The years had not been kind to Sally’s appearance. She had added considerable weight, sagged in all the wrong places, her eyes had become surrounded by darkened circles, and no amount of makeup could hide her wrinkles. She welcomed Peter Tavaris into her home, made coffee for both, then sat facing him in her tastelessly decorated living room. “You said you had something important to tell me,” she said, then smiled with lipstick encrusted lips.
Tavaris tightened his lips and nodded. “Yes, but first let me tell you again how sorry I am that you’ve lost Charles. He was a great man, Sally. We all loved him and miss him dearly.”
“Thanks. I miss him too.”
“I’m sure you do… Now, the reason I’m here is to tell you that I’ve recently received an offer to purchase Iacardi and Sons. It’s from a great company. Have you ever heard of Enerco?”
“Sally displayed a puzzled expression. “No. What does it do?”
“It’s a very large and successful company based in Houston. It buys and sells energy, primarily in the forms of electricity, natural gas, and oil. It does other things, but trading energy is its primary business.”
Her mouth partly open, Sally nodded, pretending to understand.
“So I’m going to explain this offer to you, and if you like it, I’m going to ask you to sign this form I have in my hand.” He held it forward, allowing her a brief glimpse, then continued. “Basically, it’s simple. If you allow Enerco to purchase Iacardi, you’ll be an extremely wealthy individual. Enerco’s offer makes your share of the company worth one and a half billion dollars.”
“Wow! Charles always told me we had a lot of money, but I had no idea.”
“Well he was certainly right about that. You should be very proud of him.”
“I am. Well, I was. He’s gone now, but I can still hear him calling me his little bimbette. He also told me never to sign anything without first talking to our lawyer.”
Tavaris had hit a bump in the road, one he had anticipated, one requiring a seamless shift in his approach. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t allow you to sign anything without your lawyer’s approval. It wouldn’t be fair to you or any of the other shareholders”
“Have you talked to them? I mean about the offer.”
“Ah, no. You’re the first. I wanted you to be the first because you are the largest single shareholder. You own half the company. I also thought since you’re the largest shareholder, your approval might make the others more comfortable about going along with it.”
“Shouldn’t you talk to Kerri? She’s the president you know.”
Another bump in the road. “I did have a conversation with her a short while ago. We were discussing various ways to rebuild the company. In that conversation, I suggested that one of our options might be to find a buyer for the company. She agreed that it was an option, and that she would go along with it if all of the other shareholders agreed. So my plan is to talk to all of the other shareholders first.”
Sally gave Tavaris an approving smile. “So when should I talk to our lawyer?” she asked.
“I’ll let you know. Enerco hasn’t put the offer in writing yet, but they should be doing that soon. When they do, I’ll call you.”
Sally thanked Tavaris and walked him to the door.
His next stop was at the home of Rose Iacardi, wife of the late Mario Iacardi, who died on September eleventh. The result of his visit was essentially the same as his previous visit. Relieved and encouraged that neither of the wives expressed any serious concerns or opposition, he concluded that he and Deaks should proceed to obtain the verbal approval of the two hundred and twenty-one shareholders representing the twelve percent not owned by Kerri and the Iacardi wives. With ninety-seven percent of the shares under their wing, they would then be in a position to apply maximum pressure on Kerri King to accept the Enerco offer.
CHAPTER 18
Muskoka. Friday, September 28.
The day was perfect, even better than one could expect for late September in Muskoka. Temperature in the low eighties. No clouds or humidity. Gentle breeze. The lake, beautiful at any time of the year, was crystal clear and calm enough to reflect the brilliant red, yellow and orange leaves on the maple and poplar trees lining its jagged shore.
Christine hated to miss the important cocktail parties, ostensibly the kick-off to the autumn social calendar for Toronto’s movers and shakers. It was her happiest time of the year, a time to build her network. Steve had invited her to spend a weekend of downtime with him at Rocky Crest Resort, a high end retreat on the north shore of Lake Joseph. The opportunity to spend a quiet relaxing weekend in Muskoka with Steve was too tempting, more than enough to induce her to postpone her Friday afternoon appointments, decline her cocktail party invitations, and pack her bags.
They met at 2:00 P.M., Christine arriving in her black BMW 330 cic, Steve in his Boston whaler. Both headed for the elegant one bedroom cottage Steve had rented. Number one on their agenda was to satisfy a burning, gnawing sexual requirement, one that had gone unattended since their meeting in Toronto the previous weekend.
“God I needed that!” Christine groaned, naked and still panting, clinging to Steve as if someone was trying to take him away.
“A good start,” Steve said, then kissed her passionately. He reached for her vibrator. “Did we make it over the top, or do I need to do some supplemental work?”
Christine smiled and shook her head. “Best orgasm I’ve had in a week.”
“Will it last until tonight?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s put on our bathing suits and go for a boat ride.”
Both leaped from the bed and raced to the shower. It was a tie, so they showered together. Christine dried herself, put on her white bikini, then covered herself with an oversized crimson Harvard sweatshirt. Steve wore his flowered red and yellow trunks and a plain grey sweatshirt. Both slipped into their sandals, put on their sunglasses, then walked down the gentle rocky slope to the massive dock. They stepped into Steve’s boat and he guided it out into the lake at cruise speed.
“Next stop: The Monster,” he said, referring to the cottage he had been building for the past six months. Within two minutes, they rounded a rocky promontory and his pride and joy came into full view. He pointed to his six thousand square foot masterpiece, nestled among tall hemlocks at the end of a four thousand foot rocky peninsula. “That’s eighty percent of your father’s five million,” he said. “Three months and the other twenty percent should finish it.”
“Carry me over the threshold,” Christine demanded with an impish grin.
Steve tied his boat off in one of the three slips of his almost completed cedar, timber and steel dock, then helped Christine climb out. Hand and hand, they walked up a gradual slope littered with needles, cones, twigs and rocks. When they reached the front entrance, he unlocked and opened the door. He lifted Christine, carried her through the opening, then lowered her to her feet. “Now I’m going to give you the four million dollar tour,” he said with a proud smile.
He spent the next hour walking the interior, explaining the construction details, and allowing Christine to marvel at the stupendous views offered by virtually every window. Next he led her outside and gave her a walking tour of the property, taking time to explain his extensive landscaping plan. He ended the tour by stopping beside his boat. “Next week I’m going to start the boathouse,” he said, then reached into the boat and removed the architectural plans for the project. He invited Christine to sit beside him, then unrolled the plans on the dock.
“It’s absolutely fantastic!” she said as she helped him turn the large pages. She wrapped her arms around him, pulled him to a horizontal position, then rolled on top of him. “You’re absolutely fantastic,” she said, her lips barely grazing his. “I want you to build a house exactly like this in Toronto. Then we’ll live in it, happily ever after.”
&
nbsp; Steve struggled to avoid showing Christine any sign of his displeasure. Her statement had struck a very sensitive chord. She wanted to live in Toronto. He didn’t. He laughed. “There aren’t nearly enough rocks in Toronto. And where would we put the dock?” He rolled up the plans and jumped to his feet. “It’s a beautiful afternoon. You’re yacht awaits. I want to take you on a slow cruise to nowhere.”
They climbed into the boat, then Steve headed south east across Lake Joseph. He slowed when they entered the Little Lake Joe cut, and continued at near idle speed until they emerged onto Lake Rosseau. He accelerated to full speed, circumnavigated some of the lake’s most beautiful islands, then headed for Windermere House, a large and elegant, three story resort hotel on the eastern shore of the lake. The two lovers enjoyed cold draught beers on the verandah, then returned to the boat and headed west. He slowed to pass through the Port Sandfield cut and back onto Lake Joseph. The second leg of the cruise was interrupted by a stop at Water’s Edge Wine Bar and Grill, a five star boathouse restaurant and watering hole for Muskoka’s rich and famous. “Just in time for happy hour,” he said with a big smile.
They chose a table for two on the elevated area of the deck and overlooking the lake. With Christine’s approval, Steve ordered a bottle of 2000 Chateau Lafleur. Christine waited until the waitress had filled their glasses and left the table. It was time to resume her full court press. She raised her glass. “To our Christmas wedding,” she said, crossing her fingers, hoping Steve would agree.
He frowned, raised his glass, but refused to clink it against Christine’s. “I’ll toast our wedding, but not at Christmas. It’s too soon, Christine. I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with my mother, I still have a ton of work to do on the cottage, and I really don’t have any money.” What he failed to mention was a fourth reason for delaying the wedding. On September fifteenth, not far from where he sat at that moment, he had met the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her entry into his life had caused doubts. Her reply to his gift of roses had opened a door, one that he did not want to close, at least not until he saw what was on the other side.
Christine was scorned. “I think you’re wasting your time up here. Come back to Toronto and get a real job. Then you’ll have some money,” she said, hating herself the instant she said it.
CHAPTER 19
New York. Monday, October 8.
Kerri awoke early. Her sagging spirits received a boost when she read the front page of The New York Times. The headline story described the launch of Operation Enduring Freedom, as a coalition of industrialized countries and Afghanistan’s Northern Alliance, led by the United States, commenced a series of attacks with the goal of overthrowing the Taliban, dismantling the al-Oaeda terrorist organization, and ending its use of Afghanistan as a base. She was pleased to know that the action would provide a measure of retribution for the September eleventh attacks on America, but her heart told her that no matter how successful, the effort would never compensate for the loss of so many innocent people and the sadness and financial hardship imposed on their survivors. She told herself that the buildings could be replaced, but not the lives.
An hour later, she entered the building that was to become the new headquarters for Iacardi and Sons. She was accompanied by Mark Friesen, her new vice-president, human resources, and Louise Markel-Townes, her new administrative assistant. A gigantic step down, both in terms of prestige and altitude, from its previous lofty perch, the building was, at least, a place to work. A recently constructed six story silvered glass clad structure on Park Avenue, the building would provide a launching pad from which to rebuild the company. She chose it because it was new, convenient, and would provide the new employees the comfort of working closer to ground level.
She surveyed the building’s stark, empty interior and tried to imagine it filled with furniture, computers, and people. The thought reminded her of the enormity of her undertaking, the cost and effort required to hire over three hundred people and to provide them with the training and infrastructure with which to compete in an increasingly cruel and competitive world. She turned to Friesen, a forty-two year old hardened corporate veteran who had risked it all by leaving the security of Fusion Financial, a large New York investment bank, to work for Iacardi and Sons, a seriously wounded company with a dubious future. A Special Forces operative in Desert Storm, he still looked like a soldier, lean, mean and ready to fight. His thinning blond hair was short cropped, his face scared, his eyes grey and piercing. He wore a well tailored dark blue suit, white shirt and yellow tie. “What do you think, Mark?” she asked.
Friesen smiled. “This works for me. Just give me three things and I’ll fill this place with the best people money can buy.”
“Only three? What are they?”
“A chair, a desk, and a telephone.” He winked at Louise, his live in companion and the second half of Friesen’s ‘dynamic duo’. A twice divorced thirty-eight year old brunette, she was his first and only love and his condition of employment. He had insisted that the two come as a package or no deal. They had worked successfully with Fusion Financial for the past eight years and compiled enviable reputations, more than sufficient to make their selection a no brainer. “Grant my three wishes or leave me forever,” he said.
Louise smiled and pointed to the elevator. The three rode the elevator to the second floor and emerged to find essentially the same concrete-floored emptiness. There was one difference, however. She pointed to the far left corner. Awaiting them were three offices, defined by crude plywood partitions and furnished, each with two folding metal chairs, a wooden desk, and a telephone.
“How did you do it?” Kerri asked, surprised and delighted.
Mark and I came in yesterday and were horrified to think we’d have to work on the floor. Mark did the carpentry and I sourced the furniture. We had to twist some serious arms for the phones.”
Kerri shook hands with both. “I was pretty sure you two were right for Iacardi. Now I’m certain.” She pointed to the offices. “Let’s go to work.”
Peter Tavaris, dressed in jeans, black sweater, and black leather jacket, entered Kerri’s makeshift office an hour later. He sat on her extra metal chair, crossed his legs, and removed his sunglasses. “You said you wanted to see me,” he said, stroking his stubble.
“I did. I want to introduce you to Mark Friesen, our new V.P., human resources. I want you, Walter, and Billie to work closely with him, and to help him hire traders and analysts. You know the players in the game. You know who we need. That’s a tremendous asset.
“What are we going to use for money? You and I both know we don’t have any.”
“Don’t worry about money. I’ve made arrangements for Iacardi to borrow a hundred million.”
“Wow! You care to tell me who our sugar daddy is?”
“Me.”
“Yah, sure,” Tavaris scoffed. “You and which bank?”
Kerri glared at Tavaris. “Just me. No bank.”
“So how does Kerri King stroke a check for a hundred big ones. There aren’t a whole lot of people who can do that.”
“Long story. The short one is that I once had a very wealthy boy friend,” Kerri replied, making clear to Tavaris that she was unprepared to give him the details. “Now my instructions to Mark are to hire the best people money can buy, and I want you to do whatever you can to help him.”
“Okay, you’ve got it,” he said, then gestured with his arms to Kerri’s stark surroundings. “How do I go about getting a nice office, just like yours?”
“You work with Louise Markel-Townes. She’s in the office to my left, and she’s expecting you. I think you should meet her first so she can fix you up with an office. Among other things, her job is to bring this office space up to speed, as fast as she can. I’m sure you’ll be happy to help her. She already knows I want the traders and analysts to occupy the top four floors of this building.
”
“Before I go, I want to talk to you about the Enerco offer. You should know that I’ve talked to the Iacardi wives. They’re both very excited about the offer, and they’re prepared to accept the written version, without making any extra demands. Also, Walter and I have written to all of the other shareholders, asking them to go along with the deal.” Tavaris again stroked his stubble and glared at Kerri. “You might be the only one standing in the way.”
Kerri leaned forward and returned the glare. “Peter, I’m not standing in the way of the deal. I’m doing what I think is the right thing. Now follow me.” She led Tavaris around the plywood barrier to her left, introduced him to Louise Markel-Townes, then left to return to her office.
While Tavaris was anxious to have his own office, he was even more anxious to learn who was going to furnish and wire the building. That information was one of Ken Layton’s specific requests. The two quickly dispensed with the pleasantries, then he made his move. He clasped his hands behind his head and relaxed in his metal chair. “Have you found anyone who’s capable of turning this building into an office in a hurry?” he asked.
Louise nodded. “A company called Trans Metro Office Fitout. Before we came here, Mark Friesen and I worked for Fusion Financial. We used Trans Metro for all of our offices. They’re not just good, they’re fantastic. They sub all of their work, and don’t stop until everyone’s happy.”
“Great. Sounds like you two know what you’re doing. How do I get an office?”