Never Forgotten: Second Chances (13 page)

Thinking of it as he watched him shuffling papers, running his eyes over them in extra, final, unnecessary preparation for the meeting, she wondered if one day she would tire of it too. Would she wake up one morning with the irresistible urge to scream or at least a compulsion to do something entirely out of character?

Probably not.

Then it dawned on her that what she feared was Riley disappearing. Not necessarily the man himself, but the person he'd created. She'd grown fond of him, liked him, and now she faced the threat that he would go away. He'd told her he'd like to.

Had Sal disappeared because he'd grown tired of the person he'd created? Would Riley disappear? He'd asked her to go with him, but Sal had too.

Doubts are insidious creatures, and they grow rapidly even in hostile terrain. Now the idea that Riley would disappear if she let herself care for him too much put roots down in the soil of her soul. Something in that made her cringe.

If she couldn't answer that question, how could she possibly answer him, consider his proposal? She liked him, even admired him. She was certain he loved her as much he would ever love anyone, and he was fun to be with. Was that enough?

Knowing no answer would come, she turned her attention to the meeting that Striker had called. "I wonder what he's up to?" She asked the question to focus herself and dispel the mind vapors that fogged her thinking.

"Striker? Simple enough. He gave you a week, but he doesn't want you finding alternatives. He's probably figured out something he thinks will strengthen his hand, to try and get more while giving less. No matter what he seems to be doing, that is always his motive, and if you understand that, then the particulars don't matter. He must feel he has some new cards to play. You don't know of anything do you?"

She shook her head. "But then people don't tell me things unless I ask."

He measured her expression, possibly noting the tightness she felt around her eyes and said no more. He was subtle, effective, and a negotiator even in personal matters. If she did marry him, she'd have her hands full.

"Your visitor is here." Ivy's voice sounded even more thin and ancient over the intercom.

Riley motioned for Megan to stay where she was, sitting with her back to the door, as he got up and went to open it. "Bill," he said, his voice enthusiastic. "Good to see you. Come on in."

* * * *

Striker was brusque and to the point. He nodded at Riley. "I don't normally like bringing middlemen in, but I know Megan is going to run everything by you anyway, so I figured I'd get you both together. I want to make this short, sweet and as uncomplicated as I can."

"Good."

"There's been a change in the status of things. I met
with Thom Gooden yesterday and today I am the happy owner of his twenty percent of Diamond Software." He tossed an envelope on the table. "Here is the paperwork. You'll see I gave him a nice price for his shares."

Riley took his time examining the papers. "How does this change things?"

Striker smiled. "I spent that money so I could put a stop to this nonsense about another investor. For the moment, I'm willing to honor the deal I offered Megan before. I'll pay exactly the share price I paid Thom, but I'm withdrawing the idea of seats on the board, though. Too many cooks spoil the broth and all that. But if you accept you still get the jobs and all that nice money."

Megan looked at the papers. She didn't think a seat on the board would do much but give her an ulcer so that part she didn't care about. But Thom had sold his shares without telling her. "On Friday, you told me I had a week. This is Tuesday."

He stood. "I know this upsets your little apple cart, but I also told you I'm impatient."

"Well, now you've changed the deal. I explained it to Craig, and now I have to do it all over again."

"You are stalling."

She smiled. "Of course I am, Bill. Look, I'll admit your offer is tempting, but I need to think. It isn't just the money and you know it."

Striker smiled. "I like you." He looked at Riley. "The girl never shows fear. That's good. As long as she doesn't push it too far." He stepped toward the door. "Okay, you think it over, but now that you see how fast the ground can shift, I hope you don't wait too long."

As he left, Megan felt weak.

After closing the door behind Striker, Riley came to sit down at the table again. "Well, that was interesting."

It seemed odd that Riley wasn't upset by Striker's aggressive power play. At least he didn't show any frustration. It couldn't have pleased him, but he stayed calm, and that was reassuring.

"What's your take on his ultimatum? He must be pretty sure of himself to buy Thom out at that price."

"It's a shrewd move. He's given us less room to work. "

"That I knew."

"If we were in a poker game, I'd say he was trying to buy the pot. He knows he's got more chips than anyone else at the table at the moment. He can afford to raise the stakes to the point that makes it hard for anyone else to stay in the game. But he must need the program. I'd guess he is trying to move before we find someone who understands the market and the potential, who sees the same upside that he does. My guess is that he's worked out that by paying a decent price for the company he won't have to reverse engineer Craig's work to get something out there fast. Then, with Craig doing new products, he can really build on it. But there is a small window of opportunity for it, and he's pulling out all the stops."

"So you think he might want Craig as much as the program?"

"It's an easy way to pick up his five-year contract without having to pay him a fortune."

"Well, I suppose his motives don't matter much if we are screwed."

"We aren't done yet."

"How so? Will an investor be willing to come in if he has to deal with Striker? Won't the fact that he bought Thom's shares make the company seem less viable?"

Riley grinned. "Not if we spin it to say that his investment demonstrates that he's sure the product will be a goldmine. If we use that, it might help us find the right investor. If Craig goes for it, we can structure a deal that will dilute Striker's minority holding. At that point, without an ability to throw his weight around, he'll probably offer the shares up for sale."

"Is there a chance in hell of finding that mythic investor?"

He grimaced. "I'm beating the bushes, but it's hard to say. This morning I did get a call that sounds promising. Her name is Carla Finelli, and she said she's the CEO of an Italian company."

Megan felt a shiver. "Italian?"

"Yes. They are a holding company; she heard your company was looking for investment. She is definitely interested. I promised her the information and then did some quick checks. The actual ownership of the company is hidden behind layers of crap that would take forever to dig through, but she gave me a reference from a major commercial bank in Switzerland. I called them, and they said this outfit is sitting on a large pile of cash and has been churning money through them regularly for a number of years now. So I'd give you a cautious yes. She wants to meet with you one on one."

"Are you good with that?"

"I have to be. She insisted on it. Besides, you know what you need, and I know nothing about these people. I can't offer any particular ideas on how to play the meeting. Hell, I don't even know what they want. She could be looking to loot the company as fast as Striker is, just in a different way. But I don't know. I think it's worth you meeting with her and finding out. Just give me a chance to look at anything she offers, and keep in mind that if it isn't in writing it isn't real."

"She's flying in from Italy?"

"Ms. Finelli is already in town on other business. She came by my office earlier to see where we stood. She is one very classy lady indeed." Megan noted that Riley was impressed. "She said if you came by the Conrad Hotel, Suite 918, she'd appreciate it."

"When?"

"This evening. She'd like to meet for drinks about nine."

She wondered if this being a European company would make the negotiations easier or harder. She decided it would be interesting to find out. "Should I call to tell her I'll be there?"

"No. She assumed you would be." He laughed. "That's a pretty safe assumption, I suppose. When you know someone is looking for money you figure you can pick the place and time, and they'll accommodate you somehow."

"I guess so."

"I'm sure she wields clout, as she doesn't come across as anyone's flunky, but this smells to me like the kind of deal where the person with the purse strings is standing in the shadows. It makes you wonder why they are there and not in the light."

"So just chat."

"Keep in mind when you talk to anyone thinking of investing that you are offering a great opportunity. Don't let her play this as if she is doing you a favor. Even if it seems that way."

"Thanks, coach. There's no chance of that," Megan assured him, hoping she sounded more resolved, much more confident than she felt. "And if it isn't in writing..."

"It isn't real."

Then, before she left, he kissed her.

* * * *

Carla Finelli was a surprise, and Megan immediately saw why Riley had been impressed. The lithe olive-skinned woman looked more like a high-fashion model than a businesswoman. Her tailored suit was elegantly cut, her makeup flawless. She wore her long black hair pulled back into a shiny ponytail. She had long fingers with perfect nails. But her manner was all business. She spoke crisply, with her Italian-flavored English adding to her aura. Megan wondered if her look was calculated to make people underestimate her. "I'm glad to meet you, Ms. Finelli."

"It's Carla. This will go much smoother if we skip formalities and get to a first name basis."

"Then call me Megan."

They sat in Carla's comfortable suite at the hotel drinking a lovely red wine, Italian, of course, out of fine crystal glasses. Carla immediately began a focused interrogation. Two minutes into their meeting, Megan was acutely aware that the woman knew what she was doing. Her pointed questions cut to issues concerning the state of the business, the industry, the principles themselves, their long-term goals—she covered all the things a savvy investor would want to know. Happy that she had answers to the questions, even though some of her answers showed problems, Megan gave them in her most businesslike fashion, not glossing over the problems and challenges or painting too rosy a picture. "The outcome is, of course, not certain."

Carla smiled. "Of course not. That there is a chance to make or lose money is the precise nature of investing. Anyone who doesn't understand that this is gambling is fooling themselves. A sure winner at the racetrack can always stumble or pull up lame." Her eyes flicked over Megan. "That's why the game is so delicious."

"You like being an investor then?"

"I adore it. I get to hear the inside stories of companies few ever even know exist, learn the hopes and dreams of their founders. As a group, entrepreneurs are the most fascinating people for me. They get a vision and then try to make it real. Like passionate lovers, they follow their desires." A dreamy look was in her eyes.

"And you follow your desires as well."

"When I have the means to. I see no point in pursuing something that can't produce a result. Which is why I'm here, seeking the means to do so."

"We provide the means for a select few. Our resources are finite, and there is always the sad situation where we must pick one and leave another to his or her own devices. I winnow the choices to a few good ones. Often the final decision is based on the people involved. We believe not only working with the willing, as you Americans say, but with those we'd prefer to spend time and energy."

"And you have several choices now?"

Her laughter seemed to float. "Always. Once you are known to have money to invest and a willingness to do so, the path to your door becomes a well-beaten one."

"I can only imagine."

"At the moment we are considering just two." She paused the length of a heartbeat, which seemed a lengthy time to suffer. "There is a company in Italy that we've watched for a long time, for reasons that are perhaps more nostalgic than practical... and yours." Megan felt her own pulse pounding. "We are in an odd situation right now. You see, for reasons you can't possibly know, investing in your company would have, for our principle, a certain nostalgic quality as well."

"He's worked with high tech companies before?"

The laugh seemed a bit chilling this time. "Nothing like that. I don't mean to be so mysterious, but the story is not mine to tell."

"No?"

Carla stood. "Megan, there is no simple way to do this, but I don't see how we can possibly move ahead until you know the truth."

"The truth?"

"Yes. We must make a rather important revelation." She went to a door and stopped with a delicate hand poised on the doorknob. Megan started to stand to follow. "It's probably best if you are sitting down for this. If you don't mind."

Confused by this behavior, but feeling like she'd be better off doing as Carla asked Megan sat back down to wait for whatever was about to happen.

Carla opened the door and stepped inside. "It's time."

Megan heard a man's voice. "What do you think?" Something shot through her, some sense of being in the wrong place.

"It isn't for me to say. There are no surprises. Beyond that…?"

She stepped back into the sitting room and turned toward Megan. "I think you might want to take a deep breath, Megan, and then let it out slowly."

Puzzled, she did as the woman asked and, as she exhaled the man she'd heard stepped through the doorway. She couldn't see him clearly, but there was something about the way he moved that stirred memories. "Megan Cross, I'd like you to meet our principle, Salvadore Montana. I think you knew him as Sal."

Her heart pounded, and her head spun. "No!" And everything went black.

* * * *

She woke to find herself stretched out on the couch with a damp washcloth on her forehead. Carla sat in a chair looking at her. In another chair was the man Carla had introduced as Sal, the man who couldn't possibly be Sal. He had the right build but he was bald, his face badly scarred. His nose had a bit of a hook to it. No, that wasn't Sal. If she masked his face, the man seemed to be Sal, but the face she saw was a grotesque caricature of Sal's, a mockery of it. The air in the room was close, suffocating.