Operation Due Diligence

by Owen Parr

“Sí, Señor,” said Carmen.

  Rick sat down in the covered patio adjacent to his studio overlooking the bay and lit a Macanudo while having his coffee with milk and toast.

  “Good morning, Ramirez,” said Abreu, as Carmen showed him into the studio.

  “Sergito, good morning, I asked Carmen to bring you a Cuban café without sugar and a glass of water. Can I get you anything else?” Rick asked.

  “No, Ramirez, that is fine, thank you,” replied Abreu. He seemed a bit nervous and decided to get down to business.

  “Sergio, you just missed some beautiful tits on some ladies sailing right in front us here by the bay. Anyway, what brings you here this morning? I don’t recall having an appointment with you today.”

  “Yes, you are right. I did not have an appointment, but I took a chance I could speak with you for a few minutes,” said Abreu, ignoring the comment about the topless ladies.

  Carmen stood in the doorway and waited to be allowed on the patio to serve Abreu his café.

  “Please, come in, Carmen and set that down for Sergio, gracias,” he said, waiting for Carmen to leave, as Abreu nervously fussed with his coffee.

  “So, Sergito, ¿Qué pasa? What’s going on?”

  “Bueno, Ramirez, we have a problem,” said Abreu.

  Rick’s expression turned into a growl as he put down his cigar. “Sergio, we”—and he placed an emphasis on the word ‘we’—“don’t have a problem. I pay all my leadership quite a bit of money to deal with their own departments and manage accordingly. If I had to solve all your problems, I would not need managers. All I would need would be assistants, and I could save a ton of money on payroll,” he said. He was looking into Abreu’s eyes as Abreu was putting down his café with his hands shaking. “You realize, Sergio, that I’m in the middle of our public offering. Plus, this afternoon, I’m hosting a party here at my home for owners of firms we want to acquire right after the offering. And, Sergio, I have a million other things going on. So now, Sergio, what is your problem?” he asked, disappointed. “Quickly, get to the point.”

  “It’s Señor Ortega in Panama,” Abreu replied, moving uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Ramón Ortega, our banker? What is it with that asshole?” He asked, softly growling.

  “When I was in Panama last week, he asked that we increase his percent on the funds he is” and interrupting himself, Abreu looked around the patio and, once satisfied that no one was there, he finished, “laundering for us.”

  “¡Hijo de puta! I’ve never liked that son of a bitch, and you said what to him?” Rick asked, rolling the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “Ortega said that the U.S. government has set new restrictions and regulations to stem the flow of cash into the banking system, and it’s getting harder to launder funds,” replied Abreu.

  “To hell with the U.S. government and their regulations. That is pure bullshit. He is holding us hostage after all these years, that cabron greedy bastard,” he said. “Sergio, you haven’t answered my question.”

  “I told him we’d take it under consideration,” Abreu said.

  “Do we need a new bank?”

  “Just a new banker within the bank, but Ortega is not going to like that,” said Abreu.

  “Good, get rid of him,” Rick said.

  “As our banker?” asked Abreu.

  “Sergio, look into my eyes.” He waited for Sergio to raise his gaze and look into his eyes. “Get rid of him. ¿Entiendes, Sergio?” Not waiting for Sergio to respond, he asked, “Anything else, Sergio?”

  “No, Mister Ramirez, I understand,” said Abreu softly.

  “Good. You know your way out,” he said, not looking at Sergio.

  “Sí gracias, Ramirez,” said Abreu, as he got up and walked out.

  Rick made a mental note to himself that Abreu was a weak link in his chain of command. At some point he would have to make a change. He fought constantly to compartmentalize his ongoing operations among the illicit drug business, other criminal activities, and his leadership of MonteCarlo Industries, plus his standing in the community. His two lives were polar opposites, and he was always on guard to make sure they stayed that way. Only a handful within MonteCarlo knew of the multiple roles he played.

  He went back to his large ornate desk in his studio, picked up a headset for his phone, and then reached into a small refrigerator and grabbed his first Coke of the day, one of twelve he would eventually drink before evening. He loved his Bluetooth headset. It gave him the freedom to walk around as he talked, moving between the studio and the patio and leaving his two hands free to hold his Macanudo and his Coke.

  Dialing Julia’s private line, as she answered on the second ring.

  “This is Julia Muller. How can I help you?” She said in a professional tone.

  “Julia, good morning. Rick here, how are you?”

  “I am busy and great. How about you?”

  “Anxious, Julia. Anxious, nervous, and excited,” he said laughing.

  “Wow! Excited, yes, but no need to be anxious or nervous,” she replied.

  “Bring me up to date.”

  “Well, I think we can go to the top of our price range, and even better, to the maximum share allocation. The reception so far is magnificent. Everyone is excited about the success you have had and expect even more success once you go public.”

  “You’re saying you don’t think I need to be anxious and nervous? Are you kidding me?”

  “As I calculate this offering, it is likely that MonteCarlo Industries will be the largest public offering in Wall Street history to date. If anyone needs to be anxious and nervous, it’s me, amigo.”

  “I am so glad you are leading this effort. You guys have been tremendous in what you have done for us. Are we set for Paris?” He asked.

  “Yep, our last trip and road show, I’ll get with you later for the particulars. We should be able to launch the IPO in a couple of weeks or right after our return from Paris,” she said.

  “Too bad we can’t stay and celebrate there.”

  “There’ll be plenty of time to celebrate after.”

  “Indeed. When was the last time you were in Paris?”

  “Oh, about ten years ago. Why?”

  “Just curious. By the way, anything else going on in your life?”

  “Not that I am aware of. Why? Do you know something I don’t?”

  “No, no, I was just being cordial,” he said, laughing.

  “Bueno, Rick. Unless you’ve got something else, I should run.”

  “Just one more question,” he said.

  “Sure. What is it?

  “After we go public with MII. When can this stock be sold short in the market? Rick asked, putting his hands on his forehead.

  “Go short?” She asked, sounding a bit alarmed. “You know, going short is betting the stock will go down. Right?”

  “Oh, I know. It’s a question a friend asked. And, I wanted to know myself.”

  “Well, technically, you can sell short anytime. However, in order to sell a stock short, you need to borrow the stock from a brokerage house. In an initial public offering, like MII, you usually would have to wait thirty days in order to do so,” she explained.

  “Got it,” he said.

  “If your friend is thinking of selling short, I would advise against it. By the way, the syndicate is considering exercising the ‘greenshoe’ clause. The indications of interest for the stock have been very good. The ‘greenshoe’ clause will float or add an additional fifteen percent more shares to the offering. MII is turning into what we call in the industry a ‘hot issue’. Selling short at this point could be a big gamble,” Julia reiterated.

  “I’m glad to hear about the potential for additional shares to be offered. It’s was simply a question,” he replied, smiling.

  “Okay. Any other questions?”

  “No,” he replied. “Thank you for the good news. We’ll connect before Paris. Over and out.”

  He w
ent back to the patio area overlooking Biscayne Bay, accompanied by his Coke and his Macanudo. He had wanted to read an exposé in The Miami Herald’s Business & Social section profiling him and his dealings. Reporter John Cushing had interviewed him right here in his home a few weeks ago, and it had finally been published today.

  THE MIAMI HERALD

  A local BUSINESSMAN RISES to prominence and incalculable riches

  By John Cushing

  In a few days MonteCarlo Industries, Inc., will go public in what many are estimating to be the largest public offering to date in the history of Wall Street. But who is the man behind this great success story?

  We went out and spent a day in his home on Star Island. Rick Ramirez thinks of himself as being in impeccable shape for a man in his fifties. He wears glasses to read, but his vanity precludes him from wearing them in public. He speaks English very well, albeit with a Spanish accent. He admits to having learned some English in the early days of the Castro revolution, and as a young boy, he caddied for European and Canadian tourists at The Biltmore Country and Golf Club in Havana. However, his perfection of the English language came as a result of his schooling in the United States, he told me. He majored in business and political science at Princeton University in New Jersey and graduated with honors.

  Ramirez arrived in the United States in the early 1960s as a result of ‘Operation Peter Pan’.

  There are a few versions of how ‘Operación Pedro Pan’ happened. The flights started in 1960. One version is that the CIA began spreading rumors through Cuban radio that the Cuban government would soon begin taking children at age five from their parents and would educate them in Russia, only returning them at age eighteen. This created a panic among the Cuban parents. This version, supposedly, had the goal of depleting Cuba of its young children and keeping them from making a contribution to the newly formed Communist government of then Prime Minister Fidel Castro.

  The second version was less conspiratorial, although a combination of both versions was not implausible. The Catholic Diocese of Miami through Monsignor Bryan O. Walsh and the U.S. State Department organized the flights to accommodate Cuban parents who wanted their children to leave the communist island and be raised in the United States. Plans were made for their relocation, and as a result over fourteen thousand children were flown to Miami and relocated all over the United States to families willing to take them.

  A third version turned the first two upside down. In this version, it was Castro who promulgated the rumors about the children being taken from their parents in order to have the revolution’s malcontent families removed or self-purged from his island by sending away the children, the future potential antirevolutionaries.

  Upon his arrival in power, Castro, at the urging of fellow revolutionary and communist partner, Ernesto “Che” Guevara, held mock trials throughout the island and condemned and executed hundreds of thousands of young and middle-aged men for alleged crimes against the revolution. This was seen on American television in the early sixties. These executions achieved two objectives: First, it purged the newly formed government of hundreds of thousands of potential antirevolutionaries; and second, it created a “chill-factor” and successfully instilled fear of criticizing the revolution.

  These children were tossed into a brand new environment in a foreign country with unknown families. Few, if any, of these children spoke English, and they were involuntarily removed from their parents whose hearts were broken but, who felt duty-bound to ensure their children’s freedom.

  Ramirez remembered being one of those children. In 1962, he was relocated to Union City, N.J., with his older sister in one of the last flights of the program. At the young age of seven, he was able to acclimate much easier than Maritza, his sister, who was twelve and who spent many nights crying and homesick for her parents and friends.

  Graduating from high school with top honors, Ramirez earned a scholarship to New Jersey’s Ivy League Princeton University, where he not only excelled in academics but also was captain of the Princeton Tigers’ football team and won the Bushnell Cup as Offensive Player of the Year.

  Harvard Law School awaited Ramirez with open arms. He served one year as president of the Harvard Law School Association before earning his law degree.

  Ricardo Ramirez evolved into a very competitive individual. “If I am in it, I will always strive to win it” became his motto. Ramirez compares his early days of struggles in a new country to his quest for newfound wealth and success. In high school and throughout his college football days, as well as in law school, he thought of himself as a fierce competitor. His personal and social lives are no different today.

  He is affable, but reserved, which is perhaps an oxymoron. He dresses impeccably, loves his Cuban cigars, and drinks twelve cans of Coke on a daily basis. He is known as a charmer and enjoys his reputation as a ‘Latin lover.’ Currently single, he has hosted fundraising events at his home in Star Island with guests ranging from local politicians to current and past presidents.

  After spending a day with him, this reporter can see why MonteCarlo is a success. Ramirez runs everything like clockwork.

  My last question of the day to Ramirez was: “Do you look forward to going public?”

  “Well,” he said, “I look forward to raising the funds from the offering. It will give us an opportunity to expand and close on some potential acquisitions.”

  “Sounds like there is a ‘but’ in your answer,” I said.

  “But, going public means you lose a little bit of the control of the company,” Ramirez replied.

  Oh, did I say he was a control freak?

  MonteCarlo Industries, Inc., will trade on the New York Stock Exchange under the symbol MII.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHICAGO

  Alex was anxious. He had gotten up early and had ordered breakfast in his room. Two boiled eggs and wheat toast, no butter. He had spent most of the morning replaying in his mind what his presentation to Julia would be.

  Walking out of the hotel at eleven-thirty, he headed to Lincoln Park, hoping that Julia would show up. Spotting a flower vendor riding a bicycle as he entered the park, he waved him over. “Let me have a bunch, please. Are they fresh?” He asked.

  “Of course, sir. I sell nothing but fresh flowers,” the vendor replied. He sold Alex a bouquet and then rode away on his bike.

  ‘What the hell am I doing with these flowers?’ He thought. ‘Julia is bound to get the wrong idea. Maybe not. It is her birthday.’

  “Hey, wait,” he called to the vendor. As the vendor got closer, he said, “Look, I am sorry. I am not going to need these flowers.”

  “All my sales are final, sir. No refunds, no returns, ” said the vendor, as he sat on his bike with one foot on the walkway.

  “Okay, then, I want you to give these flowers to the first couple you see holding hands,” Alex said, annoyed.

  “Bullshit, the first couple that I see holding hands are going to buy flowers, not get them for free, man,” said the vendor.

  “Coño, fine, don’t worry about it,” he said, looking around, afraid Julia was in the area.

  Spotting an older lady with a little girl. He walked to them rapidly.

  “May I give you these flowers?” He inquired of the older lady.

  “Oh, thank you young man. We’ll be sure to place them in a vase with water in a little while,” the older lady said.

  “My pleasure. Enjoy them,” he said, still looking around. Alex was staying alert for Julia’s approach. He was still unsure if she would show up.

  A few blocks away, the entrance to The Ritz-Carlton Hotel was busy as usual. Julia drove up to a valet, got out of the car, and claimed the parking stub from the attendant.

  “Are you checking in?” The valet attendant asked.

  “What?” Julia replied, somewhat absentminded.

  “Are you checking in?” The attendant said again.

  “Oh, no, thank you. I am only here for a little bit. Sorry, I was n
ot paying attention,” she said.

  “That’s quite all right, Miss. We’ll see you later,” said the attendant.

  Just as she was starting to walk away, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she was startled by the touch and froze.

  “Sorry, Julia, I didn’t mean to scare you,” said a man dressed in a business suit.

  “Fred, good to see you,” said Julia, both relieved and concerned to see a good friend and a college buddy of Jonathan.

  “Are you meeting Jonathan for lunch here?” Fred asked.

  “Jonathan? No, no. I am just using the valet parking for convenience. I am actually going a few blocks away. How is Betty?” She asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Down in Boca visiting her mother,” Fred replied.

  “Listen Fred, I have to run. Have Betty call me when she returns, and let’s get together. It’s been awhile,” she said.

  “I’ll make sure she does. Say hello to my old college roomie, will you?” said Fred.

  “You bet. Be well,” she said, and with that she walked toward Lincoln Park.

  Julia’s mind wondered to Paris and the morning ten years earlier when she had made love to Alex for the first time . . .

  PARIS, FRANCE

  TEN YEARS EARLIER

  THE YEAR 1990

  She had not slept well, tossing and turning the few hours since she had gone to bed. The events in her life during the last twenty hours or so had her mind racing at full speed.

  There was a knock on the door of her upstairs bedroom where she had spent the night.

  “Good morning,” she replied.

  Replying in French and imitating Inspector Clouseau from the Pink Panther movie series, Alex said, “Madame Muller, are you up and decent?”

  “Inspector, good morning,” she continued in French.

  “That’s Chief Inspector, Madame,” said Alex.

  “Come in, fool,” she replied.

  Julia had laid out her outfit for the day on the room’s sofa. She felt comfortable wearing a silk robe that she loved.

  Alex walked in, smiling and carrying a tray with chocolate croissants and a thermos of coffee.