by Cole Reid
“Professor,” said Georgia, “I wasn’t here the past three weeks. Today’s my first day.”
“Just made it,” said Owen.
“I’m sorry?” said Georgia.
“Today is the last day you could make your way into this class,” said Owen, “If I’m not mistaken.”
“I don’t think you are,” said Georgia.
“Yours was the name at the bottom of my register,” said Owen, “Let me see, Standing, Georgia N. Must be you.”
“Must be,” said Georgia, “I’m going to get my books today. Is there anything I should read this evening to be caught up with the other students?”
“I think you’ll be fine,” said Owen, “But if you’re so industrious, go ahead and have a look at Chapters 3 & 4, on corporate debt and insolvency. You really don’t have to read them, just skim them if you’re so inclined.”
“Ok,” said Georgia, “I’ve three days to get caught up so I should be with everyone else by Thursday. That’s our next lecture. Isn’t it?”
“It is,” said Owen, “We’ll be seeing you then.”
“I’ll be ready,” said Georgia. Georgia didn’t try to extend the conversation. It was important to know when to cut off the initial contact. She did it well for a first assignment. She left the room quickly. She didn’t want to seem hurried but she had to keep eyes on the professor.
The Strathclyde Business School was part of the John Anderson campus on Cathedral Street. Georgia’s rented flat was down Cathedral Street as well. Georgia played a hunch that Professor Spice would come out of the main entrance at some point. She killed time by smoking a cigarette outside the main building, before continuing down Cathedral Street toward her flat. She peered into every reflective surface as she walked. There were a few cars lining the street and their side view mirrors were perfect for tracking the movement of anything behind her. She walked more slowly than natural. It fit her profile as a new student who had just moved into her flat. She didn’t move as if disoriented, only as if trying to get her bearings. In truth, everything was where she remembered it. She just had to reference things according to the professor’s movements. As she walked, the image of Professor Spice came into view in the mirror of an MG. The professor went in the opposite direction. His long figure got smaller and smaller in the mirror, as the distance between him and Georgia’s vantage point got bigger and bigger. There was a slight emotional element, the same as seeing anyone walk away. But it was measured and pre-planned. Georgia had her work cut out for her. She had to go by the book exchange and get her books because she had to be engaged. To be engaged, she had to know the material. She had to read it. The project could have been named Teacher’s Pet because that was the idea. Georgia was supposed to be a breath of fresh air. There were threads that were followed, scenarios that were played out. The conclusion to all the scenarios was that Georgia needed to be interactive, not hyperactive. She had to be involved in the lecture because it was the only lecture she had with Professor Owen Spice. It was more delicate than it seemed and Georgia knew it. She couldn’t be too overbearing. It would be disruptive, not just for other students but for the professor himself. It would make his class one-dimensional. She was told no professor wanted a one-dimensional class. It was easier but it wasn’t the job. The professor had to lecture to students not to his favorite one. Eventually, the one-on-one dialogue would get monotonous. All of this had been explained to her by Mark Miller. She had no problem following the thread that was pre-sewn. Her part was straight-forward until it wasn’t. Once she was in, she would have to think on her feet. There wasn’t much of a thread after they became involved. That’s when her training and natural female wit would come in to play. She would have to find her own focus but it was the objective that had to remain clear in her mind. She had to find the document. She had to get him to take her to his flat in Leeds. She had to search it. The in-between pieces were hers to figure out.
She went to the book exchange to get her books but found out she couldn’t collect her pre-ordered books with her name only. She was told she had to go to the student center circulation room to get her student ID. She would need some form of identification to retrieve her student ID. She walked back to her flat to get her passport. She felt a hair of relief realizing she had her British passport. She was feeling enough like an outsider that using her American passport would have stacked bricks on a drying foundation. She went to the student center circulation to retrieve her student card. There were few cards left but there was no card for her. She had registered within the week. Most students had registered months before the beginning of courses. They had time to mail in recent photos and have their ID cards laminated. Because she did things out of the usual order, they didn’t have her ID card prepared. It meant she couldn’t pick up her books, which were already paid for. She was told it meant she couldn’t borrow books from the library either. It left her up against a wall. She was supposed to do all her reading as a way to be active in her lecture with Professor Spice. But she didn’t have access to her own books. She wasn’t worried about the other course on her schedule but the textbook and companion piece for Analysis of Corporate Finance with Professor Spice were necessary, otherwise it would slow her down. She went back to the book exchange to ask about ordering the book, not as a student but as a private person who wanted the books. To do it she would need proof of affiliation with the University of Strathclyde, student or alumni. She had a registration form in her purse. It was good enough. They ordered the book for her, she charged it to her Agency credit card.
She still had two weeks to get her books. She needed a more ready solution. She was a ghost on campus. She knew no one. She had all the drawbacks of being a student without the benefits. She thought of asking some of her building mates what other possibilities existed. They were all students, perhaps not in her class but Georgia had been a bona fide university level student before. She knew there were channels among students themselves—perhaps a former student with an old edition. She even thought of someone with notes from a prior semester. It was tough to think about because she was under advice to keep to herself. Step Down would be more manageable from an operations standpoint if she were less involved with other students on campus. Intelligence activities focused on one simple dynamic, explanation. Everything had to be explained. To have friends, she would have to explain things about herself. She was instructed not to make friends. Mild acquaintances were her limit. The Agency didn’t want her coming into close contact with other people because they would ask questions. If she wasn’t coming home, they would want to know why. In fact, the fewer people who knew her face and name the better, because she was operating under her real name. Georgia’s problem to get her hands on the required textbooks played to her advantage. It kept her out of her flat and away from her flat mates. The more they saw her coming and going the more they’d get used to seeing it. If she stopped spending the night in her flat, they’d wonder why. Instead, Georgia spent her nights in the student library. Without a student ID she couldn’t borrow books from the library. But nothing prevented her from using the card catalogue to find the required books and sitting down and reading them. That’s what she did. She spent a total of six hours at the campus’ main library taking extensive notes. Because she couldn’t leave with the book, she had to leave herself enough of an anecdote to recall all of the case studies.
Georgia made sure to attend her other classes. They were more relaxed, for more than one reason. They weren’t as early as her class with Professor Spice and she wasn’t at work. She had a Quantitative Business Methods class at half passed noon on Tuesday and a Business Statistics class Wednesday evenings. Then she had a repeat of her Analysis of Corporate Finance lecture with Professor Spice on Thursday mornings. Even though Professor Spice was a great lecturer, Georgia learned more in her other classes. Without the stress of trying to become more than a student, she was a good student. She learned a lot. Liza told her to find a bright spot. Ironically, it was he
r other courses that were the bright spot. Having to match herself to the handsome professor wasn’t as high stakes as going undercover but it was stressful by definition.
Thursday morning started off with coffee. She purchased a percolator for her room. The kitchen and showers were communal but she kept jugs of water in her room. She mixed her own brew and kept a mug sitting on the small desk in the corner. She could hear the other girls stirring. All bedrooms were on the same side of the flat, the kitchen was on the opposite side. The bathroom was down the hall. Georgia avoided using kitchen or bathroom the same time as the other girls. It was simpler than at Middlesex. There were only two other apartments in the flat. That meant only two other girls as oppose to three in Middlesex. It was a better setup, only two people for her to brush off and ignore—easier than three. She loaded up on granola bars and bitter chocolate that she had in her suitcases. She kept a roll of bagels that she had purchased from a near campus store. She ate her bagels cold to avoid using the toaster, in the kitchen. She didn’t want to interact with the other girls. When she stopped spending nights in the flat, the lack of interaction would be nothing new. She ate one cereal bar, one chocolate bar and one bagel. She wasn’t concerned with nutrition. She just wanted a full stomach so it wouldn’t make noises during her early morning lecture. She thought about her other classes, the Owen Spice-free classes. She didn’t care if her stomach made noises in her other classes. She took them for the subject matter. With Owen Spice, she took the class for the professor. It wasn’t so different from other students.
She wasn’t the first one in the classroom. It was 7:15am and there were already five students in the room. Georgia found her third row seat open and sat down. She took her notepad out of her handbag and gave herself time to look over what was already written. More and more students began to file into the classroom. Georgia noticed the increasing number of students but stayed focused on her notebook. A shadow came closer to her but she thought she would ignore it as it passed by. The shadow didn’t want to be ignored. Georgia looked up to see a young man staring down at her.
“Can I help you?” said Georgia.
“I noticed you’re new to the class,” said the young man, “My name’s Russell.” Russell held out his hand.
“I think we live in the same building,” said Russell. Georgia scanned the collection of faces she saw, since moving into her building at the beginning of the week. Russell was right. They were in the same building. His face belonged to one of the three boys huddled on the ground floor of her building the day she moved in. She had taken a nap then gone out for food. He was one of the three that stood near the door. She passed them on her way out.
“Georgia,” she said, “How do you do?”
“How do you do?” said Russell, “We’ve got a group of study mates together for this class if you’re keen.”
“Um,” said Georgia, “I don’t have my books just yet because I’m a transfer.”
“Oh really,” said Russell, “Where are you transferring from?”
“Middelsex,” said Georgia, “In London.”
“Oh really,” said Russell, “I have a school mate or two studying there. Strathclyde is supposed to be better but there you’re in London, so you party much more than you study.”
“True,” said Georgia.
“Well,” said Russell, “You’re welcome to join our study group anytime you’re ready.”
“Thank you Russell,” said Georgia, “To tell you the truth, I’m a bit of a solo studier. I just concentrate better that way but we’ll see how it goes. Let me get a feel for the course and then I’ll be able to make my assessment.”
“No problem,” said Russell, “Let us hear from you.”
“I will,” said Georgia. Russell walked back toward the other side of the room to sit with a similar-looking young man. Georgia was instructed to dress like Professor Spice’s ex-wife. The theory was that whatever attracted Professor Spice to his wife, in the first place, could be triggered at a subconscious level. It was believed to have a small probability of backfiring because from all accounts, he had split with his wife more for professional reasons not personal ones. As nearly as could be said, the divorce between Professor Spice and his wife was amicable.
Georgia was experiencing a side effect. Her dress wasn’t only appealing to the Professor. She was getting extra attention as well. She decided to show Russell that she didn’t really need help from his study group. Professor Spice walked into the room at 8:28am. It was the same time he had arrived on Monday. Georgia’s heart skipped a beat and her throat seemed to tighten making it difficult to breath. She was prepared for the emotional strain on her body, the shortness of breath. The Agency had prepared her for it. She focused on a single object. For her, it was an orange. It had to be something simple, like a piece of fruit. She tried to hold the image of the orange in her mind for ten seconds, thinking of nothing else. She was successful. She tried again, this time for fifteen seconds—twenty. After running the exercise three times her mind was stable. It became another day at the office. She saw the bright spot. If Russell had taken notice of her, not once but twice, then perhaps she was making strides with Professor Spice. She looked at the tall man standing behind his lectern and thought up one word—trap.
The professor began with a story. Georgia guessed it was from his days as an MP, just before he admitted as much. The story was about an English fertilizer company that was struggling under new regulations for chemicals that it could put in its fertilizers. The company decided to liquidate itself while it thought it could still secure a decent market price. The company was sued by its shareholders, after paying all its creditors. The Professor asked the group what would be the top three likely reasons the shareholders would sue. One astute student said that the company was sued because the shareholders lost the going-concern value of the company, when it decided to liquidate, thereby depriving the shareholders of any future value. The professor consented that could be a reason. Georgia listened. Another student, female, stated that the shareholders weren’t allowed to vote on the liquidation, as Professor Spice said, it was a decision made by the board of directors and management of the company. The professor also acquiesced that it was a good reason for suing the company. Not wanting to keep another female student in the professor’s mind, Georgia raised her hand. The professor called on her, trying to remember her name. Miss? Standing.
“I agree with the comments that have been made so far,” said Georgia, “But I would think fair value is fair value.”
“Ok,” said Owen, “Tell us what you mean.”
“Well,” said Georgia, “One comment was that the shareholders felt they were deprived of the value of the company as a going-concern because of the impromptu liquidation and the other comment was that the shareholders say it should have been put to a vote. But I would think that before deciding on whether or not you’ve been deprived of fair value or going-concern value or any type of value you would want an accounting of what the fair value of the company is, thereby giving the shareholders a reasonable idea of what their individual stakes are worth. At that point, they could decide whether the liquidation was warranted or even put it to a vote. But without knowing the fair value of a company today it seems that the shareholders would want that first before deciding or voting on whether a liquidation makes sense.”