“What do we stand to lose?” asked the Japanese head of a vast electronics empire.
“Thirteen billion Swiss francs for starters.”
“Good God!” The French leader of one of the world’s largest women’s fashion houses rapped his fist on the table. “This Australian Neanderthal has the power to do such a thing?”
The chairman nodded. “From all accounts, he has the inventory to back him.”
“Dorsett should never have been allowed to operate outside the cartel,” said the American former secretary of state.
“The damage is done,” agreed the diamond cartel member. “The world of gems as we know it may never quite be the same again.”
“Is there no way we can cut him off before his stones are distributed to his stores?” asked the Japanese businessman.
“I sent an emissary to make him a generous offer to buy his stock in order to keep it out of circulation.”
“Have you heard back?”
“Not yet.”
“Who did you send?” inquired the chairman.
“Gabe Strouser of Strouser & Sons, a respected international diamond merchant.”
“A good man and a hard bargainer,” said the Belgian from Antwerp. “We’ve had many dealings together. If anyone can bung Dorsett to heel, it’s Gabe Strouser.”
An Italian who owned a fleet of container ships shrugged unemotionally. “As I recall, diamond sales dropped drastically in the early eighties. America and Japan suffered severe recessions and demand dropped, kindling a glut in supply. When the economy turned around in the nineties, prices shot up again. Is it not possible for history to repeat itself?”
“I understand your point,” acknowledged the chairman, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “But this time a chill wind is blowing, and anyone who depends on diamonds for a living will be frozen out. We’ve discovered that Dorsett has budgeted over $100 million in advertising and promotion in all the major diamond buying countries. If, as we have come to believe he will, he sells for pennies on the dollar, high diamond values will be a thing of the past, because the public is about to be brainwashed into thinking they are worth little more than glass.”
The Frenchman sighed heavily. “I know my models would certainly look at other luxurious baubles as an eternal investment. If not diamond jewelry, I would have to buy them expensive sports cars.”
“What is behind Dorsett’s odd strategy?” asked the CEO of a major Southeast Asian airline. “Surely, the man isn’t stupid.”
“Stupid like a hyena waiting for a lion to fall asleep after eating only half its kill,” replied the German chairman. “My paid agents throughout the world banking network have learned that Dorsett has bought up seventy, perhaps as high as eighty percent of the major colored gemstone producing mines.”
There was a collective murmur of awareness as the latest information sank in. Every man at the table immediately recognized and assimilated Arthur Dorsett’s grand plan.
“Diabolically simple,” muttered the Japanese electronics magnate. “He pulls the rug from under diamonds before driving the price of rubies and emeralds through the roof.”
A Russian entrepreneur, who ran up a vast fortune by buying shutdown aluminum and copper mines in Siberia for next to nothing and then reopening them using Western technology, looked doubtful. “It sounds to me like— what is that saying in the West?— Dorsett is robbing Peter to pay Paul. Does he really expect to make enough on colored gemstones to make up for his losses on diamonds?”
The chairman nodded to the Japanese, who replied, “At the request of our chairman, I asked my financial analysts to run the figures through our data systems, Astounding as it seems, Arthur Dorsett, the House d Dorsett chain of retail stores and Dorsett Consolidated Mining Limited stand to make a minimum of $20 billion American Perhaps as high as $24 billion, depending on a predicted rising economy.”
“Good Lord,” exclaimed a British subject who owned a publishing empire. “I can’t begin to imagine what I would do with a profit of $24 billion.”
The German laughed. “I would use it to buy out your holdings.”
“You could send me packing to my Devonshire farm for a fraction of that amount.”
The United States member spoke up. A former secretary of state and the acknowledged head of one of America’s wealthiest families, he was the founding father of the Foundation. “Do we have any idea where Dorsett’s diamond inventory is at the present time?”
“With his deadline only a few days away,” answered the South African, “I should guess that the stones not being currently cut are in transit to his stores.”
The chairman looked from the Italian shipping-fleet baron to the Asian airline magnate. “Either of you gentlemen have any knowledge of Dorsett’s shipping procedures?”
“I seriously doubt he would transport his diamonds by sea,” said the Italian. “Once a ship docked in port, he’d still have to arrange transport inland.”
“If I were Dorsett, I’d ship my stones by air,” agreed the Asian. “That way he could distribute immediately in almost any city in the world.”
“We might stop one or two of his planes,” said the Belgian industrialist, “but without knowing flight schedules, it would be impossible to close off the shipments entirely.”
The Asian shook his head negatively. “I think intercepting even one flight is optimistic. Dorsett has probably chartered a fleet of aircraft in Australia. I fear we’re closing the gate after the cows have escaped.”
The chairman turned to the South African representing the diamond cartel. “It appears the great masquerade is over. The artificially created value of diamonds is not forever after all.”
Rather than display any feelings of disillusionment, the South African actually smiled. “We’ve been counted out before. My board of directors and I consider this a minor setback, nothing more. Diamonds really are forever, gentlemen. Mark my words, the price on quality stones will rise again when the luster of sapphires, emeralds and rubies wears off. The cartel will fulfill its obligations to the Foundation through our other mineral interests. We’ll not sit on our thumbs patiently waiting for the market to return.”
The chairman’s private secretary entered the room and spoke to him softly. He nodded and looked at the South African. “I’m told a reply from your emissary to negotiate with Arthur Dorsett has arrived in the form of a package.”
“Odd that Strouser didn’t contact me directly.”
“I’ve asked that the package be sent in,” said the chairman. “I think we’re all anxious to see if Mr. Strouser was successful in his negotiations with Arthur Dorsett.”
A few moments later the secretary returned, holding in both hands a square box tied with a red-and-green ribbon. The chairman gestured toward the South African. The secretary stepped over and set the box on the table in front of him. A card was attached to the ribbon. He opened the envelope and read it aloud:
The South African paused and stared at the box gravely. “That does not sound like Gabe Strouser. He is not a man noted for his levity.”
“I can’t say he’s good at writing limericks, either,” commented the French fashion designer.
“Go ahead, open the box,” pressed the Indian.
The ribbon was untied, the lid lifted and then the South African peered inside. His face blanched and he jumped to his feet so abruptly his chair crashed over backward, He ran, stumbling, over to a window, threw it open and retched.