay your support.”
Sarah recognised an opportunity to ask the question that had been bugging her since they’d left the hospital.
“You could start by telling me what you and Darren have been talking about.”
Dean laughed.
“Oh, that. We were talking about whether you wanted to go back to medicine. The hospital is always on the lookout for good doctors, and you’re a good doctor.”
Sarah pondered over the statement.
“Dean, we have many things to sort out before that, but yes, I have been spending a lot of time in the hospital and it has crossed my mind.”
She looked over to Jodie and then back at Dean, trying to gauge their reactions.
“Well if it’s what you want, why not think about it?”
“We have other things to sort out before that, Dean,” Sarah repeated.
“It will all be OK, Sarah. Jack told me all about Dexter and everything.” Dean followed this with a long, drawn out yawn. “I’m goosed, girls, looking forward to a proper bed.”
He gave his wife and daughter a kiss then headed upstairs for the best night’s sleep he’d had in what seemed like forever.
Chapter 39 – Reality Bites Back
A weekend at home gave Dean the time to confront a large dose of reality. £62 million was a lot of money to find. His first step had to be to get all the facts and figures and see the depth of the shit he was in. Dean had Dexter’s private number in his phone book at home – he didn’t really want the indignity of going through his PA – so he took the bull by the horns and called.
“Dexter Falconer.”
Dean took a deep breath, long enough for Dexter to say, “Dexter Falconer,” again.
“Dexter, it’s Dean.”
“Oh Dean, I heard you’d pulled through. We’ve been so worried – how are you?”
Dean thought he would cut the niceties off before they started.
“Dexter, you know why I’ve called. What’s the damage? How bad is it?”
“Well, Dean, some of the boys have chipped in, so it’s sixty-two million at the moment. I capped it at a hundred million and Jack asked for your flat to be thrown in. I have also frozen any interest until the end of the year. I can’t do any fairer than that.”
“Dex, really? You authorised the trade.”
There was an uneasy gap in the conversation. Dean could imagine Dexter squirming around in his chair.
“I can’t remember authorising anything. You must be mistaken.”
Dean thought better of having a row.
“So what are my options, Dexter?”
“You could always come back and work here on a reasonable salary, and pay it off by forgoing your bonuses. We would welcome you back, Dean – you have more talent in your little finger than most of the guys here put together.”
Dean knew that going back was not an option, especially for the ten to fifteen years it would take to pay off that sort of money. He thought long and hard about his next response, which in his mind was, “Thanks for the kind offer, Dex. How about you go fuck yourself?”
It came out as, “Dexter, I’m not well enough to work yet, and besides, I’m enjoying spending some time with Sarah and Jodie…”
“Staying at home with Sarah and your kid won’t pay your bills. Or your debts, for that matter. There are people I could sell this debt to, Dean, you know that as well as anyone.”
“Alright, Dexter, you don’t need to call in the Rottweilers yet. How about fifty million by the end of this year and we are square?”
Dexter again paused, but Dean knew he wasn’t squirming this time. He was thinking, and he was in control.
“OK, Dean, fifty million by 31 December. All of it, mind, otherwise you come to work for me on my terms and the debt goes up with interest to a hundred million again.”
“That’s hardly fair, Dex.”
“Life isn’t fair, Dean. It wasn’t fair when you were fucking around with my money, either, was it?”
Dean knew he had a shit hand and Dexter had a pair of kings, but there were a few cards in the deck that might fall his way. Perhaps one of them was Hugo Hodgkinson, whoever he was. Death had given him Hodgkinson’s name for a reason, although it would have been easier to give him the winner of the 2.30 at Kempton Park. Was Hugo going to be his ace?
“OK, fifty million by the end of the year, Dexter.”
“And if not, a hundred million and you working for me until you have paid it all off.”
Dean took a deep breath, looked at the picture on the wall of Jodie and Sarah, and said, “OK, Dexter, you are on.”
“Good, Dean. You have my word…”
Dean jumped all over this statement.
“I’d rather have it in writing, Dexter. Your memory doesn’t appear to be as good as it once was – I think we established that earlier.”
“Very well, I’ll get it drawn up in writing. Good luck, Dean, see you in January.”
Dean put the phone down and picked it up again in the same movement.
“Jack, any news on Hugo Hodgkinson?”
There was a sizzling sound in the background. He could hardly hear Jack.
“Wait there, Yorkie, I’ll just turn the bacon off.” The sizzling stopped. “What you after?”
“Any news on Hugo Hodgkinson?”
“Yorkie, where the hell did you pluck his name from?” Before Dean could answer, Jack continued, “I’ll just have this bacon sandwich and I’ll be round yours in half an hour.”
The sizzling started again.
“OK, Jack, see you soon.”
Dean went to the bathroom and splashed his face with water. “Fifty million, Dean.” He took a deep breath and had a staring competition with himself. “Fifty million.” He blinked and lost the staring competition. Or maybe it was a draw.
“Dean, we’re home.” Sarah more or less sang this like Maria from The Sound of Music as she entered the house. Jodie headed upstairs as Dean had a last look in the mirror.
“OK, Dean, no more secrets.” He went into the kitchen to tell Sarah about his call with Dexter.
“Fifty million, Dean?”
“As long as it’s before the end of December.”
“And a hundred million if not. Dean, how the hell are we going to find that sort of money?”
There was a knock at the back door.
“Hugo Hodgkinson, Sarah, that’s how. Hugo Hodgkinson.”
“Dean, have you gone mad? Who the fuck is Hugo Hodgkinson? And why is he going to give us fifty million pounds?”
“I do not have a God’s earthly clue who he is, Sarah. But I think we’re just about to find out.”
Jack walked in carrying a black folder embossed with Falconer International Trading under his arm. Oliver Steadman-Fisher was with him. Dean looked at Oliver and then back at Jack.
“Don’t worry about him, Yorkie. I needed to dig deeper into your man Hugo, and Oliver has helped me. You’ll keep schtum, won’t you, Floppy Mop?”
“If you stop calling me Floppy Mop, Jack.”
Jack put the folder on the kitchen top. “OK, Floppy Mop.”
“Enough, you two, enough. So who is our friend Hugo, then?”
Sarah put the kettle on; she sensed it was business time.
“Coffee, Jack, Oliver?” She posed the question while getting mugs out of the drawer. “Dean, do you want another?”
They all nodded.
Once everyone was sitting on the bar stools around the breakfast bar, Oliver asked, “Me or you, Jack?”
Jack pushed the file in Oliver’s direction.
“You found it all out, Ollie, so off you go.”
Oliver opened the folder. “Where the hell did you find the name of this guy, Dean?” he asked.
“Believe me, Oliver, you don’t want to meet my source any time soon. Let’s have it, then. We are bursting with anticipation here.”
“You do pick them, Dean. Of all the lowlifes on the planet, you couldn’t have got much lower than this man.” Oliver looked up for a reaction. There was none. “Hugo Hodgkinson, born 7 May 1955, majored in Statistics at Harvard, made his first million by the age of twenty-one.”
“Impressive. How?”
“That’s the interesting thing, Dean. He was a venture capitalist. He had no money, and basically acted as a broker for one small family-run company without them asking, promising them huge investment. He then approached a venture capitalist company, also without being asked, and told them about this amazing opportunity.”
Dean looked at Oliver.
“This isn’t going to end nicely, is it?”
“He then drew both companies into big contract agreements which neither of them could keep and walked away with over a million dollars for allegedly sorting it all out by stopping the deal going through. The small company’s shares went through the basement, so guess who bought them all?” Oliver didn’t need an answer. “Yep, Hodgkinson took a company worth thirty to forty million, screwed it over until it was on its knees and bought it for the million he’d just made for the privilege. He then trashed that company for all it had, sold all its assets, the buildings, the machinery – well, everything, really. He laid off all the staff, some of whom had worked there for thirty years, and closed the whole thing down. No pay-offs, no pensions. He just ripped the heart out of a company that never wanted to be involved in the first place. The papers called it a ‘Targeted Massacre’. Hodgkinson walked away with – well, no one’s sure. Fifteen to twenty million dollars was the best guess.”
“At twenty-one? Wow, I don’t like him already.”
Jack held up his hand. “There is more, Dean. Ollie, carry on.”
Oliver shuffled in his seat like he was just getting comfortable. “With that one in the bag, Hodgkinson did the same to any company which would bite. He was ruthless, with no care for the history of or people who worked for these firms. Having upped sticks from the US, he now lives in Jamaica with his two sons. He is the billionaire owner of a telecommunications and media company, Astra Zing, and is about to strike a deal with a large communications company in the US, Howell Media.” Everyone in the room was listening. Oliver continued, “The market does not see this as a good move for Howell Media – its shares are already through the floor. The talk is that Hodgkinson has something on this company and is threatening the owners.”
Dean’s interest sparked. He stood up. “What are their shares now, Oliver?”
“Whose, Astra Zing’s?”
“No, Howell Media’s. What are they trading at?”
Oliver turned the page. “The US price this morning was $9.36. Before people got wind of the so-called merger, they were over $27 and that was only a month ago. They were $43 at the turn of the year and thought to be massively under-priced. But the company might not even survive if Hodgkinson gets his way.”
“How have the shareholders ever agreed to this?”
“Hodgkinson has bought the CEO and the board and promised them big pay-offs, so the shareholders have trusted the board and their recommendations.” Oliver added, “Idiots.”
“That’s what we are looking for, Jack. When is the deal being signed?”
Oliver went back to his notes. “It looks like next week, in Jamaica. Wednesday 1 November. The guys at Howell’s know they are getting screwed over, but the CEO and shareholders have all agreed so I guess it will take place.”
“What time on Wednesday?”
Oliver, who took pride in his research, gave Dean a stare.
“Bloody hell, Dean, I don’t know. I thought I did well working out it was Wednesday.”
“Oliver, I need to know what time that meeting will be on Wednesday. Exactly, not estimated.”
“OK, Dean, I’m on it.”
Oliver walked over to the patio doors and made a phone call. He was already on “Hello” as he opened them and walked outside.
“You’re being a bit harsh on the kid, Yorkie. Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”
Sarah, who was sitting next to Jack, put her elbows on the breakfast bar and placed her chin into the palms of her hands.
“Let’s just say I have some inside information. If that meeting to sign over the company hasn’t happened by 10.26am, Jamaica time, then it will not happen at all.”
They both looked at him in anticipation, waiting for him to carry on. He didn’t.
Oliver walked back into the room. “OK, 10.45am. The meeting is at 10.45am, which is 4.45pm in the UK. Is that good or bad?”
Dean walked around with his coffee and took a sip. “It’s very good, Oliver. OK, plan, plan, plan. Oliver, you mentioned the two sons. Are they big Dad supporters?”
Oliver again opened his folder. His research was thorough, Dean had to give him that.
“Not really, Dean. The older son, Robert, is against the deal. He thinks that enough is enough, and rather than crush opposition, he and his dad should work with them to their mutual benefit. N
ice bloke, by all accounts.”
“And the younger one?”
“He’s a pro-surfer, and not a very good one. He’s not into business stuff; he just likes spending the money he doesn’t earn on a playboy lifestyle. I wouldn’t mind a job like that.”
“You’ve got the hair for it.” Jack couldn’t resist. Oliver took it on the chin; he was too busy looking for a reaction from Dean.
“So, what’s this all about, Dean?” he demanded.
“Let’s just say I have had a tip that the deal won’t happen. Jack, what would be your forecast if it fell through on the day?”
Jack stood up, as he always did when he was asked a question. “It looks like that company is worth a damn sight more than where it is trading now, right, Oliver?”
Oliver looked at the last accounts published in his folder.
“It has more in assets than where it is valued now, but – and it’s a big but – we know that if Hodgkinson gets hold of it, he will strip all those assets and eventually the company will go out of business. He only wants Howell’s subscribers – customers Zing doesn’t have. He couldn’t give a shit about the company.” Oliver took a breath. “So who would be stupid enough to invest in them right now?”
“Us, that’s who,” said Dean. “Jack, do you trust me?”
“Of course I do, Dean.”
“Oliver, are you in?”
Oliver again consulted the figures and then turned to Dean.
“It’s the most stupid trade I have ever seen, Dean, but I was once told in a classroom that sometimes you have to trust intuition. Let’s hope you’re right. I’m in.” Dean patted Oliver on the back. Maybe worms could turn.
Sarah gave Dean a trusting ‘I’m with you’ smile and Dean took a deep breath. He needed her support more than anything right now.
“I know what I’m doing. We’ll only get one crack at this. Are we done?”
The silence filled the room more than any noise could have.
“Right, that’s sorted, then. Thanks, Jack.” He left a pause. “Oliver.”
Over the next week, Dean, Jack and Oliver grabbed as much money as they could get their hands on and watched the market like a hawk, choosing when to make their move. Each person involved would give 25% of their profits to pay Dexter off, then keep the other 75%.
