Key man, p.14
Key Man, page 14
Jake and Anne — especially Anne, whose eyes twinkled at the request — didn’t think anything could be cuter than having a ‘special booth.’ Jake and Anne already had a ‘special song’ but would now be on the lookout for a ‘special booth.’ They were happy to move, and equally happy to accept Kate’s offer of a free drink.
Sam, Ski, and Donny all laughed when Kate whispered her story of the conquered booth.
“It just wouldn’t have seemed right meeting anywhere else,” said Ski. Sam agreed, but added that he would’ve just flashed his badge, told the two they were interfering with “official police business,” and saved the cost of the two drinks. The group cracked up over the image of Sam, doing his best Bogart, rousting poor Jake and Anne for “official business.” Then they all agreed that it really was “official police business,” and if they needed that particular booth, in that particular bar, for conducting their “official police business,” well, so be it.
Jake and Anne sipped their gratis drinks, watched the giggling foursome, and tried to guess whether the gorgeous girl who had interrupted their discussion on how to best invest 401k retirement funds, was engaged to the tall skinny black kid, the dumpy middle-aged white guy or the short, balding older fellow who deserved to be arrested by the hair police.
They concluded that it had to be the black kid. He was the best-looking, although Anne sensed he was painfully shy. There seemed to be a real chemistry between the two younger members of the foursome. Jake and Anne agreed that the others were clearly losers.
Donny launched into his findings as soon as they finished laughing over Kate’s territorial imperative. “Two hundred and sixty-four more companies out there fit the profile.”
“Two hundred and sixty-four,” mused Sam. “I don’t know whether I expected more or less. I guess our job would be easier if there was only one. But then again there could have been thousands, for all I know about business.”
“I’m supposed to know about this kind of stuff,” stated Donny. “I had no idea what I’d find. But two hundred and sixty-four’s the number, at least as best as I can tell.”
“These guys ought to be listed as an endangered species,” Ski observed. “Only two hundred and sixty-four remaining.”
“We’ve got to stop him,” Kate mused, “before he wipes out an entire class of entrepreneur.”
Donny went on to describe the system he had rigged up on his computer. He’d had some help from one of his clients, a geek now worth millions, who was thrilled to trade some programming time for a chance to snatch up a couple thousand extra shares of stock in the next IPO from Donny’s firm.
With the new programming, Donny’s computer automatically tracked trading volume in the stocks of the two hundred and sixty-four thinly traded companies he’d identified. If there was any unusual activity, the computer would flash a warning on Donny’s terminal. If Donny didn’t acknowledge the warning within thirty seconds, the computer would deliver an audio alarm. If Donny didn’t acknowledge the audio alarm within 30 seconds, the computer would call him on his cell phone and issue a prerecorded verbal warning.
Sam and Ski were so impressed that they insisted Donny set his computer so it would call them on their cell phones too, as soon as any unusual stock activity was detected. Kate wanted Donny to leave her a phone message, as the idea of an automatic computer warning, well, that was just too creepy for her.
Donny handed Sam three large envelopes containing information on the two hundred and sixty-four companies he had targeted. Sam immediately handed the envelopes to Ski. Rank had some privileges.
At Sam’s direction, Ski agreed to sift through the material and develop a standardized profile on each company and its “Key Man.” Sam wanted a one-pager that gave him names, addresses, phone numbers, all the vital information they would need to warn the potential victims if Donny’s system detected any unusual trading activity.
The companies that Donny had identified were scattered across the country. Sam wanted to contact the homicide squad chiefs everywhere there was a possible target so he’d have hands and feet on the ground if there was an alarm, but he realized that this effort would involve weeks of non-stop phone calls. He decided that the first thing he should do was compile a list of contacts in major cities and gather site maps for the possible targets located in LA.
Kate volunteered to help Ski organize the mountain of information he generated on the two hundred plus companies. It was the only thing Kate could think of to do, and she wanted desperately to help.
II
Three weeks later to the day, at 9:15 in the morning, Donny’s alarm sounded. Donny was on the phone with a client and hadn’t noticed the warning on his terminal. When he looked up at his computer screen, he felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.
Donny gasped and blurted to his client, “Something horrible has happened.” Donny could only extract himself from the phone call by assuring his client that the “something horrible” had nothing to do with the stock market and that his client’s investments weren’t in jeopardy.
Sam and Ski were in the middle of a staff meeting when both their cell phones rang. They answered the calls in unison, and in unison, received the message from Donny’s computer. Hastily excusing themselves from the meeting, Sam and Ski ran back to their cubicle to call Donny and see what was up.
Donny’s direct line was busy the first time Sam dialed. Sam decided that Donny was probably trying to call them and that they should keep their line clear for a minute or two. Sam told Ski that if they didn’t hear from Donny in the next couple of minutes, he wanted Ski to track down the nearest patrol car and have it diverted to Donny’s office to “find him.”
As Sam was delivering his instructions, the phone rang. It was Donny on the line.
There had been an unusual amount of activity in Zebron Industries’ stock that morning. 40,000 shares had already changed hands.
Following the protocol they had previously established, as soon as Donny gave them the name of the possible target, he hung up and started looking into the trading activity to see if he could determine if it involved any short sales.
Sam started to pace. Ski nervously flipped to the back of the black three-ring binder he had set up containing all the one-pagers he’d compiled for Sam.
Zebron Industries. They were lucky.
Zebron Industries was located in Long Beach. They could cover this one themselves. Not have to rely on someone else’s, eyes, ears, and instincts.
Ron Zebbrouski, founder of Zebron Industries and the potential victim, fit their risk profile to a tee. Zeb, a 44-year-old, former national springboard diving champion, had developed a line of simple wooden toys that were now quite the rage with yuppie parents who wanted to inject something “real” into the spoiling of their precious, pampered, only children.
Sales of Zebron toys on the West Coast had grown exponentially over the past three years and the company was poised to launch a national product rollout. National distribution of Zebron toys would really put the company on the map.
Zeb was the company’s chief designer as well as its centerfold, and the talking head that the regional business press loved to interview. He had been working on a new line of plush, yet down-to-earth, stuffed barnyard animals that would double the company’s product line.
The buzz on the street was that, between the new product introduction planned for later in the year and the company’s aspirations for national expansion, Zebron would experience triple-digit growth in both sales and profits for the foreseeable future. That was great news for the thousand or so investors who owned the 20% of the company Ron had sold off though a locally underwritten, Initial Public Offering from a few years earlier.
Ron had used the IPO proceeds to ramp up his production capacity in order to keep up with the demand for his wooden fire trucks, tractors, and delivery vans. He knew he’d have to sell off more of the company at some point to finance his expansion plans. But he was holding off as long as possible, since the price of Zebron’s thinly traded stock kept soaring.
There was even talk on the street that one of the giant toy companies had its eye on Zebron. If that turned out to be the case, Ron Zebbrouski and his stockholders stood to make a killing from any buyout.
There hadn’t been a lot of activity in Zebron Industries’ stock because there were never many sellers. Most stockholders were zealous in their belief that Zebron was a long-term gold-mine worth holding. Typically, only a few thousand shares of stock changed hands in a week.
Donny’s system was triggered when a 40,000 block of Zebron stock was traded. That sale was followed by the execution of another 30,000-share sale.
Preceding these two large stock transactions, a rumor had hit the Street that the investment bank that had underwritten Zebron’s IPO was about to sell some of the stock they had acquired during the initial offering. Terms of the IPO had restricted the underwriter from selling any stock until now, and it made sense that they would want to take their profit in a stock that had already more than tripled in value. Besides, the smaller investors were glad to see some stock hit the street so they could increase their holdings.
The 70,000 shares cleared the market without any negative impact on Zebron’s stock price. In fact, the “ask” price for Zebron Industries actually increased after the dust from the two big trades had settled.
No one realized, but Donny soon discovered, that these were not straight sales. While the large blocks of Zebron stock were in fact coming out of the underwriter’s portfolio, the sales actually involved two short-sale arrangements that the underwriter had entered into with two corporate clients.
As soon as Donny confirmed that the two large transactions involved short sales, he placed an emergency call to Sam and Ski. Sam had been pacing around the small cubicle since Donny’s first call, even though there were other cases he should have been working. Ski flipped through files, but his mind was on Zebron.
While he was still on the phone with Donny, Sam motioned to Ski, using the international sign for ‘dial the phone.’ Sam wanted Ski to use his cell phone to call Zebbrouski and warn him his life was in danger.
On his first try, Ski reached Zebron’s automated telephone system. “Thank you for calling Zebron industries. You have reached our automated receptionist. If you have a touch tone phone, enter 1 now. If you have a rotary phone, please stay on the line and an operator will help you.” Ski hit 1.
“Please choose from the following four options: If you are calling to place an order, please enter 1 now. If you are calling for customer service, please enter 2 now. If you are calling to verify employment or to check on employment opportunities at Zebron Industries, please enter 3 now. If you know the name of the party you wish to contact, please enter 4 for our automated directory.” Ski hit 4.
“You have entered Zebron’s automated directory. Please enter the last four letters of the last name of the person you wish to contact.” Ski hit Z, E, B, R.
“You have made an incorrect entry. To try again, please enter 4. To speak to an operator, please press zero.” As Ski scanned his write-up to check the proper spelling of Zebbrouski’s last name, the line disconnected.
Ski immediately re-dialed Zebron’s phone number. “Thank you for calling Zebron Industries. You have …” Ski hit 1.
“You have reached Zebron Industries’ automated ...” Ski hit 4.
“You have entered Zebron’s automated ...” Ski hit Z,E,B,B.
“Your call is being transferred.”
“You have reached the office of Ron Zebbrouski. Ron is either on another call or away from his desk. Your call is important to Ron, so please leave your name, number and a short message and he’ll get back with you as soon as possible. That is, unless Ron is designing a new toy, in which case it might be some time before he is able to return your call. But hey, no one wants to interrupt a toy genius at work. At the tone, please leave your message.”
Ski hated all phone messages, but he especially hated messages that tried to be cute. Ski left a brief message identifying himself, leaving both his regular and cell phone numbers, and stating that this was an urgent matter that required immediate attention.
Sam had finished talking to Donny by the time Ski started dialing Zebron for the third time. “What’s the problem?” asked Sam.
“Fucking voice mail!” Ski fumed.
With his third call, Ski just held on the line, waiting for a live operator. “Zebron Industries, may I help you?”
“Mr. Zebbrouski,” Ski exhaled.
“Please hold ... Mr. Zebbrouski’s line is busy. Would you care for his voice mail?”
“No, No!” Ski shouted into the receiver, “This is extremely urgent! Does Mr. Zebbrouski have a secretary or assistant I can talk to?”
“Ms. Fields is Mr. Zebbrouski’s assistant, but she’s on vacation this week,” replied the phone receptionist. Trying to be helpful, she added, “Would you like Ms. Fields’ voice mail?”
“No,” continued Ski lowering his voice so as not to sound like a disgruntled customer. “I need to talk to someone who can get Mr. Zebbrouski on the line. This is urgent police business,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“I’ll put you through to Sally McGreggor. She’s Mr. Lawrence’s secretary, but she’s trying to help out while Jeanne is in Hawaii.”
Receiving far more information than he needed, Ski asked politely, “Could you please just put me through to Ms. McGreggor?”
“Certainly,” replied the voice on the phone, adding, as she’d been trained, “And thank you for calling Zebron Industries.”
Sally McGreggor was already at her wit’s end just trying to keep up with her own workaholic boss. Covering for Jeanne was pushing her over the edge. Every time Sally imagined Jeanne relaxing on a white sand beach, sharing a Mai Tai with some good looking, eligible bachelor from Kansas, she got even more upset.
She was in no mood to take some crank call from some jerk pretending to be a policeman, just to get a call through to Mr. Zebbrouski. “No, I’m sorry Mr. Zebbrouski isn’t available. Would you like his voice mail?” she started politely. “No, I’m afraid that I can’t interrupt Mr. Zebbrouski ... I’m sure it is urgent police business, but it’ll have to wait until Mr. Zebbrouski finishes his conference call ... No, I don’t know when he’ll be finished. Sometimes these calls go on for hours ... I certainly will tell Mr. Zebbrouski that you called ... Yes, I have the number right here ... Yes, I’ll certainly tell Mr. Zebbrouski not to leave the building without calling you first ... Yes, I understand that this is very important ... a matter of life and death ... Yes, Mr. Johnson, I’ve got all that ... Yes, Mr. Johnson I understand ... Yes, Mr. Johnson. And thank you for calling Zebron Industries,” Sally concluded wearily.
Some bozo that one, thought Sally to herself. Thinks Ron’s about to drop everything and take his call. Probably one of those cold-calling stock pushers who ring up every time Ron gets his name in the paper. Not today sucker. Not today.
And with that, Sally went back to filing and being pissed at Jeanne. For Sally, this week just couldn’t get over fast enough.
III
Sam had gathered up his maps and site plans and, as soon as Ski ended his conversation, they headed out to grab a squad car. Sam told Ski exactly where he wanted to be dropped so that he could see anyone who might be aiming a triggering device into Zebron Industries’ parking lot.
Armed with a badge and not just his voice, Ski would find Zebbrouski and escort his butt out the back of the building. They had radioed ahead and a patrol car was going to meet them at Zebron’s rear exit, to whisk Zebbrouski back to headquarters. Ski would then join Sam as they waited for the killer to make a move.
Ron Zebbrouski really was on a conference call when Ski had been talking to Sally McGreggor. Even if he hadn’t been, she would have used the same excuse.
For some reason, Sally had learned that no one ever insisted on being “put through” when one of the executives was on a conference call. Bankers, lawyers, and the buyers from major chains would usually insist on “holding” or having a meeting interrupted when they wanted to talk to one of her bosses. But, for some reason they always yielded to a conference call. So, when Sally was answering the phones in the executive offices at Zebron, there were lots and lots of “conference calls” in process.
Ron had wrapped up this particular call pretty quickly. It had been clear from the “get go” that the guys in New Jersey weren’t ready to talk seriously about providing shelf space for Zebron toys in their stores. So after a five-minute conversation that wasn’t going anywhere, Ron indicated that he thought the distributor, who wanted to carry Zebron’s line of toys, and the boys in Jersey, who had the stores, should continue to work on a deal, but that he didn’t have anything to add at the time. Ron excused himself from the call and moved on to a more rewarding use of his time.
Sally was down at the copier when Ron emerged from his office to head out for his regular Wednesday racquetball match with the one friend he still had from high school. It was unlikely that Sally would have given him Ski’s message even if she had been at her desk since Ron hurried to catch the elevator that was about to leave without him. Sally still thought Ski’s call was a crank.
Half-a-second sooner and Ron would have reached the elevator before the doors met. Having missed his ride, Ron, without the slightest hesitation, continued down the hall and headed into the stairwell. Already anticipating a satisfying victory, he bounded down two steps at a time.
After weaving in and out of freeway traffic for a couple of miles, Ski opted to crank up the siren and clear his path. Five more minutes and they’d be heading into Long Beach. He’d still be able to use the emergency strobe lights until they were within a few blocks of Zebron, but once they hit the city limits, he’d need to cut the siren. For the moment, the auditory commotion from his vehicle cleared the fast lane, and Sam and Ski were topping 85 m.p.h.
