Feisty Repartee

TSOTF, Part 5

(Posted early, because I am going out of town tomorrow for the weekend. Enjoy!)

Martin McKay leaned his seat back and contemplated his current dilemma. He hadn’t anticipated the appearance of a second potential buyer, and his investors were more than nervous at the development. He looked again at the current bid and frowned. There was no way he could raise the extra cash by the close of business Thursday without tapping his investors for more, and that would certainly result in at least several of them pulling out altogether.

He wondered how long it would take to liquidate some assets if he agreed to take a loss. Certainly Jack could handle…Jack. Grinning, Martin reached for the phone. His son had managed to accumulate considerable wealth the last few years as the result of his ruthless negotiations. As incentive, each time Jack negotiated the price of an acquisition below Martin’s bottom line figure, he had received fifty percent of the difference in addition to his generous salary. By Martin’s rough calculations, Jack had more than enough money for Martin to outbid the other interested buyer.

Voicemail. Damn it! Martin sighed, and left a message for Jack to call him immediately. Frustrated, he downed his scotch and water, and signaled his assistant for another. He loosened his tie, and silently cursed his son for making him wait. He swallowed the second drink in one long gulp, and stifled a burp. Shaking his head, he couldn’t help but frown.

He was letting this deal get to him, and that bothered him. He’d watched his father make the same mistake, let business become personal. Of course his father had never been so close to attaining anything so great. Nor had he ever had to rely so heavily on outside investors the way Martin had. Where the senior McKay had been conservative in his business, Martin had taken chances that most would consider foolhardy. How odd, he thought, that the only time the old man took a real risk, he nearly lost it all.

He closed his eyes, and pulled up the memory of his father sitting in his office that night and calmly loading his handgun. For a moment, he wondered if he should have stopped him, should have confessed that it was he who had set him up in order to gain control of the business. He swallowed hard, remembering the sound of the shot, and his mother’s pathetic wail echoing across the foyer’s Italian marble floors as he stood in the library waiting to see if the old man had the balls to follow through.

Sighing deeply, he glanced at the figure he’d hastily written across the file. Where the hell was Jack? Exhaling slowly, he again shook his head in frustration, this time with himself for his impatience. Jack had more than proven himself. He imagined Jack was merely engaged in matters of the flesh with that little brunette of his. Hell, when he was twenty-three, he’d fucked every woman who’d spread her legs for him, despite his pregnant young bride waiting at home for him, so he certainly couldn‘t blame the boy, now could he? No, he had plenty of time.

Martin called Vincenzo in Rome. “Tell the client I am prepared to offer three percent over the other bid.” He disconnected, and let his eyes shut. In a few short days, he would be the most powerful man on the planet.

Jack glanced at his ringing cell phone. He’d ignored a call twenty minutes ago. He hadn’t needed to answer it to know why his father was calling. The man was predictable. Everything was going according to his plan.

“Jack McKay,” he said on the third ring. He listened silently for a few moments, his face betraying nothing. “Naturally. Five percent above the offer, as before.”

He dialed the number for the Swiss Bank in Zurich. It was time.

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