The Protégé (14 page)

“But Tony’s sharp,” Gillette spoke up. “He’ll understand that he might get more if he tried really hard. But it wouldn’t be that much more, and it would take a while to get. I talked to him for a few seconds as we were leaving, and I made it clear that we could wrap things up quickly. I also told him I could get him into the White House for a personal visit with the president. He’s a big Republican.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Senator Clark told me he’d help with that if we ever needed it. Only a couple of times a year max, but this is one of those times we need him.”

Wright whistled. “That would be incredible.”

The elevator doors parted on the forty-ninth floor.

“Better not tell your wife about Hush-Hush,” Gillette joked. “She’ll never let you go to work.”

“Yeah,” Wright said distractedly.

Gillette’s cell phone rang.

“I’ll let Hughes know we’re here,” Wright volunteered, moving to the receptionist’s desk.

“Thanks.” Gillette pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced at the digits: It was the Everest main number. “Hello.”

“Christian, it’s Nigel. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“David and I are about to head into our Apex meeting with Russell Hughes.”

“Then I’ll keep it quick. How did the Hush-Hush thing go?”

“Very well. David did a good job.”

“Next steps?” Faraday asked.

“We offered six hundred million. It’s in the CEO’s court to get back to us at this point.”

“Odds?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

“I’m looking forward to the day you don’t say that. Look”—Faraday’s voice dropped—“I just wanted to give you a heads-up. One of the receptionists brought a copy of the
Daily News
into the office this morning. There’s a couple of pictures of you and Allison on the celebrity page. She’s hanging all over you.” He hesitated. “I wanted to get to you before Faith did.”

Gillette felt his jaw tighten. That was going to be tough to explain. “Thanks.”

“Christian,” Wright called from the receptionist’s desk, “Hughes is ready for us.”

“Yeah, all right.” Gillette gave Wright a quick wave. “Thanks for the call, Nigel.”

“Sure.”

Gillette ended the call but didn’t put the phone back in his pocket right away. Instead, he gazed at it for a moment, considering whether or not to call Faith. The proactive approach was always better, but—

“Christian,” Wright called again impatiently.

Gillette let out a quick breath and shoved the phone in his pocket. Never enough time. “Coming.”

The three men sat at a round table in Hughes’s office overlooking the East River from forty-nine stories up. Hughes sat with his legs crossed at the knees, arms folded tightly across his chest, chin touching his tie. Clearly, some of his investors had alerted him to what was coming. Probably told him to try to negotiate some kind of settlement, Gillette thought. Then ride off quietly into the sunset.

“Thanks for meeting with us today,” Gillette began.

“I didn’t want to,” Hughes answered candidly, his voice shaking with emotion. “But the Strazzi Estate people basically gave me no choice.”

“They’re getting impatient.”

“They’re getting impatient,”
Hughes repeated, his voice rising, “because you’re going out and stirring them up. I have a plan.”

“The plan’s not working.”

“I need time.”

“Russell, I’ve looked at your portfolio. You got some dogs, and that’s because you’ve let management teams stay on that you should have fired a long time ago. We have top-notch people who can step in right away and make a difference.”

“You’ve already had in-depth discussions with the Strazzi Estate representatives,” Hughes accused Gillette.

“I wouldn’t call them ‘in-depth.’ ”

“They want you to buy Apex. They want out.”

“They actually said that to you?”

“They didn’t have to, it was obvious.” Hughes leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, head down. “Give me six months, Christian. If I haven’t improved things after six months, then buy the firm. I won’t put up a fight.”

“There might not be anything to buy at that point.”

“You’ll be able to get it for almost nothing if the portfolio companies keep getting worse.”

“I’m not a vulture,” Gillette said. “I like buying things that have a pulse.”

Hughes cleared his throat. “If you bought it, how would you run it? I mean, would you fold it into Everest?”

“Not right away. For at least the first year, I’d keep Apex independent. Like I said, I’d hire some of my own people and replace some of yours at the portfolio companies. But I wouldn’t physically combine the offices or integrate the staffs of Apex and Everest.”

“What about me?” Hughes asked, his voice hoarse.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I know that whoever’s running this for us will report to David.” Gillette nodded at Wright, who up to this point had said nothing.

Hughes took a deep breath. “I know what I’m doing, David. People here respect me.” He hesitated, then glanced at Wright. “I need this job.”

“
CHRISTIAN.
”

Gillette looked up from the Veramax report he was reading. The company was doing very well. If he could get the FDA off its ass, the thing would go white hot. Allison was right. “Yes, Nigel.”

“Sorry to bother you, but Faith is in the lobby.”

“Thanks.” Faith had called earlier and asked if she could stop by. She’d just gotten in from the West Coast. “Tell her to come on back.”

“Sure.”

Gillette stood up and stretched. It was eight-thirty, and suddenly he realized he was hungry. He’d eaten nothing that day but a bowl of cereal for breakfast and a quick salad with Wright in between the Hush-Hush and Apex meetings. He came out from behind the desk and leaned against the front of it. When Faith called, she’d been short. He could tell by her tone something was wrong, and he was pretty sure he knew what.

The door opened and Faith Cassidy was standing in front of him. She was so vivacious, blond with large green eyes and a voluptuous figure. Not at all impressed with herself, either, even though she had every right to be since her first two albums had gone platinum. Normally, when she hadn’t seen him for a while, she would have rushed right into his arms, but today she lingered by the door. Normally, her eyes sparkled when she looked at him, too, but today the fire was missing.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Gillette asked, moving toward her. He’d missed her. Hadn’t realized until just now how much. Been too busy. “You okay?”

“I’m a little tired.” Her voice was soft, subdued. “It was a long trip. You know the deal.”

“You hungry?” he asked, stopping a few feet away. He wanted to give her a hug, but not if she didn’t want to hug him. “Want to get something to eat?”

“I ate on the plane.”

“Oh, okay.” She never ate airline food. “So, the new album’s doing well,” Gillette said, keeping the conversation going. “I checked this afternoon with the label.”

“Yeah, they’re putting a ton of money into advertising on this album, even more than they did with the first two.” Faith smiled stiffly. “I’m sure you had a lot to do with that.”

After taking over as chairman of Everest last fall, Gillette had personally stepped in to increase the advertising budget for her second album—which had paid off in a huge way, kick-starting sales so the album jumped to the number one spot in the country for three weeks. “Actually, no, I didn’t,” he admitted. “Your execs figured it out all on their own this time.”

She leaned slightly to get a better look at the side of his head. “Jesus, Chris, what happened?”

Gillette gave Faith his warmest smile. “I turned down one of David Wright’s deals, and he didn’t like it.” But she didn’t smile back.

“Seriously.”

Normally, she would have laughed. She knew Wright, and they joked about how aggressive he was all the time. “Stiles and I got into it with some idiots outside the place we went to dinner last night. It was stupid.”

“You okay?”

“It’s just a scratch.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“Faith, I—”

There was a sharp knock, and Allison appeared in the doorway. “Christian, I— Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ll come—”

“Allison,” Christian interrupted, “this is Faith Cassidy. Faith, meet Allison Wallace.”

Faith and Allison forced uncomfortable smiles and shook hands.

“What do you want?” Gillette asked, sensing the tension that suddenly swirled through the room.

“I heard back from Jack Mitchell,” Allison answered. “You and I are going to meet him in Pittsburgh tomorrow night for dinner. He’s going to be there on business.” She giggled. “I’ve known Jack for so long. He’s my dad’s age. He taught me how to swim the year I was five up in Michigan. It’ll be fun. He’s staying at the William Penn Hotel, so I told him we’d meet him there. They have a nice restaurant. I’ll make a reservation and get us rooms.”

“Thanks.” Gillette glanced at Faith. She was clutching her hands tightly together, the way she always did right before going onstage at one of her concerts. “Let’s talk in the morning,” he suggested.

“Sure. Um, do you want the door closed?”

Gillette nodded.

“Nice to meet you,” Allison called sweetly to Faith as she was leaving.

“You too,” said Faith. When the door was closed, she ran a finger under her eyes. “You
work
with her?” she asked, her voice full of emotion.

“Faith, it’s not—”

“Can you even begin to understand how hard it was for me when the two of you were splashed across the celebrity pages of the L.A. papers? She was all over you in those pictures.”

“Allison’s a new managing partner here at Everest,” Gillette explained. “Her family committed five billion dollars to us. We had a business dinner so we could talk about her responsibilities, that was all. You know how the damn paparazzi are.”

“It didn’t look like she was dressed for business to me.”

“Stiles was there. Ask him about it.”

She shook her head and bit her lip. “Like he’d tell me the truth,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Look, it isn’t—”

“I want to take a break, Christian,” Faith said suddenly. “Spend some time away from each other. Maybe then we’ll figure out if we’re really committed to each other.”

“We just spent a week away from each other.”

“And apparently you enjoyed yourself a lot.”

“Faith, you can’t be serious. I don’t want that.”

She moved to him and reached into her bag. Her lower eyelids were glistening. “Here,” she said softly, handing him a photograph. “I found it in a knickknack shop on Ventura when I had an afternoon to myself. I thought of you.”

“Faith, let’s talk about—”

But she turned and left before he could finish. He stared at the empty doorway, trying to convince himself to go after her and work it out. But he couldn’t. He’d never been able to run after anyone in his life.

He looked down at what she’d given him. It was a faded picture of his father as a newly inducted senator, standing next to President Reagan.

8

“
CHANGE OF PLANS,
” Gillette barked into the phone at Harry Stein, Discount America’s CEO. “I need to meet with the mayor of that town in Maryland this afternoon, not Friday.” He had to talk loudly to be heard over the whine of jet engines as he hurried up the stairs toward the larger of Everest’s two planes. His directive was met with stony silence. “Did you hear me, Harry?”

“I heard you, Christian, but this is really short notice.”

Gillette ducked down to enter the cabin, then eased into a wide black leather swivel chair near the front. Stiles followed him onto the plane and sat in the chair beside his. There were already three QS agents in the back of the plane, but two more appeared at the door. Stiles was taking no chances, and Gillette was glad. Especially after the other night.

“It has to be this way,” Gillette said, nodding to the agents as they headed toward the others in the back. “My meeting in Washington got moved up, and I need to do both of these things on the same day. I don’t have time to make two trips down there.”

Daniel Ganze had called at seven this morning and told Gillette to come to Washington immediately. Norman Boyd, Ganze’s boss, had to travel unexpectedly for a week out of the country and didn’t want to wait to meet until he got back. Things were too urgent, Ganze claimed. So Gillette agreed to come, though he still had no idea what they wanted.

It irritated the hell out of him to be anybody’s beck-and-call boy, but there was no choice. He had to know about his father, and he had to know
now.
For the first time since Lana had cut him out of the family so long ago, he was desperate. He sensed that Ganze was real, and he’d been waiting a long time for a break like this.

“I doubt I’ll reach this woman for a while,” Stein complained. “Her day’s probably jammed. After all, she is the mayor.”

“What would the mayor of a town half the size of a New York City block possibly have to do on a Wednesday afternoon that could be so important she wouldn’t juggle a few things around?”

“Beats me, but remember, she doesn’t like us. She’s not going to do us any favors.”

“Make it happen, Harry.”

“Okay, okay.”

Gillette ended the call abruptly and answered one coming in from Wright’s cell phone. “What’s up, David?”

“I just talked to Tony Maddox at Hush-Hush. He says if we up the offer to six fifty, we got a deal. He wants a few reps and warranties that aren’t standard, but I can talk him down off the ledge on those. What do you want me to do about the price tag?”

Gillette considered going back to Maddox at six twenty-five, then acknowledged that in this case, giving in to his natural urge not to leave a penny on the table would be shortsighted. There was no reason to waste time and potentially lose the deal over twenty-five million bucks. Not when they could probably flip the thing for at least a billion by March. “Hit it,” he instructed, “but tell Maddox we want a signed letter of intent by three. I want him locked up this afternoon, or we pass. Tell him that’s the price of a quick negotiation, got it?”

“Yup.”

“After you talk to him, call me back. I’ll be on the plane phone for the next hour, then on my cell again once we land at Reagan, which oughta be around nine-thirty. I’m at a meeting in D.C. starting at ten. After that, I’m going to the Eastern Shore of Maryland to meet with the mayor of a town over there.”

“Is that the Discount America thing?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the name of the town?” Wright asked.

“Why?”

“Oh, I’ve got relatives on the Eastern Shore. Just wondering if I’d recognize the name.”

“It’s Chatham.” Gillette paused. “Mean anything to you?”

“Nope.”

“It’s not very big.”

“Not many of them are down there.”

“What town do your relatives live in?” Gillette asked.

“You know,” Wright said slowly, “I can never remember. That’s why I asked. Thought it might ring a bell when you said it. You coming back to New York when you leave Maryland?”

“No, after Chatham I’m going to Pittsburgh. Allison’s got me hooked up with a deal that sounds pretty good. We’re meeting the owner for dinner.”

“What kind of company is it?”

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow if it’s good.” No need to go into it now in case it turned out to be nothing. “I’ll probably fly back to New York after dinner, but if it goes late, I’ll stay over in Pittsburgh and come back in the morning. Did you get in touch with that Bermuda insurance company?”

“Yep,” Wright confirmed, “and they want to meet next week, Tuesday or Wednesday. Can you do it?”

Gillette checked his schedule on the Blackberry. “Yeah, I should be okay.”

“If the meeting goes well, they want to invest five hundred million in Everest Eight. I sent them the offering memorandum and all the subscription documents by messenger fifteen minutes ago.”

“Did you tell them about the Wallace Family coming in for five double-large?”

“Yeah, that was big for them.”

“I bet.”

“What about Apex?” Wright asked. “Where do we stand with them?”

“I spoke to the Strazzi estate people late last night. We’ve got a deal if we pay par.”

“How much is that again?”

“A billion.”

“And?”

“I told them we were in.” Technically, Gillette was supposed to have a vote of the managing partners to move forward on a deal, but he knew none of them would dare fight him on it with the sale of Laurel Energy looming. They wouldn’t want to be on his bad side as he was divvying up nine hundred million dollars.

“How are you going to fund it?”

Gillette thought for a second. “Five hundred out of Seven and five hundred out of Eight.” He was still going to do the entire Vegas NFL franchise out of Seven, no matter what Allison said, but maybe this would help. Apex could end up being a great deal, too. “That’ll leave a little over a billion left in Seven in case we need dry powder for the existing portfolio companies in Seven. You know, for add-on acquisitions or rainy day stuff.”

“So from now on, all new investments will come out of Eight?”

Another major decision made. “That’s right.”

“What about Russell Hughes?” Wright asked. “Want me to go over there today and fire his ass?”

Gillette chuckled. He loved Wright’s toughness, the way he was so damn direct. So efficient. So fearless. His father had always told him he was the same way. “Nah, let’s wait. We’re going to meet with him again Friday to go over a few things.”

“What time? I mean, I assume you want me to go.”

“Eleven. You know, we should do this every day now that we’re buying Apex and Hush-Hush,” Gillette suggested.

“Okay. Should I call you?”

“No, I’ll call you. It’ll be between seven and eight. Have your cell on if you aren’t in the office or at your apartment. If you haven’t heard from me by eight, then call me.”

“Right.”

“And great job on Hush-Hush again, David. Really. This is going to be another big win for us.”

“Thanks.”

Gillette hung up and glanced at Stiles.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, fine.” He pulled out his date book and went through a long list of calls he wanted to make while they were in the air. Thinking about how Wright was so much better than any of the other managing partners. “By the way, I got the lawyers started on your deal last night. Like I said, we should be done in thirty days.”

Stiles shook his head. “How do you keep it all straight, pal?”

WRIGHT HUNG UP
with Maddox. The Hush-Hush CEO had just agreed to sign an exclusive letter of intent after getting the news that Everest would up its offer by fifty million. All Wright had to do now was draft the letter and fax it over. Everything was beautiful, he thought, gazing at the scrawled telephone number on the crumpled piece of paper the guy calling himself “Paul” had pressed into his hand before—everything except this.

Wright dialed the number slowly, hoping Paul wouldn’t pick up.

“Yeah?” the voice said gruffly.

“It’s David, David Wright. You—”

“Well, hello there, Davy,” Paul interrupted, “good to hear from you. You’re making the right decision. So, what you got for me today? What’s your boss’s itinerary?”

Wright swallowed hard, wishing to God he’d never gone to that shop in the West Village. Wishing he could have controlled his urges. How many times had his wife warned him?

Christ. Peggy. If she ever found out about any of this . . .

He pushed all that from his mind. “Gillette’s going to be in Washington this morning,” Wright said in a low voice.

Christian, too, for God’s sake. The guy had been so good to him. Why had he risked it all?

“And?”

Wright said nothing.

“Davy?”

Wright thought about hanging up and never calling again. Then he thought about the dead girl dangling by her neck and the photos they had of it. He hadn’t heard a whisper on the news about a woman being found dead in the Village, and the shop was closed—he’d gone down and checked after Paul had shown up outside the apartment. Obviously, as Paul claimed, they’d taken care of the mess.

Suddenly it was clear to him. He had to play ball, because in the end it had to be about self-preservation. It was the only way. He’d fought too hard to get where he was.

“David.”

“Gillette’s landing at Reagan around nine-thirty for a meeting in D.C. that starts at ten. This afternoon he’s going to a town on Maryland’s Eastern Shore called Chatham. After that, it’s out to Pittsburgh. He may or may not stay the night. Either way, it’s back to New York. I think he’s in the city all day tomorrow.”

“What hotel in Pittsburgh is he staying at if he doesn’t go back to New York tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.”

Wright hesitated. “All right.”

“And find out what he’s doing tomorrow, just in case. You hear me?”

“Yes.”

“You say ‘Yes, sir’ to me, understand?”

Wright bit his tongue so hard that it almost bled. “Yes, sir.”

Paul chuckled harshly. “Good boy, Davy, good boy. Talk to you later.”

Wright hung up and put the cell phone back in his pocket slowly, wondering if Gillette would make it back to New York alive. Wondering what it meant for him if these people did anything to his boss.

THE ADDRESS
Ganze had given Gillette on the phone was in Alexandria, Virginia, ten miles west of Washington. Not downtown, as Gillette had expected. And Ganze still hadn’t given him the name of the company, consulting firm, or whatever it was he worked for or represented.

The place turned out to be nothing special. Just a plain suite on the fifth floor of a nondescript office building, a long walk down the corridor from the elevators. There was no receptionist, no logo, and no sign identifying what or who they were—just Ganze waiting outside the numbered door. Ganze wouldn’t allow Stiles into Boyd’s office for the meeting but did agree to let Stiles and another agent wait in the small reception area. There were three individual offices in the stark space, each sparsely furnished—Ganze had to lug a chair into Boyd’s office from another one so they could all sit down.

“Why all the cloak-and-dagger crap?” Gillette asked as he sat, noticing that the blinds on the window behind Boyd’s desk were down. “What is all this?”

“First, you need to sign something,” Boyd announced, handing Gillette a single sheet of paper with a signature line at the bottom. Gillette’s name was typed in bold capital letters beneath the line.

Gillette scanned the paper quickly, then handed it back to Boyd with a smile. It was a blind confidentiality agreement covering anything and everything discussed in the meeting—or at any time afterward with Boyd and Ganze. “No way I’m signing that.” The penalty for violating the agreement was incarceration in a federal penitentiary for up to thirty years. “No way in hell.”

“We have to know you’ll keep your mouth shut,” Boyd snapped. “You’re going to be privy to top-secret information, information even the brass at the CIA and the FBI don’t have.”

“Let’s assume for a moment I’d even consider signing something like that. Paragraph five says that the government has the right, in its sole discretion, to determine whether or not I’ve violated the agreement, and that I have no right to trial or due process.” He shook his head. “You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”

“That’s the only way it works,” Boyd said. “If you had the right to due process, you’d threaten to tell everybody what you knew in court, and we’d have to back down. It’s for your protection, too.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know it seems a little over-the-top,” Ganze spoke up gently, “but we’ve never had a problem. No one’s ever gone to jail because they signed one of these.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“Just consider it,” Ganze urged.

“You’ve got my word,” Gillette said, “and that’s all you’re going to get.”

“That’s not enough,” Boyd growled.

“Too bad.”

“Mr. Gillette,” Ganze said, “I really think—”

“Well, this was a huge waste of time,” Gillette interrupted, standing up.

“Sit down,” Boyd ordered.

Gillette turned to go.

“Don’t leave,” Ganze pleaded.

Gillette turned back around.

“Do we have your word?” Ganze asked.

“I just told you that.”

“Mr. Boyd needs to hear it once more,” Ganze said, gesturing at his superior.

Gillette glanced at Boyd.

Boyd nodded.

“Okay, you’ve got my word.”

“Prison isn’t our only option,” Boyd warned. “I assume you understand that.”

“Come on, Norman,” Ganze said. “We don’t have to—”

“I understand that,” Gillette said grimly, sitting down. They could always take that step whenever they wanted. But he wasn’t going to give them the ability to unilaterally stick him in Leavenworth for the rest of his life. That would be worse than death.

Boyd made an irritated face and shook his head wearily.

As though he were dead tired of taking on so much responsibility, Gillette thought. At least they had that in common.