Page 95 of The Lookback

“They consistently outperform the market.”

“So does your sister, by a much larger margin.” I narrow my eyes.

When we land, there’s a car waiting, and even so, stupid Oliver has already assembled a quorum and is talking to them when we land. At least I recognize a lot of faces around the table when I walk in the door.

“We have the required quorum,” Oliver says.

I wonder what the current CEO offered him for turning on me. “That makes things easier for me.”

Abigail hands me my stack of proxies. “I represent forty-nine percent of your outstanding shares. And you’ve gathered most of the others here.”

“But it’s too late for talking. You’re late. We’re about to vote,” Oliver says.

“Under section 16f, a majority shareholder can speak before any forced vote, as long as there was less than twenty-four hours notice given,” Abigail says.

I love having her with me. “And I’m going to exercise that right.” I can tell that Oliver’s ticked, but he can’t stop me. None of them can. I just need to get at least two percent of the people gathered to switch to my side, and they’ll have to accept my tendered purchase offer.

The CEO’s a very stormy looking older man with eyebrows that look like little white caterpillars. He moves out of the way very slowly, like he might be able to hold his ground by refusing to yield the podium. But I don’t need a microphone to address the people gathered in this boardroom. There aren’t even sixty of them. It looks like a town hall meeting in Manila.

“My name’s Helen Fisher. Some of you have heard of me, either from Oliver, or perhaps from reading Forbes. You surely know that I’m famous for making a lot of money out of companies that were formerly foundering.”

“Which is why we’re confused at your interest. Our company is doing fine,” the CEO says. He’s clearly Gonzago’s man.

“We won’t let you steal from us,” a blonde in the back says.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “In fact, as you may already know, I’ve been buying your shares at market value for quite some time now. I personally own twelve percent of your company. If I were planning to steal from you, would I place myself in exactly your position?” I arch one eyebrow. “I also own another thirty percent through my group—a company that I own nearly outright myself.”

“So what do you want?” the same blonde woman asks.

“I would like to wrest control from this man right there.” I point at the CEO. “For the past three years, he’s been badly mismanaging things, and your company has underperformed as a result of that management.”

“You get monthly numbers,” the CEO says, his caterpillars bobbling wildly. “You know that’s not true.”

“I don’t read the Bible much, but my sister was just telling me about a story from it, one that you might know already. In the New Testament, Jesus tells a story about some master who gave his servants gold pieces. One of them buries the gold, but doesn’t lose it. One turns two gold shares into four, and one turns five into ten. As you already know, Jesus rewarded?—”

Abby clears her throat. “The master in the story rewarded.”

“Right,” I say. “The master rewarded those who turned two into four and five into ten, but he punished the man who sat on the buried money. That’s essentially what your CEO here has done.” I nod at Abby.

She passes around the packets we prepared. A few people have to share, but most of them have one to themselves.

“This is my plan for the company, which most people in my position wouldnotshare. You can look over what I intend to do, the numbers we project it will yield, and what we hope to accomplish in the next twelve months. I believe they speak for themselves.” I lean forward and drop my palms flat on the table. “I never bury my gold.”

I let them think, murmur, and review for a moment.

But just as the CEO is standing up, ready to dicker over some line or another, I resume. “Compared to the rest of the market, you’ve barely kept apace with what your company has long been worth. I’m suggesting that instead of treading water, we double our money.” I straighten. “Or. . .how do you think Jesus would feel about us tripling it?”

Abby looks a little pained at my abuse of her analogy, but no one here seems too upset. In fact, a few of them are cheering. In the end, the vote winds up being close to sixty percent in my favor. I’m smiling when I stand up. “I’m delighted at the trust you’ve placed in me.”

Abby’s hiss, however, is a little distracting.

“What?”

She points at my chair.

And I realize that where I was just sitting, there’s a puddle of blood.

For a baby I didn’t even want, I’m surprisingly nervous as I’m rushed to the ER and then straight up to labor and delivery. Abby’s texted and called everyone by the time I’ve been seen, and David’s on his way to LA.

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