Geneva Connection, The (5 page)

By now, he had many enemies. He employed an army of paramilitary enforcers for his personal protection, and even had staff on the payroll to taste his food in case it was poisoned. He rarely shook hands with, or came physically close to, strangers for fear of attack.

When the convoy pulled up outside the summer home, Jivaro waited with his young son inside the armored Mercedes S class. His guards climbed out of the other vehicles, and only when they indicated that the area was completely secure did he leave the car. He gripped his son’s hand until they were safely inside the house.

He was there to meet a close friend, Salvador Garcia, a Colombian producer of cocaine. Like Jivaro, Garcia had foreseen the decline of the Colombian cartels and forged an early relationship with the Caruana organization. This had paid off handsomely; Garcia was now, by far, Colombia’s largest grower and exporter of cocaine. He had only one customer, Jivaro, who for many years had taken his entire production. As a rule, Jivaro did not invite business contacts to Mazatlan, but he’d known Garcia for many years and their families had grown close. He was regarded as a good friend, a man who could be trusted.

Garcia was already at the house when Jivaro arrived. They greeted each other like brothers and briefly shared stories about their families.

Jivaro snapped his fingers, and the surrounding entourage left the room, moving outside onto the terrace overlooking the ocean. An armed guard remained standing in the corner.

“Jose, come join us,” said Jivaro as he beckoned his eight-year-old son to sit next to him on the leather sofa.

“He’s grown so quickly,” said Garcia, looking at the young boy from his armchair. “I remember him as a baby not that long ago. You must be very proud of him.”

“Yes, I like to involve him more now he’s growing up.” Jivaro smiled at his son then turned to Garcia. “Would you like another drink before we discuss business?”

“I’m okay.” Garcia held up his large brandy.

Jivaro settled into the sofa, crossing his legs. “Tell me, how’s the crop this year, Salvador?”

“Much the same as last year, perhaps a little poorer. We’ve suffered some pest damage at two locations, and this is bound to affect yields. I’m hoping this won’t prevent us from meeting your demand.”

“Pest damage?”

“Yes. You will understand this will impact prices next year.”

Jivaro frowned.

“I’ll do my best to contain the increase, of course,” said Garcia before his host could say anything.

Jivaro stared out of the window for a while then shrugged his shoulders. “Actually, I’m relaxed about prices going up next year.”

“That’s a first.” Garcia smiled.

“It won’t affect my operation.”

“I don’t follow.” Garcia’s smile began to melt.

“I’ve decided not to buy your product next year.”

Garcia said nothing for a few seconds as he processed the news. “Felix, you can’t mean that, surely? You know all of my production goes to supplying your organization.”

“It’s already decided.”

“Have I offended you?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve been a good supplier.”

“Then what is it? We’ve done business with each other for many years.”

“I’ve no longer any need to purchase your crop.”

“You’re not getting out of the business?”

“No, far from it.” Jivaro laughed. “And when I do, Jose here will take over from me.” He rubbed his son’s head.

“If it’s a problem with the quality, I can fix this. I only mentioned the pest damage because—”

“The quality is acceptable.”

“Have you found another supplier? I’ll beat any price. Nobody beats me on price.”

“There’s no alternative supplier.”

“Then I don’t understand?” The stress showed on Garcia’s face.

“Papa?” said the young boy at Garcia’s obvious distress.

“Jose!” Jivaro placed his index finger to his lips, and the boy looked down.

Jivaro walked over to a cabinet and retrieved an envelope. “I intend to buy your plantations.” He smiled at Garcia as though he was the bearer of great news.

“But my business is not for sale. What made you think it was, my friend?”

“It is now.” He handed the envelope to Garcia. “Here’s the number my brother has calculated I should pay you. More than fair, you will find.”

Garcia opened it, his fingers trembling. “But this is less than half…”

“Think about it, Salvador. All of your hard work will now become part of an expanding, successful organization. You should be proud of your achievement.” He knew he was stealing the plantations from Garcia, but he also understood that without the demand from the Caruana cartel, Garcia would have no business.

Having wiped out most of the competing cartels in Mexico, Jivaro was expanding vertically into production. He was intent upon capturing the grower’s margin and, in order to acquire this at the right price, a little lost friendship wasn’t going to stop him. He now controlled the largest cocaine grower in the world.

“Come, Salvador, let’s join the others outside for a celebratory drink.”

Jivaro grabbed hold of his son’s hand and led him out to the terrace. Garcia followed. He was not about to put up a fight. He’d seen many Caruana suppliers wiped out so the cartel could take over their operations. He was one of the lucky ones. At least, he’d been paid for his business and was still alive.

Chapter 6

A
T
S
EVEN
P.M
. the traffic leaving Cambridge was heavy, and most of the cars seemed to be heading toward the access ramp for the A14 West. It was pouring with rain, three lanes were merging into two, and the roadworks ahead were causing bumper-to-bumper chaos. Kent was cocooned in his BMW, listening to Classic FM and running through the new deals in the firm’s pipeline. One, in particular, was dominating his thoughts: Henderson Wright.

Kirkland had found the opportunity a few days back, and they’d already signed it in exclusivity. They now had a clear run at it. Kirkland had been ecstatic when she first described the deal to him. “This recession is throwing up some great opportunities for us, and Henderson Wright is the best deal I’ve seen. There’s no way we could buy control of one of the Big Four global accounting firms in normal times. We stand to make a shed-load of money on this deal.”

If Kirkland was so excited by the transaction, it was bound to be a good one. She’d been with the firm just two years. After graduating from the London School of Economics, she took an MBA from Harvard, coming first in her class. Kent hired her from Gain, the leading global firm of strategy consultants. It was a major coup for CBC; she had offers from all the other major private equity firms, but chose Kent’s firm.

Kent was salivating over the prospect of buying the business on the cheap then, while it was a private company, taking a scalpel to the cost base, selling off surplus assets and increasing its efficiency and bottom-line profits. Like a lot of the major accounting firms, it had become bloated with unnecessary overheads and stifling bureaucracy. If CBC bought the firm, it would be held for a number of years until the return of better economic times, when it would be floated on the stock market for a lot more money than the original acquisition cost. Any cash generated during CBC’s period of ownership would be used to reduce the bank debt taken on to finance the deal and to pay dividends to Kent’s fund. It was a well-trodden path to making money.

The traffic came to a standstill at roadworks, and Kent leaned across to the passenger seat, retrieved Kirkland’s deal note from his briefcase, and started reading it. Henderson Wright had started as a small London-based accounting firm called Hendersons in 1910. It grew steadily until 1997, after which its growth rocketed when the now senior partner, Doug Wright, took the helm, shortly after his own firm merged with Hendersons. He renamed the group to include his name. Wright was an aggressive Scot who wasn’t cut out to be an accountant. He was a buccaneering deal-doer with a shrewd sense for a sweet transaction. Shortly after taking over as senior partner, he acquired a number of consulting businesses and other accounting firms worldwide, often by merging with them or paying in cash. However, since becoming a publicly listed professional services firm three years ago, Henderson Wright plc. had borrowed to make recent acquisitions. Its latest acquisition, the largest accounting firm in Germany, was tanking, and it was starting to bleed the rest of the group dry.

Just after it was acquired, the new German subsidiary suffered from the departure of many of its best partners who set up in competition, taking a large number of key clients with them. Wright had not protected the German firm with strong enough non-compete agreements, a basic business mistake that was now threatening to bring the whole firm to its knees.

Henderson Wright was already in breach of its banking covenants. A fundraising exercise for new capital on the stock market was a non-starter in the middle of a recession. A global accounting firm was about to fold, something which would have massive economic repercussions. The firm was auditor to a third of the world’s largest one hundred public companies. If it failed, there was not enough capacity to spread this work across the remaining Big Four accounting firms. It would cause a systemic loss of confidence in the markets.

“Wanker!” shouted a driver through his open window as he pulled around the BMW. Kent had been immersed in the file note and had missed the traffic moving again. He was causing mayhem. He raised his middle finger at the irate driver then slipped the gearshift into drive.
Prat
.

As the road cleared, his thoughts returned to the deal. “We can name our terms on this one,” Kirkland had said. “With the lead bank withdrawing a substantial part of its facilities in three weeks, Henderson Wright will go over the cliff without new capital. We stand to make a money multiple of ten to fifteen times our original investment. The deal’s agreed in principle with the bank, and I’ve negotiated with Doug Wright that CBC will have an eighty per cent stake in his firm in return. He’ll sign anything to avoid failure.” Kirkland had been ecstatic about the transaction, and Kent could understand why. The perfect distressed deal—a great business in need of cash and a desperate owner.
This really is shaping up to be a very nice recession
.

Kent was shaken from his moneymaking thoughts by the shrill ring of his car phone.

“Hi, John. You haven’t forgotten we’re having dinner with Allison and David tonight?”

He had forgotten, and he knew his wife was calling to remind him. “No, I’m on my way now, Sarah. Please don’t let it drag on all night. You know I can’t stand him.”

Sarah had met Allison on a Rutland charitable committee and they got on well. Shortly afterward, they were invited to dinner at the Bryants’ home in a nearby village a couple of years ago. They were now stuck in an awful merry-go-round of reciprocal invitations. Kent had asked Sarah to stop inviting them back, but Sarah said this was rude. As usual, she won.

David Bryant was a partner at a leading corporate law firm in Birmingham. When he’d learned what Kent did for a living, he’d been all over him like a tramp round a bag of chips. He kept pushing for some of CBC’s legal work on their investment transactions. Kent couldn’t blame him. After all, CBC spent almost twenty million pounds a year on legal fees. He’d tried Bryant out on a small deal a while back, but it went wrong, so he vowed never to use him again. The problem was Bryant didn’t take the hint and continued to push for more work on the back of what he thought was a successful precedent transaction. No doubt, winning CBC as a client was a real trophy for Bryant’s provincial law firm.

“They’ll be here at eight thirty. Have you left the office yet?”

“Yes. I’m not that far from home.” Kent slowed the car down to a steady fifty miles an hour; he was in no hurry now.

“I’ve heard that before. Please don’t be late, John.”

Kent knew this was not a request from his wife. He sensed she’d been half expecting him to say he’d been delayed at the office. If he’d remembered the Bryants were coming round, he would certainly have found an excuse to be held at the office. He smiled as he thought how well Sarah knew him.

For the rest of his slow drive home, he called Kirkland to discuss the planning for the deal.

Driving through the gates of his estate, he saw the Bryants’ car
. What a waste of an evening.

“Here’s John now,” Sarah announced to the Bryants as Kent walked through the door.

“Sorry, darling. The traffic was bad, and I had to take a couple of telephone calls,” he shouted so their guests could hear. Sarah poured him a glass of chilled Viognier, his favorite white wine, to sweeten him up for the evening.

Just as Kent sat, David Bryant said, “Got any deals on at the moment, John? We’d be keen to help, you know.”

“Nothing much right now.” Kent took a large sip of the wine. “There’s a recession out there, you know.”
Never again
.

Chapter 7

N
OT
M
ANY
T
HINGS
triggered the memory but, when Merriman dropped the severed hand and ear onto the floor of his office, he was right there, his mind racing back twenty-five years. He was sat on the rear seat of his father’s Honda Accord, on his way to the international school. He could feel the oppressive heat and humidity, the freshly brewed Colombian coffee from his father’s flask filling the air.