“America’s Warehouse launches in a few weeks. After that it will be a non issue,” Tate returned.
“Doesn’t matter. The project needs to be terminated now.”
“That won’t be easy, given the board’s commitment to it,” Tate cautioned.
“I’m aware of that, but I can’t let it continue any longer. MacMillan scheduled Kresge amp; Company to present its recommendation for breaking up the company to the board next week, complete with a detailed implementation plan. Wilson Fielder already signed off on it. The managing director of the Chicago office is going to make the presentation. I found out about it just before I got on the plane to come here,” Quinn said before standing up and wrapping the towel he’d been sitting on around his waist. He paced back and forth for a few moments before he said, “I won’t let it happen, Wayland.”
“What did you have in mind?” Tate asked as he tried to hide his glee: their conversation was unfolding exactly as he’d hoped.
Just then, a large man opened the glass door to the steam room and stepped inside. Tall, blonde, and imposing, he looked German or Scandinavian. Unwilling to continue their conversation in another’s presence, Tate and Quinn took turns drenching themselves in cold water, waiting for the intruder to leave. During the quiet, Tate continued his assessment. David Quinn wanted what every other person on Forbes’ list wanted-power, glory, and dominion by controlling as much capital, land, and labor as possible for the endless benefit of themselves and their posterity. By virtue of his wealth, Quinn already had plenty of power, but keeping J. B. Musselman intact and under his control was his only chance for both continued dominion and lasting glory. Fortunately, the America’s Warehouse advertising campaign would give Quinn the status and a promise of the legacy he craved. Not permanently, but just long enough to allow Tate and his partners to pocket several billion.
When they were alone once again, Quinn picked up the thread of their conversation: “I want to use Wilson Fielder’s family problems to raise questions about his competence.”
“He’s on a leave of absence, isn’t he?” Tate asked, even though he already knew the answer. “Why not tell the board that Wilson’s sudden leave of absence raises serious questions about the project’s continuity. Then, all we have to do is postpone Kresge amp; Company’s presentation.”
“Too risky,” Quinn said, getting up again and wrapping his towel around his waist. “Kresge’s already trying to convince the board that Fielder’s absence is not a factor. We need to put his competence in question. But it can’t appear as if I’m pulling the strings.”
“How do you expect to place his competence in question?” Tate asked, egging him on.
“I’ll need your help,” Quinn replied without prevarication, “Yours and Kamin’s.”
Perfect, Tate thought, he’s exactly where I want him to be. He leaned over his knees, remaining silent for several moments. Then he looked up at Quinn. “What do you want me to do?”
“If you were to raise certain questions about the Fielder family, suggesting that Charles may have suffered a mental breakdown and that the entire family had been in turmoil for some time, it would raise doubts about Wilson’s judgment on the Musselman project.”
“How would that play when I was the one who recommended his father’s firm instead of Kresge amp; Company in the first place?” Tate said, pretending to be reluctant.
“You simply tell them that you had no idea about Charles’ condition until you received certain information from one of his closest associates. Here’s where you’ll need to take some creative license. You could say that a confidential source told you that Charles Fielder has had mental stability issues for years. In recent months, his son Wilson had become increasingly troubled, even obsessed, over his father’s condition, displaying evidence of the same mental instability. It runs in the family. Bringing down the CEO of a large corporation and then dismantling his company are merely manifestations of Wilson’s self-destructive behavior and a deep-seated rebelliousness toward authority. He’s seeing a psychologist, which is true, by the way. His girlfriend is a psychologist. He’d become suicidal himself. His judgment on the Kresge project has to be questioned. Turn up the heat on Wilson Fielder,” Quinn said as he sat down again.
Tate sat in quiet admiration, his back pressed against the tiles. Very impressive, he thought to himself. Quinn had definitely done his homework on Wilson Fielder. Heart-felt motivation was such a beautiful thing. He was more than happy to let Quinn do the talking.
“Jules Kamin could add to the concerns about Wilson Fielder’s competence,” Quinn said. “If he could show how a breakup of Musselman will decrease rather than increase shareholder value, over the next five years, it would cast even more doubt on the project.”
Tate stood up and walked over to the ice-cold drench one more time, putting Quinn on a different kind of ice. As he stood there, his thoughts turned to Vargas. She had accurately assessed Quinn’s core obsession and now he’d confirmed it. There were no more lingering doubts about his ability to manipulate David Quinn. Tate walked back to the tile bench and sat down. It was time to see just how far Quinn would go.
“We may have to create some additional evidence to support our claims of incompetence,” Tate said.
“As far as I’m concerned, Wilson Fielder mismanaged this project from the beginning. Whatever we have to do to convince the board of his incompetence is fine with me.”
“What if Wilson comes back to defend himself?”
“Then, we’ll play hardball.”
“What are you thinking?” Tate asked, making Quinn specify exactly what he was willing to do.
“We’ll sue Kresge amp; Company for gross mismanagement of the project and demand damages of ten times their two million dollars in fees,” Quinn said with anger.
Tate pushed further, “What if Wilson decides to play hardball?”
“Then, maybe his family will have to suffer again,” Quinn said, standing up once more and turning around to face Tate. “Nothing physical you understand, just some ugly gossip. A few damaging rumors with enough manufactured evidence to make the family seem out of control.”
Tate raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “You’d actually go that far?”
“It’s not something I’d enjoy doing. But if I had to, I would. This arrogant little prick tried to destroy me and everything I built at Musselman,” Quinn said, his eyes like beacons. “The gloves came off after Fielder told MacMillan that I should step down. The brass knuckles went on when he recommended the company’s breakup.”
The room turned dead silent except for the sound of hissing steam.
Tate couldn’t help chuckling to himself. The dual threat of being ousted by the board and having his company broken into pieces was enough to make Quinn vulnerable to a melody of manipulations. Maybe David Quinn wasn’t yet ready to cheat on his wife or trade on insider information, but he was willing to defame Wilson Fielder in order to keep Kresge amp; Company from forcing a breakup of Musselman. It was time to set the hook.
“Okay, David. We’ll take care of it,” Tate finally said. “I’ll track down MacMillan and express my concerns about Wilson Fielder. You can count on Kamin and me replacing Kresge amp; Company at next week’s board meeting. One way or another, we’ll make it happen.”
“Thank you, Wayland. You’ve just taken a big load off my mind,” Quinn said.
“Oh, we’ll do more than that, David. Just wait until the launch of America’s Warehouse. By the way, Kamin is anxious to meet with you about Musselman’s next stock offering. He arrives tomorrow morning. Let’s plan on having a private dinner tomorrow night.”
“Marvelous,” Quinn said. His reason for coming to St. Moritz was well on its way to being realized. All he had to do now was let Wayland Tate perform his magic.
“Have you set your schedule for tonight and tomorrow?” Tate asked.