by Jason Winn
“All right,” said Carl. “Where you at right now?”
“DC. Just down the street from the White House.”
“Shit, I don’t have anyone over there right now.”
Madison looked over to Jane who paced in front of the windows, scanning the street. She noticed Madison staring and waved her hands in the “wrap this up” motion.
“That’s your problem. Get someone with a truck over here quick, or it’s going into the Potomac.”
Carl threw up his hands. “Okay, wait, wait. I think I have a solution.”
Madison could see him pick up a cell phone and start punching away at the screen.
Jane walked over. “What’s the deal?” she hissed.
“I think we’re good,” said Madison.
“We should leave a case or two behind. If they come over here, they’ll think they’ve scored. We get them on camera and run them through Sean’s facial recognition software.”
“I was thinking we’d take a case in each of our cars.”
“Sell him everything but two containers. Leave one here, take one with us.”
“Fine.” Madison wasn’t about to argue with Jane when she got like this. Antsy Jane could turn trigger-happy Jane in the blink of an eye. Just like back at the warehouse.
“Hurry it up,” said Jane. “We’ve already been here too long.”
“Madison?” said Carl.
“Yeah, what’cha got?”
“I have a teleporter named Suze who can come in there and take everything out.”
Madison sucked in a breath, removed her glasses and rubbed the stinging out of her eyes. She really wanted to get this over with and go home to sleep.
“Okay. She bringing the money?”
“Yes, she’s here now. I expect her to be there in about thirty minutes. I’m having my people weigh the payment. That is the fastest way to count it. If it’s off, we can settle up later.”
“Fair enough.” Madison trusted Carl enough to know he wasn’t going to screw her on the money. “Same goes for the amount. I might hold on to a case or two.” Madison cringed, waiting for Carl to start yelling at her for altering the deal.
“Fine. And Madison, one more thing.”
“What?”
“She used to know Langston. I think he saved her life. Maybe she knows what he’s up to. I’d ask her right now, but she’s a little busy.”
“See them in a few. Shogun.”
Carl’s outline disappeared back into the cricket.
“Oh, shit!” Madison shouted. “Where’s that crystal Sarah left here?”
Jane found it on the floor next to one of the cases. “This it?”
“Yeah, go throw that thing in a storm drain. Otherwise, it will block the teleporter.”
“Right.” Jane flew out the door, down towards the street.
***
Twenty minutes later, a green light filled the room for a second, and a woman wearing powder blue pajamas and a mop of sandy hair held back by a baseball cap appeared a few yards from Madison and Jane. She looked tired and slightly afraid. A shamble of suitcases fell around her, hitting the floor with muffled thumps.
“Which one of you is Madison?” she asked in a mousy voice.
Madison raised her hand. “Me. It’s okay, we want to get this done quick.”
Jane stepped forward. The woman jerked her head around as if Jane were a bear, ready to charge.
“Jane,” said Madison. “It’s cool. Chill out.”
Jane took a step back and the woman relaxed a little.
“I’m Suze Balcas. I brought your money.” She nodded toward the suitcases. There were ten in all, making Madison worry that she wouldn’t be able to get all of them in her car, and squeeze a crate of Moonmilk in with them.
“Thank you, Suze. All of these, except these two are going to Carl.”
“Okay. I just need to touch them. Is that all right?”
“That’s fine. Can I take a look at the money?”
“Sure, it’s all there. I watched them put it on scales. One hundred and ten pounds. I hope that’s right. I don’t know how much that is, or what it’s supposed to weigh.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” said Madison as she took a few timid steps toward the suitcases.
As Suze backed away, Madison thought she resembled a feral cat, ready to bolt away at the slightest sound.
As Madison knelt down to open a suitcase, she tried to calm Suze. “Carl tells me you knew Langston Stavro. That right?”
“Yes. He saved my life once. But that was a while ago.”
The suitcase was packed with stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Madison closed it and opened a second one. It held the same.
“So what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Suze crept up to the Pelican containers and started rubbing her palm on each one. “Well, these men were shooting at me and he carried me away from them. I don’t remember much else.” She stopped rubbing the crates and turned to Madison. “And I don’t want to remember much else.” She went back to the crates.
“I get it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know. I don’t think Langston liked me much before that day. But he saved me, so...” She trailed off. “Okay, I’m all set.”
It was now or never, Madison thought. “Do you know where Langston is?”
Suze wrung her hands. “I heard he has a school now, somewhere in the mountains. But that’s all I know. Can I go now?”
Madison nodded her head. “Yeah. Thanks.”
The room filled with green light again. When it faded all but two of the crates were gone along with Suze.
“She’s a flighty one,” said Jane. “Something bad must have happened to her.”
“Yeah,” said Madison. “I wonder if she was with Langston when he got shot up on that farm. Trask almost killed him and Margaret saved him with a spell, right in Mom’s foyer. Thank god for Margaret, I guess.”
“Okay, we need to bolt,” said Jane with a loud clap of her hands.
“Fine, you grab the crate. I’ll get the money.”
Tomorrow she would have to go drum up the rest of the cash.
Chapter 72
Interview with Nancy Mosby of Blue Petal Foods International
Source: 60 Minutes
Recorded: December 1989
Steve Kroft: Some say Blue Petal is the largest private company in the world. How many people work for you?
Nancy Mosby: I don’t know the exact number, Steve. It’s hundreds of thousands though.
Steve Kroft: That’s incredible. I’m not going to ask you to name them all.
Nancy Mosby: I could name a lot of them.
Steve Kroft: What’s Blue Petal worth?
Nancy Mosby: (laughs) I have no idea.
Steve Kroft: Come on. You’re the sole shareholder; billions, tens of billions, a hundred billion? (pause) You smiled when I said hundred billion.
Nancy Mosby: No comment.
***
The mud trail was reminiscent of the trek up the mountains to find the Shiloh Library. It was ten in the morning and the air was unseasonably mild, following the previous night’s rain shower.
Madison cursed herself for wearing her sneakers and not proper hiking boots. She’d have to remember that, if she ever came back here. Every step piled more dirt pudding on her treads. After a few feet, she’d fling her heel out and watch a clog of mud fly off into the bushes.
“Excuse us,” said an exasperated businessman. He wore a blue pinstripe suit and carried a messenger bag. His arms stuck out like a tightrope walker. He wobbled past her, cursing under his breath about “that idiot.” He was followed by a woman in a red pant suit and sensible pumps. Both of their feet were covered in mud too.
The idiot in question had to be her father, Peter Mosby, a jet-black sheep in the Mosby family herd. She hung a left at what was normally a passable switchback, continuing to trudge up the hill until she saw her dad’s abode. It was a moderate
A-frame log cabin, with the obligatory four-wheeler parked next to neatly stacked firewood. A three-legged cat hopped over to meet her. It was dad’s cat Beaumont. Curiosity had led him to a fox trap once, which had left him a tripod.
Madison rapped on the thin metal of the cabin’s front door.
“I told you, no,” her dad shouted from inside.
“It’s me, Dad.”
“Maddy?”
She could see his shadow through the front door’s glass. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Her dad stood there, in pajamas and a bathrobe, looking slightly pissed he had to stop what he was doing to come answer the door. His hair was a fright of messy brown and gray strands.
Peter wrapped her in a bear hug and dragged her inside. “Maddy, oh, baby, how’ve you been?”
“Good.”
He put her down and motioned for her to sit. “Want some coffee?”
“Sure.” She didn’t. She’d had about a gallon this morning, just to shake the cobwebs of last night. But if she refused, he was going to insist, so why bother. Making her way over to the chair, Madison had to step over stacks of printed out e-mails and faxes, all sporting the Blue Petal logo.
“What brings you up here? I saw Dana last week, and I have no idea where Shelby is. Probably working. How’s the house?”
“It’s fine, I guess. A little big for me, but…”
“I know. One of these days we have to sell it, I guess. But I’d rather see it stay in the family.”
“Well, speaking of things staying in the family. I have a question for you.”
Peter handed her a cup of coffee and walked back over to the dining room table. It was covered with papers and folders, all of which had the Blue Petal logo on them. He let out a long exhale, he leaned onto the table and ran both hands through his messy hair. With a sudden swipe of this hand, he knocked a stack of papers onto the floor.
Raw tension started to build knots in Madison’s back, and she knew what was coming next.
“Yeah, what’s that?” asked Peter. His voice trembled and he slouched down in his chair, a glassy look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” She could see what was wrong: the stress of the nonstop hounding from the Blue Petal suits was boring into him like a rusty screwdriver. Maybe this was their way of getting rid of him, burying him in paperwork and mundane, yet very important decisions that only he, Peter Mosby, the largest private stockholder, could make. Madison imagined him getting so frustrated with all of this that he did whatever it took to make them go away and leave him alone in his hilltop hideout.
“This,” he said, waving his hands around, “all of this bullshit. Every day they’re hounding me to make a decision about this franchise or that, do we go with the distributor in Boise, or the one in St. Louis. Last week, they told me that they discovered the warehouse drivers in California were going to unionize and if they do, they’ll end up costing the company thirty percent more, and tie us to a long-term health plan that costs thirty-eight million dollars a year, and on and on and on.”
He took a huge breath, held it and blew it out. “I can’t do it, Maddy. I just can’t. Robard was going to take care of all of this. He had it all worked out. Friends of his were going to come in and help run the company. Of course, his driving into a ditch and dying wasn’t part of the plan.”
I’m sure, thought Madison.
He continued. “They offered me a buyout—well, the family a buyout. There’s some Dutch conglomerate that wants to acquire Blue Petal and all the subsidiaries.”
Madison’s heart started to palpitate. It hadn’t done that in a while. Watching her father suffer a withdrawal of his debilitating addiction to the drug known as “status quo” made her worry that he might actually sell the company. And that idea made her fear that any hidden Nancy Mosby treasures would be lost in the sale. What impact would that have on all her problems? It wouldn’t help solve them, that was for sure.
“How much are they offering?”
“Well, Maddy, it’s complicated, with the stock and conditions and there is some cash. It’s written down here somewhere.” He motioned to the collage of paper on the floor. “The accountants are saying it’s a very generous offer.”
“How many millions?”
“Hundreds, thousands.” He was talking with his hands now. “And then what do I have to deal with? Wealth managers, hedge fund guys, every church and homeless person in the world asking for money. I can’t do it. You know what I think. I should just give it to these guys for a few million bucks, split that between me and you girls and be done with it all.”
Madison couldn’t believe what a pussy her father was, faced with all of this. Here was a man who had once faced down a charging brown bear and shot it in the head with a hand cannon, right before it was about to maul him, and now he was about to cry over a stack of paperwork, brought to him by an army of suits. An army of suits he could take in arm wrestling with his left hand, while blind drunk.
They brought him to his knees with e-mails and spreadsheets, she thought
All she wanted was a loan, under the guise of fixing up the mansion. Money that would be added to her pile of cash in the basement to hire Graves.
Madison sat in silence while Peter stared up at the ceiling. This was a disaster. She thought she might throw up or start crying or both. He was going to sell Blue Petal, cheap. Just so he could be left alone to roam the woods. Whatever force drove Nancy Mosby to build an empire had been left out of his genetic code.
She wanted to grab her father by the robe and scream at him “you can act like a man!” But that would probably bring him to tears.
Then, she saw the opportunity in front of her. It was now or never. Take the leap and either soar or crash and burn to death. What did she have to lose? What she was about to ask for was inevitable in some ways. And she would be putting her father out of his misery.
“Give it to me,” she finally said.
“What?” Her father’s face twisted in confusion.
“You heard me. Give Blue Petal to me. I’ll take a shot at running it. I’ll make sure you have a full bank account. You can stay here, not worry about anything, and maybe we can keep the company a Mosby-owned operation.”
Peter laughed. “Yeah right. The senior management will tear you apart.”
“They can try. Plus, I’ve talked to a bunch of Grandmother’s old attorneys.” Even though they were dead in a shallow grave somewhere, according to Jane.
“I don’t know, Maddy. You’re twenty-six years old and you think you can run Blue Petal? I wouldn’t wish this headache on anyone.”
“How old was Grandmother when she started it?”
Peter thought for a moment. “Twenty-three. But that was the bakeries and then the restaurant supply. She built the company up. She didn’t have her first store outside of Virginia until she was almost forty. You’re talking about something that’s grown to the size of J.P. Morgan, Target, or Wells Fargo. Blue Petal is a massive, global enterprise, employing hundreds of thousands of people.”
Dad still had some fight left in him. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to protect her or suggesting that she was incapable. So, Madison decided to lay a trap for the flustered father. “You’re saying I’m not up for taking over the family business.”
“No, that’s not what I am saying. Blue Petal needs someone experienced in running a multi-national business of this size.”
“I see. And who was running it before Robard had Grandmother declared dead?”
“It was a man named Lionel Flint.”
“And where’s he?”
“He got into a disagreement with our accountants and the managers who are all trying to coax me into selling the company to the Dutch group. They went over his head as the CEO, trying to get me to agree with them. He tried to fire them. I didn’t let him, so he quit.”
“Why didn’t you fire them?”
“Because they’re old friends of Mom’s. It’s stupid, I know. Maybe I should h
ave canned them, but I didn’t. Lionel was someone we brought in to handle the day-to-day stuff while we waited for Mom to surface. But, by the time we accepted that she might not come back, that she could have died on some excursion, I thought Lionel was doing a good enough job so I let him stay. The people he got into it with have been with the company since the early days. Madison, relationships, long-term ones like these, are important. And they think without Nancy at the helm, the company will falter. And you know what, Maddy? I think they’re right.” He sounded so despondent, it sickened her. She remembered why she stopped coming up here.
Now it was time to go in for the kill. “You just want to think they’re right, because you don’t want to think about any of this at all. Nancy Mosby built Blue Petal from nothing. She busted her ass for decades in a male-dominated world and now her only son, a male, I’ll remind you, is running away from a bunch of older men who want to manipulate him into selling his mother’s legacy, just so he doesn’t have to deal with people. They’ve found your pressure point and hit it with a hammer and you’re sitting here with your knees to your chest, wishing all the pain would just go away. What would Nancy say to you right now?”
Peter’s face went red as a tomato. “Fine,” he shouted as he shot up from his chair. “You want the company? You want to deal with those jackals? Be my guest. But this is a one-way street, Madison. I’m not taking it back. You fuck this up and it’s on your head. Thousands of people could lose their jobs. Billions of dollars could be lost. You want that on your conscience?”
“Try me.” Madison’s voice was cold as steel. She glared at her father, daring him to say anything. If he had said one more derogatory thing to her at that moment, she might have knocked him out.
Peter blinked. And with that, Madison’s father produced his cell phone. He punched in a number so hard, Madison thought he was going to crack the screen.
“Hello, Gus? It’s Peter. I know what I want to do.” There was a long pause. “I’m turning the entire Blue Petal trust over to my daughter Madison’s control.” He paused to listen. “No, that’s not her, she works for the FBI. Twenty-six.” The person on the other end sounded like they were shouting. “Yes, this is my final decision. Yes, I’ll be down there in the morning to sign everything.”
