Sandra Melnick, our VP Operations stepped up to the plate for us. I admired her skill and level thinking in times of a crisis. She spent time with the big honchos at the FDA. Explaining what had happened. Trying to clear our company’s name.
We talked with analysts until we were blue in the face. I stopped returning their calls on Friday, sick of their unrelated questions and demands for information. We owned up to the criminal activity that had happened. We explained that those guilty were no longer with the company. We hoped that shareholders could see their way to trusting the board of directors and senior management when we committed to coming clean on everything. But analysts were like gossip columnists. They wanted information that couldn’t possibly relate to their making a recommendation on whether or not someone should buy, hold or sell our shares.
Our stock took a shit-kicking. It started in a nose-dive after Portia Wellington wrote a somewhat speculative story in the Wall Street Journal on Monday, after talking to me the day before. The headline went something like this: Can a Company Survive Murder and the Loss of its Visionary? That little story cost us a dollar per share. So by close of business on Monday, the shares were trading around $6.00. By Wednesday, when news hit the street that the ‘Visionary’s’ replacement had survived an attempt on her life, and one of the company’s vice-presidents was charged by New York’s finest with attempted murder of the said replacement, the shares dropped another two dollars.
When the market opened on Thursday morning, there were only sell orders out there and we watched in horror during the day as the shares went from $4.00 and closed at $2.85. In four days the shares had lost about $4.15 in value. Three weeks ago, the ten million outstanding shares of Phoenix were worth, on paper, $73,500,000. Now they were worth $28,500,000. My thirty-three percent was now around $9,000,000.
Numbers that made me gasp.
By Friday morning, there was a little reprieve, and the shares opened at $3.50. There were more buy orders than the day before, and one of the major analysts came out with a hold recommendation. Meaning don’t sell. Thank you very much.
And then Dr. Bill Pritchard, bless him, helped. He had called me on Wednesday and we chatted quietly for about half an hour. I filled him in on what I knew at that point. He was very concerned about me. I assured him that I was no worse for the wear, so to speak. He called me again on Thursday afternoon.
“Kate.” We were on a first name basis now. I liked it.
“Bill. How are you?”
“I’m doing fine for an old fella. Meet me for a beverage at the Blue Square Tavern?”
“Okay.” I could do with a change of scenery.
“And bring your lawyer.” Uh-oh.
“All right…”
“Not to worry dear. I have something I want to run by you.”
Cleve was impressed with the Blue Square Tavern. Said it reminded him of a pub he used to frequent off Queen Street when he was at Osgoode Law School.
Dr. Pritchard was waiting for us at a table near the back. A middle-aged woman sat with him. I introduced Cleve, and Bill introduced Christina Dickson, his corporate counsel from a Wall Street law firm. Christina was tall, probably close to six feet, with beautiful auburn hair that fell in waves to her shoulders.
We sat and made small talk while we waited for our drinks. Christina, please call me Tina, was drinking scotch, straight up, with a twist of lemon. Bill ordered bourbon and an extra glass of ice. Cleve asked the waitress for a large draft beer, and I ordered my usual, Diet Coke. After we each had an obligatory sip of our drinks, Bill placed his hands on the table.
“Let’s get down to business. I wanted to let you know that I’m going to be putting out a buy order for your shares.”
I looked at Cleve, and he nodded.
“What your company has been through in the last month because of a couple of no good criminals, is, well, criminal.” Bill smiled a little.
“I know you might think that I was rash in what I did. Cancelling the contracts with Phoenix. But based on the information I had at the time, it was a good business decision.”
In hindsight, I agreed with him. About it being a business decision.
“But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in the last few days. Before all of this happened, Global Devices had a good working relationship with Phoenix. Tom Connaught was a man who I admired. God rest his soul.”
We all nodded.
“And Jordan Francis. We’re going to miss him. I admit to being so relieved when I found out he wasn’t in the middle of this mess that I cried.” Bill paused and sipped his drink. “I spoke with the FDA today. We’ve got a long way to go to get back in their good books, but with the help of some of our clients, I think we can restore their confidence.”
“We’re talking to them too,” I put in.
“For Global Devices to be successful, we need successful partners. Like Phoenix. We want to do business with you, again. So, I’m going to put my money where my mouth is. We’ll buy up a truckload of your shares.” He smiled a little. “You must admit, they’re selling at a good price right now.”
“How many shares are you thinking of buying up?” Cleve asked.
“Whatever five million dollars will get me.” So more than a million shares.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. And I meant it.
We went on to discuss what we needed to do to reinstate our business relationship. The next morning, Bill held a small press conference and announced his intentions about acquiring the shares and talked about his confidence in Phoenix Technologies. Within the hour, our shares were up a dollar, trading at $4.50. When the markets closed at the end of the day, the shares were at about $4.75. There were more buy orders out there than sell orders, which was a good sign.
chapter sixty-two
We did a lot of hand-holding with the employees and shareholders. The senior management team had a communication plan drafted before the sun came up on Wednesday. The plan called for an all-employee meeting at noon on Thursday. Before that meeting though Steve set up conference calls and one-on-one meetings for myself and our chief financial officer with analysts and bankers.
On the employee side, Sandra and I talked to everyone in person, by video conference or by webcast about the situation: what we knew as fact, what were rumours, and how the Company planned on weathering this storm.
After the first employee meeting held in our large boardroom, Jenn Ludlow sought me out. I saw her pushing her way through the crowd of people who were standing four deep around the large table. Her jet black hair covered half her face and she had about fifteen studs in the one ear that was not covered by her hair. She was smiling, as usual.
She stood in front of me and said my name. “Kate.”
“Jenn,” I answered her. We both smiled. She held out her arms and made a ‘come here’ motion with her hands. I didn’t move quick enough for her so she stepped up to me and wrapped me in a big hug. I winced and groaned inwardly, wondering how long broken ribs take to heal. I hugged her back.
“I am so glad that dickhead is dead,” she said quietly in my ear. We broke the hug and stood apart. “You know, Mr. Shit for Brains. Ben Tucker. What an asshole.”
I couldn’t disagree.
“And,” she said in a low voice, “I always knew there was something wrong with Natalie Scott. I just couldn’t pinpoint it.” She clapped her hands once, loudly. “So, are you okay? Do you need me to kick some ass?” She laughed, and leaned closer. “And, have you seen that gorgeous hunk of bodyguard, Michael? I mean, take a good look, because he’s about to come off the market, if you know what I mean! Who would have thought I’d fall for a straight-as-an-arrow type?”
I shrugged my shoulders. Who would have thought?
“Call me if you need anything,” she told me, again. “Catch you on the flip side.” And she was gone, into the crowd.
Muskoka chairs are built for one person, but I’m small so two of us fit just nicely into one. I was curled up on Jay’s lap and we wer
e watching the sun go down over Georgian Bay. My ribs were healing and the other aches and pains had gradually left. Daily swims and hour long back floats in the lake had helped. Jay joined me today after a long week of separation. His job had kept him in New York and I had needed some time. To myself. To think.
And now I didn’t want to think any more. For a while anyway. It felt so good to be held by Jay and to feel his body next to mine.
“I’ve made some decisions,” I said, “but I need your input before they become official decisions.”
I was pretty proud of myself, thinking of someone other than myself, for once. I needed Jay to be okay with what I wanted to do.
“Sure. Fire away. I’d be glad to offer input, at no charge.”
“I think I want to stay at Phoenix. It’s a good company. And good people. I think Tommy would want me to stay.”
“I agree. It’s your company. You need to do whatever you think is necessary.”
“Why are you always so agreeable?” I smiled up at him.
“Because lately, you make it easy.” He smiled back. I knew he was teasing. “What other decisions have you made?”
“Well, if I stay at Phoenix, it’ll have to be in New York.” Jay nodded. “I want to sell Tommy’s apartment and get our own.”
“Agreed.”
“So, this living together is something you want to continue?”
“No. Not necessarily.”
My stomach sank. And here I thought everything was close to perfect. I gulped.
“No?”
“I’m okay with the way things have been the last couple of weeks,” Jay said. “But…”
I sat up from where I had been curled against his chest and turned to him.
“But what?” I asked indignantly.
“Hey, easy girl,” he teased. “Let me finish. I was going to say that I’m okay with the way things have been but it would be better if we were married.”
The long pause that followed was Kate Monahan, finally speechless.
Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions Page 34