15

Jason spotted Ed Monroe across the room. The CEO of Northfield Industries filled his chair. He looked broad and so deep-bellied he might have dined like this every night. He held court from the corner, facing the room, the white tablecloth before him stretched over the broad circle of the table, a menu waiting closed before him, cutlery paired, saucers poised, glass goblets empty. In the center of the circle, salt and pepper shakers sentineled next to a flickering candle shaded in a rose-colored cylinder.

As Jason approached, Ed’s quick eyes caught him, and his lips stopped moving for an instant, then began again, and all the faces turned toward Jason. Ed’s wife, Ona, sat to his left, and his CFO, Randy Sloan, sat to his right. Randy’s wife, Jeanne, completed the foursome.

Jason went to Ed first. Their hands clasped.

“You remember my wife, Ona?”

“Of course.” Jason took her hand in both of his before turning to Randy and Jeanne.

His chair was opposite Ed. The CEO’s head seemed to be all face, pale in the flickering candlelight, long chin, granite nose. He could be a former boxer with that nose and the sleepy droop of his eyes. Jason sensed that Ed Monroe was willing to box anything in front of him. Maybe that was what made him such a success at negotiating the acquisitions of his competitors.

Jason apologized for Serena’s absence. Sudden emergency, out of town—the words came out automatically; he’d said them so many times in the past three months. A busboy cleared the setting Serena would have used. The chair wasn’t removed. It sat empty next to him as if she might surprise him and show. It gave him a sour sensation underneath his belt.

The waiter appeared—young, tall, black hair combed back and curling behind his neck. The looks of a leading man in a soap opera. He waited for a pause in the small-talk before offering the wine bottle for Ed’s perusal of the label, and when Ed nodded, the waiter stood away and began the ritual. He placed the cork on the table before Ed, and without a pause in his diatribe, Ed took it in his clunky fingers and absently twisted it, regarding it as he spoke. The waiter poured a swallow in Ed’s glass. A sip, a reverential delay, and a nod gave authority to pour the rest of the glasses.

The menus sat folded before them. Everyone waited for Ed to pick his up to start the process. The waiter withdrew.

Ed addressed Jason. “What kind of law does your wife practice again?”

“Executive comp. She helps companies structure their comp packages around SEC and tax rules. One of her clients is preparing for an offering. She had to fly to New York for some last-minute work on their programs.”

Ed glanced at Randy and something passed between them without any words. Randy said, “What’s her firm?”

“Strumb Rossi. She opened the LA office for them three years ago.” And I’ve hardly seen her since.

Ed swirled the wine in his glass, took a sip. “How is it, being married to a lawyer?”

“I haven’t won an argument in five years.”

Randy laughed. Ed’s smile said nothing; his pale eyes rested on Jason over the clear circle of his goblet.

The waiter hovered around the table as if he longed to occupy the empty chair. Ed finally looked up at him and asked about the appetizers. The heartthrob talked him through the appetizers, and Ed selected for the table the mussels, the gratin of Belgian endive with bacon, and the duck prosciutto. With an approving bow of his head, the waiter retreated.

The menus still collected dust before them. Entrees would be considered over the hors d’oeuvres, apparently. Ed swirled his cabernet, let his eye take it in before raising the glass to his lips again. He smacked his thin lips and glanced to Randy, then back to Jason. “You came through for us on that financing, Jason,” he said. “Cut it a little close to our deadline, though.”

“I’ll see if I can get you more cushion next time.”

Those pale eyes moved again to glance at his CFO. Clearly something was yet to be said here.

“You guys have been good customers for the bank. We’re glad we can support you.”

“No trouble getting it done?” Ed had a real fixation on the tone of red that swirled in his goblet in the candlelight.

“There’s always something to talk about when credits get up beyond ten million. But performance means a lot to us. Our experience with you guys has been solid. That carries a lot of weight.”

“You mean you wouldn’t lend twenty-three million to just anybody off the street?”

“No. Not just anybody.”

“Well, we appreciate it. Right, Randy?”

Randy nodded.

Jason lifted his glass over the tabletop. “To another successful acquisition. Congratulations, guys.”

Their glasses chimed over the table, and all five of them sipped.

Ed returned to his swirling cabernet.

“How are things going with getting the Clarington team assimilated?” Jason asked.

Ed glanced to his wife, as if he wanted to protect her from such detailed business. But he didn’t hold back. “There won’t be much to assimilate when we’re done. Not at the top, anyway.” He grinned at Randy, and his CFO smiled back.

“The whole executive team?”

“Shot in the head.” It was the term Ed always used when they discussed acquisitions in the conference rooms at Northfield, but Jason was a little surprised to hear it over dinner with the wives. Ed said it like a gangster, the smile gone, as if releasing an acquired management team was part of a gangland feud.

Maybe it was.

The appetizers arrived, and Ed managed their dispersal, the others deferring to him in everything now, making no show of independence. His conversation lingered on Northfield’s business so long, Jason had to finally ask him how things were at their ranch in Montana for a change of pace.

With the appetizers obliterated, Ed lifted his menu, and the others were quick to seize the opportunity. One by one they replaced the folders on the table, and the waiter materialized and took their orders, gathering the menus under his elbow. To Ed’s order of the house special, braised pork chops, the actor affirmed, “Very good, sir.”

After their orders were placed, the CEO raised one substantial eyebrow and looked across the table. “So, Jason, there’s a rumor that you’ve had some interesting experiences trying to get your loans repaid.”

“You’d be surprised how many people think repaying a loan is optional.”

“I suppose that’s the case if you want to take the whole thing to court.”

“My experience is that the only winners in bankruptcy are the lawyers. And they win big.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Ed lifted the glass again and reached for the bottle.

Randy’s glasses magnified his eyes so they looked like they filled the thin rims. Candlelight flickered off his lenses. “I think Ed would be interested to hear about the crowbar incident.”

Jason looked over his shoulder. A show of drama, as if he needed to avoid the paparazzi. “You do stupid things when you’re young.”

Ona leaned forward. “A crowbar, Jason?” Her cheeks were plump. Like her husband, she had a sizable chin. The two of them could probably outbox any couple in town.

“It was one of my first loans. It goes bad, and the guy dodges my phone calls for weeks. So I go out to his house.” Jason knit his fingers together and shrugged. “My career was just starting. I was putting my wife through law school. This guy gets belligerent with me, like it’s my fault he applied for the loan, my fault he can’t pay it back even when he swore he was good for it. I guess I got a little heated, and he bolted. I knew I wouldn’t be able to chase him down, so I had to throw something at him. Might have been a crowbar. I’m not really sure. Anyway, it missed. But I can still see him planted against the wall, frozen like a deer in the headlights.”

“How many collection laws did you break that day, Jason?” Ed tipped the bottle toward his wife’s glass.

“I did it for my depositors. It’s their money we lend, you know. I was working for the higher good.”

“You always are.”

After dessert and coffee, Ed said, “Well, Jason, you won’t have to take a crowbar to Northfield to get paid back.”

“I’m too old and too serious to do that kind of thing anymore.”

Ed lowered his voice. “It looks like we’re going out for the offering.”

The coffee grew bitter in Jason’s mouth. “What’s the timing?”

“Probably the next ninety days. Something wrong?”

“No, no. It’s the right thing for the company. You need to refresh your balance sheet. Don’t want the market to think you’re overleveraging.”

“Our underwriters think the appetite for our stock is going to be good after we publish results with this acquisition. After the offering, we’ll be flush with cash for a while, but we want to keep our line of credit available. And we’ll take care of BTB on the deposit side.”

“I appreciate that.” A line of credit with nothing borrowed on it did nothing for him.

“If you guys had an underwriting desk, we’d give you the offering business too.”

“I know you would, Ed.” Jason felt the wine and the filet beginning to weigh him down. Or was it this news? “Anyway, it’s the right thing for the company. We’re not transaction guys—you know that. We’re in for the long haul, and what’s good for the company is good for all of us.”

“That’s right. That’s right. Ona, you want some more coffee, dear?”

She didn’t. The waiter set the check in the middle of the table, and Jason reached for it, but was glad to let Ed pluck it away. “Our treat,” Ed said. “You did the job for us with that Clarington financing, Jason. Like you always do. Your support means a lot to us. That right, Randy?”

Randy nodded, his enlarged eyes wavering in the candlelight.