Copyright © 2016 by Robert Wintner
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Print ISBN: 978-1-63158-087-1
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Printed in the United States of America
For Tom Plouffe, a man of means
PROLOGUE
A View from the Top
Michael Mulroney is insolvent.
Insolvent—|in'sälvnt| adjective, unable to pay debts owed: the company became insolvent.
• relating to insolvency: insolvent liquidation.
noun: an insolvent person.
He puts a fine point on the difference between insolvency and having no money. Who deals in money anymore? Make that cash, long green, the pocket wad, and the short answer is nobody. Any day, anytime, he can pluck a C-note or three or eight from his wallet as if from thin air. It’s plain to see he’s got money and can get plenty more where that came from. So he’s not broke.
Broke means no money, busted, elephant ears, no checkbook or credit cards, no influence or associates or friends of means—broke means no presence in the free-market flow. Broke was for people in the Depression. Brother, can you spare a dime? Soup lines and 5¢ apples are for broke people—people without resources, without hope. But a guy with assets and a clean shirt and notably pricey shoes and a watch that went a few grand more than your average tick tock, a guy with apparently hygienic inclinations—good teeth, fair skin, a haircut and a pleasant scent—a guy with a smile on his face because he knows what the world can do for him in return for all he’s done; that guy is not broke.
Broke |brōk|: adjective [predic.] informal: having completely run out of money: many farmers went broke.
Insolvent, on the other hand, means still part of the game as defined by the modern, mixed free-enterprise system, in which cash might be king, but real moolah is reflected in numbers on paper or in electronic synapses measuring scads o’ dough that can’t simply vaporize but will accrue sooner or later to the viable players in that system, of whom Michael Mulroney is one. That is, persons participating in the modern system live free to buy more, to enjoy life to the maximum and pay later because the money will come. What else can it do? Cash is not king but merely the Archduke of Down Payment in the realm ruled by Credit—by which the world can be leveraged. Leverage is magic, making each little greenback worth many times more than its face value, making those little greenbacks do the heavy lifting on the front end, allowing the player to go long on value, on the back end, so to speak. Leverage is like atomic fission, allowing a little bitty bang to go KABOOM! So? If a guy is short on cash, so what? He’ll get more, and he’ll know what to do with it. It’s only a matter of time, given his viability and track record.
Insolvency is merely a word describing a certain phase of that mixed free-enterprise system that every player will experience sooner or later. It may be a phase that not every player will experience, but it can happen to the best of them—maybe not to the extremely wealthy or cautious players, but the self-made guys who get in there and mix it up, who land a few and take a few on the chin and who fall down but get up and dust off and go again. It can happen to them, and so it does, as naturally as left-right-left. It may be a brief phase if the player still knows the moves. Or it can take him out, if he’s old and infirm, in nature’s inevitable way.
In any event, insolvency is a reversal segment, but it by no means disqualifies those players with continuing vim, vigor, and forward thinking, who remain networked and attuned to the common rhythm, integral and part of the scheme of things. Although slightly underwater, or, as the imagery goes, upside down, belly up, wrung out, pinched, in a jam or shitting through the eye of a needle, the insolvent, intact player is still confident in the ephemeral nature of fortune. Insolvency begins with in, just like inclusion, in the world, and incredible.
Michael Mulroney lives at One Summit Nest in a single-family dwelling, which should not be confused with a dwelling of similar profile in, say, Shanghai or Tokyo. The dwelling at One Summit Nest is shaped to accommodate a family and all its stuff, along with its visions and continuing needs. It’s big, a rambler with ostentatious generosity, grandiosity, and luminosity on finish materials, volume, and redundant luxuries. He bought it right, on the way up for two point four mil and spent another point two on a new roof, no big deal. What, you want leaks? And the hot tub was a pittance, to ease his aching joints. He’ll have to pay the pesky six points on the commission, and he owes two point two because he leveraged a ninety percent loan. He had the cash to pay for the house, but he also had golden opportunities on four new lots in prime locations right at point five each, which seemed serendipitous and convenient. Oh, the smart player sees the down cycle for what it has to offer, what would otherwise be an arm and two legs in a healthy economy. Beyond the incredible bargain, the acquisition budget of point five times four new lots included inventory, because a seasoned player knows the diff between a real budget and a fool’s paradise, so things can only go uphill from here. Or would that be downhill? Fuck it; you fill four lots with inventory for seventy-five cents on the dollar because economic indicators first leveled car prices at the dealer auctions and then eased to a slight but nonetheless further decline. That made for a bargain if a player had the cash, and the player had the cash, in a classic example of that ironic phase of economic fluctuation: the rich get richer, and the poor do what they do best. Naysayers predicted that the slight decline would steepen to a descent. But what? Californians were going to stop driving?
Not. And few people in the world could be more snug in the catbird seat on a wild ride than Michael Big M OK Used Cars Mulroney. Pre-owned? Get the fuck outta here with that pre-owned bullshit. You want smoke up your skivvies? Get down the road to certified pre-owned. The fuck is that? They prove to you that it’s used? Besides, used is the new new: BMW, Mercedes, Jag—who knows the diff between an ’09 and a ’16? You get your fucking image and save your fucking dough.
Michael Mulroney has depended since forever on swear words to make a point or deliver a punch line. He read somewhere that people who swear are most often telling the truth. He liked that and, factoring the correlation into his credibility quotient, increased his blue-language frequency. These days his language is nearly azure blue, though some find it exasperatingly blue. But those people don’t truly comprehend the nature of truth or the need for some to strive for greater truth, like, say, a used car magnate. Michael Mulroney is renowned for honest deals, what he calls your honest motherfucker—but never
in print or on the air. People want to sense decency, and they do. So why press the point? Why not leave the Mulroney paradox as another unnatural pattern in nature, kind of? That would be nature as defined by Mulroney’s uncanny ability to serve the car buying needs of Californians—and a few Nevadans who come over for the fair dealing and honest language.
Yet, alas, a brief interlude intercedes, wherein the decline column goes from slight to steep, until inventory and overhead outweigh revenue. He’s out on a limb with the house, and he can raise cash only as fast as the cars move out. Or he could sell the house, which could happen any day, but he’s sure as hell not taking a loss on it. He fire sales a few cars as necessary because taking a loss on a car is all part of retail. The loss leader is old as onions, 19¢ a pound. It fills the store and keeps things going. It generates excitement—are you kidding? An ’07 550 SL for $18k? That’s the auction price—and it’s cherry! And it gets them talking, especially the lucky fuck who bagged it. And talking leads to thinking, to pondering acquisition and residual benefits, including enhanced image and more fun.
But the specter arises: what if car-buying habits don’t come back to where they were? Of course, they will; they have to because they always have and always will. What, you can imagine a world without more cars? It’ll never happen. But what if car-buying habits don’t come back in six months? Because that’s the extent of the means to keep this show going. Maybe seven months in a pinch on some pledges. It makes for pressure, and nonstop pressure is tough—if you’re a pedestrian pussy and not the greatest living closer west of the Fertile Crescent. As it is, a downturn brings out the best of the private reserve. Are you kidding? Californians not drive? Californians oblivious to brand?
Allison plops onto the sofa much as a small bird lights on a big limb, to chirp her little song. She announces good news, sincerely, in her pretty, petite way: she’s moving to Hawaii and hopes that Michael will join in the fun. Mulroney laughs so abruptly he nearly grunts. What’s she going to do, go alone?
I
It’s Not like I Didn’t Tell You
“We got one of two things going on here. Either they can’t afford it, and there’s nothing we can do about that but wish them all the best because living at the top of the hill isn’t for everybody, and if they don’t have the resources this year, well, maybe they’ll be able to step up in the next few years. We’ll be pulling for them.
“Or it’s a lowball. A lowball isn’t just a low offer, over and out. A proper lowball follows a setup, like they’re doing right now. Yeah, they found another place for only a million nine ninety; it’s a shitbox levitation act, cantilevered out the cliff face and hanging in thin air on four-by-fours. If it doesn’t slide down the hill, it’s still a dump. That’s efficient. Isn’t it? It has what they call ‘bang for the buck’ in your economy-minded market. It’s a three-bed, two-bath Cracker Jack that’ll suit six adults with teenage kids about as well as Victoria’s Secret would do for a hippopotamus. You ever see a hippo take a shit? I have. They had one on TV a few nights ago. Underwater. Jesus … For a weekend beach retreat? Get the fuck outta here. What happens when the prunes and bran kick in? That’ll make for some great beach weekends. They can drive up here to sunshine country and have a lovely fucking time. When the toilet clogs they can just cut a hole in the floor. Why not? Shit rolls downhill, Marylyn! Haven’t you heard? Let ’um buy it for chrissakes. They’ll only boost the market.”
“We shouldn’t have to worry about them much longer. Nick promised they’ll do something in the next two days.”
“Worry? Fuck ’um. You tell Nick to tell his clients that the seller knows they got the cash. Or the borrowing power or whatever. We are well within their budget. They’re shaking me down on a desperation check, to see if they might steal some money the old-fashioned way and really have a great weekend. I saw it coming. I sense this shit in my bones. I know this stuff. It comes out my pores. I feel it on my skin. They’ll come in around two point two.”
“That would be nice.”
“Nice? What would be nice about it? It won’t fly!”
“Once they put an offer on the table, people are usually willing to come up a little bit. I always think it’s nice to get them emotionally involved.”
“Emotionally involved? Give me a fucking break. I know these guys. I grew up with these guys. You want to talk emotional involvement? Line up a couple three strippers, outcall, with some decent liquor, and a bag of buds. Make it a playoff weekend and leave the wives at home. Now you’re into touchy-feely country. Emotional involvement? Fuck. These guys need to come up a whole lot more than a little bit to get me emotionally involved.”
“You sound emotional to me.”
“Yeah, well, I got this pounding sensation in my asshole. Okay? So I get emotional. Call it self-preservation instinct. You want me to get lovey-dovey on a so-called deal? We need fair market value instead of what we got, which is zip. This … Is … A lowball. I could take it in the ass, but I think I won’t, if that’s okay with you. That leaves me to counter, and the deal will die if I do because we’re starting too low. You know what happens. With too much gap between the ask and the offer, the negotiation goes on too long. It breaks down to personalities clashing. It gets personal and it goes past money and value, and people take it personally. They get pissed off. Too much friction. The deal dies. They need to come in closer to two point seven five, or we’re looking at a long slog across a frozen fucking tundra. I know this game. The deal will die.”
“Let’s just see what happens.”
“Yeah, right.”
II
We Have an Offer
“Two point two. Two point shmoo. I told you: it’s no good. We have no alternative but to stonewall it or go high enough to blow it away. I see no reason to prolong the agony. We stand our ground or attack. We do not die in retreat.”
“Die in retreat? It’s a four hundred grand difference on an asking price of two point seven five million! What are you dying over? Finally, we have a place to start talking!”
“I’m dying over four hundred thousand dollars. I’m in it two point seven five. It’s worth the price. Do you think I could go out today or tomorrow or all of next week or most of next month and make that money back? No. I can’t. And I will not walk away from that money.”
“Look. We have an offer. It’s more than we had yesterday or last week or at any time in the last three months. We need to show good faith. You know what they say: as long as you’re talking the deal is alive. Alive is different than dead. We need to counter. You said you knew these things. Besides that, Michael, you are not in it two point seven five. You’re in it two point four.”
“Oh yeah, Miss Smarty-pants. Take that two point four and stack another point two on top for the roof and the hot tub. Then ask yourself, ‘Hmm, do I need to get paid on this?’ Well, do ya, punk?’ I don’t mean you’re a punk. You just set me up for that line. But do you want to get paid?”
“You bought at the top and you want to sell on the way down. That. Costs. Money. Michael. If you want to sell your house for more than it’s worth, then you’re wasting my time.”
“Fine. Counter at two point seven four nine nine nine.”
“You want to drop your price by a dollar?”
“Yeah. In good faith.”
“That’s not good faith. That’s an insult.”
“An insult to whom? Don’t forget the party of which you represent here, after yourself of course. It’s me and my interests. Two point two is a lowball. Some people would call a lowball an insult. Some people would take it personally. Me? I’m showing good faith. Why are we arguing here? You got two choices: you counter at two point seven four nine nine nine, or you ignore their offer. I won’t discuss it further.”
“You said before you’d go to two million seven hundred thousand. Let’s counter with that.”
“No. I’ll go to two million seven if they offer it. I won’t counter with it because you know as well as I do
where things go from there. You want faith? Counter a dollar lower. Let’s see how good their faith is.”
•
“Okay. They got your counter and said thanks very much and want you to know that they really love the place, so they want to make a counter to your counter. They came back at two million two hundred thousand and one dollars.”
“They came up a dollar? Beautiful. Now we’re getting somewhere. You know: the seller wants to sell, and the buyer makes like he wants to buy. That sort of thing. Go back with … let’s see, our very best good wishes, our, uh, fondest hopes that they do see the value here and our expressed intention to do everything we possibly can to come to terms on a deal. So, in the spirit of compromise, we’ll drop to two million, seven hundred forty-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-eight.”
“You think I’m going to rewrite this contract in dollar bites a half million times?”
“Nah! Just ink in the numbers. I’ll initial.”
“That’s stupid. Besides, why don’t you just split the difference? Come down to two million five, around in there. You want to sell the place or get stuck in a … a …”
“A pissing contest?”
“Yes. You said it.”
“We’re pissing real dollars here. Not your dollars. My dollars. I want to sell. He who dribbles first loses the money. Let ’um come up to serious intention levels. Then we’ll talk about splitting differences and closing deals. Okay? Is that okay?”
“It’ll die. You said it first. Too much back and forth with no progress. It’ll die, and you know it, and you’d rather let it die than give in.”
“I don’t know any such thing. What is this give-in bullshit? Who’s not giving in? Your client or your client’s adversary? Be very careful here, dear. You don’t know where this will go. You can’t very well call two counters a pattern and think the pattern will hold dollar for dollar to halfway on a five hundred, seventy-five thousand spread. I’d hold firm before it got anywhere near that low anyway. I think it works in my favor to get the paper inked up on another dollar drop.”
A California Closing Page 1