Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘That means we’ve got one hell of a fight on our hands,’ said Tom.

‘True,’ said Logan, ‘so the first thing we have to do is start playing the counting game.’ He turned his attention to Julia. ‘How many shares have you picked up in the last few days?’

‘Less than one per cent,’ she replied, ‘because someone out there keeps pushing the price up. When I asked my broker yesterday evening, he told me at close of business the shares had touched $5.20.’

‘That’s way above their realistic value,’ said Nat, ‘but there’s no way back for either of us now. I’ve asked Logan to join us this morning so he can give us his assessment of our chances of survival, as well as take us through what’s likely to happen during the next few weeks.’

‘Let me bring you up to date as of nine o’clock this morning, Mr Chairman,’ continued Logan. ‘In order to avoid a takeover, Russell’s must have in their possession, or pledged to them in writing, fifty point one per cent of the bank’s shares. The board currently holds just over twenty-four per cent, and we know Fairchild’s already has at least six per cent. On the face of it, that looks satisfactory. However, as Fairchild’s are now offering $5.10 a share for a period of twenty-one days, I feel it’s my duty to point out that should you decide to sell your shares, the cash value alone would net you in the region of twenty million dollars.’

‘We’ve already made our decision on that,’ said Tom firmly.

‘Fine, then you’re left with only two choices. You can either make a higher offer than Fairchild’s $5.10 a share, remembering your chief executive’s judgement that they are already way above their realistic value, or you can contact all your shareholders, asking them to pledge their stock to you.’

‘The latter,’ said Nat, without hesitation.

‘As I anticipated that would be your response, Mr Cartwright, I’ve studied the list of stockholders carefully — as of this morning, there were 27,412 in all, mostly holding small amounts, a thousand or less shares. However, five per cent remains in the portfolios of three individuals, two widows residing in Florida who own two per cent each, and Senator Harry Gates, who is in possession of one per cent.’

‘How’s that possible?’ asked Tom. ‘Harry Gates is known to have spent his entire public life living on a senator’s salary.’

‘He has his father to thank for that,’ said Logan. ‘It seems that he was a friend of the founder of the bank, who offered him one per cent of the company in 1892. He purchased one hundred shares for one hundred dollars, and the Gates family has held on to them ever since.’

‘What are they worth now?’ asked Tom.

Nat tapped his calculator. ‘Close on half a million, and he probably doesn’t even realize it.’

‘Jimmy Gates, his son, is an old friend of mine,’ said Logan. ‘In fact I owe my present job to him. And I can tell you that once Jimmy finds out that Ralph Elliot is involved, those shares will immediately be pledged to us. If you can lay your hands on them, and reel in the two old ladies from Florida, you’ll be close to controlling thirty per cent, which still means you’ll need another twenty point one per cent before anyone can relax.’

‘But from my experience of past takeovers, at least five per cent won’t get back in touch with either of us,’ said Nat, ‘when you consider changes of address, trust funds, and even those like Harry Gates who don’t bother to check their portfolios from year to year.’

‘I agree,’ said Logan, ‘but I won’t rest easy until I know you control over fifty per cent.’

‘So how do we go about getting our hands on that extra twenty per cent?’ asked Tom.

‘Damned hard work, and hours of it,’ said Logan. ‘To start with, you will have to send out a personal letter to all your shareholders, just over twenty-seven thousand in all. This is the sort of thing I have in mind.’ Logan handed copies of a letter to each of the board members. ‘You’ll see that I’ve concentrated on the bank’s strengths, long history in the community, highest growth of any financial institution in the state. I’ve asked if they want one bank to end up with a monopoly.’

‘Yes,’ said Nat. ‘Ours.’

‘But not yet,’ said Logan. ‘Now, before we agree on this letter, I’d welcome your input, as it has to be signed by your chairman or chief executive.’

‘But that’s over twenty-seven thousand signatures?’

‘Yes, but you can split them between you,’ said Logan with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t suggest such a Herculean task if I wasn’t fairly sure our rivals will send out a circular headed “Dear Shareholder”, with a stylized signature above the name of their chairman. The personal touch might well make the difference between survival and extinction.’

‘Can I help in any way?’ asked Julia.

‘You certainly can, Mrs Russell,’ replied Logan. ‘I’ve designed a totally different letter for you to sign that should be sent to every female shareholder. Most of them are either divorced or widowed and probably don’t check their portfolios from one year to the next. There are nearly four thousand such investors, so that should take care of your weekend.’ He pushed a second letter across the table. ‘You’ll see I’ve referred to your particular expertise in having run your own company, as well as being a board member of Russell’s for the past seven years.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Julia.

‘Yes,’ said Logan, passing her two more sheets of paper. ‘I want you to visit the two widows from Florida.’

‘I could go early next week,’ said Julia, checking her diary.

‘No,’ said Logan firmly. ‘Phone them this morning and fly down to see them tomorrow. You can be sure that Ralph Elliot has already paid them a visit.’

Julia nodded, and began checking through the file to find how much was known of Mrs Bloom and Mrs Hargaten.

‘And finally, Nat,’ continued Logan, ‘you’re going to have to get yourself involved in a fairly aggressive media campaign; in other words, let it all hang out.’

‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Nat.

‘Local boy made good, Vietnam hero, Harvard scholar who returned to Hartford to build up the bank with his closest friend. Even throw in your cross-country experience — the nation is going through a bout of jogging mania at the moment — and one or two of them might even be shareholders. And if anyone wants to interview you from Cycling News to Knitting Weekly, just say yes.’

‘And who will I be up against?’ asked Nat. ‘The chairman of Fairchild’s?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Logan, ‘Murray Goldblatz is an astute banker, but they won’t risk putting him on television.’

‘Why not?’ asked Tom. ‘He’s been the chairman of Fairchild’s for over twenty years, and he’s one of the most respected financiers in the business.’

‘I agree, chairman,’ said Logan. ‘But don’t forget that he had a heart attack a couple of years back, and worse, he stutters. It may not worry you because you’ve become used to it over the years, but the chances are that if he goes on television, the public will only see him once. He may be the most respected banker in the state, but stuttering spells dithering. Unfair, but you can be sure that they’ll have thought that through.’

‘So I guess it will be Wesley Jackson, my opposite number?’ mused Nat. ‘He’s about the most articulate banker I’ve come up against. I even offered him a place on our board.’

‘You may well have done,’ said Logan. ‘But he’s black.’

‘This is 1988,’ said Nat angrily.

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Logan, ‘but well over ninety per cent of your shareholders are white, and they will have taken that into consideration as well.’