Brian Haig - The Capitol Game

Perry and Mat exchanged looks. How much did he know? the looks said. Maybe nothing, maybe he was throwing darts in the dark.

Straining to look relaxed and unconcerned, Mat spoke first. “There have been a few minor setbacks. Nothing we can’t handle.”

Jack let that incredible statement rest unchallenged on the table for a moment that felt like an hour. The silence said everything-had he screamed “bullshit” it would’ve been less cruel, and less revealing.

He knew a lot.

Eventually, and in a matter-of-fact tone, Jack confirmed their worst fears. “Two years ago, your sales were four hundred million. Last year sales sank to two hundred. And unless my research is flawed, the military munitions market is even slower this year.” Jack’s eyes shifted to Mat’s face. “I assume that’s what you mean by minor setbacks.”

Trying hard to mask his surprise, Mat said, “Times are hard, Mr. Wiley. What’s new? Survival of the fittest, and we’ve been around forty-five years. Believe me, we’ll be standing when the dust settles.”

“Don’t view me as the enemy, Mat. I’m not.”

“Oh, you’re our friend?”

“No, but we’ll get there.”

“Don’t bet on it, pal.”

“Look, you have good people, great products, an admirable reputation. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“We’re not for sale,” Mat insisted, scowling and trying to stare Jack down.

Perry was casually nibbling a breadroll, allowing his younger, pushier CFO to carry the battle. But in fact he did not look like there was any fight left in him, hunched down in his chair, shoulders stooped, neck flaccid. He looked ancient, spent, and for a man who was inveterately neat, slightly unkempt: unshaven, hair unwashed with a large cowlick at the back, shirt hanging out of his pants.

Mat thought his boss had aged a dozen years in the past twelve hours.

But Perry ignored the bread for a moment and commented, “You know, running a company isn’t the same as investing in one.”

“Believe me,” Jack said, “I know that.”

“Takes strong people skills. Customer relations, management expertise, technical knowledge. How much you know about chemicals, son?”

With a timid smile, Jack replied, “I took a course in college.”

“And how’d you do?”

“I’m a fast study,” Jack said, ducking the question. It was an inane claim anyway, speaking as he was, to a man with a doctorate in thermochemistry. “Look, I’ve done or participated in over a dozen corporate turnarounds. I understand business, Mr. Arvan.”

“Good for you, Jack. We like to think we know a little about it, too. We’re not selling insurance or breakfast muffins, though. We deal with highly volatile chemicals. One small mistake and there’s a large crater in the middle of Trenton.”

“We can spend all day discussing my lack of qualifications. But why don’t we first focus on what I bring to the table?”

As if on cue, two waiters barged in and began laying down steaks. “Rare, right?” one asked Perry, who nodded vigorously. Evidently, Jack Wiley had done an impressive amount of research.

Perry grabbed his knife and fork, studied his plate a moment, then tore into his steak. “Go ahead with your pitch, I’m listening.” He hadn’t eaten since the night before and was famished.

“After fifteen years in investment banking, I can tap into plenty of deep pockets. Yours is a cyclical business, up one year, down the next. You need access to capital to get you past the rough patches.”

Perry stuffed a big piece of steak between his lips. No use denying it. “True enough,” he mumbled between bites. Well, what the hell, he was getting a free meal along with the lecture.

“Also I have an array of contacts.” Jack went on a bit, smoothly reeling off names of companies in the industry he was confident he could appeal to for business. He recited from memory. If nothing else, he exposed an impressive mastery of the automotive and munitions industries.

Perry ate and listened.

Mat fought an urge to stand up and walk out. He was sorely tempted to say, Do you really think we haven’t already banged on all those doors and begged every one of those companies for business? It’s not that easy Mr. Big Shot Wall Street guy with your soul-sucking job, looking for a new hobby. You’re an overconfident hustler. In fact, I’d love to give you the company for free just to watch you make a big belly flop. You’ll be broke and bankrupt inside a year, and I’ll laugh until my guts ache. He would have, too, at the top of his voice and with a blaring smile, except Perry placed a hand on his arm.

Jack finished up by saying, “If I might be so bold, I believe you’ve made a cardinal strategic blunder.”

Mat by now was irritated to the point of distraction. Mr. High and Mighty, who’d never sold a nut or a bolt, was about to explain where they had screwed up so horribly. He so badly wanted to take his fork and drive it into Wiley’s forehead. “And what would that be?” he asked, biting his lip.

“You’ve stayed independent too long, Mat. You need to partner up with somebody big who can open doors.”

Mat started to object before Perry said, “Might be you’re right about that, son.”

“I am, Mr. Arvan. I’ve participated in over a dozen turnarounds, mostly companies like yours, small, independent outfits being strangled by market forces beyond their control. It takes a powerful partner to avoid being pushed around.”

More looks shot between Mat and Perry. That phrase-“pushed around”-rattled around their brains. Why did he phrase it that way? Was he aware that Globalbang had just pulled the plug? How much did Wiley know? And the big question-where was this Wiley guy getting his information?

Mat scraped forward in his chair and leaned across the table. “Meaning what?” he asked, nearly a growl.

“Nothing specific, Mat. Align yourself with a powerful conglomerate and you’re feared. Might makes right in the modern marketplace.”

“It’s an interesting proposal, but I’m not interested,” Perry said, sounding very conclusive. He took another big bite of his steak. He chewed slowly for a moment, then put down his fork. “This is my company, Mr. Wiley. I built it, grew it, made it what it is today. I have no intention of giving it to some stranger.”

Jack did not flinch, or indeed show any reaction at all. “Sorry to hear that,” he said very slowly, very quietly. So far he had ignored his meal.

“Are you?” Mat observed. “Then why do I detect something else in your voice?”

“I am, Mat. Truly, I am very, very sorry. I was hoping we could do this friendly. Of course, I’m prepared to go the other way.”

“What other way?” Mat asked.

“I want your company. I’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”

“Why you dumb son of-”

“Easy, Mat, settle down,” Perry interrupted. He picked up his fork and resumed eating again. “What does that mean, Mr. Wiley?”

Jack crossed his arms and leaned backward. “For starters, I’ve contacted some of your largest investors.”

“Who? Parker? Longly? Malcome?”

“Them,” Jack replied, nodding, “and others.”

“Doesn’t worry me in the least. They’ve been with me a long time. They’re my friends. I trust ’em.”

“Two years ago, your shares were at $2.30. As of yesterday, they’re at sixty-five cents. You’ve lost these boys a lot of cash.”

“I know the share price, son.”

“And so do they.”

“And I’ve made ’em a ton of money in the past.”

“Ancient history. Parker’s down four million, and he’s the lucky one in the group.”

“Like I said, they’re my friends, Mr. Wiley. I was you, I wouldn’t count on ’em.”