28. Confession Time

28

Confession Time

KINGSTON MOORE

Kingston made it into Last Chance’s office in Stamford, Connecticut, with ten minutes to spare before their Monday morning all-hands-on-deck meeting.

After disembarking the redeye flight that had landed in White Plains only a few hours before and a quick shower at his apartment, he’d hightailed it in to attend this meeting.

First, there was a general summary of Last Chance’s current business operations and status, a list of sad-sack companies with sound fundamentals upon which Last Chance was performing institutional CPR.

Most of them were doing well. That wasn’t a surprise. Last Chance had an eighty percent recovery rate for businesses they chose to invest in.

That was a phenomenal success rate. Most VC firms with similar business models averaged a fifty percent or less survival rate for companies they picked up.

After the meeting, Kingston didn’t move to stand up like normal, and none of the three other guys did, either.

Jericho Parr, a sunshine golden boy who sat at the head of the table this week, was staring at his hands spread on the ebony conference table. “It’s April. We are into the second quarter of the year. We need to know how we are doing.”

He didn’t have to say he was talking about Gabriel “The Shark” Fish’s poison-pill wager.

Kingston warred between telling these guys the truth and desperately not wanting to let them down. “The business I bought for the bet is a dud. The owner didn’t disclose a lien on the business operations at acquisition. It’s farther in the hole than we thought, a lot farther. It’s worse than the Hospilala Pharmaceutics.”

Everyone winced. Their only saving grace for that bad apple was that they’d disposed of it immediately instead of wallowing in their bad investment, trying to turn it around.

“Morrissey reviewed the new information,” Kingston said. “He’ll discuss the legal aspects.”

Morrissey Sand, the quiet one of the group, the one most likely to give nonfiction books for Christmas presents, paused before he spoke. “Kingston did his due diligence. I looked it over. The previous owner committed fraud by not disclosing a lien on the business operations. We have a basis to sue him. If we do, I don’t think we’ll recover our costs if for no other reason than this guy, Joe Flanagan, is likely to declare bankruptcy by the end of the week. He is succumbing to a cocaine addiction.”

All of the guys shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. That kind of bad-faith negotiation is always a risk in business.

Kingston’s tone turned particularly dry. “We didn’t realize that his addiction was quite so advanced that he would lie about his business in a sale, probably to get more money for drugs. We should consider adding a tox screen to our standard acquisition procedure.”

There, it was out. Kingston had not deceived his friends.

“In the meantime,” Morrissey said, “I’ll be looking over what legal and accounting measures can be brought into play to mitigate the damage to Kingston’s wager. It doesn’t seem fair in the spirit of the wager that fraud should be a variable.”

Mitchell Saltonstall stared at his water glass like it might grow a snake head and bite him. “And do we expect Gabriel Fish to agree to such a change in the wager rules?”

“Of course not,” Morrissey said. “He’d be a fool if he did, but maybe we can use it as a negotiating position on other points.”

Ever the math guy, Jericho said to Kingston, “Well, you can always increase your total percentage profit by increasing your final net, even though you are not going to benefit as much from a lower denominator.”

Kingston nodded, even though that was impossible, too.

Morrissey tapped the papers in front of him, aligning the edges. “Okay, guys, good meeting.

The other two guys murmured encouragement before they left Kingston alone in the conference room to think over his strategy for Sidewinder Golf.

Well, there were a couple of ways to save Last Chance, Inc.

If they couldn’t win the bet and lost nearly half a billion dollars, they’d better make damn sure that Last Chance could absorb the loss and not go bankrupt.

If Sidewinder was a lost cause, Kingston should concentrate on Last Chance’s other assets.

Even as Kingston thought of it, he disregarded the idea.

Nothing was ever a lost cause.

There was always another day, another route, another fight to win the prize.

He had a month before returning to California for the strategy meeting before the first trade show, so he needed to hustle and make some money.