Brian Haig - The Capitol Game

“He’s extremely busy,” Agnes staunchly insisted, edging forward and pursing her lips. The bigger of the two men was standing two feet from her in an effort to intimidate. This was her boss, her office, her domain. “You should’ve called, asked for an appointment,” she insisted, raising her sharp chin and staring down her nose.

Walters placed his big hands on her desk and launched forward, about three inches from her face. “Listen up, lady. I’ve flown up from D.C. and don’t you dare tell me no.”

“You listen up, buster. Mr. Arvan’s got more important things going on. I’ll see if I can fit you in next week.”

“You won’t be in business next week,” Walters barked with a nasty, knowing smile. Another day or two and he would own this company. He had just made his first executive decision: he would personally fire this old hag and shove her out the door. He hoped she had a pension. He would personally assure she never got a dime. “You know who I am?” he asked.

“Sure do,” Agnes replied, not backing down an inch. “You’re the fella who’s gonna be outta here in two seconds, or I’ll call security.”

Jack eased himself around Walters. “Excuse me,” he said, using a hip to edge Walters aside, and putting on his best smile. “Please, if you can just tell him we’re here. Let him decide, please. If he says no, we’ll leave quietly.”

Agnes’s eyes moved back and forth between this nice-looking young man with such pleasant, respectful manners and the big, blustery windbag who was glaring back with a threatening sneer. “All right,” she said to the young man, firing another withering look at the bully before she got up and disappeared into her boss’s office.

She popped out a moment later, pink-faced, and ushered them in. Perry Arvan and Mat Belton were seated in chairs in the corner of the office, surrounded by stacks of spreadsheets. Between the mountainous piles of paper and their drawn expressions, they had been there all day, going over the dismal numbers and hoping for a miracle. Perfect, just perfect, Walters thought.

Jack stiffly performed the introductions, then moved against a wall and remained quiet. “What’s this about?” Perry asked, dropping a sheaf of papers and edging forward in his chair.

Walters pointed at Mat Belton. “I suggest you ask him to leave.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to have what you might call a sensitive conversation. It would be best for all concerned to keep it confidential.”

“I trust Mat.”

From the wall, Jack said, “Mr. Arvan, you might want to do as he says.”

Perry and Mat exchanged looks. “All right,” Mat said to nobody, then after a moment’s hesitation, to Perry, “I’ll be outside the door if you need me.”

The moment he left, Perry asked Walters, “Who are you?”

“The CEO of the Capitol Group. I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”

“Nope, sure haven’t.”

“We’re partnering with Jack here to buy your company.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He brought the idea to us and we decided to back him. Provide financing. Help market the products, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“So what do you say?”

“About what, Mr. Walters?”

“The sale. You going to pull the trigger or not?”

“Pull the trigger?” Perry reclined into his seat and his fingers formed a steeple in front of his mouth. “That how you boys speak of it? You make it sound so easy, so simple. A mild squeeze and it’s over.”

“Answer the question.”

“All right. Haven’t made up my mind.”

Walters sauntered over to the desk and put down his briefcase. With a theatrical gesture, he flipped it open and withdrew a small tape player, preloaded and ready to roll. Perry quietly removed his glasses as Walters punched play. The sound of Perry’s voice speaking with Mat Belton came through loud and clear.

“Listen,” Perry was saying in a tone garbled with excitement or perhaps relief, “I’ve got a great idea for saving the company…” and so on, as he ordered Mat to prepare a list of every wealthy investor in the company and out, rich men they would begin speed-dialing in the morning. Perry sat, wiped the lens of his glasses, and listened. Except for a small flutter around his left eye his face was entirely impassive. The call lasted three minutes and ended with him and Mat debating how far they should go to sweeten the lure-Mat argued low, Perry high-deciding in the end to offer a thousand percent return.

“How’d you get that?” Perry demanded the moment it ended.

“Why does it matter?” Walters snarled. He wasn’t about to confess to Perry that his phones were bugged; it was self-evident anyway. If pushed, he would put on a show of innocence and insist that somebody-he didn’t know who-had left the tape on his doorstep. An anonymous donor. Who knew how he or she got it? And who cared? That the alibi was as woefully implausible as it was nebulous and impossible to disprove made it all the better.

“It matters to me,” Perry insisted with a dark squint.

“It won’t to the SEC when they listen to it. They’ll only hear you on the tape, plotting with your CFO to break the law.”

“I have ears. I know what it is.”

“Oh, good. Saves me the trouble explaining all the trouble you’re in. Do the words ‘criminal conspiracy’ mean anything to you? Old men don’t fare well in prison.”

Perry looked over at Jack. “You in on this too, son?”

Jack stared at the floor and refused to answer.

“So what’s the deal?” Perry asked in a matter-of-fact tone, again confronting Walters.

“Glad you asked. You agree to sell the company today and this tape will disappear.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Bankruptcy. Prison. Disgrace. It won’t be pretty. The FBI and SEC will be crawling all over this place tomorrow. They’ll subpoena your phone records, see who you called, and probably arrest them, too.”

Perry sank back into his chair and released a heavy sigh. “Don’t leave me much choice, do you?”

“Let me make this clearer.” Walters fought back a smile and mustered his most threatening snarl. “You have no choice, absolutely none.”

“Okay.”

The answer shot out so fast, Walters was obviously a little taken aback. He shifted his feet a moment, peered at Perry in astonishment, then recovered his balance. “Okay?”

“You got ears, too, Mr. Walters. Assuming we agree on a price, let’s get this over with.”

Before Walters could answer, Jack pushed off from the wall. “One hundred million dollars,” he announced, loudly and distinctly, like it was a nonnegotiable figure.

“A hundred million?”

“Yes, and in return, you’ll sign over all rights, all patents, all intellectual rights. All properties will be ours.”

Perry popped forward in his chair, wiping his hands through his white hair, apparently stunned. “A hundred million.” He gawked at Jack. “That’s a very generous offer. Why so much?”

“I think you know the answer.”

“The polymer.”

“Yes, that’s the deal. You walk away with a hundred million and we own the polymer.”

Perry stared at the wall a moment, dumbfounded. It was impossible to tell if he was angry, shocked, merely crushed, or all of the above. This was the first blunt admission of what this was really about. They didn’t care a whit about his company, his employees, the chance to resuscitate the plant and turn around the business that had been in Perry’s bloodstream for the better part of his life.

No, this was about only one thing: the polymer he had created with his own ingenuity and bare hands.

“How’d you learn about it?” he asked after a painfully long moment.