Tentyrian Legacy (22 page)

Just before 2:00 p.m., we begin our descent.
I’ve crammed as much information as I can into my mind. I’ve begun
a model on the company that I think I’ll have just enough time to
complete on the flight back. It’s rudimentary, based on the time
crunch, but I think it will give me the information I need. So far,
Apex looks like an excellent investment opportunity—provided that
the information I’ve received is accurate.

Whenever I do an analysis of a company, I
always seek out as many resources as possible. Those resources can
vary from store clerks to third-party suppliers of parts. Once,
when I first started at Crest, I rode every MTA bus transit line in
Manhattan and Brooklyn when we were looking to enter into a
partnership with the city to help them close the

$600 million gap in its operating budget.

I like to dig all the way to the grassroots
level when I do my due diligence. But sometimes, no matter how
thorough an analysis you do, it can be worthless if you don’t
understand the management team. A management team, alone, can
determine the success or failure of a deal. It’s important to
understand their motivations, how they run their companies, and
their dedication to the partnership. Fortunately, I happen to be an
expert in that area. Town & Country attributed my success to my
“killer instincts;” Raad calls it my unique gift. I’m not sure
exactly what I’d label it—some days I view my telepathic skill as a
pain in the ass; other days I view it as a godsend. Regardless, I
know I’ll need to use it today.

The passenger door opens, and Diana helps me
down the stairs. There is a black SUV with a driver standing by.
According to Allison’s itinerary, it’s a thirty-minute drive to
Apex. From what I know of the company, the Suwanee, Georgia, based
facility produces generic antibiotics. It is also known for being
first to market on several key drugs once their patents have
expired, leaving Apex approximately thirty percent market share of
generics. While clearly not as big as some of the larger drug
companies, this is a sizable company for a one-town pharma company
that only began production about fifteen years ago. Helping Apex
prepare for an acquisition by a larger company could be an
interesting and profitable opportunity.

We bump along many a dirt road before finally
arriving at the plant. It is huge, sprawling across approximately
twenty football fields. The whole town must be employed by this
place. Per the itinerary, I am to call a number and inform them of
my arrival. No sooner do I do that and step outside of the car when
I am greeted by a pleasant-looking admin who ushers me inside. I am
brought into a conference room where the management team is already
waiting. The CEO, their head of council, CFO, and COO are all in
attendance.

I feel like I’m walking into a firing squad,
and I don’t even know why. I wonder how much they know about me.
It’s likely they have no idea I don’t even work for Leo Capital.
Well, I’m certainly not going to be the one to dispel them of that
notion.

“I’m Arianna Parker. I appreciate you meeting
with me this after-noon,” I say as I shake the various hands and
make the introductions.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” says the CEO,
Morris Finley, a rotund man with flush cheeks. “Mr. Vasilliadis
told us you would be instrumental in Leo’s decision to invest, and
we are happy to extend you every courtesy as you conduct your
analysis.”

“I appreciate that,” I reply. “Unfortunately,
my trip today must be cut short. I typically spend several days
learning about the companies I visit. Since I only have a few
hours, I’d love to sit with you all individually for about twenty
minutes. I know you likely have a presentation to share, but if you
can just provide me with a copy, we can skip that and then perhaps
conclude the day with a tour?”

The chiefs of financials and operations look
displeased. Obviously, I’ve thrown a wrench in their plans. I don’t
have to read their minds to see they are wondering who this Yankee
biddy is that looks fresh out of the schoolroom.

“Of course, whatever you wish, Ms. Parker,”
says Finley. “Excellent. If it’s all right with you, can I start
with you, Mr. Finley?”

“Please, call me Morris,” he says with a
wink. He seems like the type who wants to call you “sugar” or
“honey,” but not in a derogatory way. He is more like an affable
grandfather. The rest of the room departs, and my interview
begins.

I start by asking him how he got started at
Apex. Even though I have already read his bio, I need him to talk
awhile to fill up the twenty minutes before I filter through his
mind. He is a sweet man and clearly passionate about the company. I
jot down notes of our conversation on my notepad. Then, leaning
back in my chair, I absently toy with my pen. It drops and we both
lean down to get it. My hand brushes his. He freezes, and I begin
the mind filter.

I see he is genuinely excited about the
opportunity. He constantly motivates his employees and believes in
adhering to the strictest protocols and Food and Drug
Administration standards. He’s familiar with the accounting. The
numbers are sound. There are several other private equity firms
that want to invest. Leo is his first choice.

This is a good sign. I remove my hand, and
Morris gives me my pen. We finish out the interview, and he thanks
me like a gentleman for my time. Next, I interview the CFO and COO
in succession. They think some pretty disparaging thoughts about
me. “Bitch” and “whore” are some of their choice words. That’s
always the worst thing about using my gift, finding out what people
really think. You’d think you’d want to know, but deep down, you
really don’t. I learned that lesson with Charles.

In this case, it doesn’t hurt my feelings
because they don’t even know me. And they are just being pigheaded
men threatened by a woman half their age. Deep down, their anger at
me is driven by fear— fear that I’ll tell Leo not to invest. I see
that they have all worked hard together to get Apex to where it is
today. They believe it is solvent and the drugs they create are of
the highest quality. From what I can tell and based on the numbers
I’ve seen, Leo would be foolish not to invest.

Three down, one more to go. Next is the
lawyer, Travis Ridgefield.

Travis explains he joined Apex in 1995 and
has worked closely with the management team to navigate the
difficult waters of pharma law-suits and regulations from the FDA.
Everything with Travis seems on par, until I touch his hand. He is
involved in some shady dealings and has engaged in talks,
unbeknownst to Morris, with a company called Trebuchet. Not to
mention, Travis has also been embezzling money from Apex for the
last ten years and has knowledge of an impending FDA warning letter
for one of the firm’s drugs called Sitorin. He obtained that
knowledge through the illicit affair he is having with the director
of the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research. It really couldn’t
get much worse.

No private equity firm would touch this deal
with a ten-foot pole if they knew what I did. It is time to wrap
this up, I think. I remove my hand. Travis looks like he’s lost his
train of thought. Before he can continue, I say, “I’m so sorry my
phone interrupted you, Travis. But it looks like I need to head
back to New York immediately and I’ll be unable to go on that tour.
I appreciate your time, however. Meeting with you all has been very
helpful.”

I stand to shake his hand as he is trying to
remember exactly when my phone rang. “Please give my regards to the
rest of the team,” I say quickly as I collect my things and power
walk out to the waiting car. I know I was rude. But better social
graces aren’t going to improve the situation, I tell myself as we
speed toward the airport. I realize I’m exhausted as I kick off my
heels and turn up the AC. My cream Ralph Lauren blouse with its
ruffled Victorian collar has lost its starch, and I feel like a
wilted flower in this southern heat. We’ll likely take off at 5:00
p.m., forty-five minutes ahead of schedule. Fingers crossed I will
have enough time to run home and take a quick shower. I certainly
don’t want to show up to a black tie event like this to explain how
the Apex deal is a mess and likely can’t be fixed.

Now, how do I explain the viability, or lack
thereof, to Robert and presumably Mr. Vasilliadis? I have no idea
what this dinner will be like and how they want my opinion
presented. He said verbally, so I won’t need to hand in a formal
report, which is a relief. It’s difficult to source information
like: Apex general counsel—conflict of interest due to affair with
CDER director; current embezzlement amount—$25 million; knowledge
of FDA citation letter, re: adverse events associated with
cholesterol-lowering drug.

My best bet is to keep it vague and explain
that I suspect, based on my observations, that Travis Ridgefield is
engaged in illegal activity. I will suggest to have an additional
internal audit conducted and for

Leo to look into Apex’s close ties with CDER.
Surely they’ll find the embezzlement and misconduct. Based on my
review of the financials and my model, the numbers are all clean.
That means the records Leo has are either inaccurate or incomplete.
It also means I have no data to support my thesis. In fact, my
model completely contradicts my recommendation.

It is one thing to be the harbinger of bad
news when you have cold, hard facts on your side. But it is another
thing entirely when you only have information that is factual to
you and theoretical to others. We pull into the small private
airport and drive up to the tarmac. Diana lets down the plane
stairs.

“Ms. Parker, you are back earlier than we
expected,” she says happily.

“Yes, change of plans. Can we take off, or do
we need to wait for some special runway clearance?” I ask as I make
my way into the plane.

“We should be good to go. The pilot will
radio up to New York to let them know of our changed arrival time.
Traffic control at Islip isn’t a problem for us.”

I plop myself into a seat. My head aches from
the extra energy I’ve exerted.

“You look peaked. Can I get you a cocktail?”
Diana asks.

“No thanks. I save those for special
occasions. Could you make me some green tea, though?”

“Of course. Would you like a snack? I know
you haven’t eaten lunch.”

“No, thank you.” I’m too tired and nervous to
eat.

“And I assume you will be freshening up for
later this evening?” Diana gestures toward the bathroom.

“I’m planning on going home first.”

“There is no need, Ms. Parker. The plane is
equipped with a full shower, and several clothing options have been
provided for you,” Diana says cheerily.

“What?”

“I know, it’s surprising that we have a full
bathroom on here, but I assure you it is fully functional and quite
comfortable.”

“No, I mean, why are there clothing options
for me? How would you all even know my size?” I ask tartly. I’m
irritated. So this is why the itinerary had me going straight from
the airport to the Four Seasons. I don’t like feeling like
someone’s chess piece, and I’m not playing dress-up for my future
employer.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Parker. I didn’t mean to
offend you. I was just told that you’d want to change before the
quarterly dinner.”

“It’s quite all right. I’d simply prefer to
wear something of my own,” I reply crisply.

She nods. “I’ll go make your tea now.” Diana
goes to the rear of the plane to the small galley area.

I head to the aft lavatory to splash some
water on my face. I look more than a little frazzled as my pale
complexion stares back at me. “Girlfriend, you need a tan or at
least some blush,” I say to the mirror. Unfortunately, no matter
what I do, I know I can never get that golden glow, at least not
without self-tanner. And the last time I tried that, I ended up
looking like an Oompa Loompa for a week. No matter; I’ve come to
accept my paleness as a fact of life. Laura says it makes me look
like a Madonna. Maybe that’s why I’m destined to die a virgin, I
think wryly. That thought is just too embarrassing and
depressing.

I quickly survey the bathroom, which is
surprisingly large and elegantly appointed. But even so, the Pretty
Woman moment isn’t happening. Curious, I take a peek in the small
closet adjacent to the powder area. There are three fabulous ball
gowns inside, and they look like my size—exactly. Same with the
shoes. Amazingly, everything is to my taste: conservative but
subtly sexy. The black Valentino is calling my name as I shut the
closet door firmly. No, I’m not a puppet; not my family’s and
certainly not Leo Capital’s. I rack my brain for everything I know
about the man behind the firm that has managed to throw me
completely off guard.

From what I know of Leo’s founder, he shuns
public attention and as a rule never gives interviews, unless it is
for a charitable cause. Rather than himself, Vasilliadis positions
his managing partners as the face of the company. In fact, I could
only find two publically available photos of him. He certainly was
easy on the eyes. No wife or known girlfriends. I’m sure if there
were any more details they could get their hands on, the media
would love to proclaim him one of New York’s hottest and most
eligible bachelors.

Looking back on the day, everything was
predicated on presumption and the arrogance of a firm used to
getting its way. And what did that say about Vasilliadis?
Everything. But then again, I did have to respect the man who
started a firm on his own and successfully grew it from nothing to
having over $20 billion in assets under management— in less than
five years.

I go back to my seat and settle in with the
steaming cup of tea. The sun is still bright in the summer sky as
we head north. I close the shade to shut out the light. The warm
liquid relaxes me, and I feel myself getting drowsy. I need to
gather my energy if I’m going to tell Maximos Vasilliadis exactly
what I think of Apex . . . and of him.