by Peter Ralph
She had installed a sophisticated intercom between Aspine’s new office and her own. He had only to press a button on his desk to talk to her but, to her disgust, he still insisted on shouting. A few minutes later Kelly’s voice came over the intercom. “I have Mr. Easton for you.”
“Marcus, I want to thank you for your article today.”
“I’d say it was richly deserved. You’ve done a fine job,” Easton responded, in a surprisingly immature voice.
“Thank you.”
“What are your plans for the future?”
“Marcus, you know I can’t answer that.”
“You misunderstood me. I’m not seeking inside information, but rather the big picture of where you’re taking the company.”
“Why don’t you come to my office for lunch? Nothing special − just sandwiches and orange juice − and I’ll let you know what I can about the company’s direction.”
“I’d like that. What day are you thinking about?”
“What about midday tomorrow? Strike while the iron is hot, so as to speak.”
“That’s fine, Douglas. I’ll see you then.”
For Aspine it was time to reward those who’d helped him achieve the result, particularly the company’s second most important person. “Kerry, come and see me.”
Kerry’s face was white and his pimples had flared up. For the fiftieth time, Aspine wondered what Jasmine had ever seen in him. “Grab a chair. I want to thank you for the effort you’ve put in. You’ve worked very hard and done a fine job.”
“Thank you, I-I wi-wish we had-hadn’t...”
Aspine held his hand up. “That’ll never happen again and that’s not what I’m thanking you for. It’s the hundred hours a week, the financial control, and your ability to produce accurate and timely results. I’m increasing your salary by sixty thousand, paying you a bonus of one hundred thousand, and issuing you another four hundred thousand options to acquire shares in the company, exercisable at $4.25. You realize that the initial options issued to you are now in the money to the extent of three hundred and sixty thousand.”
Kerry sat glued to the chair, staggered by the magnitude of the numbers. “Ye-yes I know. Tha-thank you.”
“Now you can afford that place you’ve wanted to buy in Mansfield for the boys. I want you to take this weekend off, so you can head up there, and buy it.”
“Tha-thanks Doug,” Kerry choked, with emotion.
“Get out of here,” Aspine grinned.
Brad Hooper’s bonus was five hundred and fifty thousand dollars and, while he’d met all performance criteria, Aspine resented paying it. After all, it was more than half of his own bonus, which he’d had to sweat and cheat for. As Brad sprawled in the chair opposite him he silently cursed his generosity. “How are sales going?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Slowly. The price increase is killing us, and the others haven’t followed.”
“Have you been selling the fact that Mercury’s apartments are appreciating and everyone else’s are falling?”
Brad laughed. “Did you say fact? Of course we are, and we’ve even managed to make sales to a few woodies.”
“As far as the public’s concerned, our apartments have been climbing in price, and don’t ever call our clients wood ducks.”
“They’re too expensive and the reps are getting pissed off because they can’t make sales. We’re going to lose some of them once they’ve been paid their commission on the sales they’ve made that are pending settlement.”
“Tell them to hang in there. I want you to run those double-page advertisements again this weekend, and put them in The Australian as well, because there’s going to be an increase in demand.”
“How do you know?”
“I know, and don’t be surprised if our competitors have price increases very soon. How are sales going in the three new Docklands projects?”
“There’s been a few sold off-the-plan, but nothing of significance. They all seem to be going up at the same rate, almost like it’s a race.”
“It is. When Jack Gillard went to Vegas, he found that building teams competed against each other for large bonuses. That’s how they build those bloody monoliths in such a short time. We’re doing the same.”
“I thought you called me in to talk about my bonus.”
“I did,” Aspine grinned, pushing Brad’s cheque across the desk.
“What do you think?”
“It would have been close to a million if you hadn’t raised apartment prices in the last two months of the year.”
“You’re not happy?”
“I didn’t say that. Christ, it’s the biggest pay cheque I’ve ever seen.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find someone or something to blow it on.”
“I’ve also allocated you another hundred thousand options exercisable at $4.25.”
“How’s that work? A lousy hundred thousand?”
“You’re management now, Brad, and it’s time to start performing. Re-educate your team on how to sell at the right prices, and I’ll look after you.”
Brad was not appeased. “There are a number of our apartments on the after-market. What do want me to do?”
“Buy them. How much will you need?”
“About five mil.”
‘That won’t be a problem. We have to hold the prices up. Have you got agents renting the ones you previously bought?”
“Yeah, but it’s a struggle.”
“Just make sure you get something to defray the interest costs.”
- 21 -
INGOTGOLD ANNOUNCED THE discovery of a new rich find in Tibet and Aspine sold his shares for a thirty thousand dollar profit; a gain of sixty per cent in less than two months. He’d never made easier money, and he mused about Blayloch & Fitch’s wealthy clients and the profits they must be making as a result of their broker’s seemingly infallible recommendations.
Kelly showed Marcus Easton into the boardroom. There was a platter of sandwiches, a jug of orange juice and two glasses on the boardroom table. Aspine stood up and extended his hand. “Glad you could make it, Marcus.” He was thin, pasty-faced, with long mousy coloured hair, but his handshake was strong.
“Thank you for inviting me, Douglas. It’s a little warm. Do you mind if I remove my jacket.”
“Make yourself comfortable.”
Easton removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.
“Help yourself.”
“Thank you. Will any of your executives be joining us?” Easton asked, placing a recorder on the table, and flicking it on.
“No, a lot of what I’m going to discuss with you is confidential and off the record, so I’d appreciate it if you’d turn that thing off.”
Easton looked embarrassed as he turned the recorder off.
“I’m sure you’ll understand, after you hear what I have to say,” Aspine said, anxious not to upset the young reporter. “You’re the first journo I’ve talked to since I took up this position.”
“It’s been a remarkable transformation. You’ve taken an old, staid company into the twenty-first century. What’s the biggest single change that you made?”
“That’s easy. Changing a slack culture to one of uncompromising quality,” Aspine lied.
“I’m surprised. I thought that you’d say crushing the unions, downsizing, or implementing rigorous cost controls.”
“I’ve done all of those things and more, but it’s the improvement in quality that’s made clients rush to buy our apartments.”
“I didn’t think anyone was rushing to buy apartments these days.”
“We’ve experienced strong demand in our three new Docklands complexes. And you probably know that the few apartments available in our earlier developments are selling at a premium.”
“I’ve seen your ads. I thought you’d just highlighted a few apartments where the original buyers got lucky.”
“We tr
ack the sales of our apartments by original buyers. In the past four months not one has changed hands for less than it was originally sold for? Contrast that with our competitors, where there’s a plethora available and original buyers are sustaining large losses…and that’s when they’re fortunate enough to make a sale.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, the design and quality of our apartments is superior to that of our competitors. We use only the best materials, the finest tradesmen, and we’re fastidious about the finish. Consequently, our apartments have increased in value, and those of our competitors have fallen.”
“So you’re saying the quality of your competitors’ apartments is second rate?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Aspine smiled.
“I thought you just did.”
“Look, we’re the only builder in the Docklands whose apartments are more than holding their value. We had a seven-and-half per cent price increase at the end of October, but our competitors are reducing prices. Doesn’t that tell you something? It’s all about a superior product and superior quality.”
“But if your competitors’ prices are significantly less than yours you must be struggling to make sales.”
“Marcus, you grossly underestimate the intelligence of our clients. If you had the choice of buying a Docklands apartment tomorrow for seven hundred thousand dollars from us, knowing that it will increase in value, or buying something from one of our competitors for six hundred and fifty thousand, knowing that it will almost certainly lose value, which one would you buy?”
“So you are saying that your competitors’ apartments are second rate,” Marcus said, looking for a provocative headline.
“I’d never say that about my competitors’ products. Maybe they’re first-rate, just not as first-rate as ours. Wouldn’t they be raising prices if they were? Instead, they’re reducing them. If I were a buyer, I’d be more than a little worried.”
“Worried because your competitors haven’t put up prices?”
“Because of our commitment to quality, we have minimal maintenance and warranty work on our apartments. Despite this, we have to include something in our price to cover contingencies.”
“Are you suggesting that your competitors may not be able to service and warrant the apartments they’ve built?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Marcus, you’d have to ask them,” Aspine smirked. “Would you like more orange juice?”
The following morning, there was a full page article about Mercury in The Australian under the headline, ‘A Quality Turnaround’. Aspine gloated, it was almost verbatim what he’d told Marcus, and he glowed when he read the words, Douglas Aspine’s Mercury Properties. He opined that if Brad’s sales team couldn’t sell apartments now, they couldn’t sell at all. He also knew that the article would infuriate the CEOs of Vicland, Apartco and Urban.
The drive to Mansfield was fun, with Jasmine, Jack and Sam playing I Spy and singing, while Kerry concentrated on the roads. It was the first Saturday that he’d taken off since starting at Mercury, and when he’d told Jasmine that he was taking the weekend off, she had been elated. He was still withdrawn and not himself. Jasmine put this down to the hours that he’d been working. Like Kerry, she’d been staggered by the size of his bonus and pay increase, and it worried her that his values seemed to be becoming more material. It was a clear sunny day, and the smell of freshly sawn timber hung in the air as they approached the outskirts of the town. Kerry had made appointments to inspect five properties, but the first two were old, run down, and not as they’d been described on realestate.com. As they sat in the bakery eating lunch, he couldn’t conceal his disappointment, and snapped at Sam for playing with his food.
Jasmine placed her hand on Kerry’s wrist. “Honey, he’s only five and he’s been up since six o’clock.”
“I’m sorry. Hey Sam, come over here and sit on Dad’s knee.”
“When are we going home, Dad?” Jack asked. “I’m tired.”
“We’ll look at two more houses, and then we’ll have some ice cream and go home. How does that sound?”
“Why are we going to live up here, Dad?”
“We’re not, Sam. We’re trying to find a house where we can have holidays, ride horses, fish, go boating, and maybe have a cow. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“Would I get my own horse?”
“You sure would, Jack.”
“What about me? I want a horse,” Sam squealed.
“Me too,” Jasmine giggled.
“We’ll all have horses,” Kerry said.
“Mine will be the fastest,” Jack yelled.
“Will not. Will not. I want the fastest horse,” Sam screamed.
“You’re just a bub.”
“Am not, Jack. I’ll hit you.”
“We have another house to look at in twenty minutes. Now finish your lunch boys,” Jasmine said, raising her voice just enough to settle them down.
They drove out of Mansfield on a bitumen road, before coming to a gravel track meandering down to Lake Eildon. The agent had told them to take the last driveway off the track and, as they turned into it, they could see rays of sun bouncing off the lake. The property was neatly fenced and they could see that the weatherboard house had been freshly painted. The real estate agent was standing by her car at the front of the house. “Hello Mr & Mrs Bartlett, I’m Kathy Lewis. Hello boys, are you having a nice time?”
Sam cuddled Jasmine’s leg and tried to hide behind her, and Jack looked down at his feet. Kerry did the introductions.
“Would you like me to come through the house with you, or would you prefer to look by yourselves?”
“We’ll look by ourselves, thank you” Jasmine responded.
The house had five bedrooms, a large refurbished kitchen, two bathrooms, and it appeared clean and well looked after. “What do you think?” Kerry asked Jasmine, struggling to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“The same as you,” she giggled. “It’s wonderful.”
There was a bedroom with toy trains, cars and trucks on the floor, and Sam squealed. “This is my bedroom.”
“It’s on seven acres which borders the lake, and has a small barn that we could use for storage. Let’s go for a walk and see if it’s fully fenced.” Kerry said.
“It’s perfect.” Jasmine smiled. “Are we going to buy it?”
“I think so. Let’s check the fencing and barn.”
The barn was neat and tidy and had also been freshly painted. The timber post and steel strand fence was in good condition and, combined with the two hundred metres of lakeside frontage, it encompassed the property. There was even a little jetty, and Kerry imagined himself, and the boys sitting on the end of it fishing, or perhaps launching a dinghy into the pristine water.
“How much is it?”
“Three hundred and seventy-nine thousand, darling”
“Oh, wouldn’t it be nice to buy a house with all that land in Melbourne for the same price?” Jasmine giggled.
As they were talking, Kathy strolled over to them. “Is it what you’re looking for?”
“Very much so,” Kerry replied. “We’d like to buy it.”
“Are we really going to buy it, Dad?” Jack cooed.
“Shoosh, Son, I’m talking to the lady.”
“It’s a fine property and I don’t think the owners are going to be very negotiable over price,” Kathy said, in typical real estate sales person speak.
“I thought it was three hundred and seventy-nine thousand?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Kathy replied, realizing that Kerry wasn’t going to haggle and that the nine thousand she’d loaded onto the asking price for bargaining, was going to be a bonus for the vendors. “Can you leave a deposit?”
“Will thirty-seven thousand nine hundred be enough?” Kerry replied, removing his cheque book from his back pocket.
“That’ll be fine. When would you like to settle, and can I help you with finance?”
�
�Thirty days and, thank you, but I’ll organize my own finance.”
The boys were exhausted, and only the thought of ice cream forced them to keep their eyes open. Dusk was starting to fall as they left the town for the drive back to Melbourne. The boys were asleep, and a feeling of happiness and satisfaction permeated the car. Jasmine glanced over at Kerry, and the stress and tension she’d noticed over the past few months seemed to have disappeared. She rested her hand on his leg. “Are you happy, honey?”
“Very, and looking forward to the first weekend we spend in our new house”
“But you work every Saturday. How are you going to get away?”
“I’m going to take every second Saturday off, commencing from settlement date.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jasmine laughed.
Kerry took his left hand off the steering wheel and playfully squeezed her arm. “You’ll see.”
Vic Garland, the sole owner of Vicland, was nearly eighty years old and had been building apartments for fifty years. In his prime he’d been president of the Federal Liberal Party, and a behind-the-scenes king-maker. He was brusque, impatient, and had been short with Kelly. “Put me through to Aspine,” he croaked.
“You mean, Mr Aspine,” she responded, annoyed by his rudeness. “I’m not sure if he’s available.”
“He’ll be available for me girly, now put me through.”
Aspine picked up the phone but, before he could speak, Garland launched into a tirade of abuse. “I don’t know how you got that journo to write that article in The Australian but it’s bullshit. What are you playing at? Apartment prices are falling and yours aren’t selling at a premium. It’s crap! What are you doing? Selling them to mates, and agreeing to buy them back in three years’ time?”
Aspine smiled. The article had had a bigger impact than he had anticipated. “Vic, I don’t have mates with pockets that deep. The fact is that our apartments are holding their value because of their quality and finish.”