Due Diligence: A Thriller

by Jonathan Rush

  She woke up and looked at him. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  She was silent. She looked at her watch.

  “We’ve got about three hours to go,” said Rob.

  “Where will we go when we get there?”

  “I want to stay away from the obvious places. You remember where we went when we were here?”

  Emmy nodded.

  “We’ll stay there overnight. By the time we arrive it’ll be too late for me to make the call. I won’t be able to do it until morning.”

  They left Heathrow on the express that runs downtown to Paddington Station. When they got off the train, they walked through the station and headed into the darkness and rain of the streets outside. There were hotels nearby, crummy hotels, not the kind an investment banker would go to.

  They turned a corner. There they were, hotels, a whole streetful.

  They were all the same, converted terrace houses with signs above the doors glowing through the drizzle and mist. One after the other. GREEN HOTEL. BARTLETT HOTEL. FRANKEL HOUSE HOTEL. CORBETT HOTEL.

  That was the one where they had stayed the previous summer. The Corbett.

  Rob headed for it, then thought better of that idea and they went to one a couple of doors away. They went up the steps. By now it was almost midnight. The door was locked. Looking through the glass, Rob could see the little reception desk at the opposite end of the hall. It was unattended. He rang the bell. Then he rang it again.

  After about a minute, the night clerk appeared from a door behind the reception desk. Rob watched him coming toward the entrance. He was a thin guy, with protruding cheekbones and hollow cheeks. The blue tie he was wearing was about six inches wide and rode a good two inches above his waistband. He opened the door.

  “You got a room?” asked Rob.

  The clerk gave them a strange look. They had no luggage with them, nothing.

  “Two person?” he said in some kind of an Eastern European accent.

  Rob nodded.

  “Eighty pounds.”

  “Okay.”

  “With breakfast.”

  “Fine.”

  The man stepped back and let them in. He led them down the hall and went behind the desk.

  “How long you want room?” asked the clerk.

  Rob shrugged. “Couple of days.”

  “You pay now.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You pay one day. You want more … tomorrow…”

  “I pay then?” said Rob.

  The man grinned. He looked at Emmy and she smiled back at him.

  Rob had withdrawn a few hundred in sterling on his credit card before leaving Heathrow. He pulled out some bills.

  The man took them. He pushed a piece of paper toward Rob. “You fill in.”

  The man turned around to take a key out of a set of pigeonholes on the wall. Rob hesitated over the form. Bill Smith, he wrote, in the box for his name. Then he thought, That was pretty dumb.

  “Where you from?” asked the clerk as Rob was filling out the form.

  “The States,” said Emmy.

  “Ah!” The clerk grinned again. “The States! I will go to States. Yes. Soon, when I finish my study here…”

  Rob slid the form toward him.

  The clerk looked at it. “Bill Smith?”

  “That’s right,” said Rob. He took the key. “You gonna give me a receipt?”

  The clerk looked at him blankly.

  “A receipt?”

  “What?”

  Rob sighed. “For the money. For the eighty pounds. So your boss knows I paid.”

  The clerk smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “She knows.”

  “How does she know?”

  “When person come, I must take money!” The clerk held his finger up emphatically, as if this was an iron rule that could never conceivably be broken.

  Rob looked at him for a second. He just about opened his mouth to reply, but then he imagined the argument they were about to have. It was too difficult. He just wanted to get up to the room. “What floor?”

  “Top,” said the clerk. “Stairs there.”

  “Elevator?”

  “Is not working.”

  Rob glanced at Emmy.

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  “Okay,” said Rob to the clerk, and they headed for the stairs.

  Up to the first landing, the stairs were in pretty good shape. Above that level, the carpet was stained, rucked, and threadbare, openly torn in places, and the paper on the walls was peeling. The stairs ended at a small landing four flights up, where there were three numbered doors of plain wood. Room 24. It was on the left.

  Rob switched on the light. The room was small. A double bed was pushed up against the opposite wall, which sloped inward from about halfway up. There was a small wooden desk with a plain chair next to an old wooden cupboard, and a small TV was attached to the wall above the desk on a bracket.

  “Jesus,” he said to Emmy. “Was the room we had last year so shitty?”

  “I think we had our mind on other things.”

  “Yeah, but … this is definitely worse.” Rob closed the door. Emmy went into the bathroom. Rob opened the closet. Three twisted steel hangers hung inside. He closed it. A window was set into the sloping wall above the bed. Rob reached over and pulled back a grimy white net curtain. He looked down on a view along the wet, empty street.

  Emmy came out.

  “What’s it like?” he asked.

  “It’s okay,” she said, which Rob sensed was putting it kindly. “I couldn’t find any towels. You happy or you want to move?”

  Rob glanced around the room again. It was awful. But it was perfect. Who’d look for them here? “If you can bear it, we’ll stay.”

  Emmy nodded.

  There was a knock.

  Emmy looked at him quickly. Rob moved cautiously to the door.

  Another knock.

  “Who is it?”

  “Is me, Mr. Smith.”

  Rob opened the door a fraction.

  “You have towel?” said the clerk from downstairs.

  “I don’t think so,” said Emmy.

  “I check.”

  Rob let him in. He went into the bathroom.

  “No. I come back.”

  The clerk went out. A couple of minutes later he knocked again. Rob opened the door and the clerk handed him a couple of towels.

  “Thanks,” said Rob.

  “Is nothing. You come from States?”

  Rob nodded.

  The clerk grinned. “Ahhhh.”

  Rob sighed. “You? Where are you from?”

  “Poland.”

  “Very good,” said Rob. “Well, good night. Thank you for—”

  “My name is Waldemar. Here everyone say ‘Wally.’” The clerk laughed. “Is funny, yes?”

  Rob shrugged.

  “I study,” said Wally.

  Rob sighed.

  “What do you study?” said Emmy, coming to the door.

  “English. In Poland, I am engineer. Civil engineer. Yes? Road. Bridge.” He held his arms out, as if showing the span of the bridges he had built. “Yes? I come here to study English. Is easy for me here. Poland is in EU. I work, I study.” Wally grinned. “Maybe after I go to States. Like you.”

  “Good,” said Emmy. “Good for you, Wally.”

  The clerk nodded.

  “I’m kind of tired…” said Rob.

  “Okay! Sure! Good night, Mr. Smith. Good night, Mrs. Smith.”

  Rob locked the door again. He tossed the towels on the desk.

  “He’s nice,” said Emmy.

  “He talks.”

  “He’s lonely. He’s here all by himself working a night shift at some shitty hotel.”

  “Well, whatever…”

  “I’m going to take a shower.” Emmy grabbed a towel and went into the bathroom.

  Rob sat down on the bed. He thought about that knock as he heard the shower go on.
It had put that image back into his head, the one of Greg opening the door of his apartment. Only it wouldn’t have been some Polish hotel clerk outside with a towel in his hand.

  He got up, trying to drive the thought out of his mind. He pulled back the curtain and looked down on the street again. Rain fell through the light of a streetlamp. He saw someone hurrying past under an umbrella. The footsteps echoed. Rob watched until the figure had passed the hotel and turned out of sight farther down the street.

  He let the curtain fall back.

  It was okay. They were safe here. Apart from the British immigration service, no one knew they were in London. And if they did, they’d never be able to find them.

  He glanced at his watch. Midnight. Nine more hours. At nine o’clock, he would make the call.

  Emmy came out with the towel around her. “Refreshing,” she said. “You’ve got about a minute before the water goes cold.”

  He had a quick shower. When he came out, Emmy was in bed. The mattress sagged as he got in. He turned off the light. Streetlight filtered in through the net curtain. He reached around the window in the shadow and found a curtain and pulled it across. It was dark now. He lay down again.

  The faucet was dripping in the bathroom. He got up to try to stop it, but as soon as he got back into bed, it kept dripping. He turned over. The bed creaked.

  “Rob, relax,” said Emmy. She kissed him and searched for his hand under the blanket. “Good night, honey.”

  “Good night.”

  They lay in silence. He tried to ignore the dripping faucet, tried to let it recede into the background.

  “You asleep?” said Emmy after a while.

  “No.”

  “I keep thinking about Greg. I keep thinking about you finding him.”

  Rob didn’t say anything.

  She was silent again for a moment, and then she turned to him. Her fingers caressed his face. Then her lips searched for his, at first tentatively, brushing him, then pressing hard, demanding, hungry. They made urgent love, the bed creaking under them as if it were going to break.

  “I’m sorry,” said Emmy afterward. “I don’t know why I wanted that. I mean, Greg’s dead, and I was thinking about that.… It seems wrong.”

  “No.” Rob shook his head. “No.” He turned to her, and she nestled into him, face nuzzled into his neck, arm across his chest.

  He listened to the faucet, and her breathing, as she fell asleep. Gently, he moved her off him.

  He envied Emmy her slumber. She was one of those people who always seem to be able to sleep when they need to. He wasn’t. He needed sleep now, if only to release him from the thoughts of Greg that kept coming back. But his body clock was in New York and sleep wouldn’t come.

  Eventually he checked his watch again. Seven more hours. Seven more hours until he could make the call.

  In London it was two A.M. on a cold, wet night. In New York it was only nine in the evening.

  48

  In Baton Rouge, it was eight o’clock. The piano player at Nagel’s on the River was playing a soulful blues number. Mike Wilson and Ed Leary were at a window table. Wilson had asked Stella to make sure that Everard, the maître d’ at Nagel’s, knew he needed a secluded placing.

  Ed was drinking a martini as he studied the menu. Wilson was drinking bourbon.

  “You want to try the ribs, Ed,” said Wilson. “No one does ribs like Nagel’s.”

  Leary nodded. “What about the … ah, steak here, Mike? They do a good steak?”

  “You can’t ever go wrong with a Louisiana steak, Ed. Alligator, right?”

  Ed Leary laughed. He sipped his martini.

  A waiter came over and took their orders. The sommelier came for their wine.

  “Red good for you, Ed?” asked Wilson.

  Leary nodded. “Order whatever, Mike.”

  Wilson ordered. The sommelier took the wine list and disappeared.

  “Thanks for sending the jet, Mike.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Made it easier.”

  “Well, I wanted to be sure we had this time to talk things through. You’re a busy guy, Ed, I know that. I wanted to make sure we have everything set for tomorrow.”

  Leary nodded. He finished his martini.

  “You want another one of those?”

  Leary shook his head. “I think I’ll wait for the wine.”

  “How’s Catherine, by the way?”

  A shadow crossed Ed Leary’s face. “Not so good, Mike. It’s…” Leary shook his head. He sighed heavily.

  “It’s a terrible thing,” said Wilson, giving Leary a frank, commiserating look.

  “Yeah. Terrible.” Leary sighed again. “To see her now … Catherine was always so full of life. When the kids were young, she did everything. You know how it is. I was hardly around.”

  Wilson nodded.

  “I think about it now, I don’t know where the years went.” Leary gazed reflectively into his empty martini glass for a moment. “Well, you’ve gotta make the best of what you’ve got, don’t you?”

  The wine came. Wilson tasted. The sommelier poured.

  “Here’s to making the best of things,” said Wilson, raising his glass.

  Leary smiled sadly. He raised and drank.

  Wilson swirled the wine in his mouth. It was a heavy, full-bodied cabernet, just the way he liked it. He savored it.

  “Speaking of good things…” he said. “We have quite a good one on the agenda tomorrow.”

  “The due diligence checked out?”

  “Beautiful.” Wilson opened his briefcase and took out a portfolio. He laid it on the table. “I’ve brought a copy of the report for you. Don’t worry about the way it looks—it was faxed down to me this afternoon. You’ll get a bound one tomorrow, but have a look over it tonight when you get back to the hotel. Ed, you couldn’t ask for anything sweeter. Okay, their projections have been a little bullish, but whose isn’t? Don’t tell me yours never were.”

  Ed chuckled, taking the portfolio from Wilson and resting it on the floor against his chair.

  “Everything else…” said Wilson. “It’s looking real good. Their balance sheet is just as strong as we thought. If anything, it’s stronger.” Wilson leaned closer. “Ed, you wouldn’t believe what they’ve got there. Hell, they’ve been piling so much cash away you’d think they’ve been using it to prop up their houses.” Wilson laughed. “Things are going to change.”

  He stopped. The salads arrived.

  “What about them?” asked Leary. He crunched into a piece of celery. “They happy with us?”

  “Yeah. I spoke to Bassett this afternoon. Their report’s fine. Their board’s meeting tomorrow, just like we planned. They start at eleven their time.”

  “Great. Well, I can’t see any issues for us tomorrow. Could be a short meeting.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see if we can get you out for a round at Emory Point in the afternoon.”

  Ed Leary chuckled. “That’s one fine golf course.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Wilson watched Leary for a moment. “The other issue, Ed, about the loan. Good news there as well. Dyson Whitney’s just about got the bridge taken care of. When you see the details, I think you’ll agree they’ve done a hell of a job. Six-point-two-five billion isn’t a trivial sum.”

  “Four-point-two billion, Mike.”

  Wilson shook his head. “Six-point-two-five, Ed.”

  Leary’s fork stopped halfway to his open mouth, carrying a lettuce leaf.

  “I had to go to half cash in the offer.”

  Ed Leary put down his fork. He frowned, genuinely confused. “Didn’t we agree on four-point-two when we approved?”

  “I said,” repeated Wilson slowly, “I had to go to fifty percent cash. That makes it six-point-two-five.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “There wasn’t time.”

  “But you said Dyson Whitney’s got it taken care of. If they’ve had time to—”

 
“Look, Ed. Is it relevant? Does it matter? I had to do it to get the deal done. I had to make the decision there and then at the table.”

  Leary shook his head disbelievingly. “Fifty percent in cash? How are we going to—”

  “I told you, Dyson Whitney’s organized it. When you look at the schedule, you’ll see they’ve done a pretty good job. I had my doubts for a while, but…” Wilson nodded emphatically. “They came through.”

  “Well, that’s…” Leary’s voice trailed off. He didn’t know what to say.

  “I must admit, some of the covenants are pretty stringent. And there’s a premium, of course. But, as you say, it’s a lot of cash these guys are handing over.”

  “A premium?” asked Ed Leary. Almost whispered it. “What kind of premium?”

  By way of reply, Wilson opened his briefcase and took out a copy of the loan document that had been prepared for the board. He laid it down on the table beside Ed Leary’s salad. Then he sat back, watching the other man as he took it in.

  Leary’s eyes went wide. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Mike!” He looked up at Wilson in disbelief. “You’re putting the whole company in hock.”

  Wilson continued to watch him. Silent, waiting to see just how far this was going.

  Leary was shaking his head quickly. “No, no, no. You can’t do it. It’s too much. Look at this. And this. We’re junk! Mike, no. No. No, no, no—”

  “Their balance sheet is strong, Ed.”

  “Not that strong.”

  “Strong enough. So are their revenue streams. The banks can have their premium. It’s not forever. Over a few years, we pay it down. Ed, we can handle it. This is a deal in a lifetime. Short term, we pay a price. Long term, with the value we’ll create, it’s a price worth paying.”

  Leary was still shaking his head. “Fifty percent? You offered them fifty percent? How could … Mike, you should’ve walked away.”

  “From the deal of a lifetime? Ed, you don’t walk away from something like that.”

  “We can’t … we can’t do this.”

  “Ed,” said Wilson, giving Leary one more chance to get into line the easy way. “You’re not listening. Don’t look at the short term here. Think about the long-term position—”

  “They suckered you, Mike. They suck—”

  “No.”