“How do you expect to place his competence in question?” Tate asked, egging him on.
“I’ll need your help,” Quinn replied without prevarication, “Yours and Kamin’s.”
Perfect, Tate thought, he’s exactly where I want him to be. He leaned over his knees, remaining silent for several moments. Then he looked up at Quinn. “What do you want me to do?”
“If you were to raise certain questions about the Fielder family, suggesting that Charles may have suffered a mental breakdown and that the entire family had been in turmoil for some time, it would raise doubts about Wilson’s judgment on the Musselman project.”
“How would that play when I was the one who recommended his father’s firm instead of Kresge amp; Company in the first place?” Tate said, pretending to be reluctant.
“You simply tell them that you had no idea about Charles’ condition until you received certain information from one of his closest associates. Here’s where you’ll need to take some creative license. You could say that a confidential source told you that Charles Fielder has had mental stability issues for years. In recent months, his son Wilson had become increasingly troubled, even obsessed, over his father’s condition, displaying evidence of the same mental instability. It runs in the family. Bringing down the CEO of a large corporation and then dismantling his company are merely manifestations of Wilson’s self-destructive behavior and a deep-seated rebelliousness toward authority. He’s seeing a psychologist, which is true, by the way. His girlfriend is a psychologist. He’d become suicidal himself. His judgment on the Kresge project has to be questioned. Turn up the heat on Wilson Fielder,” Quinn said as he sat down again.
Tate sat in quiet admiration, his back pressed against the tiles. Very impressive, he thought to himself. Quinn had definitely done his homework on Wilson Fielder. Heart-felt motivation was such a beautiful thing. He was more than happy to let Quinn do the talking.
“Jules Kamin could add to the concerns about Wilson Fielder’s competence,” Quinn said. “If he could show how a breakup of Musselman will decrease rather than increase shareholder value, over the next five years, it would cast even more doubt on the project.”
Tate stood up and walked over to the ice-cold drench one more time, putting Quinn on a different kind of ice. As he stood there, his thoughts turned to Vargas. She had accurately assessed Quinn’s core obsession and now he’d confirmed it. There were no more lingering doubts about his ability to manipulate David Quinn. Tate walked back to the tile bench and sat down. It was time to see just how far Quinn would go.
“We may have to create some additional evidence to support our claims of incompetence,” Tate said.
“As far as I’m concerned, Wilson Fielder mismanaged this project from the beginning. Whatever we have to do to convince the board of his incompetence is fine with me.”
“What if Wilson comes back to defend himself?”
“Then, we’ll play hardball.”
“What are you thinking?” Tate asked, making Quinn specify exactly what he was willing to do.
“We’ll sue Kresge amp; Company for gross mismanagement of the project and demand damages of ten times their two million dollars in fees,” Quinn said with anger.
Tate pushed further, “What if Wilson decides to play hardball?”
“Then, maybe his family will have to suffer again,” Quinn said, standing up once more and turning around to face Tate. “Nothing physical you understand, just some ugly gossip. A few damaging rumors with enough manufactured evidence to make the family seem out of control.”
Tate raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “You’d actually go that far?”
“It’s not something I’d enjoy doing. But if I had to, I would. This arrogant little prick tried to destroy me and everything I built at Musselman,” Quinn said, his eyes like beacons. “The gloves came off after Fielder told MacMillan that I should step down. The brass knuckles went on when he recommended the company’s breakup.”
The room turned dead silent except for the sound of hissing steam.
Tate couldn’t help chuckling to himself. The dual threat of being ousted by the board and having his company broken into pieces was enough to make Quinn vulnerable to a melody of manipulations. Maybe David Quinn wasn’t yet ready to cheat on his wife or trade on insider information, but he was willing to defame Wilson Fielder in order to keep Kresge amp; Company from forcing a breakup of Musselman. It was time to set the hook.
“Okay, David. We’ll take care of it,” Tate finally said. “I’ll track down MacMillan and express my concerns about Wilson Fielder. You can count on Kamin and me replacing Kresge amp; Company at next week’s board meeting. One way or another, we’ll make it happen.”
“Thank you, Wayland. You’ve just taken a big load off my mind,” Quinn said.
“Oh, we’ll do more than that, David. Just wait until the launch of America’s Warehouse. By the way, Kamin is anxious to meet with you about Musselman’s next stock offering. He arrives tomorrow morning. Let’s plan on having a private dinner tomorrow night.”
“Marvelous,” Quinn said. His reason for coming to St. Moritz was well on its way to being realized. All he had to do now was let Wayland Tate perform his magic.
“Have you set your schedule for tonight and tomorrow?” Tate asked.
“I think I’m going to retire early tonight. Catch up on some sleep. Andrea has me scheduled to hit the slopes first thing in the morning.”
“Perfect,” Tate said with his infectious smile. “Jules and I will be ready for you tomorrow night.”
9
Tate — St. Moritz, Switzerland
After spending the evening with clients, Tate returned to his room to make a few international calls. He started with Jules Kamin. It was midnight in St. Moritz, six o’clock in Boston.
The secure cell phone buzzed in Kamin’s pocket as he walked to the small conference room that had become his office at KaneWeller’s Boston offices. At age fifty-five, Kamin looked like a young and trim Henry Kissinger, which Tate attributed less to heredity and more to the rigorous regime he’d convinced Kamin to adopt several years earlier. Kamin’s face, however, looked more weary and aged than his years when he answered Tate’s call. He’d just returned from the Fielder amp; Company closing.
“How did things go?” Tate inquired as soon as the ringing stopped and he heard Kamin’s voice.
“The closing went as planned, but we may have a problem,” Kamin said resignedly.
“Fielder?” Tate said annoyed.
“No. Our attorneys want to conduct a second round of inquiries into some of Fielder amp; Company’s client relationships.”
“This could scuttle the entire deal, Jules,” Tate said, beginning to pace back and forth in the sitting area of his suite. “Who’s behind it?”
“Cheryl O’Grady has been working Winthorpe behind the scenes, trying to convince him that Fielder amp; Company’s consulting practices may have involved conspiring to manipulate company stock prices.”
“Every company conspires to manipulate its stock price. That’s what free enterprise is all about,” Tate said, feeling his blood pressure rising. “What’s motivating O’Grady?”
“She doesn’t like me. Never has. She knows this is my deal. I think she would jump at any chance to keep me from taking over when Winthorpe retires next year,” Kamin said. He, too, began to pace back and forth in the conference room.
“You should have fired her when you had the chance,” Tate said, turning off the lights in his suite to look at the moonlit mountains surrounding the resort.
“You know why I didn’t. There were too many rumors that I was out to get her. Letting her stay was the only way to stop the rumor mill,” Kamin said.
“Okay. Okay. It’s water under the bridge. How do we deal with her?”
“Something’s given her new hope.”
“Or someone. Who?” Tate asked, becoming more agitated by the second.
“I don’t know. Maybe Redd,” Kamin said.
“Not likely.”
