“I am not.”
“It’s all arranged. There is to be a ceremony next Friday, a week from today, in the commandant’s office at the marine base, and you are going to be there in a suit and tie
“What the hell is this to you? This is private business.”
“It is not private business. You are I.M. Fletcher, star writer of the
“You are like hell.”
“We are. What’s more, the marine commandant is going to have his full public relations staff, including photographers, there.”
“No.”
“And we’re going to try to make a wire story out of it and tell the whole world both about your exploits and the modesty that has kept you from picking up such a high honor all these years. We won’t tell them you really haven’t picked it up just because basically you are a slob.”
“I won’t be done with The Beach story by then.”
“You will turn in your beach story, whatever it looks like, with pictures, by four o’clock Thursday afternoon. We will run it in the Sunday paper, with a little sidebar saying,
“You will do nothing of the sort.”
“Frank has decided. The publisher has agreed.”
“I don’t care. I haven’t.”
“There is the matter of insubordination. You left an assignment when you were told clearly not to.”
“I won’t do it.”
“I’ll put it more simply, Fletcher: you have The Beach story in, complete, Thursday afternoon at four and be in the marine commandant’s office next Friday morning at ten, or you’re fired. And I, for one, will cheer.”
“I bet you will.”
“You’re an obnoxious prick.”
“I sell newspapers.”
“You heard me, Fletcher. Thanks for wearing your shoes to lunch.”
“I didn’t.”
“Fletcher, this is Jack Carradine. I tried to call you earlier, but apparently you were out to lunch.”
“I just ran upstairs to get bitten.”
“What?”
“I was in the cafeteria getting chewed out.”
“I have some information for you regarding Alan Stanwyk, but before I give it to you I’d like to know what you want it for. The financial department of this newspaper can’t be totally irresponsible.”
“Of course. I understand.” Fletch switched the telephone to his left ear and picked up a pen. “The truth is,” he lied, “we’re thinking we might do a feature story on who the most highly, I should say heavily, insured people are in this area and why they are so heavily insured.”
“Is Alan Stanwyk heavily insured?”
“Yes. Very heavily.”
“It stands to reason. He has a lot riding on his nose. Who is the beneficiary?”
“Wife and daughter, I believe.”
“I shouldn’t think they’d need the money. But since they hold a lot of stock in Collins Aviation, which he runs almost single-handedly, I suppose they would suffer at least a temporary loss upon his passing.”
“Right,” Fletcher drawled. “What have you got?”
“Well, as I just told you, he runs Collins Aviation. He’s the executive vice president—has been since he married his wife. His father-in-law is president and chairman of the board, but he really leaves the running of the company to Stanwyk. It is expected that within two or three years, once he gets a little age on him, he will be made president of Collins. His father-in-law is only in his late fifties but would rather sail his yacht and run tennis tournaments. He seems to trust Stanwyk completely.”
“How is the company doing?”
“Beautifully. The stock, what there is of it available, is high and solid. Never been higher, in fact. They declared a stock dividend last year. They’re considered a little weak in management, but that doesn’t matter so much when you have a man as young and as competent as Stanwyk running the show. And he does, absolutely. He’s a hard-working fellow. It is presumed that as his father-in-law’s executive team begins to retire in the next few years, Stanwyk will bring in his own fresh young team. It won’t be hard for him to do so, because he has made a point of knowing almost everybody in the industry.”
“Mind a stupid question?”
“I’m used to them.”
“What does Collins Aviation do?”
“They design and manufacture subsidiary parts for airplanes. In other words, they don’t make airplanes, but they might make the seats, or engine parts, or control panels, what have you. Without meaning to make a pun, they also have a satellite division that does the same thing for spacecraft. This latter division has grown terrifically under Stanwyk. Apparently he is an attractive, amiable, personable man who always seems to be able to get the right contract for his company at the right time. Someone said, ‘He’s firm, but he never presses.’ ”
“How much is a company like that worth?”
“To whom?”
“I mean, what is its net worth?”
“Well, Fletch, you don’t really know what you mean. Companies aren’t houses that have an approximate aggregate value. Companies are worth precisely what their stock is worth on the market at that moment. It has a considerable gross income, a nifty net return to the stockholders, a big payroll…”
“Gimme a figure.”
“If it were a house? If it were a house, Collins Aviation might be worth a half a billion.”
“Half a billion dollars?”
“Can you count that high?”
“Not even with my shoes off. Who owns it?”
“The Collins family—John, his wife and daughter—continue to own fifty-one per cent of the company.”
“Wow.”
“They are very rich. Of course, the stock is actually held in foundations and trusts and what-have-you, but it’s all John Collins when it comes time to vote. I must add that the Collins family, so you won’t think they’re complete dopes, have an amount equal to or greater than their investment in Collins Aviation invested through investment houses in Boston.”
“Phew. Why Boston?”
“You don’t know much, do you, Fletcher?”
“Not about money. I’ve seen so little of it.”
“Boston is the Switzerland of this hemisphere. It is chock-a-block full of quiet, conservative investment bankers.”
“I thought it was full of beans.”
“It is. Other people’s.”
“How do people get as rich as Collins?”
“If I knew, do you think I’d be sitting here? Collins is a Harvard graduate who started designing and making airplane equipment with his own hands in a rented
