He paused, searching for words, something he didn't have to do very often. He asked, 'Do you know who Ned Mackay is?' (He pronounced it Mack-eye.)
'Yes, he's your number two. President and possible successor-if you ever retire. I met him once a long time ago.'
My father raised his eyebrows, perhaps surprised that I knew that much about Dionysus Corporation. But my words seemed to loosen his tongue. 'Partly right, at least. I'm not convinced yet that he can run the show by himself. But he has been a good president-up to a few weeks ago. Lately, however, he's been acting strangely.'
'In what way?' I was struggling to fit myself into this scenario.
'It first came to my attention because he recently exercised all the stock options in which he is currently vested. This isn't confidential information; it's common knowledge. In fact, because he's a corporate officer it may get reported in the Wall Street Journal as insider selling because he exercised in such a way that he bought and sold simultaneously so that he didn't have to put up any cash. I'm talking about thousands of shares.'
'And the stock is near its low for the year.'
'Not to mention the tax implications for exercising so many shares in one year.' What I had said suddenly registered on his face. 'I didn't know you followed the stock.'
'Just a guess.' I'd better be careful or I might give away something about my real life. 'Okay, so he's not the sharpest stock trader in the world. And I'm sure he has an accountant who handles his taxes. Exercising options when the stock is low doesn't by itself mean he's in trouble.'
'No, but there's more. Recently, he's been coming in late and leaving early. It's not like Ned; he usually works a minimum of 60 hours a week. Now, even when he's there he seems distracted. His eyes are red and he even fell asleep in one meeting, something he's never done before.'
'Maybe he's got a drinking problem.'
'No.' My father shook his head, emphatically. 'Ned never touches the stuff. Maybe a glass of wine once in a while-or a pint of beer. I know he comes from the home of Scotch whiskey, but I swear it's true. I've known him for 20 years.'
'How about drugs?'
'Not everyone who was young in the sixties was on drugs.'
Case in point-my father. At least he had never admitted that he inhaled. 'What do you think it is then?'
'There's still more. My executive assistant was returning from a weekend in Palm Springs when she and her girlfriend decided to stop at that Indian casino beside I-10.'
'I know the one.'
'I'm sure you do. Anyway, they went in and were wandering around when she saw Ned at a blackjack table. She was going to say hello when she noticed what he was doing.'
'Standing on a soft 16?'
'No.' My father looked annoyed. 'He had a table all to himself. He was playing five hands at a time, and betting a pile of chips on each one. He was very intense and didn't see her. She got close enough so that she could hear some of the conversation between him and the dealer. She thinks he was betting $500 on each hand.'
'How did he do?'
It looked to her as if he lost several thousand dollars in the ten minutes or so she watched.'
'Poor capital preservation. And she never talked to him?'
'No. She hightailed it out of there before he spotted her, but she was so shocked by what she saw that she told me about it first thing Monday morning.'
'Which was yesterday.'
'Yes.'
Again, my father showed signs of not being the master of the situation, but this time it was only a shadow passing over his face.
What should I say? 'It looks like Mr. Mackay may have a gambling problem.'
'That's what I'm afraid of.'
'Did you confront him with it?'
'No.' My father's sharp exhalation of breath sounded almost like a sigh. 'That would look too much like spying.'
'So where do I come in?'
'Well…you know about compulsive gamblers.'
Meaning that I was one, myself. Or at least that's what my father thought.
He continued, 'You could…get to know him. Talk to him…'
'Ask him if he's a compulsive gambler.'
'No, of course not, but you know what I mean. You speak the same language. You know the symptoms. Find out his attitude toward gambling. But I don't want you to actually do any gambling with him.'
Because I didn't know when to stop. But could I really accomplish anything? I glanced at my father. I hadn't seen him look so worried in a long time. I owed him something, if only because he hadn't kicked me out of the guesthouse when I was down on my luck. I said, 'What about hiring a private detective to follow him around?'
'That's sleazy. Besides, I don't want to bring in an outsider. If word leaked out that our president was a compulsive gambler, that might really tank the stock.'
Was the price of the stock all he worried about? I didn't know whether to be flattered or angry. He comes to me once in a lifetime for help and it's because of my gambling.
When I didn't say anything, my father said, 'Of course I'll pay you-as a consultant. And your expenses. I'll get you an advance.'
I stopped myself before blurting out that I didn't want his money. I was trying to become a businessman so I should act like one. But I still had the need to show some independence, so I said, 'I don't need an advance. When would I start?'
'Immediately. You don't have anything else to do, do you?'
Not that I was going to admit to him. 'How do you suggest I proceed?'
'Work that out with Arrow. She's my executive assistant.'
'Arrow? As in bow?'
'Yes.'
'Is she the one who saw Ned playing blackjack?'
'Yes. And she's very sharp. I'm assigning her to help you.'
'And if I think he's compulsive, what then?'
'I'll get him treatment. The company provides for it.'
Treatment only works if the subject is cooperative. My father had tried to get me to join Gamblers Anonymous and failed. But then, I wasn't a compulsive gambler. 'And if he refuses treatment?'
'Karl, let's not slay our dragons until we meet them.'
I didn't want to participate in the ruin of Ned Mackay, even though I didn't really know him. But I had to admit that my father appeared to have a problem. And I didn't see any quick and easy solution. In addition, it was a challenge. I like challenges. 'Okay, I'll do it.'
My father exhaled again; this time it sounded like a sigh of relief. 'Arrow can get you access to Ned or any information you might need about him. And she knows what’s on his calendar.'
'Executive assistant. Is that a glorified name for a secretary?'
'No. That's administrative assistant. And mine is a man. You probably have something in common with him.'
I could guess what he meant by that.
'However, Arrow is on a fast track to management. She has an MBA.'
One more degree than I had. And two more than my father. He spent the next five minutes exhorting me to be very careful about leaking any negative information about Dionysus. And not to make Ned suspicious about what we were doing. He needed my help, but he still didn't trust me. Even so, he apparently valued my judgment, at least in this one area-my area of expertise-compulsive gambling.
When he left I escorted him downstairs. He shook my hand at the door and then strode rapidly past the pool to his castle, the very model of a modern CEO. I couldn't remember the last time we had hugged.
