by E. J. Simon
Finally, she spoke into the receiver, “Okay, I’ll do my best.” She hung up, looked at Michael, and said, “Please excuse me for just one minute; my manager needs me in the front. I’ll be right back. I apologize.”
Michael’s mind and heart began racing. This wasn’t good. His only backup plan was to try to leave the bank quickly, but that wasn’t a very promising strategy. Even if he made it outside, he would be easy to identify and track down. He sat down on the chair at the desk. He envisioned the worst, that the police were on their way or already in the bank discussing the best way to apprehend him. He continued to wait for what seemed like an eternity.
Four minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching the door. The door opened and inside stepped the bank clerk. “I’m very sorry,” she said. “Let me show you to your box.” Michael was relieved but still suspicious.
They entered the inner vault. The clerk glanced up and, locating the number, walked swiftly to the box. She inserted her key into one of the locks, took Michael’s key and inserted it into the adjoining lock, then opened the steel door and pulled out a large gray steel box. She handed the box to Michael and led him to a tiny room adjacent to the vault. “Just let me know when you’re finished. I’ll be at the desk right outside.”
Michael closed the door behind her, turned around, and for a moment stared at the box sitting on the Formica desk in the small, bare room. He undid the small latch at the top of the box and opened the lid. A copy of an old New York Daily News stared back from the box. It was the back page from several years ago, with the headline announcing the Yankees as the World Series winner. For a split second, Michael feared he had been lured into either a hoax or, worse, a trap. He fingered the newspaper and lifted it up out of the box, where it had been snugly secured. As he did, he saw what he had hoped to find.
The box was tightly packed with one-hundred-dollar bills in bundles of one hundred, each one containing $10,000. There were too many packets to count. Michael unzipped the gym bag and dumped the contents of the box into the bag. He then placed the copy of the Daily News on top of the money and closed the bag. He didn’t know yet if he was home free, but the presence of the cash was certainly a good sign. Now he still had to leave the bank and get safely into Lester’s car waiting outside.
He opened the door. Everything looked normal. When he saw the clerk in the adjacent office, he said, “I’m all set.”
She looked up at Michael. “Good, let’s put the box back.” She walked back into the vault with Michael following close behind, holding the bulging gym bag and the closed but now empty box. Michael carefully slid the steel case into the slot. The clerk closed the door, turned the locks, and returned one key back to Michael. She took the second key and proceeded back out of the vault and into the area where Michael had initially signed in. “I just need for you to sign out.”
As Michael signed alongside his own signature from fifteen minutes earlier, the clerk seemed to have something more on her mind. Michael was waiting for another ball to drop. “I noticed,” she said, “that your yearly payment is due at the end of the month. Would you like to pay it now?”
Michael wanted to leave the bank as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. Although he had two million dollars in his gym bag and had placed a few hundred dollars of his own cash in Alex’s wallet, he didn’t want to prolong his visit any longer than absolutely necessary.
“No, thanks. I’m in a bit of a hurry now. I think the bill is sitting at home, so I’ll just send it in this week, if that’s okay.”
He proceeded out the door, gym bag firmly in hand, toward the bank’s lobby. As he entered the lobby, Michael saw two New York City policemen speaking with the bank’s private security guard, none of whom he had seen when he entered the bank. They seemed absorbed in conversation, although one of the police officers turned his way as Michael entered the lobby. Michael continued to walk swiftly through the lobby, past the barricaded tellers, the cops, and the security guard. He tried to be aware of movement around him while making eye contact with no one. The glass doors to the sidewalk were now in front of him. He didn’t hesitate, although he expected someone to call out or take him by the arm at any moment.
He opened the glass doors and walked outside. Fat Lester’s black Cadillac was still double-parked in front of him. He heard the locks open from inside. He looked both ways but saw no one approaching, so he grasped the silver door handle, opened the door, and sat in the front passenger seat, putting the multimillion-dollar gym bag on the floor in front of him. Lester put the car in drive, the doors locked, and they took off for Alex’s house, where Donna was anxiously awaiting them.
As he pulled out onto Main Street, Fat Lester checked his rearview mirror. “Looks like we may have company. I’ll lose him.”
Michael turned around and saw a black Lincoln Town Car. The driver was wearing sunglasses. “Do you recognize the car or the driver?” he asked.
“I don’t think so, but my fuckin’ eyes aren’t that good,” Lester said as he put his foot on the gas and made a sudden left turn across two lanes of traffic and then completed a full U-turn so that they were now watching the stunned Town Car driver as they passed each other going in opposite directions. Sometimes being nearly blind helps, Michael thought. Lester then made a series of turns through a back alley and several Flushing side streets. Michael checked the rearview mirror again. There was no sign of the Town Car. They headed again for Alex’s home.
* * *
Michael and Fat Lester walked through the front door. Donna saw the bulging Yankees gym bag and hugged Michael warmly. Skinny Lester and George were right behind her.
“Michael, I’m so glad to see you walk in that door. Did you guys have any trouble?” Donna asked.
“No, the bank went fine. I was just nervous. Every time someone blinked, I thought it was all over. The only suspicious thing is that it looked like someone was following us as we left the bank. Lester almost killed us, but he lost whoever it was.”
“Was all the money there?” Donna and Skinny Lester asked, nearly simultaneously. George seemed curious but characteristically quiet.
Michael opened the bag and the tightly wrapped bills spilled out. “I haven’t had a chance to count it, but my guess is that there’s two million dollars here.”
Donna was finally smiling, obviously relieved. “Now what do we do?”
“Well,” Michael continued, “we need to get this money someplace safe. I’m going to arrange for our own new safety deposit box, but before that, we need to rip up your dining room floor.”
Chapter 36
Beverly Hills, California
December 1, 2009
Michael and Samantha arrived at LAX and whisked past the paparazzi looking for celebrities. Spotting their waiting driver, they got in the limousine and went directly to their favorite Los Angeles hotel, the Peninsula in Beverly Hills.
As they drove up to the entrance to the hotel, Michael felt a rare sense of calm. Finally locating his brother’s hidden cash would allow him to take care of Donna and George and perhaps have a good amount of money left over. It was better, he thought, than winning the lottery. Also, tomorrow’s speech would allow him to publicly take a position regarding destructive practices that he believed were destroying American business. And having Samantha at his side made the future seem that much brighter.
The driveway of the Peninsula was lined with exotic cars. As their limousine stopped in front of the main entrance, the bellman stepped out and opened the car door. “Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas. We missed you.”
As they approached the reception desk, Samantha whispered into Michael’s ear, “How do they know who we are? I know we’ve stayed here a number of times, but it’s been over a year since we were here.”
“Each morning they probably have a meeting with the whole staff and review each incoming reservation. Sometimes they even have pictures of their repeat guests,” Michael said.
“Seriously, Michael. Did you
have to take the mystery away? I thought they were just good.”
“Don’t worry; I have the feeling there’ll be plenty of mysteries to solve.”
Michael knew he needed to reengage with his staff at Gibraltar before the whispers about the absent or detached CEO began circulating amongst the never-ending line of corporate busybodies or those hoping to fill his shoes. His speech before the international business press was tomorrow afternoon at the UCLA Business School auditorium. It would be an appropriate way to demonstrate his return to the tortured situation at his company.
Michael always liked to arrive early for his major, high-visibility meetings or events, get there before the other participants, and dine either alone or with Samantha if she was accompanying him. It allowed him to organize his thoughts, prepare for “battle,” and put the situation in his own organized perspective. Dinner at the Grill on the Alley in Beverly Hills, one of Michael’s favorites, was a routine when he was in Los Angeles.
“You know I hate this restaurant, but I know how much you like it here,” Samantha said as they sat down to an early dinner. They had a coveted booth near the entrance, an accommodation the ma�tre d’ was happy to make in view of Samantha’s stylish attire and good looks. After cocktails, Michael ordered his favorite dish, chicken potpie, while Samantha ordered her usual salmon, grilled very rare.
Michael watched as Samantha eyed the waiter suspiciously. “See, this is what I don’t like about this place. The waiters are all these old, gruff guys who look right through the women as though we don’t exist. They ignore women, unless, of course, they’re filled with silicone. He’s made no eye contact with me; he’s just ignored me. They fawn over all the men. If I was here alone, he’d never come to the table.”
“Samantha. This is your imagination—you’re too sensitive. He loves you. It’s just that this is Hollywood, and guys run things out here.”
“Well, that may have been true years ago, but now some of the major studios are run by women.”
Michael decided not to agitate his wife any further. The last time they had eaten at the Grill, Samantha refused to eat her meal, stating it was overcooked, but she had watched while Michael devoured his cherished potpie. He was surprised she had even agreed to return, and now he needed to prepare her for the possible fallout from tomorrow’s speech.
It had been two years since the chairman of Gibraltar Financial hired Michael to turn the business around. Now the board that carelessly sanctioned the bad decisions over the two years before he was recruited expected him to work miracles overnight. Worse, they were beginning to try to shift the blame to Michael himself.
Michael knew he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the evolution of business over the last several years. Starting with the leveraged buyout movement through to today’s private equity and hedge fund craze, the world was changing, and not always for the better. Michael seemed to be able to function, albeit not always comfortably, with this strange new breed of financiers. He knew how they operated and what they expected. But Michael feared that they sensed his ambivalence toward their world and that his heart and passion were in building or rebuilding organizations—not stripping them out for short-term profits.
“Samantha, this speech tomorrow is high risk.” Michael felt he had to let Samantha know that it was possible the speech could be his swan song. “I don’t know how Dick or the rest of the board will react. I purposely didn’t allow Karen to circulate a copy of the speech. They’d all have a nervous breakdown if they saw it in advance. They’d never let me do it.” Michael proceeded to summarize the main points to Samantha.
“Michael,” Samantha said, “you can’t change the world. I know you don’t like the direction of all this merger and private equity and hedge fund world, but you can’t change it.”
Michael’s cell phone rang. “Karen, what are you doing this late? It’s ten o’clock for you.”
“I just want to be sure you’re all set for tomorrow. Did you get the FedEx with some mail and your speech?”
“Yes,” Michael replied softly into the phone, not wanting to disturb the other diners. “I’ve got it, and it looks perfect. Thanks for making the changes—and keeping it out of Dick’s hands.”
“Boss, the speech looks great, but I sure hope you know what you’re doing. This will be like a bomb going off to Dick and some of the board members. And you know that you’ve got to read it from your script. I would have had to give the marketing department the speech yesterday in order for it to be loaded onto a teleprompter. I can sure as hell see that we didn’t want to do that.”
“That’s okay. I’m not crazy about those teleprompters anyway,” Michael said. “I’ve practiced it enough so that I’m very comfortable with my delivery.”
“Also,” Karen said, “Mr. Applegarden wants to meet with you tomorrow before you go on. He’s going to call your room, so be ready. You’re supposed to be at the UCLA business auditorium at three.”
“I’ve got it. I’ll see Applegarden at some point before. I just want to keep it brief so we don’t get too deep into the details of the speech, and I’ve got to be sure we don’t meet too early so there’s no chance he can force me to rewrite or change anything.”
“Oh God, I’m glad I’m not going to be there. They’re all going to have a fit—although the press may love it.”
“You’re right on both points, Karen.”
“Yes, but remember, Boss, it’s the board that pays you. Not the press.”
“Karen, that’s why I love you. You’re just like Samantha. Always right.”
“I know. Good luck. Please call me when it’s over.”
Michael turned off the phone and looked at Samantha. She was not eating her salmon.
Chapter 37
Los Angeles, California
December 2, 2009
“Michael, God, it’s good to have you back. I know this has been tough for you.” Dick Applegarden had finally caught up with Michael. It was ten minutes before Michael was to step to the podium in front of a crowd of over two thousand reporters, executives, and business students. “Are you ready for this? I never actually got a copy of your speech, but nobody does this sort of thing better than you do.”
“Oh, I’m ready. Hopefully everyone is.” Michael knew that Dick Applegarden was uncomfortable around him.
“Anyway, we can get together later at the hotel. You’re just about to go on. Good luck. I trust you.” Michael knew that Dick Applegarden didn’t trust anyone.
Michael was dutifully introduced by the master of ceremonies, and he walked up the four steps to the stage and headed for the podium to a polite round of applause. He thanked the speaker who gave the introduction, took a deep breath, and gazed out at the audience hidden in the subdued light. As the applause from his introduction subsided, he began his speech.
“America has led the world in innovative business practices, but it has initiated a cancer, which, if allowed to grow unchecked and unregulated, will destroy the very fabric of our great industries. Hedge funds and private equity investors have mandated the relentless purchase and merging of companies, many of them industry leaders with long track records of success. These investors, driven by the need for fast, short-term gains, force the supposedly cost-efficient restructuring—or, as we so often call it, ‘right-sizing’ of these companies. We say it’s to make them more cost-efficient or competitive. But we all know we’re sacrificing long-term sustainability and competitiveness for a quick return, which can then be leveraged for a profitable sale of the organization.
“It has resulted in the destruction of hundreds of excellent companies and hundreds of thousands of American jobs. It has torn apart the bedrock of great organizations: the implied contract and trusting relationship between a business entity and its valued employees. Great companies are never run by accountants or consultants. How can we look at ourselves in the mirror when we strip out the more seasoned and talented employees—who happen to logically earn the most—in t
he name of so-called right-sizing?”
Michael tried to gauge the reaction of the audience as he looked up from his speech notes. It was difficult with such a large crowd sitting mostly in the dark. They seemed, however, to be listening intently and staring back at him with unusual focus and interest, at least for a business speech.
Energized, Michael continued. “Whatever happened to building a great product and a great company, investing in the future, having the patience to invest in research and development and in your people, even though the financial payoff may not come within the next quarter? Why are we allowing financial deal makers and traders to purchase our companies; pull out the equity built up over years; sell off the assets; eliminate its pension, health, and other employee benefits; load the business up with debt—and then sell it for a quick profit, crippled and loaded with debt payments, to another investor, while earning millions more in fees?”
Michael paused and made eye contact with Dick Applegarden sitting in the first row. Dick’s eyes were like lasers staring back at Michael. Michael glanced down at his notes and delivered his coup de grâce. “Our new business titans have become the financial technicians, or as I would affectionately call them, plumbers, who neither know nor care how to run a business or even understand the company’s products or services, but who are expert at the manipulation of the financial architecture of the organization. And, ladies and gentlemen, this financial architecture has become a sophisticated way to simply rape a company.”
Michael concluded with the outline of a solution. “I propose a new standard of regulation to limit the ability of corporate raiders to purchase a company, devalue that company, and then steal its assets—and a new leadership paradigm whereby CEOs are not only challenged with short-term financial performance, but long-term business growth and sustainability. Finally,” he concluded, “I fully expect my organization, Gibraltar Financial, to be a part of this new direction, and I will do everything to lead by example. Thank you.”