The factoring companies had taken over American business gradually, over the past decade and a half. The process was all but complete, now. You began by lending money to companies against accounts receivable, you branched out by financing expansion campaigns; then came a panic, and you found yourself owning a company, and to keep yourself from bankruptcy you had to operate the company for your own account. It had all been much more complex than that, of course. But now, in the late summer of 1990, Global Factors, Inc., was the largest and most powerful of the twelve finance firms that had come to control American industry.
They were holding companies, really. They owned controlling interests in everything. There were still some independents, of course; General Motors had not gone under, nor Dupont, nor IBM. But even those corporate giants maintained friendly relations with the factors-because they were smart. In Denver, Regan presided over a sprawling empire with outposts on every continent-including a base in Antarctica. Did a nation need a loan for industrial development? See the man from Global. Did a commuter want to finance a home improvement? See the man from Global.
The system worked. It worked to the tune of an annual business up in the forty-million-dollar class. Claude Regan had bought his first hundred shares of Global stock at 11; now, after splits and stock dividends, those shares were worth thousands apiece. He was not the only one to have grown wealthy out of the new corporate dispensation.
But he had more than mere wealth. He had power.
He was the man at the top.
Now, on his return from China, the division heads came to make their reports. They were men in their fifties and sixties, mostly, every last one of them a multimillionaire. Their days were numbered with the company. Regan had taken over too recently to dare to get rid of them yet; it was less than twelve months since the proxy fight had pushed Uncle Bruce upstairs. He had already moved his own men into secondary out.
Positions in each of the company’s great divisions, and, one by one, he soon would pick off these oldsters and get them. They had no love for him. But they kept their resentments well hidden.
From the head of the table, Regan surveyed the tight-lipped faces. He glanced at the man to his right.
‘Donnelly?“
‘Semiconductor division up twelve percent, Factor Regan. The monthly gross is now over three hundred million, including overseas income. We-“
Regan shot past him. “Lee?”
‘We’ve opened our sixteenth power reactor this year, Factor Regan. Total electrical production in kilowatt hours-“
Down the line. Chemicals, drugs, transportation, realty, all the subsidiaries, even the original factoring firm at the bottom of it all. Regan listened, absorbed statistics, rattled off suggestions, hints, and orders.
The last man to report was Regan’s only appointee to high company office-Tim Field, president of Global Factors International, the new subsidiary in charge of coordinating overseas activity. Field was thirty-two and had come up with Regan all the way. Like Regan, he was a small man physically, but slower of speech, less high-strung.
He said, “This month’s overseas activities have been highly favorable. I’ve just returned from Brazil, Factor, and it looks as though they’ll let us build an automobile plant there after all.‘”
‘With expropriation guarantees?“ Regan demanded.
‘We’re still working on that, Factor.“
‘What about Nigeria?“
‘Henderson is representing us at the dam dedication. He’ll be seeing the Prime Minister today and I’ll be in touch.“
Regan nodded. It was vital to the company’s future to get footholds in the new industrial nations. Global was already well ensconced in Europe and the Near East-but in the coming century, Nigeria, Brazil, and China would have the big money. Since China was Leninist, extending the company’s power there posed certain problems. But Nigeria and Brazil certainly would have to be welded into Global’s empire before the twenty-first century dawned, Regan knew.
When Field had finished his report, Regan said, “You’ve all heard about this World’s Fair assignment of mine. I expect that it’ll take up a large share of my time over the next two years. Effective today, Tim Field will represent me at these meetings and will take over many of my functions in the corporation.” Regan glanced at Field, who looked a little dazed. “Tim, I want you to work out something with your next-in-command so that some of your responsibilities will be shared. And so on down the line.”
Someone discreetly cleared his throat. It was old Rex Bennett, a shrewd and venerable banker who guided Global’s fiscal policies. He was a holdover from the regime of Regan’s uncle, too important to be dismissed just yet.
‘Bennett?“
‘I was just wondering, Factor. Do you think this new assignment of yours is in the best interests of the firm?“
‘It’s in the best interests of the United States, Bennett.“
‘Yes, sir, but those two interests don’t always coincide.“
Regan glowered at him. “I’ve had a direct Presidential request to do this job, Bennett. The President and I feel it’s something that needs to be done, and that I’m best suited for it.” He paused, then added, “Incidentally, I have some plans for using the Fair to our own benefit. The welfare of Global Factors, Inc., is always uppermost in my mind, Bennett.”
‘Of course, sir. But-“
‘The subject is closed, Bennett. Are there any other questions?“
By midday, Claude Regan was on his way east again, to attend a meeting of the Executive Committee of the Fair, in Washington. En route, he ran through a briefing tape on the Fair. It was not a subject he had paid much attention to before yesterday. The 1992 Fair had been in the talking stage for four or five years, but Regan had had other matters on his mind during those years.
During the hour-long flight, he ran through the newsclips. They seemed strangely incomplete. Where, for instance, was the Fair going to be held? A clipping dated June, 1990-only two months back-still talked of “possible sites.” And what about financing? Had they floated a bond issue, or was Congress appropriating money, or what?
Regan was disturbed by the omissions in the file.
He grew a great deal more disturbed at the meeting itself. There were twelve men around the shining table-the President, Regan, and ten members of the World’s Fair Executive Committee. Originally there had been fifteen on the committee, but it seemed that five had resigned during last week’s crisis and unalterably refused to have anything to do with the project furthermore. The other ten had resigned too, but were willing to meet with the new chairman, at least.
It was the second time in six hours that Regan had attended a meeting. The same sort of faces confronted him now; the faces of middle-aged men, pink and well-scrubbed, men who had been holding the reins of power for twenty or thirty years and whose contempt for the upstart in their midst was equalled only by their fear of him.
There were three bankers in the group, and a high member of the United Nations Secretariat, and an under-secretary of State, and a governor of the New York Stock Exchange. There was a well-known philanthropist, and a retired Senator from West Virginia, and several other prominent figures of the moneyed, influential world. It was a select group.
Regan faced them and said, “Gentlemen, will someone-tell me where this Fair is going to be held?”