“Is GE concerned?”
“Are you kidding? GE couldn’t be happier. Immelt’s attitude is if GE can’t whip a person or a business into shape, then no place can. He’s not a screamer like Welch, but he’s more determined to make changes than most people realize.”
Before Throckmorton could continue, Anne opened the door and stuck her head in to remind Wilson, as he had requested, about his 6:30 p.m. dinner reservation.
“Good to have you on board,” Throckmorton said, as he stood up from the black wing chair and extended his hand.
Throckmorton could have gone on for another hour about his project with General Electric, Wilson thought, but his focus had already turned to anticipating an evening with Emily.
27
Quinn — Lake Forest, IL
David Quinn stepped to the front of the cavernous living room overlooking the water at Musselman’s secluded mansion on Lake Michigan. More than sixty senior executives, middle managers, staff from corporate headquarters, and advertising executives from Boggs amp; Saggett were rejoicing euphorically. It was the first Musselman celebration party in almost two years. Quinn raised his glass of champagne above his head.
“This has been a glorious week for the J. B. Musselman Company. Our stock price has finally reached thirty dollars,” he said to whoops and hollers and rowdy applause. “And the best is yet to come. Next weekend we roll out America’s Warehouse.” The room erupted with more shouts, noise-makers, and applause.
The stately thirty-six room Lake House-traditional English brick and stucco with half timbers, cedar shake shingles, abundant ivy, beautiful heated gardens, antique furniture, and layers of nineteenth-century craftsmanship-was the perfect place for a party. The house was designed by well-known Chicago architect Arthur Heun in 1896 for the son of John V. Farwell, the dry goods magnate who launched Marshal Field’s and was a founding member of the controversial Commercial Club of Chicago. It stood on several acres of secluded lakefront property in Lake Forest, Illinois, about forty minutes north of downtown Chicago via Lake Shore Drive and Sheridan Road. The house was maintained by a discreet property management firm that employed the latest security surveillance systems and guaranteed absolute privacy.
Quinn had purchased the Lake House property several years earlier for the purpose of entertaining preferred customers and suppliers. No one gained entrance without his personal authorization, and the property management firm reported only to him. But even with such exclusive control, Quinn had rarely used the Lake House for personal pleasure. Tonight, however, would be an exception, he thought to himself. All week long, while fretting about newspaper articles, takeover bids, and stock positions, he’d secretly fantasized about being with Andrea Vargas. Then, when his ninety-five million shares of Musselman stock were cashed out at half a billion dollars in profit, his fantasies turned into a call for celebration.
As the increasingly raucous crowd quieted down momentarily, Quinn thanked them for their tireless efforts in preparation for next week’s grand opening of America’s Warehouse and challenged them to keep the momentum building in the weeks ahead. There was another burst of applause and catcalls as Quinn raised his arms to quiet them down.
“I want all of you to know that none of this would be possible without each and every one of you. So enjoy yourselves tonight and stay as long as you like.” The crowd noisily expressed its pleasure while Quinn waved gleefully and then removed himself to the soundproof library where he called his wife Margaret. When she answered, Quinn asked, “Did you see where the stock closed?”
“Yes, Jenny and Bob came over. Everyone’s been calling,” Margaret said enthusiastically, referring to the Quinn’s’ oldest daughter and son-in-law who also lived in Hinsdale.
“Next week’s grand opening will take it even higher. It’s all coming together, Maggie.”
“No one deserves it more than you, David.”
The comment brought pangs of guilt, but only for a moment, as he looked up to see Vargas opening the door to the library. He knew she’d sensed his craving for her. “Hang on a minute Maggie,” Quinn said before pushing the hold button.
Vargas sashayed up to him in her tight-fitting black evening dress, placed her hand on his neck, and began kissing his ear. “I’ll be in the hot tub in the master suite, if you’d like to join me.”
Quinn was melting inside as he watched Vargas’ body swaying back and forth before she disappeared through the door. Raw ecstasy, he thought. “Hey, I’m back,” Quinn said into the phone. “We still have miles to go before the grand opening, but we’re almost there.”
“Everyone wants to know when you’re coming home to celebrate,” Margaret said.
“I know,” Quinn said as a pang of conscience returned momentarily. “We’ve got a long weekend of warehouse visits, making sure everything’s ready for the grand opening. I should be back by the middle of next week. Tell the kids we can celebrate then.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard, dear. You’re not the young buck you used to be, but I love you more than ever.”
This time the pang lingered. “I love you, too, Maggie. I’ll call you over the weekend.”
“Travel safely. We’ll have everything prepared when you get back.”
Quinn put down the phone, feeling guilty. He wouldn’t be getting on an airplane tonight or tomorrow or the next day for any warehouse visits, all of that was being covered by his executive staff. He questioned himself one more time about joining Vargas in the master suite. As he left the library, the sound of music and revelry helped him answer the question.
He found Vargas in the mosaic-tiled private spa, soaking in the sunken whirlpool bath and covered in bubbles. She looked so unbelievably alluring. There would be no turning back now. Quinn revealed the red roses from behind his back. Vargas rose slowly from the churning water and sensuously ascended the tiled steps one at a time, her smoky eyes focused on Quinn. “Thank you for the flowers. Come join me,” she said seductively as she took the flowers and descended back into the bubbles.
Quinn’s entire body quivered with excitement as he dismissed all thoughts of anyone or anything except Andrea Vargas. He began removing his clothes, pleased that he’d lost ten pounds for the occasion-especially when Vargas noticed.
28
Wilson — Boston, MA
After a restless weekend of treading water, Wilson met with Fielder amp; Company’s vice presidents first thing Monday morning to go over a few more basics concerning the firm’s business activities. The company was currently working on 476 consulting engagements in 412 client companies with average revenue-per-engagement of approximately $2.4 million. It employed 684 consultants and 243 staff, 927 employees in total, located in six offices-Boston, Chicago, Dallas, San Francisco, London, and Hong Kong. Projected revenues for the year stood at $1.2 billion with anticipated pre-tax profits of $310 million. The firm’s share of large multinational corporations as clients was stronger than ever. Almost every client had inquired about Charles Fielder’s condition and how it might impact the future of the firm, but according to the vice presidents, only a handful of clients had expressed serious concerns or reservations about continuing to do business with Fielder amp; Company.
Next, they reviewed the content of an internal memorandum and press release prepared by the firm’s PR staff, informing employees and clients that Fielder amp; Company and KaneWeller would not be merging and that Wilson would be assuming his father’s position as Chairman and CEO. When they reached agreement on the content, Wilson made a courtesy call to CEO Marshall Winthorpe of KaneWeller, who suggested a few minor changes to the memo to reflect KaneWeller’s reasons for backing out of the deal. Wilson then persuaded Winthorpe to limit his firm’s discussions with the press regarding Fielder amp; Company.
