The Money Makers (56 page)

Three o’clock came and went. Zack picked up the
Asian Wall Street Journal
again and this time read every word about the progress of Japanese steel stocks. He tried to do the crossword, but he wasn’t good at them and he didn’t like things he wasn’t good at.

He called Josephine.

‘Hello, Transfers and Settlements Department,’ she said.

‘Hello, Transfers and Settlements. It’s your big brother.’

‘Hey, Zack. So you’re still alive. I’d been wondering.’

‘Well, don’t sound too pleased. I might get the wrong idea.’

‘I am pleased actually. And I was really touched to get the invitation as well. We’ll definitely come.’

‘Eh? Come where?’

‘To Ovenden House. For Christmas. I got a letter from Lady Hatherleigh this morning. I assumed you had suggested the idea or at least approved of it.’

‘Well, I do. It’s a great idea.’

‘You knew nothing about this, did you?’

‘No, but I’m delighted. Will you be able to find someone to look after Mum?’

‘What d’you mean, “look after Mum”? I’ll look after her. You can bloody well look after her.’

‘You mean -’ Zack broke off, but too late.

‘Christ, Zack. You weren’t thinking of leaving her in a home for Christmas, were you? It’s a good job Lady Hatherleigh didn’t consult you, or we’d never have got the invitation, would we? I’m going to reply right away and invite ourselves down there for the whole bloody week. I’ll leave Mum’s incontinence knickers at home and I’ll spend every minute moaning to your wealthy in-laws about how you don’t contribute a penny to looking after her.’

Josie slammed the phone down, leaving Zack to feel vaguely nauseous. Christ! Was it any wonder he didn’t spend more time with Josie, when this was how she behaved? Something had better change or he’d have to find an excuse to work right through the Christmas week.

Four o’clock came, more sandwiches and a pot of tea. Zack switched from coffee to tea and chatted more with Phyllis. Still the Board was in the boardroom and not a word came out.

Five o’clock passed. From the boardroom, you’d be able to see the western sun bouncing off the channel, light glinting from the skyscrapers opposite. Hong Kong was part of red China now. If this was what it felt like to live in a one-party police state, it didn’t seem so bad. What the hell was happening in there?

At ten to six, the door opened. Lord Hatherleigh strode in, Scottie not far behind, and behind him, Zhao the finance director. All of them were smiling.

‘We’ve got unanimous approval. The deal’s on.’

5

Madison had moved in on EuroRoad Haulage. Once again, there was no dramatic putsch planned. It was just a case of intensive research convincing Fiona, Deane and Matthew that there was an undervalued company out there, whose loans were worth more than the market judged. Madison bought heavily.

As usual, the scale of Madison’s purchases made a big difference to a thin market. The market price of the bank debt rose by about five percent. The market price of the bonds rose by about four percent. The company’s share price rose from three pence to three and a half pence. That half a penny rise doesn’t sound like much, but it’s one sixth of the original share price. Seventeen percent, as near as dammit. After Matthew’s costs buying and selling, the seventeen percent became a more modest twelve, but still he was ecstatic. He’d got treble the return he’d have got on bonds. He would make his million more quickly in shares and he’d make it more safely too. Better returns meant fewer trades. Fewer trades meant fewer opportunities to get caught.

There was only one fly squirming around in the ointment.

When Matthew had stumbled out of the little alleyway, fresh with the pleasure of his success, who should he have stumbled into but Brian McAllister?

‘Bit early for a pint, isn’t it?’ asked the Scot, nodding up the alley in the direction of the pub.

He’d meant nothing by it. It’s just the sort of thing you say when you bump into someone in the street. But Matthew floundered. He groped for words. He waved his hand around - his hand that still held his portable phone. He opened and closed his mouth.

‘Been waiting for a friend,’ he said, at last.

It wasn’t such a stupid thing to say, but his way of saying it couldn’t get much stupider. McAllister nodded slowly, as though Matthew had just unveiled a great mystery, then smiled and walked on.

Nobody, but nobody, played a better game of read­ my-soul than Brian McAllister, master of the trading floor. What had he seen? What had he seen, as he looked so piercingly into Matthew’s stuttering, awkward, guilty face?

6

The price of South China Trust Bank shares had nudged down to thirty-six dollars. Over the week it had come down a full two dollars fifty, another six and a half percent fall. That was good news for Zack, Scottie and Phyllis, huddled round their coffees in the uneasy dawn. It was five thirty in the morning and once again they were gathered in the Hong Kong offices of Hatherleigh Pacific. Lord Hatherleigh was in England, but insisted that they call him at any time of day or night to let him know their decision.

‘Why d’you think the price has come down so far? This is more than just the bad news on the shipping side,’ said Scottie.

They’d been through this many times, but some people get nervous before spending 1.35 billion US dollars.

‘We don’t know exactly. Probably no one does. What’s clear, though, is that banking stocks as a whole are down three or four percent. South China is worse hit because it’s a worse bank.’ It was Phyllis Wang speaking. She was the Madison expert on the Hong Kong market and she spoke with authority. ‘But we’re not aware of anything which should cause you to hesitate at this stage.’

Fingered by the grey light of dawn, Scottie’s ruddy face glowed a dull pink.

‘Only our company’s future,’ he whispered.

Zack and Phyllis smiled. What Scottie said was true. Bankers flit from deal to deal like birds in the wood. The company executives who actually do the deals have to live with them, the successes and failures, for years. A bad deal can set a company back five years or more. A good one can skyrocket it to a level of success impossible by any other means. And Scottie was justifiably nervous. South China was nearly as big as Hatherleigh Pacific itself. Not only did Hatherleigh aim to swallow something its own size, it wanted to do it all with borrowed money. By any standards, that was hugely risky. And despite all their homework, there was always the risk of something they didn’t know.

Zack and Phyllis waited calmly. There was only one decision Scottie could come to. He was welcome to take his time.

‘There’s no chance that the stock price falls further? If it does, we’d pick up the company cheaper.’

‘Of course it may fall some more,’ answered Phyllis. ‘Equally it could rise. We can’t predict that. But you have your borrowing facilities in place. You have a company you like, at a price which is excellent. You know of no reason for delay. This is as good as it gets.’

‘You’d better be right, guys.’

Scottie owned about one and a half percent of Hatherleigh Pacific. He would be responsible for seeing the deal through, for shaking up South China and turning it into a money machine. If he succeeded, he stood to double his fortune and consolidate his reputation as one of the most daring and effective businessmen in all Hong Kong. And if he failed - well, failure was not to be contemplated. Across the harbour, a molten sun lifted above the grey rim of encircling sea and glimmered lividly beneath the cloud. Scottie glanced at it, and shook himself.

‘You guys think we should bid forty-five dollars?’

‘That’s right. You need to pay something over the existing share price, otherwise no one will be interested. You could try to low-ball it, but the chances are you’d need to raise your price later on. We reckon that at forty­ five dollars you stand a chance of taking the company out in a single punch.’

Scottie pondered. The sun struck a thousand orange flames from the skyscrapers opposite. It looked like an advert for hell: ‘Come to hell - it’s flamin’ pretty’.

‘OK. Let’s go for it. Forty-five dollars it is.’

‘You’re ready?’ asked Zack. ‘We launch the bid? You understand that there’s no return?’

‘Yes. I understand. You can go ahead.’

Phyllis moved towards a phone. She had her team on stand-by to issue a press release, which would formally state that Hatherleigh Pacific was bidding for South China. Within a couple of minutes, Hatherleigh Pacific’s takeover of South China would be public - and irreversible. In Weinstein Lukes’ dealing rooms the share traders would start to buy stock in South China at any price up to forty-five dollars.

Scottie now had a couple of calls to make. One was to the Chief Executive of South China. It was just a courtesy call. What he’d say, in effect, was: ‘It’s nothing personal, but we’ve just bid for your company. If we win, you’re sacked. And in the course of the takeover campaign, we’re going to say lots of nasty things about you, to convince your shareholders that you’re useless. I just wanted you to make sure you heard it from me first.’

It’s a bizarre form of courtesy, but it’s standard practice. The other call was to Lord Hatherleigh, now fretting the evening away in his Chelsea home. He’d be pleased. And excited.

Scottie moved towards a phone, while Phyllis stood in the comer talking into her mobile. The orange light which filled the harbour disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The sun, now lifted clear of the grey sea beneath, rose into the suffocating embrace of the covering cloud and the world grew dark again. Phyllis clicked her phone to off. The press release was issued. The bid was launched.

7

When George had said ‘Game, set and match’, he might have added the word ‘tournament’. Things were going outrageously well.
Furniture Today
had written the most grovelling apology conceivable, and included a long and flattering article on the ‘Gissings miracle’ with extensive colour photos of all their product ranges. Full-page colour ads would appear for free for the next two years. Plus, of course, the Aspertons’ war on Gissings had been thrown violently into reverse. The Aspertons had sent out letters to all their customers retracting the libel. Their order book for the Asperton Brilliants had been passed over to Gissings, and the mighty Asperton marketing department was now selling Gissings furniture as though it was their own. The volume of orders was so great that Gissings was working at full capacity and work was even having to be subcontracted to other manufacturers. The prices were good, too. Without the remorseless competition from the Aspertons, and with the huge flood of positive publicity, Gissings could sell as much as they wanted at the prices they wanted.

Everyone whom George had fired when he first took charge of the factory was now back on the payroll. Salaries had been restored to previous levels, plus a generous allowance for inflation. George had even insisted on paying a bonus to all employees, despite a muted protest from Jeff Wilmot. The mood on the shop floor had never been better.

They were making money, too. If they kept sales up at this rate, they’d be producing three million pounds’ worth of furniture a year, and selling it at a ten percent profit margin. That was three hundred thousand pounds in a year. The money would go towards repayment of the debt, of course, but Ballard hinted that Gissings could keep at least some of it towards completing the long-delayed expansion of their production area.

‘Don’t tell me you’re about to start being generous now that we don’t need you to be? Typical bloody banker,’ said George.

‘Not at all,’ said Ballard. ‘The moment when a company’s in profit and growing fast is exactly when it needs money. You’ll get some use from it now. Before it would have just disappeared up the chimney.’

‘Yeah, well, we could use some cash to expand our production area and save ourselves having to subcontract. Bloody subcontractors eat up half our profits.’

Ballard’s moustache muffled his smile, but his eyes twinkled with laughter.

‘What are you laughing at?’

‘You. You should have seen yourself when you first arrived up here. You looked a right sight, all designer shades and flashy car. And now you’ve turned into an out-and-out Yorkshireman and a bloody good businessman at that. Better than your dad.’

‘Better than Dad? You’re joking.’

‘No. He was an exceptional entrepreneur. He’d have made money in a prison camp, he would. But running a big business was never his thing. He always got in everyone’s way and ended up making things worse. You get the best out of people. Old Tom Gissing would be proud of you, really proud. Just remember: if you want to, you can take this firm all the way to the top.’

‘If I want to?’ echoed George. ‘What d’you mean “if I want to”?’

Ballard looked sharply at the younger man.

‘Well, there’s your dad’s will, isn’t there? I assume you’re still aiming to make your million.’

‘There’s no way on earth I can make a million in time, David. With a bit of luck we’ll make three hundred grand this year and maybe even more the next. But by the time we’ve paid off your bloody loan and invested in the production area and stuff, it’ll be years, absolutely years, before I can get a million pounds out of the place. Maybe, five years’ time, more likely seven or eight. That’s better than I ever expected, but I’ll have missed Dad’s deadline by years and years. You know that as well as I do.’