The Art of the Hustle

by Edward Mullen

  ***

  I sat at my desk in the back office of the restaurant, opened my laptop, and looked at some files.

  “Mr. Morrison, would you like me to bring you something to eat?” one of the servers asked.

  “No, thank you, Julia. I’ll eat in the restaurant with everyone else. How’s the second floor looking?”

  “It is really busy up there, but I can reserve a table if you’d like.”

  “Okay, sounds good. I’ll be out there in five minutes; I’m just finishing something up at the moment.”

  I stepped onto the second floor and did what I always did – scanned the faces in the crowd. I immediately noticed a new face amongst the typical regulars who dined at Ace during their lunch break. I felt compelled to walk over and say hello.

  “Mr. Lindberg, it’s so good of you to join us for lunch today. My name is Trevor Morrison, I’m one of the owners.”

  “Oh, this is your restaurant? I like what you’ve done with the place, it’s a vast improvement.”

  “Thank you so much. How is everything else? Is the food okay? Are they treating you well?”

  “Everything is great, thank you.”

  “I’m really glad you stopped by today. You know, it’s funny, when I first moved to Vancouver…” I stopped midsentence. Something caught the corner of my eye. Mr. Lindberg turned around to see what I was looking at, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Will you excuse me for one moment, please? I have some business I must attend to.”

  “By all means, take care of your business,” If I was not so distracted, I might have paid more attention to the subtle business advice that the great Allan Lindberg had just passed on to me.

  I walked away from Lindberg’s table and went over to the hostess. “Mia, who is that man sitting at table five?”

  “Umm…” she said, as she scanned her chart. “That’s Channing, party of four.”

  “How the hell did he get up here? This section is strictly for VIPs, that guy is not important.”

  “He told me he was a local business owner and gave me his card.”

  “What kind of business does he run?”

  “I don’t know, here’s his card,” she dug it out of her folder and handed it to me.

  “Mia, this guy runs a hotdog stand. I know this is a new concept for the restaurant, but the second floor is for elite people only. This guy is not elite. Under no circumstances is he allowed to step foot on this property again, okay?”

  “Okay. Do you want me to say something to him?”

  “No, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

  I walked toward the table where Jack Channing was sitting. I was about ten feet away before we made eye contact. It was the first time I had seen him since the night he tried to take my head off with a roundhouse kick, but that was not the last time I had heard from him. He had called me a couple of times to harass me about some unpaid debt. I had told him to go to hell and then he made some empty threats. From that moment, Darrell and Jack Channing were my sworn enemies. Now, my enemy was on my territory, which was completely unacceptable. I had to take care of it.

  “Good afternoon, Jack, long time no see,” I said coldly, making no attempt to sound pleasant. “Could I have a word with you for a moment?”

  Jack Channing took a drink of his water and looked at the other people in his party. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” he said, as he stood up and walked over to where I was standing.

  “I’m not interested in causing a scene or embarrassing you in front of your friends, especially since you couldn’t have known this was my restaurant, but I want you to finish your meal, pay your bill, and never step foot inside this restaurant again.”

  “Listen to me you little prick, I know you killed my son, and you better believe there will be hell to pay.”

  “My condolences for your loss, Jack, but blaming me will not bring your son back. And no, I did not kill him.”

  “You’re lucky I’m with clients right now or else I would wring your neck.”

  “Alright then, enjoy your meal,” I said, as I began to walk away. I took a few steps, then stopped and turned around. “Jack, one more thing… have a nice life.”

  C H A P T E R

  F O R T Y - E I G H T

  I arrived on the steps of the Lindberg building on Monday morning. Seeing the massive brass sign again brought back memories of my first day in Vancouver. I proceeded through the large glass revolving doors and entered the lobby. Security did not even notice me. I looked like I belonged there. I spent about thirty-five hundred dollars on a wool two-button Euro-cut suit – black with subtle pin stripes. I had on a fitted lavender shirt with an Italian silk tie and handkerchief. To top it all off, I wore gold cufflinks and polished dark-chestnut shoes. My stride matched the attire.

  I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator ascended rapidly, causing my stomach to churn. The fact I was about to have a meeting with one of the most powerful people in the country probably was not helping any. I had managed to get only a moment of Mr. Lindberg’s time, so it was imperative that I impress him.

  In the time it took for the elevator to rise to the top of the massive skyscraper, I was able to do one final rehearsal of what I was going to say. The elevator came to a stop on the top floor and the doors opened. Using the mirror in the elevator, I looked over my appearance, made some final adjustments to my suit, and then made my exit. I took a deep breath – it was show time.

  The first thing I noticed when I approached the reception desk was the spectacular view. The entire city was laid out before me. I felt like I was on top of the world.

  “Good morning, sir,” a young attractive woman greeted me.

  “Good morning. My name is Trevor Morrison and I have an appointment with Allan Lindberg.”

  “I’ll let him know you’re here. You can have a seat in our waiting area if you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like some coffee or water?”

  “No, thank you.”

  I took a seat on the big leather sofa and stared out the window. I could see for miles. Floatplanes were taking off and landing on the water, people hustling around like little worker ants, and the gorgeous mountains on the North shore never looked so serene. I opened up my folder to make sure everything was in order.

  “Mr. Morrison, Mr. Lindberg is ready to see you now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Although I had never seen the inside of the building before, Mr. Lindberg’s office was unmistakable. I walked right over to the two large wooden doors with the large golden ‘L’ etched in the centre. I pushed one of the heavy doors open and prepared myself for the possibilities that laid on the other side.

  “Mr. Morrison, welcome.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Lindberg. Thank you so much for meeting with me today.”

  “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So what can I do for you today?”

  “I know your time is valuable so I’ll be as brief as possible. Mr. Lindberg, I’m about to revolutionize the way people do commerce and I’m seeking investors to help launch my company,” I said, keeping it brief. I reached into my briefcase, took out the prospectus, and handed it to him.

  He read the first paragraph, then the next.

  “Huh,” he grunted. “Is this feasible?” he asked, as he continued to scrutinize every detail.

  “I believe it is, sir. I spent the last year and a half working out all the details. I’m the patent holder for the technology, and have several companies already on board to facilitate. All I need is a little funding.”

  “How much is a little?”

  “Ten million.”

  He did not even bat an eye. “How soon could you become fully operational?”

  “I have a multiphase strategy to implement. If everything goes according to plan, I expect to be up and running within a couple of months.”

 
“Why don’t you go public with your company or license your idea? I’m sure you would have no problem coming up with the money you need.”

  “I considered those options; however, I think you of all people can appreciate the satisfaction and freedom of being your own boss.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Lindberg picked my brain about the company. For every question he had, I had an answer. I was well prepared.

  When it appeared I had satisfied his inquiry, he looked at me and said, “I have to say, I get a lot of crazy proposals from people who claim their product or service will be the next big thing. I turn down ninety-nine percent of them in hopes one day someone like you will walk through my doors. There is something different about you.”

  “Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”

  “I’ll tell you what. Let me get back to you on this. I like what I see, but I need my team to look it over first.”

  Although Lindberg seemed impressed by me and my idea, I had no way of knowing if he actually meant any of those praises or if he just said that to everybody. For all I knew, he might throw my proposal in the garbage before the door closed behind me on my way out. I did not want to take that chance. I had to close him now.

  The way I saw it, it was a David versus Goliath moment. Here was one of the richest men in the world, wielding a global empire, and I was just a kid with a slingshot. So, I approached it like any other scenario in my life. I was a warrior and this was a battle – me versus him. I had marched right into enemy territory and was staring directly into the eye of the beast. However, this was not a battlefield in the traditional sense; this was business – a war of wits. Who can outsmart whom. If I was going to be successful in taking down this mammoth, I needed a strategy. Luckily, I had one.

  Step one: attack with a double-edged sword – the sympathy praise. Make him vulnerable for the attack by lowering his guard with a sympathetic story. “You know, when I first moved to Vancouver, I was just a bright-eyed kid – seventeen years old. I remember coming downtown for the first time and looking up at all the tall buildings. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. One building in particular stood out among the rest – your building. I walked right up to the front of your building, looked up, and felt inspired. I had no idea who you were or what you did, but I wanted to be like you one day. Now, ten years later, sitting in your office is like a dream come true.”

  Now, for the praise.

  “Being here today speaks volumes of your character. I see your name plastered everywhere on this building, inside and out. It marks the sign of a great man – a leader – someone who built an empire because he possessed what others did not have – the courage and intelligence to make his own decisions, to exercise judgment, and to take calculated risks. But above all, you see the value in something when no one else does.”

  My next move was to make him come to me in the hopes of snaring him in a trap. I had planned every move in my mind and had gone over every detail a hundred times – every variable and every response.

  “I was really hoping we could do this deal today, Mr. Lindberg, but obviously you need more time,” I said as I snapped the locks on my briefcase shut and stood up.

  “That was a good speech, kid.”

  “Please don’t call me ‘kid’,” I blurted out.

  Mr. Lindberg sat back in his chair and evaluated me head to toe. Neither one of us said a word. It was time to up the ante so I turned around and headed for the door. This was a risky play, which could only go one of two ways. Either he would allow me to walk away, or he would fold under the pressure and yield to my will. When you force someone’s hand, you never know what the outcome will be.

  “Mr. Morrison,” he said. I turned around, not knowing what to expect. “You showed a lot of courage in here today, standing up to me like that. Most people have trouble looking me in the eye without wetting their pants. You’re going to need courage like that if you want to be successful in this game.”

  That was it. I had failed. Lindberg was impervious to my pathetic attack. It was as if he just patted me on the head like a little boy and sent me on my way. I bowed my head low in defeat and proceeded to walk out the same way I had come in. Then he said something I had not expected.

  “I deliberately called you ‘kid’.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks. This was something I had not prepared for. I turned around to face him. Much to my surprise, he was smiling.

  “I needed to know how you would handle being called a kid, and guess what?”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “You passed,” he said, still smiling. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age. Please, come back, have a seat.”

  Game on. I was back in it.

  “I appreciate that. Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ll tell you what; I can have the money wired to you this afternoon.”

  “Under what terms?” I asked.

  This was a brand new battle – negotiations. If I won that, I won the war. I was seeking a ten million dollar investment in exchange for a twenty percent stake in my company. A fifty million dollar valuation was hard to justify at that stage in the game, but was still completely reasonable for what I was proposing.

  “Since I’m putting up all the money, and therefore all the risk, I think a fifty percent stake in the company is fair.”

  He had fired the first round at me and now it was my turn to respond. Typically, the person who speaks first in a negotiation loses. He was already at a disadvantage.

  “Wow, fifty percent. That’s a lot. You know, I really don’t think I can do fifty percent.” I paused for effect. Waiting makes people anxious, and anxiety leads to desperation. But surely this was not Allan Lindberg's first negotiation. I would need to do a lot more than that in order to persuade him.

  Step one: make him feel unnecessary. “Look, Mr. Lindberg, with all due respect, ten million dollars is not a lot of money. I can get that by the end of the week.”

  Step two: the lowball counteroffer. “How about I give you a ten percent stake, and even that is a lot.”

  Step three: the hook. “And I’ll also give you exclusive access to the third level at Ace.”

  In order to hook a whale like Lindberg, I needed to use a sizable bait that would attract his attention. I had just dangled the sparkly lure of exclusivity right in front of his face. The only thing left to do was wait for him to chomp down on it.

  Lindberg sat back in his chair a moment and studied me. It was as if I had entered his thoughts and was following his chain of reasoning. First, he studied my posture and demeanour. Next he analyzed the inflection in my voice. Then he took notice of the quality and cut of my suit. Finally… the offer.

  “There’s a third level?” he said, right on cue. That is when I knew I had him. All that was left to do was to wait until he tired, then drag him onboard.

  “Yes, but few people know about it, so I would appreciate your discretion.”

  “Make it ten million for a twenty percent stake and we have a deal.”

  “Okay, we have a deal.”

  I was ecstatic. I managed to get the exact deal I wanted. I had just gone toe to toe with the great Allan Lindberg, and won. I nearly exploded with pride. I wanted to open one of the windows and shout at the top of my lungs, but I did not. I kept my composure and remained calm and collected. I confidently walked over and shook his hand to secure the deal.

  Now that I had the financing in place, I needed to assemble my team.

  C H A P T E R

  F O R T Y - N I N E

  The gold embossing on the black cards really achieved the desired effect I was going for. The front of each of them read:

  ‘You are cordially invited’

  I opened one of the letters and read it one last time before I delivered them.

  ‘Dear Mr. Foster,

  It is one of my great regrets in life that I did not get to know you better. I spent several years working unde
r you and have appreciated everything you have done for me. Despite our limited contact, I have determined your character and work ethic are of the highest quality. I would like to think you and I share many common values. In addition, I admire many other qualities you possess. You are a very good person from what I have seen and heard. You are a master negotiator, master networker, and have the drive that will take you very far in life. Because of this, I’m asking you to join me in a highly lucrative business venture.

  I’m in the process of assembling a team of highly motivated and highly competent individuals and it would be a privilege and an honour to have you on board with me. In one of our brief conversations, you disclosed your dissatisfaction with your current working arrangement with the bank. I believe you referred to it as a ‘dead end’. I’m providing you an opportunity for advancement without losing your security. The pay will be considerable and you will not lose any of the benefits you currently enjoy.

  If you are interested in hearing more about this opportunity, then please feel free to contact me without any obligation or pressure whatsoever. It would be my pleasure to sit down with you and formally discuss my proposal. Even if you are not interested at this time, I would still like to rendezvous with you sometime in the near future.

  I’m looking forward to hearing from you George.

  Sincerely,

  Trevor Morrison.

  604-555-0565’

  I sealed up the letter and put it with the others. As I was leaving the house, my phone rang.

  “Hey, McKay, thanks for calling me back.”

  “No worries, I was surprised when I got your message. What have you been up to since the Banff days?”

  “Oh you know, making moves.”

  “Is that a fact? What kind of moves are you making?”

  “Well, I could tell you about it, but you wouldn’t believe me. I would like to show you instead. How soon can you get to Vancouver?”