The nervous conversation between Armstrong and his attorney stopped and started, as the car passed the General Motors building. Armstrong took a large powder puff out of his pocket and dabbed his forehead. Russell continued to stare out of the window.
‘So what can go wrong?’ asked Armstrong, for the tenth time.
‘Nothing,’ repeated Russell, tapping the leather briefcase on his knees. ‘I have shares and pledges totaling 51 percent of the stock, and we know Townsend has only 46 percent. Just relax.’
More cameramen, photographers and journalists were waiting on the steps of the Plaza as the limousine drew up. Russell glanced across at his client who, despite his protests to the contrary, seemed to be enjoying every moment of the attention. As Armstrong stepped out of the car, the manager of the Plaza took a pace forward to greet him as if he were a visiting head of State. He guided the two men into the hotel, across the lobby and on toward the Lincoln Room. Armstrong failed to notice Keith Townsend and the senior partner of another distinguished law firm step out of the elevator as he and his party swept by.
Townsend had arrived at the Plaza an hour earlier. Unnoticed by the manager, he had checked out the room where the meeting would be held, and then made his way to the State Suite, where Tom had assembled a team of out-of-work actors. He briefed them on the role they would be expected to play, and why it was necessary for them to sign so many transfer forms. Forty minutes later he returned to the lobby.
Townsend and Tom Spencer walked slowly toward the Lincoln Room in Armstrong’s wake. They could easily have been mistaken for two of his minor acolytes.
‘What if she doesn’t turn up?’ asked Townsend.
‘Then a lot of people will have wasted a great deal of time and money,’ said Tom as they entered the Lincoln Room.
Townsend was surprised to find how crowded the room was; he had imagined that the five hundred chairs he had watched the staff putting out earlier that morning would prove far more than were needed. He was wrong — there were already people standing at the back. About a third of the way down the room, a red rope prevented anyone other than stockholders from taking a place in the twenty rows nearest the stage. The press, employees of the paper and the simply curious were packed into the back of the room.
Townsend and his lawyer walked slowly down the center aisle, the occasional flashbulb popping, until they came to the red rope, where both were asked to produce proof that they were stockholders of the company. An efficient woman ran her finger down a long list of names that covered several pages. She made two little ticks, gave them a smile, and unhooked the rope.
The first thing Townsend noticed was the amount of media attention being focused on Armstrong and his entourage, who seemed to be occupying most of the front two rows. It was Tom who spotted them first. He touched Townsend on the elbow. ‘Far left-hand side, about the tenth row.’ Townsend looked to his left, and let out an audible sigh when his eyes settled on Lloyd Summers and his deputy, who were seated next to each other.
Tom guided Townsend to the other side of the room, and they took two vacant seats halfway back. As Townsend looked nervously around, Tom nodded in the direction of another man walking down the center aisle. Andrew Fraser, the senior partner of Tom’s law practice, slipped into an empty seat a couple of rows behind Armstrong.
Townsend turned his attention toward the stage, where he recognized some of the Star directors he had met during the past six weeks, milling around behind a long table covered in a green baize cloth which had printed on it in bold red letters the legend ‘The New York Star.’ Armstrong had promised several of them they would remain on the board if he became chairman. None of them believed him.
The clock on the wall behind them indicated that it was five to twelve. Townsend glanced over his shoulder, and noticed that the room was becoming so crowded that it would soon be difficult for anyone else to find a place. He whispered to Tom, who also looked back, frowned and said, ‘If it’s still a problem when they start coming in, I’ll deal with it personally.’
Townsend turned back to the stage and watched the members of the board beginning to take their places behind the long table. The last person to occupy his seat was the chairman, Cornelius J. Adams IV, as a smartly printed card placed in front of him reminded the less well-informed. The moment he took his place, the cameras switched their attention from the front row of the audience to the stage. The buzz that had been filling the hall became distinctly subdued. As the clock behind him struck twelve, the chairman banged his gavel several times, until he had gained everyone’s attention.
‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘My name is Cornelius Adams, and I am chairman of the board of the New York Star.’ He paused. ‘Well, at least for a few more minutes.’ He looked in Armstrong’s direction. A little laughter broke out for what Townsend suspected had been a well-rehearsed line. ‘This,’ he declared, ‘is the annual general meeting of the greatest newspaper in America.’ This statement was greeted with enthusiastic applause by large sections seated at the front of the hall, and with silent indifference by most of those behind the red rope.
‘Our main purpose today,’ he continued, ‘is to appoint a new chairman, the man who will have the responsibility of leading the Star into the next century. As I am sure you all know, a takeover bid for the paper was launched earlier in the year by Mr. Richard Armstrong of Armstrong Communications, and a counterbid was made on the same day by Mr. Keith Townsend of Global Corp. My first task this afternoon is to guide you through the procedure which will ensure that a transfer of power takes place smoothly.
‘I am able to confirm that both parties concerned have presented to me, through their distinguished counsel, proof of their entitlement or control over the company’s stock. Our auditors have double-checked all these claims and found them to be in order. They show,’ he said, referring to a clipboard that he picked up from the table, ‘that Mr. Richard Armstrong is in possession of 51 percent of the company’s stock, while Mr. Keith Townsend has control over 46 percent. Three percent of stockholders have not made their preference known.
‘As the majority shareholder, Mr. Armstrong is ipso facto in control, so there is nothing left for me to do other than hand over the chair to his stewardship — unless, as the marriage service states, anyone can show just cause or impediment for me not so to do.’ He beamed at the audience like a priest standing in front of the bride and groom, and remained silent for a moment.
A woman immediately jumped up in the third row. ‘Both of the men who have been bidding to take over the Star are foreigners,’ she said. ‘What recourse do I have if I don’t want either of them as chairman?’
It was a question that the company secretary had anticipated, and for which Adams had an answer prepared. ‘None, madam,’ came back the chairman’s immediate reply. ‘Otherwise any group of stockholders would be in a position to remove American directors from British and Australian companies throughout the world.’ The chairman was satisfied that he had dealt with the woman politely and effectively.
The questioner obviously did not agree. She turned her back on the stage and stalked out of the room, followed by a CNN camera and one photographer.