When at last the massive doors were thrown open, they filed into the dining hall and found their places. Seating arrangements had been prepared with customary discretion: those with the most lavish titles, positions, or bankrolls sat at the main table, with pecking order defined by relative proximity to them. A podium stood near the front, for the after-dinner speeches.
A light course of Scottish salmon—preferred by club members to the less costly Nova Scotia—was followed by the chef’s famous roast duck. The salad was served after the entrée, in club tradition, and the cheeses were followed by a course of sweets.
When at last the coffee arrived, the first speaker, a British banker, took the podium. He waited until the room had quieted, then tapped his microphone a few times to be sure it was adjusted properly.
“Gentlemen, this is indeed a momentous occasion,” he began. “As you know, it is the tradition—the unbroken rule—of this club never to mention world affairs, politics, or business here within the hallowed walls. We are Vagabonds, and proud of it—despite the fact that our membership rolls have listed more ambassadors, royalty, U.S. presidents, board chairmen, corporate founders—in short, more blue-chip and blue-blood men—than any private association in the world!
“So, in keeping with that one inviolable club rule never to discuss the sordid daily traffic that greets us outside these walls—I suggest instead we raise our glasses simply to toast the launching of the new and exciting venture we in this room are all aware of—the eve of whose inauguration we’re foregathered here to celebrate—the dawn of whose—”
“What are you trying to say, Paul?” someone from a nearby table said as everyone laughed.
“Let’s toast our new enterprise,” said the banker, laughing as well.
A tinkling of wineglasses was heard. The waiters replenished the wine, then discreetly left the room.
The British banker was replaced at the podium by Livingston—speaker of the evening, and head of a worldwide petroleum conglomerate.
“Good evening, good friends. I believe you all know me—I’ve been a member of this club since I was twenty-five, and I’m a few years older than that now!” Light laughter. “My father and grandfather were also Vagabonds; the men of our family have considered the club a second home—often more friendly and familiar than the first!” Throaty chuckles and nudges in the crowd as Livingston continued.
“But in all my decades of membership, I’ve never felt the pride I feel at this moment, standing before you. For gentlemen, tonight we christen not only a new enterprise, but a new way of doing business—a bold venture into the future.
“When we set forth upon this sea, we lift our chains and leave the past in our wake. Should we fail, perhaps history will malign us. But if we succeed—yes, if we succeed—she’ll crown us with the laurels that are our due. Therefore, it’s not just a business venture—but an adventure. Our fraternity pitches its fortunes together and casts the lot—leaving a proud legacy to posterity, opening a new book in the history of money, and inscribing our names on a fresh new page of history!”
The members were on their feet at once in a storm of applause, crying “Hear, hear!” as they rang their glasses and pounded the tables. When the storm died down, Livingston continued.
“The members who set up this venture—who put the financial deck together and raised funds from those in this room—are sitting here among us. But if I started thanking everyone, we’d never get out of here sober!” Huzzahs and whistles. “So stand up, gentlemen—you know who you are—and take a bow.”
A dozen men stood beside their chairs. They were greeted with thunderous applause. When they resumed their seats, Livingston added, “I hope you got a good look at them—so if this deal goes sour, you’ll know who to blame!”
Much laughter and slaps on the back to the bankers.
“Tomorrow our representative leaves for Paris to conclude the last stage of negotiation. If all goes well, he’ll be unloading a lot of your hard-earned cash. Once this negotiation is complete, our larger management team can head to Greece to assume control from the European consortium who set the business up. So by next week, gentlemen—with the help of God and a little money—we should be the owners of our own private country!”
The room was again pandemonium—men on their feet cheering, glasses raised aloft. As they started to file from the room to the lounge upstairs for after-dinner cognacs, a member caught up to one of the bankers Livingston had singled out earlier for praise.
“Well, Lawrence,” he said warmly, “you boys have certainly put this together cleanly and quickly. If you swing this Paris negotiation, we’ll all be a whole lot richer than today.”
“Profit is the name of the game,” said Lawrence as the two stepped onto the elevator.
“Yes—that’s what I wanted to ask you. Livingston told me it was your clever idea to force out these Europeans—whoever they are—the ones who own the island now. Something about a leveraged takeover?”
“It’s pretty much done, though they don’t know it yet,” Lawrence said. “They were asking a thirty-million-dollar fee over and above the asset value of their business. Our research revealed they had financed the entire operation—island and all—through loans drawn on numerous European banks. Yesterday, we bought up those loans.”
“You mean we—the club—are now their creditor?”
“By holding this paper,” said Lawrence, “we technically own their business. All they have to do is fail to meet one single payment, and we can pull the rug from beneath them completely. Under those circumstances, our spending an extra thirty million seems completely unnecessary to me.”
“Brilliant,” said his companion. “So your Paris negotiation
