Wall Street Ranger
Book 2
By Chris Veeter
Copyright © 2011 Chris Veeter
Smashwords Edition
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Author's Note
I have strived to provide the most accurate portrayal of a wealthy man building a career in the military. You will undoubtedly find mistakes and many of those are intentional and included for dramatic purposes. Also, while I'm by no means a financial wizard, the numbers such as stock prices and values are a matter of historical record. I was as surprised as you will be; getting rich in the 90s was almost easy.
I would like to thank William C. Martell for letting me use him as a character. He's real and he's awesome.
CHAPTER 1
The captain gave me the rest of the week to make a decision and I needed every minute. This was a tough decision. On the surface, the problem sounded easy. After all, who wouldn’t want to be an officer? The pay is better, people have to salute you, you have much more power in the command structure, and you have more responsibilities.
If I stayed on as an enlisted man, I would quickly make sergeant and soldiers know this is where the true power lies in the Army. Sergeants are the ones who get the job done. Just like in Washington where the politicians merely trespass on the turf of government workers, officers are fleeting. They may give orders but it’s really the sergeants who will make sure they get implemented.
What also gave me pause was the fact that as a newly commissioned officer I would have to once again start at the bottom of the ladder. I would not be allowed to return to my old company since the military cultivates the notion that enlisted men can’t respect officers with whom they have previously served.
This entailed that I would lose my friends. Fraternization between officers and enlisted personnel being forbidden, I would no longer be able to hang out socially with the men I’d come to consider as my friends. This at first bothered me because friendship was the only thing in short supply in my life. Then again, I reminded myself that I’d never had any problems with loneliness. It was second nature for me.
Still, the idea of becoming an officer appealed to me. I was a qualified infantryman, an elite special operations soldier. If Vibbard believed I was ready for it maybe he was onto something. After all, he had been in the Army for two decades. Maybe he knew I would be in a better position to make a difference as an officer.
By the end of the week, I told Vibbard that I would give it a shot. He congratulated me on the wise decision and I was ordered to report to Officer Candidate School on April 13.
But before I reported in for the course, I had some business to take care of. I couldn’t keep Albert Mimnaugh, the undertaker from Kansas City, out of my mind. What I remembered most about the article I read on him was that he was old and never had any children.
The funeral business was a turnoff for many people. It dealt with a subject that most considered taboo. Personally, my discomfort with death was melting away like a snow fort in springtime. With my mother gone and my role in the elimination of foreign enemies, I felt that I had now explored both sides of the issue.
Death no longer held any secrets. It’s not that I would wish it on anyone or that I made light of the subject but I saw how death could be a commodity. There was money to be made and I wanted a piece of the pie. Mimnaugh was old and had no obvious heir. Surely, he was thinking about retiring. At his age, I know I would.
In early April, I took a few days off and flew to Kansas City to investigate the matter. I felt like buying the guy’s business but we weren’t talking about pocket change here. On top of that, buying a business wasn’t like investing on the stock market. The company came with hundreds of employees and I would be accountable for their livelihood. Did I want this kind of responsibility?
Maybe I was. Maybe it wasn’t such a coincidence that I was interested in buying this business at the same time I was to become an officer. Maybe it was a sign I was growing up, becoming more mature.
Mimnaugh had no corporate headquarters per se. The company did its business from the back of one of their funeral homes in Independence. The public area was rather well decorated, what you’d generally expect from such a place.
But when I was ushered into Albert Mimnaugh’s office I was in for a surprise. The spot was a broom closet which reminded me of Campbell Bathurst’s place of work. The walls were institutional white with only a few framed photographs to accentuate the blandness, and the cheap carpet had seen better days. The desk was at best utilitarian and I would have said it was an IKEA reject if it hadn’t predated the store by a good 20 years. The stench of incense permeated everything.
Albert Mimnaugh himself was a sight to behold. At almost 80 years old, he was still a formidable man. He was over six feet tall and was built like a linebacker. A white hair crown topped a face as creased as a Shar Pei dog. Cauliflower ears made the whole effect off-putting.
However, he didn’t seem bothered by his appearance. He was used to looking like a freak and it no longer shamed him. In fact, he went as far as going off the deep end in the wardrobe department as well. Even though it was a business day when I met him, he was wearing a tracksuit over a tank top.
When you’re old and the boss, I concluded, you have the right to do just about anything you want. It’s those who don’t care what others think who succeed. I had to remember that. Still, seeing how the man was dressed made me regret having bought a new sport jacket for the occasion.
I stepped forward as the middle-aged secretary left us alone. “Mr. Mimnaugh, how do you do? I’m glad you could meet with me.”
Just as I extended my hand, the old man reached into a glass on his desk and retrieved dentures which he shook violently before inserting in his mouth. He wiped his hand on his pants and smiled before taking my outstretched hand. I was too shocked to back off.
“I hope your flight wasn’t too unpleasant. I think you said you were from Georgia?”
“Yes, that’s where I’m stationed.”
He sat down in his bargain swivel chair and motioned for me to rest my behind as well.
“Stationed? You’re some kind of soldier or pilot or something?”
“Yes sir, I’m a soldier. I’m posted at Fort Benning, Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion, 75th Rangers.”
“You’re a Ranger?”
“Yes sir, went to Ranger School and everything. As a matter of fact, I’m starting OCS next week. I’m going to be an officer.”
Mimnaugh began laughing. It reminded me of my reaction when my family won the lottery.
“You have something against Rangers, sir?”
“Not at all. It’s just that I was a Ranger myself.”
He pointed behind him at a black and white photograph of young soldiers on Normandy’s Omaha Beach. As I looked closer, I indeed spotted Ranger diamond shoulder patches.
It made me at ease to be in the presence of a Ranger, not to mention that he was also a combat veteran. We spent the next hour talking about the service and what had changed over the years. I especially laughed when he told me about the history of the blue diamond patch.
No one in the 2nd and 5th Battalions liked the insignia much because it was too similar to The Sun Oil Company logo. Actually, the elite Rangers were being referred to as Blue Sunoco and it triggered many fights between the men. As months went by, all Rangers adopted the red and black scroll that is still being used today.
Two coffees -- and one Coke for me -- later, we felt like old war buddies. At first, I simply wanted to humor him in order to get on his good side but I ended up genuinely liking Mimnaugh. He was a no-nonsense type of guy and his lack of manners concealed a truly warm individual. If this is how senior citizens were generally like, I mused, I regretted never having been close to my grandparents.
“So, what can I do for you, Sterling?”
“I came here to ask you about your plans for this business.”
“You’re interested in a job after you leave the Army and you wanna know if I’ll still be around to hire you?”
I smiled but didn’t answer directly. “Actually, I read an article about you. They mentioned you didn’t have any children. That’s why I was wondering what you would do with your company once you retire.”
“And why does that concern you?”
“Because I want to buy it.”
There, I had said it. I didn’t know until that moment that I really wanted to purchase this business.
“I’m sure you’re a very good soldier but they don’t pay you nowhere near well enough for you to afford my chain of funeral homes.”
“Let me worry about the money. I wanted to come here to Missouri to meet you and see how you would react to this. You’ve worked tremendously hard to build this empire and I’m sure you deserve a break. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m not ready for retirement.”
“I understand that. Don’t take this the wrong way but you’ve lived longer than all my grandparents. I know for a fact that my maternal grandfather’s only wish when he died was to have spent more time with his wife. He wished he had traveled with her, played lots of golf with her.”
I was making this up and I hoped I wasn’t too brash or condescending. This was in effect my first real business meeting and I had no way to measure my success.
“I appreciate your concern for my old age and unfulfilled fantasies. What assures me that you won’t sell this company for parts if I let you have it? I have 284 employees and I can’t allow anyone to kick them to the street.”
“I would never let that happen, you have my word. The only thing that was holding me back as far as buying your company was your staff. I had to make sure that I was okay with managing such a workforce. If you let me buy the business I promise not to sell off the company in pieces and I promise there won’t be any downsizing. That’s a promise, sir. From one Ranger to another.”
The last statement made him look at me with less amusement. He could see I was serious.
“Listen to this,” I continued. “I’ll be away at OCS for the next few months. Take this time to think about what you want to do. Think about what you could do with millions upon millions. In July, I’ll get in touch again and we can decide from there what to do.”
That concluded the meeting and I excused myself. I was confident Mimnaugh would see it my way. My speech wasn’t devoid of reason. The purpose of retirement is to have fun, to finally be rewarded for a life of labor.
I figured perhaps the undertaker was so involved with his work that he never contemplated a life of luxury. I hoped my visit planted the seed in his head and that after a few months he would come to realize I was right.
As soon as I got back to Georgia, I called David Zarum at Merrill Lynch. Needless to say, I was his favorite client nowadays. No other junior broker at the firm had a client who was worth as much as I was. His secretary -- he had one now, thanks to my business -- put me through to him right away.
“Hi, David. How are things in the Big Apple?”
“Busy like a cheap broad in a Tijuana whorehouse, as always. What can I do for you?”
“There’s a new investment I’m thinking over right now.”
“Really? You have any hot tips I can pass on to my other clients?”
“Yeah,” I answered with a sneer. “Don’t invest in Bre-X Minerals.”
“Again, I’m so sorry to have put you onto that stock. I can’t find the words--“
“David, I’m just messing with you. Don’t worry about it. I can say we’ve made more right decisions than wrong ones, can’t I?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I was crunching some numbers this morning. You wanna know how much your investments are worth as of this morning?”
“I can’t wait. Good news, I hope.”
“Listen to this,” my broker said with unabashed satisfaction. “Your little $53 million has turned into a sizable $198,213,537.”
“Wow,” is all I could say. There was a lot of interest in the market right now because of the dot-com boom. I expected my money to do well, perhaps even doubling. But quadrupling was not something I could have anticipated in my wildest dreams.
“I know. It’s quite impressive. It goes very fast once the stock splits. In fact, the only stock you own that didn’t split was Apple and even with that company alone you made more than 50% profits. This bull market is beautiful, I love it!”
“It’s great. Continue like that and you can expect a juicy Christmas turkey. Listen, I don’t know if calling you was the right choice or not but I need information about a business.”
“Then I’m your man.”
“It’s not a publicly traded company. It’s privately owned.”
“It’s all right, I can put an intern on it or do it myself if I have to. I’m here to serve you, anything you need.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. There’s a chain of 39 funeral homes based in Kansas City called Mimnaugh. It’s owned by an old man named Albert Mimnaugh. I want to know everything there is to know about that company.”
“Everything?” David asked.
“Everything,” I confirmed. “I want to know about the company’s financial health, total assets, outstanding debts, that sort of thing. I know it may be difficult because it’s privately owned but do your best. You can hire a private detective if you think it will help. But most of all, I want you to evaluate how much that whole company is worth.”
“You want to buy it?”
“That’s the plan. I need that information by mid-July. You remember my lawyer, right? Campbell Bathurst? Call him and have him prepare the paperwork in case I ever go through with it. And then, contact a headhunting firm. Have them look around for somebody who could be CEO material.”
While he would be shuffling papers for the next three months, I was going back to the glorified boot camp of OCS. It was a tossup as to which one of us was the lucky one.
CHAPTER 2
The U.S. Army Officer Candidate School was a response to the growing threat of Nazi Germany in 1938. However, it wasn’t until the summer of 1941 that the school was founded. At the time, General Omar Bradley was Commandant of the Infantry School and he basically single-handedly established the school’s discipline, format, and code of honor.
Between 1941 and 1947, almost 70,000 were commissioned out of this school. After World War II, the Army transferred Infantry OCS from Fort Benning to Fort Riley, Kansas. By 1947, there was no longer a need for officers and OCS was discontinued.
As the Korean War rolled around, officers were once again in short supply. The school was therefore reinstated at Fort Benning under the name First Officer Candidate Battalion, Second Student Regiment. By the time the war ended, about 7,000 infantry officers graduated.
The size of the school was reduced after the conflict and offered only two programs, Infantry and Field Artillery. The Vietnam War created a demand for officers and the school had to once again go in overdrive, especially since the life expectancy for young officers in combat was measured in minutes, not days. At the height of the war, 7,000 officers were commissioned every year.
In 1973, OCS absorbed all branch-specific courses and started providing officers for all sixteen branches of the U.S. Army. The school’s objective was now to train personnel in basic military skills, leadership, and implant professional ethics.
There are essentially three categories of OCS students: civilians, current military personnel, and direct commissions. Civilians are college graduates while direct commissions are doctors, lawyers, and chaplains getting a free ride into the Army. Thankfully, these three categories don’t have to fight each other for available spots at OCS.
Even though I was connected, to use an expression that made it sound sleazy, I still had to get through the selection process. I filled my DA Form 61, wrote a two-page narrative on Why I Want to be an Army Officer, and attended the OCS Structured Interview.
Like 70% of current military applicants, I was accepted at OCS. I was informed upon reporting in that I was to remain with the Infantry. Considering I had combat experience and all the money the government had spent on my training, especially with Ranger School, it would have been stupid to have me relocate to some other branch like the Transportation or Chemical Corps.
Again, I found myself fortunate enough not to have to relocate to another state given that OCS was at Fort Benning. But since it was a training program I did have to sleep on base. The accommodations were much better than boot camp. Everyone shared a room with someone else.
What I didn’t like was that our uniforms had to be stripped of all rank, patches, badges, and tabs. It was weird and a little humiliating to be brought down to the level of some frat boy whose combat experience was limited to trying to get laid on a Friday night.
I found solace in the fact that I could wear my old patches, badges, and Ranger Tab after I graduated. With 90% of students being commissioned after the 14 weeks of OCS, I wasn’t too worried about the outcome.
In fact, after the horror that was Ranger School, OCS was like a working vacation. Much of what was being taught I had already learned at some place or another. What I found difficult was the inevitable Required Knowledge, a document over 2,000 words long that every student had to learn by heart and be able to recite at any given moment.
“Rynes, what is the OCS Honor Code?”
“An Officer Candidate will not lie, cheat, or steal, nor tolerate those who do,” I answered.
Before I reported in to OCS I struggled to complete all the papers and exams related to my college education. I didn’t have time to memorize the entire booklet prior to my arrival like some of the other officer candidates had done. I could lead a platoon in a flanking attack but I had trouble remembering the Officer’s Code of Honor.
“Every officer holds a special position of moral trust and responsibility. No officer will ever violate that trust or avoid his responsibility for any of his actions regardless of the personal cost. An officer is first and foremost a leader of men. He must lead his men by example and personal actions. He cannot manage his command to effectiveness... they must be led; and an officer must therefore set the standard for personal bravery and leadership. All officers are responsible for the actions of all their brother officers. The dishonorable acts of one officer diminishes the corps; the actions of the officer must always be above reproach.”
“Rynes, what is Marshall’s definition of leadership?”
“You have to lead men in war by bringing them along to endure and display qualities of fortitude that are beyond the average man’s thought of what he should be expected to do. You have to inspire them when they are hungry and exhausted and desperately uncomfortable and in great danger. Only a man of positive characteristics of leadership with the physical stamina that goes with it can function under those conditions.”
“Rynes, what is Schofield’s definition of discipline?”
“The discipline which makes the soldiers of a free country reliable in battle is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment. On the contrary, such treatment is far more likely to destroy than to make an Army. It is possible to impart instruction and to give commands in such a manner and such a tone of voice as to inspire in the soldier no feeling, but an intense desire to obey, while the opposite manner and tone of voice cannot fail to excite strong resentment and a desire to disobey. The one mode or the other of dealing with subordinates springs from a corresponding spirit in the breast of the commander. He who feels the respect which is due to others cannot fail to inspire in them regard for himself while he who feels and hence manifest disrespect towards others, especially his inferiors, cannot fail to inspire in them hatred for himself.”
“Rynes, what is the Soldier’s Creed?”
“I am an American Soldier. I am a warrior and member of a team. I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values. I will always place the mission first. I will never accept defeat. I will never quit. I will never leave a fallen comrade. I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills. I always maintain my arms, my equipment, and myself. I am an expert and I am a professional. I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat. I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life. I am an American Soldier.”
But what I struggled the most to learn, perhaps because it wasn’t in my nature to tell people to fuck off, was the section titled Proffer No Excuses.
“Never volunteer excuses or explain a shortcoming unless an explanation is required. The Army demands results. More damage than good is done by proffering unsought excuses.”
* * *
Just like a vacation, I didn’t see the end coming. Graduation was a big deal for most of the new officers in my class but I didn’t feel the same. I had been in so many training programs in the last three years that it was like the boy who cried wolf, like it was stupid of me to invite my father because I always graduated something else shortly after. Graduation ceremonies were becoming mundane for me.
The only person I invited was my friend Dickens but he couldn’t get away from South Carolina that weekend. I paraded with the others wearing my stupid white ascot around my neck and was glad no one was there to immortalize the moment with pictures. At least we weren’t wearing the blue ascot anymore, something that made me look like I was ready to party the night away at the Liberace mansion circa 1975.
At OCS, there are a number of social events which gives the candidates ample opportunity to indulge in binge drinking. By graduation time, no one really feels like drinking anymore. As much as the occasion would call for it, we didn’t feel like getting together again to celebrate. After three months away from friends and family, all we wanted to do was go home.
My home was only a few miles away and going to it meant re-establishing my routine. I didn’t know if I could ever go back to this routine however. I would learn shortly about my next duty assignment so making plans for the future was a waste of time.
Once we were dismissed, I started walking back to the barracks where I would gather my stuff and go to my condo. I wasn’t even off the parade ground when I noticed CIA officer Howard Haynes walking toward me.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant.”
He reached me and we shook hands. I would have to get used to being addressed as an officer.
“Thank you, sir. I wasn’t aware you were going to attend the ceremony.”
“Ever since our little escapade in the Balkans I’ve been keeping in touch with Captain Vibbard. He told me about you becoming an officer. I think it’s the smartest thing the Army’s done since they did away with C rations. You should’ve gotten a medal too.”
“Thanks, but I just did my job.”
“Sure and so did the rest of the team, but they didn’t kill nine terrorists. Take the praise, son. It won’t happen often in your Army career.”
I nodded and left it at that. By silent mutual accord, we began walking away.
He continued, “I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here. You’re probably afraid I wanna get in your pants, or something.”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
The older man guffawed. “Don’t flatter yourself. No, I thought I’d come over and let you know about your next duty assignment.”
“You know about that?” I asked, somewhat incredulously.
“Vibbard was able to claim you for the 3rd Rangers again, you won’t be assigned to some subpar infantry regiment in Korea.”
That was such a relief to hear. The Rangers were my life. I joined the Army because I wanted to be part of the Rangers and I was delighted my career hadn’t taken a wrong turn.
“That’s great news.”
“As you know, you can’t return to your old company. Looks like you’ll be assigned to HQ Company.”
As Mr. Haynes handed me an envelope containing my orders, my heart sank. HQ Company meant administrative work of some type, not something for which I had signed up. He noticed the look on my face.
“What’s with the long face? You look like you were rode hard and put away wet.”
“It’s nothing, I just expected to go back to the field. But I guess the Army puts you where the Army needs you.”
“Or, the Army puts you where the Agency wants you.”
I looked up at him sharply. “What?”
“You don’t really think I came all the way from Virginia just to see you parading around in your Sunday uniform, do you?”
“I suppose not, although I do look quite spiffy in my Sunday uniform.”
“From HQ Company, you’re being detached to the CIA’s Office of Military Affairs. You ever heard of it?”
“I can’t say that I have,” I answered.
“OMA is basically a liaison office between the Agency and the different branches of the military. There is CIA personnel deployed with the troops and there is military personnel serving with the CIA.”
“And that’s where I come in?”
“That’s where you come in. You will be part of the team at headquarters in Langley.”
“That’s why you came all the way from Virginia to see me parading around in my Sunday uniform?”
An approving smile appeared on his face. “You catch on quick, I knew I made the right decision. From the OMA, you’ll be further detached to my office in the DO, the Directorate of Operations. Well, technically the OMA is part of the DO but you’ll be working for my service.”
“The Accounting Department?”
“Actually, the Clandestine Service.”
Clandestine Service, as I would learn, was a way of saying dangerous spy shit. It looked like the government had volunteered me for it.
CHAPTER 3
I had two weeks as a combined en route leave/TDY travel/OCS graduation leave. I would need all this time in order to organize my move from Georgia to Virginia. After sleeping for 13 hours and treating myself to a copious barbecue meal at a restaurant I liked, I attacked the problem.
I called New York and had David Zarum fax me all the information he had gathered on Albert Mimnaugh and his funeral homes. I didn’t want to have a conversation about it at the moment with David. That would come later.
I took a shower while the fax came in and then telephoned a moving company to ask if they handled cross-country travels. Once I was assured they did, I secured their services. They promised to be at my condo the following Monday. This meant I had six days to find a new home.
I could have stayed at Fort Myer or Fort Belvoir, at the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, but there was a waiting list. Besides, I didn’t want to live on a military base where I would have to pull Officer of the Day duty or be submitted to surprise inspections.
I contacted my local real estate agent to let him know I was moving out of my apartment and that I would not renew my lease which was due in a few months. While I was at it, I made arrangements to have my utilities canceled by the following week.
The lease on my Porsche was also coming to an end soon and I decided to let the car go. It was already three years old and there was no way I was going to drive it to Washington D.C. I returned the car to the dealership and flew to the capital.
Now that I had some time to myself, I pulled out the documentation David had faxed and went over it. At first glance it seemed like Mimnaugh was a dream come true. The old man was old school; he expanded his business when he had the money to do so. Aside from a mortgage on the newest buildings and some new limousines and hearses, the company was debt-free.
David had really done a fine job in preparing the dossier. There was a brief history of the business as well as some newspaper clippings proving it was well regarded in the community. There were no scandals or lawsuits to make the purchase unappealing.
I had made up my mind about buying the chain of funeral homes. Obviously, my money would multiply faster in the stock market. It was a bull market and someone who had the nerves could become exceedingly prosperous. It was already the case for me.
What I was afraid of was the inevitability of the bear market. What comes up must come down, what goes around comes around. It was impossible to sustain such a hyperactive marketplace. The dot-com boom would eventually come to a crashing end -- it never fails -- and I wanted my money out in a safe place before it happened.
Mimnaugh seemed like the perfect haven. The funeral business was a growth industry. The Baby Boom generation was getting older and when they started dying off, Mimnaugh would make a killing, so to speak. Mom was already dead, she was proof enough. Perhaps one day computers and the Internet would be obsolete but funeral homes would remain. What is it they say about death and taxes? Maybe I should buy into H&R Block...
I was happy with what David had discovered and I really wanted the company. I anxiously flipped pages until I reached the section on the worth of the business. David had a comprehensive breakdown of what Mimnaugh owned: 39 buildings, 143 vehicles, chemicals, casket inventory, etc. It was estimated that the firm brought in over three million dollars in profits in 1997.
In his best judgment, the company was worth $115 million. The last time I checked I was worth nearly $200 million so I could definitely afford this. What I was worried about was that Mimnaugh didn’t feel like he was ready for retirement.
After arriving at the newly renamed Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, I was ready to go to sleep for another 13 hours. It had been a full day. I checked into The Ritz-Carlton Pentagon City and turned in for the night.
The next morning, I brought the phone directory with me down to The Grill. I took note of some realtors while I had breakfast. It would be, I feared, another busy day. My parents taught me not to be willingly influenced by advertisements but I failed them on this late-July morning.
I took notice of the biggest ad in the Yellow Pages because I figured if they could afford a full-page of publicity they must have a lot of customers. I wasn’t looking for a competent real estate agent, just someone with many listings to choose from.
I made an appointment with the agency once I finished eating and took a cab to their offices on Massachusetts Avenue. A woman introducing herself as Mindy welcomed me and brought me back to her office.
“So, Mr. Rynes, were you looking for anything in particular? Any area in D.C. you’re interested in? I have some wonderful condominiums available right now.”
“Well, I’m starting a job at the CIA headquarters in two weeks. So I guess I need something in Langley.”
I had seen enough spy movies to know where the main CIA building was located. She smiled in that way people do when they recognize foolishness and are amused by it. Clearly, I had misspoken.
“Technically, Langley hasn’t existed for the last 90 years. Locals often refer to the neighborhood as Langley but the name of the town is actually McLean.”
“Sorry,” I said, wishing I had read my orders more carefully.
“I don’t know what your budget is but McLean is an expensive town. I might not have anything in your price range.”
That woman was simply accumulating the missteps. I didn’t like her attitude one bit and I considered walking out. Still, I was there and I didn’t have time to waste looking for realtors who suited me on a personal level. If it were the case, I could be here all week.
“My posting is for two years so I’m looking to rent something. Forget about the price. If I see something I like, I’ll find a way to pay for it.”
As planned, that shut her up. She smiled and I could sense her condescending attitude toward me, if not vanish, at least being dialed down.
“Two years, you say?”
“That’s right, until August 2000.”
She perked up as she started typing furiously on her keyboard.
“I might have something for you. A month ago, one of our clients was named ambassador to some place in South America. He expects to be abroad with his family until at least September 2000. He asked us about renting his house away for him in the meantime.”
“The house is available now?”
“Absolutely. The rent is $2,800 a month and the utilities are at your expense. We can deal with the utility companies to have everything turned on for you.”
She rotated her computer screen so I could see the pictures. It was a mansion, a two-story colonial brick house that reminded me of the McAllister residence in Home Alone.
“I know it’s a big house,” she continued. “Five bedrooms, three and a half baths, it’s huge for a single person but you’re about to start a family, am I right?”
“No,” I simply replied to watch her eat crow.
“The best part is not that it’s in a quiet neighborhood, no sir. The best part is that it’s only three miles from the CIA compound. You’ll appreciate the short commute, I can guarantee that. Everybody in Washington is stressed out because of long commutes. That must be why politicians are always fighting and why we’re always bombing other countries.”
“Can I visit the place before I decide anything?”
“Of course.”
I joined Mindy in her car and we drove across the Potomac to Fairfax County. On the way to the house, she showed me where I could find the CIA headquarters and it was indeed a very short drive down Route 123 to the ambassador’s house.
The home was impressive. There were large rooms, a marble foyer with columns, hardwood floors, two fireplaces, an eat-in kitchen with island, and a walk-out lower level which included a rec room with a wet bar. The yard was expansive with mature landscaping, a patio, and a deck.
It was terrific and I signed a two-year lease. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet and I had a new home.
* * *
As should be the case for something as luxurious -- it was after all valued at $850,000 -- the house came fully furnished. All the owners’ personal effects had been removed but otherwise it was ready to be lived in. There was flatware and cooking apparatus, linens and towels, TVs and stereos. It was well decorated to boot.
I didn’t own a lot of furniture but it would be superfluous here. Right before lunch, I found a storage service and made arrangements to have my furniture delivered there by the moving company. I would only take my personal stuff to the house.
After wolfing down some pasta at the hotel and checking out, I went looking for some wheels. Having driven a Porsche convertible for three years, I was ready to try something else. McLean was a heavily wooded area, much like Woodcreek. I figured an SUV would be more appropriate and so I took a two-year lease on a black Range Rover. I told them to hold it for me for another week.
I returned to Washington National and bought a ticket for the 2 p.m. flight to Kansas City. On the plane, I called Mimnaugh’s office and thankfully they put me through to the old man. He had expected me to come back into his life this summer and therefore agreed to let me take him out to dinner. I checked into the Airport Hilton Hotel and slipped into my Class A uniform.
Mimnaugh recommended Ophelia’s on Independence Square and we met there at half past seven. It was a charming American bistro although the decor was a little too contemporary. In the movies I had seen, rich people always discussed business in a traditional old world setting. But apparently the place was a favorite of his so it was fine by me.
“So you really are a Ranger.”
The uniform had had its effect and I was satisfied. We made small talk as we dove into the Chef’s Sampler, an assortment of the chef’s favorites served as a shared appetizer for the table. I was either very hungry or it was very delicious. In any case, it went down easily.
“So,” Mimnaugh said once we had ordered our entrees. “You think three months was enough?”
“You tell me, sir. I certainly hope you’ve had enough time to come to terms with your feelings on the subject.”
He smiled. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
“That’s good news, I’m glad to hear it.”
“How do you know it’s good news? I just said I made up my mind, not that you’d be happy with the decision.”
“Well,” I began calmly. “The way I see it, this conversation has three outcomes. Number one, you tell me you have no interest in retiring. Number two, you agree to sell me your entire operation. Number three, you will retire but still won’t agree to sell me the business.”
“That’s about right.”
“Either way I’m satisfied with the decision.”
This intrigued him. “How’s that?”
“Naturally, if I can walk out of here with the understanding that you’re letting me buy your company, I’m ecstatic. I mean, that’s why I came here to begin with. But if you turn me down, at least I’m free to go home and invest my money somewhere else. So whatever you decide, no hard feelings.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Rangers are taught to improvise in order to accomplish any mission. Whatever you throw my way I’ll deal with.”
I was expecting Mimnaugh to drop the hammer at this point. Instead, he called the waitress so we could give our orders. He had the Guinness beef stew while I gave the New Zealand rack of lamb a chance. In spite of my confessed confidence and bordering nonchalance, I was nervous and no longer hungry.
“All right, now I’m ready to share my decision with you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I’ve come to realize you were right.”
I’m always right, I almost blurted out loud. “About what?”
“I am ready to retire. I talked about it with my wife and it’d be nice to take a cruise around the world without having to worry about what’s going on at the office. So I decided to sell the company.”
“To me?”
“That’s where it gets tricky.”
Confused, I replied, “I don’t think it has to be.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I think you’re a very nice young man. You’ve obviously done very well for yourself and you seem a fine officer.”
“Why do I sense the other side of the coin looming?”
“What really scares me is your inexperience in managing a large company like mine. My employees can’t afford to trust their future to a 21-year-old on a shopping spree.”
The comment stung. What the hell did he think I was? Some valley girl with her daddy’s credit card? This was a sensible investment and I intended to treat it like one. I thought I had sounded professional enough.
“Mr. Mimnaugh, I can understand your position. But frankly, do you really think I’ll be the one leading the company on a day-to-day basis? I plan to hire a professional administrator who will rely on the help from the managers of each funeral home. I have no interest in losing money or offering an inadequate service. I’m in this to continue a tradition you started.”
“Still--“
“Let’s talk economics,” I said, interrupting him. “My people tell me your company is worth $115 million. That’s how much I’m prepared to offer you right now. I can pay cash, you’ll have your check by the end of the week.”
I could see he was taken aback by my aggressiveness but also by my financial candor. Then, he grew more pensive as he sipped his wine.
“If my company is worth $115 million, I need to make a profit, don’t I?”
“The most I can pay is $125 million.”
I had read somewhere that you should never pay more than 10% of the company’s worth otherwise you lose all credibility on the market.
“I also want a promise you won’t start downsizing the minute you become the owner. That seems like the corporate mentality these days, fire everyone and hope to make more money somehow.”
“I swear I will not lay off employees. Mimnaugh is a service provider, without the employees there’s nothing.”
“Under these circumstances, I will agree to sell the business to you.”
CHAPTER 4
I didn’t waste any time and boarded a jet to New York City the next morning. I established my quarters at the Waldorf Astoria. I was only starting not to worry about the high expenses I was incurring. By last count, I still had about $75 million. I could afford nice hotels.
I met David Zarum after lunch at his Merrill Lynch office. He was no longer a junior broker, thanks to my account, and he now had a sizable working space. It wasn’t a corner office but it offered nice views of the World Trade Center.
“Moving up in the world, I see,” I told him.
“I’d rather be on the other side of the building, see the Hudson River. What I have here is the World Trade Center keeping the sun from entering my office. It’s kind of depressing, actually.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’d prefer going back to your broom closet.”
“You’d be surprised. The girl in the next office was worth the small space. Three miles of legs and one hell of a chest of drawers, let me tell you.”
I laughed heartily. “That’s the great part about Wall Street. Where I work women are in short supply and those who are around tend to not look like supermodels.”
Aside from one forgivable one-night stand suffered almost a year ago, I hadn’t been with a woman since Kimberly. I kept telling myself I didn’t have time for a social life with the job and my studies.
The truth was I found the excuse convenient. It kept me from going out of my comfort zone. Like with my romance tactics from high school, my plan was to let my needs simmer until the boiling point. When I’m ready to burst, I’ll make my move.
“So, you’re coming back from Kansas City, right?”
“This morning.”
“What did he say? Will he sell the business to you?”
“Does a stripper have fake tits?”
“That’s great news, I love fake tits. What’s the agreed price?”
“Peanuts, only $125 million. I can afford it, right?”
“If you ask the Army for a raise, I’m sure you can.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m kidding. You could afford to buy the New York Yankees and still have proper change for a couple of first-rate pitchers.”
“What’s my worth as of this morning?”
“Let’s see...”
He turned to his computer and went looking for my files. With a few mouse clicks he printed the document.
“Mr. Favorite Client,” he continued. “You’ll be happy to know that the market has continued to improve since the last time we spoke.”
“Tell me sweet nothings, my friend.”
“As of this morning your investments are worth $296,414,750. Your money in Yahoo! alone is worth $214,925,280 with the shares trading at $160.”
“Didn’t I buy this at $16?”
“It’s awesome, isn’t it?”
“It can’t possibly keep going like this. The money I need to buy Mimnaugh I want to come out of Yahoo!, okay?”
“All of it? We could spread it around a little.”
“No, the stock is bound to come down. I want to cut my losses before it happens. How much Yahoo! will I have left?”
“Considering taxes...” his voice trailed off as he worked his pocket calculator. “Mimnaugh will cost you $211,864,480. You’ll have 19,130 shares of Yahoo! worth $3,060,800. You’ll still have $84,550,270 in investments which, if you’ll allow me, isn’t bad for a 21-year-old Army 2nd lieutenant.”
“No, it’s not bad at all. Tell me, did you get a chance to meet with the headhunting firm?”
He turned away from me and fished a folder from a drawer.
“They found a guy I think would be perfect. His name is John Novacek, he’s a vice president over at AIG. He’s 43 years old, a graduate of Wharton Business School, and the father of two.”
“Wharton is a far cry from Harvard,” I said, knowing that David was himself a proud Harvard man.
“I know, some people just like slumming. I have other candidates but I really thought this guy was perfect.”
“Can I afford him?”
“Calculating salary, stock options, bonuses, and expense account, Novacek made a grand total of $650,000 last year. I think you have sufficient funds, but that’s up to you. Anyway, he seemed really excited.”
“You talked to him already?”
I didn’t know if that was a good thing. It was up to me to decide who would run the business and this was putting me in a difficult position. On the other hand, I was the boss and I wasn’t supposed to care about other people’s feelings.
“I told you, he’s perfect for the job.”
I went over the file and realized that David was right, Novacek was indeed the most qualified for the job. The only other vice president of the list was overpaid and his area of expertise was human resources.
“All right,” I said. “You think I can meet with him today?”
* * *
It made me a little uneasy to hold a meeting with a family man outside regular business hours. As much as Novacek might have wanted to work for me, he still had a job with AIG. Even a vice president had to put in an appearance. He suggested we meet for dinner and I recommended a rather trendy restaurant Downtown. It came highly recommended in The New York Times.
I couldn’t be blamed for the guy missing dinner with his family but it still made me uncomfortable. I know my father hated it when he had to attend a business dinner. Work wasn’t supposed to intrude on personal life. Anyway, perhaps Novacek was married to an insufferable wench and was glad to have an excuse to be away from her. Who was I to judge?
Our meeting wasn’t until six o’clock. I was grateful for the time off which I decided to use finding a way to compensate David for the hard work he had done for me. He had definitely gone beyond the call of duty. He had to be rewarded. I considered buying an upscale timepiece or perhaps even a car. In New York, receiving a car as a gift might not be such a blessing. Traffic and parking was always a problem and I didn’t want to cause troubles for David.
In the end, I visited a travel agent and bought a 14-day luxury cruise package which could be redeemed at any time. I gave it to him before Novacek showed up. I don’t know if he expected anything but he did appear to be delighted. I don’t think I had ever read anything about it in textbooks but rewarding competent collaborators seemed like the logical thing to do to ensure their continued loyalty and hard work.
The meeting started off without a hitch. Novacek was obviously a little startled by my youth but he didn’t make a big deal out of it. If he really wanted the job his game was to kiss as much ass as he could fit in his mouth. We spent the first hour simply making small talk and getting to know each other. It’s halfway through the main course that I brought up the reason why we were here in the first place.
“Tell me, John. Are you happy with AIG?”
“I am happy with my current position, yes, no doubt about it. Mr. Greenberg is an awesome boss, he made AIG one of the biggest companies in the United States, the world’s largest financial services provider.”
“Forget about the company, I’m asking about you. Are you challenged enough right now?”
“It does get a little routine. My only chances for advancement are the CFO, COO, and CEO positions and I’m not first in line.”
“So your ambition is to be a CEO someday, right?”
“No doubt about it,” he repeated zestfully.
“Here’s the deal, as you already know, I’m purchasing a chain of funeral homes in the Midwest. It’s already a well-oiled machine and it’s turning in profits regularly. I need a CEO who will run a tight ship since my current job is keeping me busy elsewhere. I don’t need a slash-and-burn, downsize-everything hired gun here, let’s get this straight. I need someone who is a good administrator. Would that type of job description fit you?”
“When I was informed by David I was being considered, I started thinking about things I would do if I did get the job. Of course, I didn’t know which specific company we were talking about but I did begin to elaborate strategies. I’m not a big fan of downsizing either and it’s only ever useful with large multinational corporations which are disorganized. Besides, there are no investors to please with a private company. Am I interested in the job? No doubt about it.”
“But?” I asked, sensing the imminent fall of the other shoe.
“Funeral homes are often regional chains. They’re very profitable, provided they’re well-managed. My philosophy would be to look into expansion through the acquisition of funeral home chains in different parts of the country.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” I admitted.
“There’s a lot of homework involved, no doubt about it, but it can be very lucrative.”
“That’s it, it’s decided. I want you as the new CEO of Mimnaugh. I can offer you half a million in salary, another half a million in expenses, and 5% of the profits. What do you say? Are you ready to move to Kansas City?”
“No doubt about it,” he said, shaking my hand.
We worked over the details during dessert and I was convinced I had made the right decision. Being a vice president at a Fortune 500 company proved his qualifications were beyond reproach. People with more experience than me had already gone over his case and come to the conclusion that he was the kind of man who could handle billions of dollars.
He was perfect for the job. From what I’d seen, he was a friendly guy and I wouldn’t have any trouble dealing with him. I was looking forward to working with him, even though I wouldn’t be doing much work myself.
It was rather late when we parted ways. I was in a celebratory mood but both David and Novacek had to work early in the morning and refused my invitation to prolong the festivities. Once they left, I headed to the bar where yuppies were socializing. I didn’t fit in both in terms of chosen career path and lifestyle.
Still, I was young, happy, and rich; I wouldn’t have fitted anywhere else at the moment. Scanning the room, I saw that no one was alone which only served to highlight my own loneliness. I was moving to a new city, once again not involved romantically with anyone, and, being a newly commissioned officer, I couldn’t hang out with my enlisted friends anymore.
I ordered amaretto and resigned myself to go back to the hotel once my glass was dry. Twenty minutes later, as I was getting up to leave, I felt a presence next to me. I hazarded a glance.
She was a statuesque beauty in her early 20’s with an evening gown I could swear had been spray-painted on. She was alone and smiling at me.
Random women smiling at me wasn’t something that occurred often. Up until that point, I had killed more people than women had smiled at me, not including relatives and polite pedestrians. Consequently, to have a beautiful stranger show me her pearly whites was exciting.
I reconsidered my decision to leave and when the bartender asked me if I wanted a refill I replied in the affirmative.
Then I added, “And perhaps something for the lady.”
She smiled even broadly. “Tom Collins, please.”
The bartender walked away to prepare the drinks and I had no idea how to handle the situation from there. Fortunately, she turned to me and said, “Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure. I can use the company.”
“You’re feeling lonely tonight?”
“No, it’s just that I’m closing a pretty big deal this week and I felt like celebrating.”
“You work on Wall Street?”
“I’m an investor,” I answered, leaving my job description rather vague. I wasn’t even sure what my job was, aside from being a soldier. “What do you do?”
“You can say I’m a personal assistant.”
The drinks were delivered and she raised her glass to me. “Congratulations on your deal.”
“Thank you, my name is Sterling.”
“I’m Paris. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
We shook hands and the softness of her skin reminded me of Kimberly. Then again, I didn’t have much basis for comparison.
“Tell me Sterling, do you live in the city?”
“Actually, I’m in the process of moving to Washington. For the past three years I lived in Georgia and before that I was raised in upstate New York.”
“I love Washington. Prestige, power, it’s such a turn-on.” She leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, her warm breath giving me goose bumps. “Does it have the same effect on you?”
“Not as much as amaretto and the presence of a beautiful lady by my side,” I replied without thinking.
“Where are you staying, Sterling? Is your hotel nearby?”
“I have a suite at the Waldorf Astoria.”
“Would you believe me if I said that’s my favorite hotel?”
She touched my arm gently as she spoke. Wasn’t touching your interlocutor a sign of genuine interest? This was going better than anticipated.
“It is a nice place,” I agreed.
“Do you want to go to your hotel? We could have a nightcap over there, see how things develop.”
I couldn’t believe my luck. This girl could be a fashion model and she wanted to come back to my room. The way she sounded, I wouldn’t have difficulty peeling off her pretty dress. I was jumping up and down inside my head, doing cartwheels like a 10-year-old girl.
I tried remaining cool, like I heard this kind of proposition every day. “That sounds like an interesting idea.”
That’s when her face twisted into a smile a child would do before confessing to having spilled grape juice over the white carpet.
“Before we go, you need to know something, just so we’re clear.”
“You’re not a guy, are you?” Was that why she was so tall?
“No, I’m 100% woman. But I do charge $600 an hour and it’s two hours minimum. Does that work for you?”
I was shocked! I couldn’t believe she was a call girl. Then again, I should have realized it sooner. When was the last time a gorgeous woman gave me googly eyes? The worst part was that I knew high-class escorts worked these kinds of bars, trolling for clients. I was at first offended. Why in the world would she think I needed to pay to get laid? I was young, rich, and certainly not hideous. I was no Casanova but my pride was hurt.