Chapter 3

"Did you sell Baxley yesterday, as I told you, Walt?" I asked into the phone from the plush office which served as headquarters for most of my public corporations.

"Yes, I did," he answered. "Why?"

"Turn on your TV," was all I said. I didn't have to tell him which channel. If I knew Walt, he would keep the television in his office on the business news 24/7.

" ... news, Baxley Electronics filed for bankruptcy today in the wake of reports that the EPA has filed suit against the company for improper disposal of chemicals used in its manufacturing process. Insiders at the company report that Baxley tried to raise money to cover the penalties and legal fees but that it had fallen short of raising the necessary cash. Investors, leery of the company's financial troubles began a selloff yesterday, and Baxley's stock plummeted overnight from one hundred twenty three dollars a share, to fifty seven."

"This is good news for Greenday Energy which has been in a bidding war with Baxley for certain components. The component supplier has now agreed to sell those components to Greenday for a fraction of what it had been asking before the Baxley news broke," a second announcer said. "It also means that Zarkoff Shipping's innovative new prototype will slip down the ways on schedule. Zarkoff's newest container ship will be the first to launch under the power of the Greenday multifuel powerplant. This powerplant, which can use almost any hydrogen-rich material in a clean-burning, near-zero emission conversion process, promises to save Zarkoff millions in shipping costs. At least some of those savings are expected to translate into lower prices for their customers. As you know, Bill, Zarkoff has contracted with Greenday to refit their entire fleet with the new powerplant."

"Yes, Mark," the first announcer returned, "but that contract was in jeopardy because of Greenday's difficulty in getting the necessary components. One could say that Baxley has done both companies a big favor with its filing today."

I muted the volume on my set and returned to the phone. I could still hear the sound of the TV on the other end.

"Are you still there Walt?"

"I'm still here, Nils," Walt answered, "and worth a lot more than I was yesterday. Have you seen what's happening to Greenday and Zarkoff shares?"

"Of course, Walt," I told him. "My methods predicted this."

"I've got an empty seat on the board at Megadyne, Nils," Walt said, "how would you like to fill it?"

"A simple 'thank you' would be sufficient, Walt," I replied.

"Thank you, shmank you!" he exclaimed. "I could use a fresh-thinking young fellow like yourself to help keep us a step ahead of the wolves."

"I don't think so, Walt," I told him. "The rest of your board would never listen to someone as young as myself. Besides, the foundation of my portfolio is long-term investments that I can hold for years or even decades and expect a steady growth. Your company is far too short-sighted for my purposes, and it wouldn't be right for me to sit on the board if I weren't an investor in your company."

"Short-sighted? What do you mean, 'short-sighted'?"

"I mean that, like the other big oil companies, you are fighting tooth and nail to be the one to suck the last barrel of oil out of the earth and sell it at exhorbitant prices, with no thought for what will happen to your company or its investors when that last precious drop of petroleum fuel hits the concrete of the last gas station on Earth. No, I'm not betting on sprinters, Walt. I've got my money on the marathoners. I do appreciate the thought, however."

"Sprinters?!" Walt exclaimed angrily, "I'll have you know that Megadyne has been around for almost two hundred years!"

"And you're sprinting for the finish line for your industry," I explained patiently. "The oil, no matter what you do, is drying up. The best you can hope for is to last longer than your competitors. Your bread and butter is going away, and the best minds in your industry can't think of anything to do about it except make as much money off of what's left as possible. My earlier statements were an overdramatization, but you're headed for a fall, nonetheless. What's really going to happen is that Megadyne and the other companies clinging to petroleum as their sole source of income will begin to see their markets eroded away by companies like Greenday who are looking to the future. Do you know what those Zarkoff freighters will be using for fuel?"

"What is it? Some kind of uber-efficient hybrid?" Walt scoffed. "They'll still have to buy it from us, even if they don't use as much of it."

"Actually, Zarkoff has negotiated waste disposal contracts with the ports out of which its ships operate. Those ships, once converted, will be getting paid by the ports to take garbage off their hands. Garbage that the Greenday plant will convert to the hydrogen it uses for fuel. The by-products of the process are a number of component chemicals, especially carbon. Since those chemicals come out of the conversion process with industrial grade purity, Zarkoff will then sell the chemicals as well. Are you counting, Walt? For the cost of the power plant, each of those ships will have at least three separate revenue streams. They estimate that the garbage contracts and chemical sales alone will more than offset their maintenance and repair costs. You do the math. Zero fuel costs, zero maintenance - they'll be able to undercut their competitors and still make huge profits. What do you suppose will happen to bunker fuel demand when the rest of the shipping industry gets wind of that and starts converting their own ships?"

"We'll just do what we've always done," Walt said angrily. "We'll buy up Greenday and shut it down."

"Good luck with that, Walt," I told him. "I've got a fifty-one percent share in that particular company. Want to guess how much it's going to cost you to get enough of it to do you any good?"

"I thought you were my friend!" Walt exploded. "How could you do this to me!"

Instead of pointing out the obvious fallacy of his assumption of friendship, I showed him the carrot. "I'm not your friend, Walt, but I do sympathize with your stockholders. I'll show you a way out of the cul-de-sac down which you're headed, if you're willing to make it work."

"A way out?" I almost laughed at the obvious relief in his voice. "What do we have to do?"

"You have to do exactly as I tell you," I said, setting the hook a little deeper. "I gave you good advice on your personal investments, and my advice for salvaging your company's future will be good too, but like my investment strategy, it will not necessarily make sense at first. You'll have to trust me."

"Trust you? After you stabbed me in the back?"

"If you call increasing your personal fortune by at least five million being stabbed in the back," I replied, "I can't help you. Goodbye Walt."

"Wait! Wait, okay?"

I waited for him to put his thoughts together. There was silence on the line for several seconds.

"What do I have to do?" he finally asked.

I made it a practice to have dinner with Grace and those of her young men and women who weren't otherwise engaged, at least once a week. Sometimes we had a catered dinner at the establishment, and other times I took them out. Oddly enough, the cuisine that was most popular for these weekly meals did not come from the fancier establishments around town. Grace's agency served only those who could afford to go first-class in everything that they did, so the young men and women frequently ate at the most expensive restaurants as companions to their clients. When I bought them dinner, though, more often than not, they chose pizza. Since weight gain was a huge no-no in their chosen profession, a special occasion was one on which they could not only let their hair down and not have to worry about table manners, but one during which they didn't worry about calories, either.

So it was that I found myself, two or three times a month, sharing pizza with a flock of lovely young women and handsome young men. They were forbidden from discussing business at these dinners, especially the 'chosen ones', so the dinners became, as I had hoped, an opportunity for us to get to know one another. The topics included anecdotes from their assignments, but no names or 'real' information were passed on. Instead, they spoke freely about almost anything that came to mind, and I, mostly, listened.

That is how I came to build a state of the art fitness facility on the premises. I had heard repeatedly, over dinner, how hard it was to get to the gym, or how some other aspect of their personal lives got put on hold while they drove to a nearby facility to exercise. There was no question that the exercise was required. Their clients expected the finest, and that meant trim, fit young women and chiseled young men with 'six pack' abs and well defined chests.

It seemed to me that if the business required it of them, then the business should pay for their use of the facility and make it convenient for them to get the exercise they needed. So, I built a gym on the property with a full complement of state of the art machines and weight training facilities, as well as a pool and jacuzzi, and the obligatory locker rooms with showers. As soon as the facility opened, I announced a change in policy: No longer would employees use their spare time for exercise. They were now required to put in at least a half hour each shift that they worked.

I became very popular with my employees, and, as word got around the industry, it became easier to recruit new talent.

Anastasia and I did a little research and chose a resort in Seychelles for our honeymoon. The yacht dealer was kind enough (after I promised a generous commision) to round up a crew and get my new yacht started on its journey.

"Oh!" Anastasia exclaimed peering out the window of the helicopter as we overtook the yacht somewhere south of Sri Lanka. "It is quite large, isn't it?"

"Only the best for you, my lovely bride," I told her. Truth be told, except for pictures on the web page, I had never seen the vessel before.

Anastasia, fully aware of the nature of our relationship, turned, nonetheless, and flashed me a brilliant smile.

The helicopter pilot and the crew of the yacht worked together flawlessly to get us landed safely on the helipad near the stern. We stepped out as the rotor blades slowed and stopped and the crew of the yacht hustled to secure the chopper to the pad. I nodded in approval. It was never a good idea to leave a piece of equipment unsecured for long at sea. From somewhere came the knowledge that freak weather and rogue waves could take even the most experienced seaman by surprise.

The steward, immaculate in starched white shorts and shirt, showed us to our suite. Like the rest of the craft, it was lavishly appointed with an understated elegance. There were many conveniences and amenities that were not readily apparent. The steward showed us how to use the touchpads near the bed and the most comfortable seating to access a wide range of entertainment features, including the retractable large-screen televisions, DVD players, satellite receiver, and the hidden sound system. The controls for the surround-shower, the waterfall-fed tub, and the spa were similarly discreet.

The living area opened directly onto the pool deck, and Anastasia and I wasted no time shedding our clothing and having the attendants coat our bodies with sunblock. Swimsuits? Too many tan lines! The attendants could have been on Grace's staff, they were that young and attractive.