“If I’d known beforehand I was going to inherit the estate, I would have made sure I knew more about it,” I said after we’d ordered. Actually, if I’d known beforehand that I was going to inherit, I would have made sure I didn’t. But I was being open-minded. “As it is, I’m pretty much in the dark.”
“I have some papers,” he said. “Do I remember that your degree from Yale is in business administration?”
“Don’t take that too seriously.”
“But you know how to read a balance sheet, and you understand profit and loss, and cash flow statements.”
“I think I can figure them out.”
“Then let’s start with the businesses you own.”
It was not hard to figure out, even for a Yale business major. Through the fog of corporate identities was majority ownership of eleven factories, three construction companies, a trucking company, two distributors-all with over ten thousand direct employees.
“Now, these are your other major investments.”
Lots of stock in the newspaper and Channel Six, in retail chains, hotels, banks, and a little more in anything else there was. And it was all local, everything based inside the state. Through four different real estate holding companies, I owned half the skyline. I owned the building Fred’s office was in, I owned the company that had built it, I owned the company that had paved the road from there to this restaurant, I owned the trucks that delivered the tables we were sitting at, the distributor the tables came from, the contractor who’d installed the air conditioning.
The very air we breathed was mine. Well, more or less.
The balance sheets dealt with some real big numbers, and they weren’t in the debit column. The cash flows looked like Niagara Falls. These were companies that did not keep their market share by cutting costs and competing on price. These were companies that didn’t bother with competing at all. But of course, these businesses did not operate in a normal framework. It would be very important to keep a close working relationship with the governor.
George handed me the next sheets. “You may be familiar with the personal real estate you own.”
There was the big house and the townhouse in Washington. He hadn’t used the other houses much, except as knickknack shelves to set Angela in when he wanted to pretend they were vacationing. She’d jet off for a few weeks, and he’d drop in for a couple weekends.
“And here are a few other assets.”
The cars, the library, the art.
“I own a Matisse?”
George laughed. “Not a significant one. I believe it’s in the Washington townhouse. Most of the art is impressionist and later, but nothing very modern. There are three that are very valuable-a Monet, a Cezanne, and a Picasso. They’re in the main house.”
I probably had seen them. “I never thought of him as a collector.”
“Most of these he bought years ago, when he was in the Senate. And all of the jewelry went to Mrs. Boyer.”
I still hadn’t heard a bottom line, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. “So I guess you don’t just keep all the cash in a checking account. Where is it all?”
“No, not in a checking account. Most of the wealth is in the assets, the stocks and real estate. But as you see, there is a substantial revenue stream. All the businesses are profitable and generate excess cash, which appears as stock dividends. Most of that cash has been reinvested in the other assets-for instance, the real estate and media properties, which have started generating their own profits in the last few years. And he kept a large reserve that he could get to easily.”
“Could I get to that right now?” I just wondered.
“The probate will take a few days. He had the trusts designed to make the process easy. However, I have the authority to use my judgment in putting certain accounts at your service. You would just need to sign these papers.”
I accepted the service of the accounts. “And what about the foundation?”
George shook his head. “That is outside of my responsibilities. You would have to speak with Mr. Kern.”
“Then we’ll stay inside your responsibilities.” It was time to find out how far off Eric’s guess had been. “What is it all worth?”
“This spreadsheet gives a good snapshot of that.” He handed me one final paper with a summary list of everything and a total at the bottom in a little box. I was amazed, and I didn’t pretend not to be.
I stopped at my bank-which it literally was-and opened a new account to put my new money into. Then I followed Pamela’s directions out to the west edge of the city and found the particular factory I owned.
The board meeting that afternoon was short and sweet. The room looked out over a factory floor on one side and properly grimy smokestacks and brick buildings on the other side. Light refreshments costing more than a worker’s weekly paycheck kept us happy as Fred and Pamela introduced me to a few of my company presidents. I’d had just enough time after lunch to look through George Elias’s papers and learn the company names and what they made. I acted responsible and caring and interested. We decided to keep up the good work, and I would get more involved as I was able. I also met with a couple union leaders so I could be stern and tough. They were so heavily bribed, though, that they would have groveled if I’d been Shirley Temple.
I guessed that most of those people had seen right through my big cheese act, even though Fred told me I’d been very impressive. They were all twice my age and there was no rational reason that I should be their boss. No one asked me bluntly, What right did I have to be here? No one but me.
Driving back into town against the rush hour traffic, I started thinking about the governor and his chief of staff. Clinton Grainger would not pretend to be impressed.
And I thought about what I’d seen. The empire was vast but concentrated. It was all in one state, mainly in heavy industry, and dependent on government largesse and lack of strong competition. It was obvious why Melvin had kept such tight control on the governor’s mansion. It was obvious why I needed to.
Clinton Grainger did not impress me. He was nondescript, flabby, a poor dresser, and he had bad hair. Even his eyes were blank where I’d expected some flash of brilliance to sneak out, and his voice was whiny. No wonder he was the brains behind, since he’d never make it as the politician out front.
“I’m so glad to meet you,” he said, and it sounded like he had a clothespin on his nose.
“And likewise,” I said. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”
“Yes.” There was no sign of intelligence. Of course, Fred Spell-man had fooled me for years.
“There’s a lot of ground to cover.” We established ourselves on opposite sides of the white tablecloth.
“You went sailing over the weekend,” he said. What did that mean?
“I often do,” I said.
He peered at me. “Are you serious about running your father’s businesses, Mr. Boyer? Or are you just going to spend his money?” Fred had said, Be direct. Grainger was being very direct. I was being sacked before I even knew the game had started.
“I was taking a few days to decide.”
“That’s a lot of time to make a decision.”
I was in way over my head, and there were sharks in the water. I had to think of what to say next, and I could see Grainger counting each second against me.
But why was I here, anyway? To impress this slob? The old Jason wouldn’t have cared what Clinton Grainger thought about anything, so why was the rich and powerful Jason worrying?
I didn’t want to play this game. I stood up. “To tell the truth,” I said, “it’s been a long day and I’m not very hungry.”
He was surprised, and he stared up at me. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I’m done with this conversation.” I dropped a fifty on the table and started walking. He was up and after me.
I waited at the curb a moment until he caught up.
“Mr. Boyer…”
“And please give Mr. Bright my regards,” I said. “I still hope we can work together, as partners.”
