“Yes, he said it was a steal.”
“Does he also represent Rex Champion?”
“I don’t know-possibly.”
“He sounds like trouble to me.”
Arrington was silent for a moment. “Why does Woodman amp; Weld think Rex will sell for thirty-five million?”
“Because he’s nearly bankrupt, and he’s selling off his breeding stock for the cash to keep going.”
“He assured me that both he and the business were doing well.”
“Then he’s desperate, and that has made him a liar.”
“I don’t relish looking him in the eye and offering him fifteen million less than he’s asking, and I don’t like putting his back against the wall.”
“You shouldn’t do that, you should let me or Bill Eggers do it, and, as Bill has suggested, if you want to be generous with him, you can offer him thirty-eight million.”
Arrington thought about it for a moment. “Offer him thirty-six million,” she said.
“Is that a firm price, or are you going to wiggle?”
“I’ll go to thirty-seven million, if I have to.”
“I think you should make him a take-it-or-leave-it offer, and walk away if he doesn’t accept.”
“All right, offer him thirty-seven million. If he accepts it, I’ll hire Woodman amp; Weld, provided you supervise their work.”
“Consider it done. In the meantime, don’t fire Howard Sharp, and don’t say anything to him that might make him think that you’re not going to sell Terrence Prince your shares.”
“All right, but I haven’t changed my mind about selling Prince my shares. I still need the money to pay Rex for the farms.”
“Here’s my first piece of advice as your new attorney: don’t sell a billion-dollar investment in order to raise thirty-seven million.”
“Well, all right, but where am I going to get the money?”
“Do you have a financial statement?”
“Yes, current as of a couple of weeks ago. Howard Sharp helped me get it together.”
“Fax it to me here, and give me your permission to share it with Woodman amp; Weld. We’ll find a way for you to have your cake and eat it, too.”
“I like the sound of that,” she said.
“And remember, not a word to Sharp about anything. Make him think nothing has changed. If he presses you for an answer on selling your Centurion shares, tell him you’re working on organizing things.”
“Why do you think Howard Sharp is in Prince’s pocket?”
“Because he’s the only one who could betray you, and Prince has apparently bought him. Sharp has probably given him your financial statement.”
“The son of a bitch,” she said with some heat.
“Keep cool, and don’t let on anything.”
“I’ll fax you the financial statement first thing in the morning; I’m on the way out to a dinner party now.”
“That’s fine,” Stone said. He hung up the phone.
“You didn’t tell her that the last person to refuse to sell her Centurion shares to Prince was murdered,” Dino pointed out.
“I didn’t want to panic her,” Stone said, “and she’s in no danger as long as Prince thinks she will sell.”
“I hope you’re right about that,” Dino said.
11
Stone found Carolyn Blaine’s house easily enough, on Camden Drive, off Sunset. From its generous size he reckoned that either she had family money or she had had a good divorce. No ordinary executive assistant could pay the property taxes out of her salary, he thought.
Carolyn didn’t ask him in; she came to the door with her purse and a shawl in her hand. “Let’s have our first drink at the restaurant,” she said.
Stone installed her in the Mercedes. “Where to?”
“Is Spago Beverly Hills all right?”
“One of my favorites,” Stone said.
“I managed to get a table in the garden,” she said.
Ten minutes later they were being seated among L.A.’s filmland glitterati, including a pair of movie stars and several faces familiar from television. Carolyn ordered a martini and Stone stuck with his usual Knob Creek.
“What’s Knob Creek?” Carolyn asked.
“My favorite bourbon.”
“The brown stuff?”
“American corn whiskey, this one aged for nine years. It’s the patriotic thing to drink, instead of all that foreign swill. Abraham Lincoln lived in a log cabin on Knob Creek, in Kentucky.”
Their drinks arrived, and she tasted his bourbon. “Not bad,” she said. “I like it better than scotch.”
“Smart woman,” Stone said. They clinked glasses and drank.
“So, was our having dinner Terrence Prince’s idea?” he asked.
“It was entirely mine,” she replied. “He doesn’t know about it.” She looked around. “Of course, he knows a lot of the people here, so it won’t be a secret for long.”
“I don’t care if he knows,” Stone said. “It won’t affect the business we have to do.”
“Why not?”
“Aha, that’s what Mr. Prince would ask.”
“I’m curious about this transaction, but purely on a personal basis,” she said.
“Prince wants to buy most of the land owned by Centurion Studios, so that he can build a hotel and some office buildings and condos.”
“Funny,” she said, “I haven’t seen the plans for that.”
“How about a model?”
She shook her head. “Terry only uses models when he has to educate investors. How much is he offering?”
“That’s not final, yet; somewhere between two and three billion dollars.”
“He can do that with a combination of personal and hedge fund money. He’ll finance a big chunk, too. He has excellent banking connections.”
“Good for him.”
“Is your client going to sell?”
“That is undetermined,” Stone replied.
“And if you knew, you wouldn’t tell me.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” he replied. “Client confidentiality. Of course, Prince has already pierced that veil.”
“You let him do that?”
“Nothing to do with me; he’s bought my client’s local attorney, in Virginia.” Stone didn’t mind if Prince knew he knew.
“Did you tell me that because you think I’ll tell Terry you know?”
“I don’t mind if you do.”
“All right, I’ll tell him, but I wouldn’t have, if you’d wanted the confidence kept.”
“That’s nice to know,” Stone said, not believing her.
“What is your background?” she asked.
“Born and bred in Greenwich Village, attended the public schools and NYU-both for college and law school. Spent fourteen years on the NYPD; then I ran into an old law school buddy who runs Woodman amp; Weld, and he offered me a deal.”
“Where do you live in New York?”
“In a town house in Turtle Bay; you know it?”
“Yes, I’m a New Yorker, too.”
“Your turn,” he said.
“Born and bred on Fifth Avenue, Miss Porter’s School, Mount Holyoke, an MBA from Wharton. Married once, for ten years, divorced last year.”
“You got the house?”
“This is California; ever hear of community property? He had done well, with my help, so I got more than the house.”
“How did Prince find you?”
“Friends introduced us at a restaurant, I had a brief fling with him, and when it was over he offered me the job.”
“And, with your background, you don’t mind serving iced tea?”
“That’s not all I do,” she said. “He values my business sense, and I contribute something to almost every deal.”
“Sounds like you didn’t know about the Centurion thing.”
She shot him a glance. “That’s right, I didn’t, until I heard a snatch of conversation at your meeting this afternoon.”
“Why do you suppose he didn’t tell you about it?”
“That’s a very good question and one I’m going to make it my business to learn the answer to.”
“I somehow have the impression that you don’t like your boss.”
“I like him well enough.”
“But you don’t trust him.”
“Not implicitly. I don’t think he’s ever lied to me, but sometimes he doesn’t tell me things, and I have to figure them out for myself.”