by Wallace Ford
As Jerome took a sip of the port and passed the list to me, I hoped that my face did not reveal my total surprise and pleasure. Otherwise my eyes would have been as big as saucers and my jaw would have simply been on the table. As it was, Paul and I exchanged the briefest of glances and we knew—this merger just could work after all.
“Jerome, this is just great. I am going to have FedEx packages going out to these people in the morning and I will call them Wednesday. At dawn! Thank you very much, Mr. Hardaway.”
“Nothing to it, Diedre. If we are going to be partners, this is how it’s going to have to work. Right?”
“Brother, when you are right, you are goddamn right!” Gordon seemed to have revived to become his normal self. A subdued Gordon was simply too good to be true. And speaking of Gordon, I had to wonder what he had up his sleeve.
It was almost as if he were reading my mind. Not that Gordon could sit on the sidelines of any conversation for too long, in any event. The next words that came out of his mouth answered that question in full.
“I guess it would be a good idea for me to add a word or two. I don’t want to be dead weight. After all, I always try and do my part.”
Gordon paused for dramatic effect. Pure Gordon, that’s for sure. He then explained what he had been doing to advance the cause of what would be The Pride’s newest investment banking firm.
“Diedre, in the morning you will receive a fax from my office with the names and contact information for the chief financial officers or comptrollers for the cities of Newark, New Orleans, Oakland, Detroit, and Birmingham.
“I have spoken to all of them and they know the deal and are expecting your call. Their investment committees are prepared to meet with you and they just have to decide the amount of assets that will be put under your management. I think we are talking about somewhere between two and five billion dollars at a minimum.”
“Gordon, that is just amazing.”
“Just taking care of business, Diedre. But I’m not finished. California, New York, Oregon, Illinois, and Ohio all have pension funds with venture capital components.
“Jerome, here is a list of the venture capital fund investment officers. I have spoken to all of them about your biotech project and they want to talk. No promises, of course, but I really think you want to make these calls.” He handed the piece of paper to Jerome and sat back and smiled. Now we all knew that this could work.
All I could think was that Gordon was sick, twisted, arrogant and a true pain in the ass. But I could see now why he had been so successful so far. When he put his mind to taking care of business, he was just awesome!
CHAPTER 62
Diedre
Flying high in the friendly skies
Within moments we were all engaged in conversation about how we could work together. The team was starting to come together. Any reluctance or reticence was left way behind as we came to realize the true value of our working together.
“Gordon, I have gotten the public employees unions in Detroit, Denver, and Minneapolis to agree to host fund-raisers for Prince Lodrig. You just need to have the mayor’s people call me so that these events can be coordinated. He will have to fly to all those cities, but I am sure that it will be worth the travel.” I was fully on board now and there was no point in holding cards too close now.
“While we are on the subject, Gordon, I have spoken to the political action committees of several of my largest corporate clients and they are prepared to support Lodrig. As Diedre said, if you have Mayor Lodrig’s people call me I will work out the details.” Jerome was clearly prepared to do his part to make this venture work.
“That sounds great,” said Gordon. “Thanks, Diedre, and thank you, Jerome. And by the way, Jerome, you should know that I spoke with the economic development officers in New Orleans, Oakland, Seattle, and New York City. They are all anxious for your friend Barry Herzog to locate his new biotech plant in their city.
“All of them have all kinds of tax incentives, tax abatements, employee training, free office space and low cost construction loans. All you need to do is call and let the bidding begin! They will certainly dance to your tune on this one.” And then Gordon continued with what seemed to be his one-man surprisathon.
“Paul, I think that I speak for the three of us when I thank you for bringing us together. And, we thank you for your great idea in the first place. And I also think that I speak for all of us when I tell you that if you don’t agree to be our counsel now and after the merger, we will just have to gang up on you and kick your long, black ass!”
We all laughed. Hard. It was a great feeling that night. It was a feeling that we were all part of something special. That is why, to this day, I cannot explain this undercurrent of a bad feeling that I had that night. It was a strange and funny feeling. And then Gordon continued.
“I don’t know how much you all have been reading about the mayoral race in New Orleans, but my guy, excuse me, our guy is winning this thing in a cakewalk. Now, even though it’s only February, his campaign people want to start a media blitz at the beginning of next month.
“I think that if we can contribute about $100,000 it will make a big difference to the mayor and it will make a big difference for our new operation after the election. They have excellent memories in that part of the world, you know.” Gordon smiled as he looked at the three of us. Gordon smiling was always an enigma, and this was one of those times.
Given the euphoria and the good feelings of the moment, Jerome and I were only too happy to write out checks right on the spot. After all, the contacts that Gordon had given us were worth a lot more than that, and given the circumstances, it was the least that we could do. We all knew that you have to pay to play, and none of us have ever minded paying, as long as we got to play. We were all in this game to win. Second place was not an option.
We spent the rest of the evening taking care of what business was left. We passed our checks over to Gordon. Paul passed around copies of the Letter of Intent and we all signed them.
As we finished our drinks, Paul reviewed the status of the three projects. There was Gordon’s mayoral race in New Orleans, Jerome’s biotech project, and my asset management business. We all understood what needed to be done next. Now it was just a matter of following up.
Following up was something at which we all excelled. And that was one more reason why I felt that when we were working together completely, the results would be phenomenal.
“As far as these projects are concerned, I figure that it’s going to take anywhere from three to six months to get any real traction going. Real progress takes time, we all know that. But you probably want to keep the momentum going on this merger.”
Paul was correct in this regard. Even though he would be the counsel for the new firm, each of the three principals had to have their own counsel acting for us in our individual capacities. It was nothing personal, just business.
And there were all kinds of details that the lawyers would have to address. Issues like due diligence review, audited financial statements and a mountain of documentation that would be needed to make something like this happen.
We had already agreed that there would be no cash exchanged in the deal and the Letter of Intent was clear in making Gordon, Jerome and I equal partners. Since Gordon and Jerome had nominal partners, they would have to deal with those situations on their own. The new firm would have three and only three owners.
“Paul, I agree with your estimate on the timing, so let me suggest this. You know that every year I host a Labor Day party at my place in Sag Harbor. Why don’t the three of you plan to come out that Thursday evening?
“By then we should have everything under control and we can have a dinner meeting to finalize the details and get everything signed, sealed and delivered before partying through the weekend. What do you think?
“The party isn’t going to be until Saturday night and we can spend Friday on my yacht taking in the sights while Paul finishe
s up the paperwork.” Gordon’s last comment was made with a sly look in Paul’s direction, meant in good humor.
His invitation and plan made all the sense in the world. Jerome and Charmaine had a place in Sag Harbor and Gordon’s place had eight bedrooms and a guesthouse, more than enough to accommodate Paul and me.
We all agreed and finished our drinks and said our good nights. Paul, Jerome, and Gordon left in separate cars and I went to sleep dreaming of the million possibilities that this evening had introduced.
Within twenty-four hours Gordon and Kenitra were in Switzerland and I was at the Black Ski Summit in Steamboat Springs. Paul was walking on a beach in St. Lucia with Samantha and no doubt Jerome was pointing out the constellations to his children on an ice cold clear night on the Finger Lakes in upstate New York.
By the following Wednesday we were all back in New York City and we were all doing exactly what we said we were going to do. Following up was something like a religious calling for all of us. And working on the deal started to make more sense every day.
In the weeks and months that ensued, we saw each other numerous times. At wedding receptions, parties, fund-raisers and dinners—it was part of life in The Pride. There was no need to constantly refer to our pending deal. Indeed, an outside observer would have observed nothing special. It was as if our deal was in another dimension, another reality.
But I know that I thought about it every day. And I know that we all knew that a dramatic moment in our personal history was coming. And that it was not far away. We made a tacit decision to keep quiet about the whole thing. It was important for all of us to keep doing the work that we had been doing before all of this started, but Labor Day was getting closer every day.
CHAPTER 63
Paul
All the news that fits …
It will never cease to amaze me how the mind can go in so many different directions during times of stress. There are times when the mind wanders aimlessly down halls of thought. And sometimes a bright spot of humor will be found that will keep you sane, at least for the moment.
As I reflect on that Friday morning in the middle of August, I was sitting on a USAIR jet, flying to Gary, Indiana, of all places. I was listening to the hypnotic sounds of Cesaria Evoria while sipping a gin and tonic with a wedge of lime that the flight attendant was kind enough to get me as soon as we took off. I have found that being in first class did have benefits other than leg room on occasion. The plaintive Cape Verdean sounds seemed terribly appropriate that day as the 737 made its way through a remarkably cloudless sky.
I certainly didn’t have any reason to smile that morning even though the deal with Diedre, Jerome, and Gordon was moving forward better than I could have ever planned or dreamed. The deal was coming together without as much as a hiccup. The “test” projects were proceeding apace and none of the principals had raised any serious objections or problems as the structure of the merged firm started to come together.
Still, ever since that dinner at Diedre’s, I couldn’t help thinking that there was something that I was missing. I just didn’t know what it was but I certainly felt that there was something else.
That call to Sammy Groce in January came to mind, as did the election “surprise” to which he referred. But what the hell was that?
Frankly, I didn’t have a lot of time for doubts and second thoughts. All I have ever been able to do is make the best decisions that I can and then try to live with the consequences. The last thing I was going to do was to try and crash this deal because crazy Sammy Groce had a hint of a thread of a piece of a bit of information about this and that, or because Gordon looked funny. As a veteran member of The Pride all I could do was move on.
And then there was the deal itself. It was time-consuming and complicated in many ways. There were three sets of lawyers who had become a seemingly permanent part of my life. There was the rest of my practice which, thankfully, was growing and thriving. And then, there was Samantha and her health.
CHAPTER 64
Paul
It’s the same old song
As the plane banked over the concrete mountain ranges of Manhattan Island, I did find myself smiling as I thought about a prospective client who had come into my office just a few days earlier. “Prince” Albert Olajide was referred to me by one of the members of the Ghanaian Mission to the United Nations.
The prince was supposed to be from a royal family based in Kano, a state in northern Nigeria. He was also supposed to be in need of legal services with regard to a “major” financial transaction in Nigeria.
Now normally, the words “Nigeria” and “major financial transaction” would be enough to send me running the other way. I had heard way too many stories about Americans going to Nigeria and being lucky to be able to leave town with their underwear.
I have thought it incredibly ironic, in a flukey sort of way, that the African country with the highest literacy rate would be the home of some of the most intricate and effective cons, scams and schemes seen anywhere in the world. Nigerians could teach gypsies and three-card monte dealers a thing or two.
Of course, many of these cons, scams and schemes have been exported to the U.S. And some of the subterfuges that I have heard about are simply awesome in their simplicity and effectiveness.
For example, through the most routine inquiry, anyone, including some Nigerians with bad intentions, can get the name and home address of a targeted victim. It is then a simple matter to file a change of address form with the U.S. Post Office routing the victim’s mail to an address selected by the scammer.
Within a week or two, the scammer can have the victim’s banking and credit card information. This data could now belong to a cabal of Nigerians of dubious virtue who would obtain new credit cards, drain bank accounts and generally create pure havoc in the life of the victim.
This was one reason that I was more than a little wary about meeting with “Prince” Olajide. In fact, I was doing so only as a courtesy to my Ghanaian friends. And, there was always the possibility, however remote, that the prince was an honest person with a legitimate business proposition.
Prince Olajide turned out to be a well-groomed African brother, probably in his late twenties. He was immaculately attired in what appeared to me to be a custom-tailored Savile Row suit.
The prince was sleek and ebony smooth in appearance and style, exuding nothing if not confidence and absolute sincerity. He was clearly a man who was used to impressing and, although I don’t impress easily, he certainly got my full attention as he came into my office.
After we greeted each other, shook hands, and sat down in my office, the basic formalities ensued. I served espresso to the prince and rooibos tea from South Africa to myself. We exchanged business cards.
The card that the prince handed to me with exquisitely manicured hands had only his name and a London phone number. After the basic pleasantries were exchanged, the prince took another sip of his espresso, sat back in his chair, and got down to business.
As the jet reached its cruising altitude, I just had to smile at the rest of the story. I decided to replace Cesaria Evoria with Sonny Rollins to give some balance to the reverie that my recollections had brought on. The “Alfie” album will always be a classic as far as I am concerned.
“Mr. Taylor, you were highly recommended by our mutual friends and I want to thank you for honoring me with an appointment.”
As he began to describe his business proposition and his need for representation, there was something about the prince’s speech patterns that struck me as odd … for no good reason. It wasn’t until later, when I found out that he had attended school in Edinburgh, Scotland, that I realized that I had been listening to a Nigerian-Scottish accent. Once you hear it you could never forget it.
“Mr. Taylor, my uncle is a senior official in the Ministry of Finance in Nigeria. As you are no doubt aware, due to the significant sums of money generated by my country’s oil reserves, the Ministry of Finance is calle
d upon to invest huge amounts that arise as the proceeds from the sale of oil into Grade A investment accounts throughout the world.
“Currently, there are accounts amounting to two billion U.S. dollars which need to be invested outside of Nigeria immediately. The interest revenues are critical toward funding services that the government must provide to our people.”
“Prince Olajide, pardon me for getting right to the point, but what service can I offer in all of this? I am a lawyer, not a banker. I don’t see how I can help you in this situation.”
I try not to display impatience or make impolitic statements as a matter of personal choice. But sometimes it’s important to interrupt and this was one of those times.
And I was pretty sure that I had heard this story before, probably several times over. During the previous ten years, thousands of Americans, some of them members of The Pride, had been approached by phone, e-mail, fax or mail with a Nigerian story that sounded very similar to the story that this prince was telling me.
The basic scam was based on a story that some Nigerian government agency, like the Ministry of Petroleum or the Ministry of Finance needed to invest huge sums of money. If the targeted recipient of this information were to pay a modest servicing fee, usually between $5,000–$50,000, they would receive 2 percent of the multimillion-dollar investment for their trouble in facilitating the transfer of funds from Nigeria to their personal bank account.
Needless to say, no one has ever seen one thin dime. Yet the scam has persisted, obviously prospering among the terminally gullible.
For some reason many of these Nigerians have targeted members of The Pride. It seems that they were targeted because they were somewhat prominent and were perceived to have some access to capital. And, because they were of African descent, they might have a tendency to want to do a deal like this—working with the Motherland, as it were.