Bull Street (32 page)

This was it. If Milner and he pulled this off, they were safe. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

What kept preying on him was LeClaire. He still couldn’t get past the idea his friend would turn on him. He wondered if that might cloud his thinking at a critical moment, cause him to screw up. He tried to put it out of his mind.
Get over it.

The kid was still in the other bathroom when Milner finished dressing and went out to his seat. He felt an anxious sensation of lightness in his legs. Richard had shown moxie up until now, but Milner wondered if he’d ever been in the kind of hand-tohand combat he was about to walk into. Milner had a lot riding on this meeting, and an inexperienced slip-up by the kid could cost him big time. Still, no sense second-guessing his decision to bring him. And in a few hours it would be all over one way or the other. He stood up; he’d see if he could walk it off before Richard got out of the bathroom.

London, England.
Milner thought it was kind of funny, the private dining room at Schoenfeld & Co. set up for them as if for a client dinner. Mahogany walls, polished inlaid table, crystal and bone china. A choice between white or red wine.
The waitress was laying out their appetizers, celery root remoulade. He could see Richard sitting next to him, looking down at his plate like he was wondering what it was. Now he glanced across the table at old man Schoenfeld. Big bags under his eyes, shoulders hunched over.
Worn down.
Then he took in Delecroix, who seemed tense. He was glad to be on his side of the table. Richard looked pumped up, ready. The spreadsheets he’d prepared on the plane sat in stapled piles in front of him.

The waitress left.
Here goes.
He shot a glance at Richard.

“Well, then,” Schoenfeld said, “you called this meeting, old boy. We understand you want to undertake some form of exchange. Suppose you tell us what you have in mind.”

Milner said, “As I told you, I’m planning to retire to Switzerland. Not my first choice, but it’s a circumstance my business with you has put me in.”

Delecroix said, “We are not responsible for your business decisions.” He didn’t look up from his appetizer.

“I’m not responsible for your systematic front-running of my deals costing me hundreds of millions over the years.” Delecroix now looked up, locked his gaze on Milner’s eyes.
Guy thinks he’s got a cold stare.
Milner said, “Do we need to cover that territory again? We worked that out, what, two years ago?” Milner saw Schoenfeld nod. Both he and Delecroix were being cautious. Milner said, “Let’s get to the point. I have reams of data, some of which our SEC probably has, some not.” He looked at Richard, pointed to the papers in front of him. Richard handed copies across the table. Schoenfeld picked his up, looked at the top page. Delecroix didn’t move, looking at it with his lip curled, like it was cancerous.

Delecroix said, “It is of no consequence.”

“Let me spell out the consequences. I also know things that would totally screw you guys if I disclosed them, and put you in a position similar to the one I’m in myself.”

Delecroix said, “Your position is one you put yourself in.”

“A position you and your trading network put me in.”

“You accepted your position as compensation for services.”

“Services my ass. I was going on about my business doing deals and you and your stooge, LeClaire, picked me off. I only got payback from you guys for what your scam cost me.”

“Describe it any way you wish,” Delecroix said.

“I just described it dead-on.”

He got the icy stare from Delecroix again, like Milner was supposed to quake in his boots.
This guy overestimates himself.

Schoenfeld said, “Come now, we don’t need to dispute the facts. We are where we are. What are you proposing?”

“Yes, what do you want?” Delecroix said, looking irritated.

Good.
He was getting someplace now.

Milner said, “A deal. But not the same deal as before, because I’m out of the business.” He paused for a moment to see if they reacted. “What I have to offer is my silence, and keeping these records locked away.”

Delecroix said, “What are these records you refer to?”

“Pages of them, right in front of you. You don’t want us to take this data to the SEC and the U.S. Attorney’s Office and tell them it was you guys who dreamed up the whole scheme, got LeClaire to be your flunkie to set up the trading network. That you guys directed everything and made the bulk of the money.”

“We already heard you. We don’t need you to draw us a map, as you Americans say it,” Delecroix said.

“Okay. Just making sure, what with the language differences between English and French, and our crude American English
and the refined Queen’s English. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”

Now even the old man was looking fed up.

Milner turned to Richard. Richard said, “We have copies of all the trades of your network going back four years.” Richard flipped open the pages all the way to the end, 22 pages in total. He turned back to the first page. “All LeClaire’s emails to order trades distributed out through GCG, and from which he kept records of the profits of your network. I’ve re-created it all here, including the separate network of Schoenfeld-owned entities operating through Golding & Company.”

Delecroix looked startled, scowled and picked up the papers for the first time. Milner suppressed a smile, and leaned his elbow on the table, put his hand over his mouth and grinned as broadly as he could. He wanted to let them see his eyes twinkling.
Chew on that, Philippe.
He saw Schoenfeld and Delecroix shoot sideways glances at each other.

Richard went on, “You’ll see on page one I’ve summed the profits of the network by deal—17 in total—and then totaled it for the overall network, with separate subtotals for the trades fanned out through GCG and Golding. The totals are $2 billion; $1.5 billion of it through GCG, $500 million through Golding.”

Delecroix was staring at the first page. After a long hesitation he said, “Enterprising, Reginald.”

Schoenfeld didn’t say anything.

Richard was glancing between Schoenfeld and Delecroix.

Milner was enjoying himself. The kid was doing great, like taking a client through a deal analysis. He came across crisp and confident, without betraying any of the nervousness or anger he must be feeling. Milner said, “Any questions on the data?”

Schoenfeld said, “No, it seems quite clear. I’m not certain if these figures agree precisely with ours—”

Delecroix cut in, “I am certain not with ours. They are off by 500 million or so.” He narrowed his eyes at Schoenfeld.

Schoenfeld said, “As I was saying, the figures are close enough so as not to dispute them. So what are you proposing?”

Milner said, “I’m proposing I keep quiet. As I understand it, you’re both in the clear. LeClaire is the Feds’ Source X. I gather you’ve made it to his advantage to keep you out of this, that he’ll offer enough of your network to get a splashy bust, including me, and headlines. So what’re you offering me?”

Milner saw Schoenfeld turn slightly to look at Delecroix. He could sense the tension between them, see the anger in Delecroix’s taut lips.
Good.
Richard had worked the power of information brilliantly. Now they’d see if the feisty Frenchman would act impetuously.

Delecroix said in a low voice, “For the fourth time, what do you propose?”

“That I keep quiet. What are you offering?”

Delecroix stared at him.

Milner stared back.

Richard was loving it, Milner and Delecroix each waiting for the other to blink. Richard felt juiced. The fatigue he’d felt at the beginning of the dinner was gone. It didn’t get much better than this. Milner—he and Milner—had these guys cold. Then he remembered what Milner said on the plane: stay alert. Don’t get cocky if it starts going well.

Sir Reginald cleared his throat, said, “I rather think we can make it worth your while.” He turned to Delecroix and said to him, “I suggest we make the proposal we discussed.”

Delecroix nodded. “But not with the split we discussed.” He waved Richard’s spreadsheet at Sir Reginald. “Let us say twothirds, one-third, to account for your side profits?”

Sir Reginald gave a sheepish smile.

Milner said, “You want us to step out for a minute so you guys can work this out?” The waitress came back in. She cleared the appetizers, put down their entrées, medallions of beef. No one spoke while she was in the room. She hurried out.

Sir Reginald said, “No, that won’t be necessary. We’re in agreement between ourselves.” He nodded to Delecroix.

Delecroix said, “We’re prepared to offer a full 10% of our enterprise.”

“Based on this information, that’s an additional $200 million,” Milner said.

Sir Reginald nodded. “An acceptable figure,” he said.

“I don’t think you’re hearing me. I’m leaving everything behind, worth an estimated $5 to $7 billion. And $1 billion of it in cash I can’t get out. That would be a nice round figure.”

Sir Reginald and Delecroix looked back and forth at each other. Sir Reginald’s eyes were wide. “One billion? You can’t be serious, old boy.”

“That’s less than 20% of my assets. And I’ve got a lot of good years left. What’s the present value of what else I could make if I didn’t have to pack it in?”

Delecroix said, “We don’t keep that kind of cash lying around. It’s absurd.”

“You’re a big bank, with lots of pockets. I’m sure you can figure it out.” He turned to Sir Reginald, “And you’re a privately owned company. You can do whatever you want.”

Sir Reginald said, “It’s too much.” He looked at Delecroix again, who raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips. “We will offer you $300 million.”

“No way,” Milner said. He started cutting his beef, chewing quickly as he ate it, Richard wondering how much Milner wanted, how much longer he’d play this out. He wanted to get to his own deal. But they agreed to let it wait until the end.

Delecroix said, “I encourage you to look realistically on what is feasible for us.”

“A billion is feasible.”

Richard was watching Delecroix and Sir Reginald, seeing no more glances back and forth between them. Sir Reginald slumped over in his chair, looking at his plate. Richard figured they were at their limit.

“I’ll tell you what,” Milner said. “Five hundred now, plus 10% of your business going forward.”

Sir Reginald looked at Milner. “What business?” he said.

“Your investment in Walker. And your overall profits in Schoenfeld & Co.,” and, turning to Delecroix, “and yours in your merchant banking subsidiary.”

“Outrageous,” Delecroix said. Sir Reginald didn’t say anything. He was looking at his plate again, his jaw slack.

Dead meat.
Nobody said anything for a moment.

Then Delecroix smiled, took a swig of his wine. “Three hundred million plus a 10% interest going forward is workable.”

Milner nodded.

Sir Reginald lifted his head and looked straight ahead. The color was gone from his face. “Done,” he said.

Milner smiled. “I’m glad you’re both seeing reason. I’ll have my banker get in touch about wire transfer arrangements. And a couple more things. Richard and his people—his family and his girlfriend—are kept out of this. They haven’t been involved and you know it. Tell LeClaire to keep them clean or there’s no deal.” Milner looked over at Richard. “And Richard’s got a longer memory than mine.” Milner reached into his pocket and then handed a piece of paper across the table to Delecroix. “And finally, this is a bank account number and the phone number for a Swiss banker, Mr. Schott. To show your good faith I’ll need each of you to send an initial $5 million deposit to this account by tomorrow at noon. I’ll be checking. If it’s not there, no deal and we blow you guys sky high.”

Richard saw Delecroix puff his cheeks out, then blow out air through his lips. Sir Reginald waved his finger.

Done deal. At least as long as Richard held onto the data.