Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(30)
“I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. When we buy other cable systems, we spend a lot of money on due diligence. Most of it goes to outside entities, investment bankers, law firms, and consultants. They scrub the numbers to see if the company is as profitable as it claims to be, check out any legal hurdles, and then make a recommendation regarding how the acquisition would fit into REL.”
“You could add the twelve million dollars as an expense incurred in buying those companies?”
“Actually, just the opposite. Sometimes, we do all the homework, kick the tires, and decide XYZ company is not a good fit. Even when no purchase results, a lot of money is spent on due diligence. As long as nobody digs too deep, I could bury it there.”
“And if the Street finds out we spent a lot on companies we didn’t acquire?”
“Most of the industry analysts are clueless. If they say anything, they’ll probably praise us for being cautious with our acquisitions.”
“I knew I could count on you, Ed. Get it done.”
35
Michael Carter glanced at his watch. 10:50. Lauren Pomerantz, assuming she was on time, would arrive in ten minutes.
The five days since Pomerantz had come to his office had unleashed a whirlwind of activity. An hour earlier his broker at Schwab had called to confirm the arrival by wire of $12 million into the coffers of Carter & Associates. Sherman had been true to his word. He had figured out a way to get the money.
Carter had hoped to spend a few days searching for office space suitable for his new level of responsibility, his new station in life. There hadn’t been time. Instead he had gone online the previous morning to a supplier of temporary space, visited the Midtown location an hour later, and signed a one-month lease. The dim office was smaller than he would have liked, the furniture modern and a little on the cheap side. His view out a small window in the corner was of a skyscraper that kept his office permanently in shadow. He had chosen one of the larger offices that had enough room inside for a small conference table. Only two of the four chairs would be needed. Among the shared services was a very attractive, young receptionist, Beatrice, who would phone him when Pomerantz arrived.
It might be just as well, he thought to himself while looking around, to have the meeting here. If Pomerantz saw him in an opulent setting, her financial demands might go up. It was human nature. There was another advantage to keeping the expenses low, at least at the start.
He had reached out to two military buddies he kept in touch with. Both worked in security; one at a credit reporting agency, the other at Verizon Wireless. The information they had provided would prove invaluable, but it didn’t come cheap. And when he signed for the space yesterday, he had put forward his personal credit card for the deposit.
A sickening thought had occurred to him as he submitted his resignation letter to REL and committed to the expenses. Suppose Sherman changed his mind and backed out of their deal. Sherman could deny they had ever met. Carter had gone to great lengths to assure there was no record of their meeting. He’d be the one on the hook for the research and office expenses, and he’d have to go begging for his old job back. The arrival of the wired money had put his fear to rest.
On the way to the office he had stopped at a bakery, bought some pastries, and had them sliced. The receptionist, for a fee, had agreed to bring them coffee upon request.
Not sure what else to do, he made one final visit to Pomerantz’s Facebook page. She had posted nothing over the previous five days.
The phone on his desk buzzed. “Mr. Carter, a Ms. Pomerantz is here to see you.”
“I’ll be right out.” Before leaving his office, he glanced at himself in the mirror on the back of the door. He had researched the fashion choices that he hoped would give him an advantage. Skipping the necktie made him more approachable. Supposedly the pale blue of his V-neck sweater suggested dependability and trustworthiness. It made one look honest. His tan slacks communicated passivity and calming. He wasn’t sure he believed in all this color communication nonsense, but why take the chance? Maybe Pomerantz believed it. “Showtime,” he said to himself as he patted his hair flat by the temples, opened the door, and walked down the hallway.
* * *
Lauren Pomerantz said nothing as she followed him down the hall. That was fine with Carter, who preferred that their entire conversation take place within the confines of his office. Her gray sweater covered a striped shirt that was buttoned to the neck. He recalled what he read about wearing gray. The person wants to remain invisible. He would be more than happy to oblige her.
“Please sit,” Carter said, gesturing toward the conference table. “I can send out for coffee. Are you—”
“No. Thanks.”
“Help yourself to a Danish.”
“I already ate.”
“A water?” he asked.
“Okay,” she said, her expression stone-faced.
Carter grabbed two bottles of Poland Spring from the mini-refrigerator behind his desk. Pomerantz had taken the chair with her back to the wall. Carter sat down opposite her and placed one of the bottles in front of her.
“Why are we here?” she asked abruptly.
Carter was taken aback by her question. “I’m here to do everything I can to make things right for you, to—”