Bank, one of the largest banking conglomerates in the country. Smart and aggressive, the former star athlete developed into a tough and determined in-fighter in the rough and tumble world of twenty-first century banking.
There was a quick knock, the office door swung open. “Come in Strom, have a seat.” Alex waved at the empty leather chairs fronting his large oak desk.
“Thanks Alex. Got any coffee ‘round this place?”
“Erica will be right in.” Alex nervously shuffled some papers on his desk as the large man lumbered over and collapsed into the chair like a big bag of potatoes.
“Damn, if I gain any more weight you’re gonna have to put some bigger chairs in here.”
Alex chuckled, “You could always stand up.”
Strom managed a guttural laugh.
The always efficient Erica hurried in and set a cup of coffee in front of Strom and on Alex’s coaster, which featured a still somewhat discernible picture of Tony Hinkle, the legendary Butler basketball coach.
“What did you think of the meeting?” Alex asked.
“There was plenty of blood spilled in there today—I’ve never seen Barnes so determined. I thought you were very forceful and persuasive in your arguments, but I still think it‘s a toss-up.”
“Do you think it would do any good for you to talk to any of the board members again privately, maybe Cliff and Lisa? With you and me and those two, we could swing this thing our way.”
Strom’s brows narrowed, he leaned forward and looked directly at Alex. “I feel confident about Cliff and I’m hoping Lisa is in our camp also. She’s a little harder to read, but I’m optimistic. The others are all hopeless; they’re caving into the pressure from Barnes and our stockholders.” Strom shook his head.
Alex fidgeted with his watch, something he always did when he was anxious. He stood and began pacing back and forth behind his desk.
“They’re not caving because of pressure from Barnes. Those selfish old fools are just looking out for themselves. They know that keeping the money could be bad for us in the long run, but they also know it might help prop up our stock in the short run. Then they can sell out to the first merger offer that comes along, take their millions and play golf every day at Crooked Stick.”
“I think you’re right, Alex, I just didn’t want to say it. But they’re not bad men—remember they’re all in their late sixties or seventies and they’re seeing their invest-ments erode away because of this subprime fiasco. They want to try and salvage what they can and go on with their lives. What the hell Alex, they don’t have ten or twenty years to wait for things to turn around.”
Alex dropped into his chair, rubbed his face with both hands and glanced over at his faithful cohort. “You’re right, Strom. I could fight this until I’m blue in the face but its not going to make a bit of difference. In the end, just like in almost every other business dealing I’ve had in my thirty years in banking, it all boils down to money. They’re worried about their money.”
“I agree, except for Barnes and I think it’s political with him. He wants that Ambassadorship to Ireland in the worst way. He needs this bank to look as good as possible for the midterm elections and the Presidential, which is just a little more than two years from now. If Midwest has problems, it will reflect poorly on Barnes. He doesn’t want that.
“You’re right—he mentions that ambassadorship frequently. But no matter, Lisa is the key and she can be hard to figure. Let me think about this. The board says they want an answer by the twenty-third. That’s more than a week from now so we have a little time.”
Strom propped his elbows on the desk, his eyes clouded over; he reached over and gently squeezed Alex’s forearm. “This decision you’re making could have dire ramifications. Everything we’ve been doing for the past twenty years has suddenly been turned upside down. You have great courage, Alex; sometimes I wish you didn’t have so much. If you don’t soften your stance, I’m afraid this thing could take you and Nicky away from us. If that happened, I would be heart-broken.”
Alex patted Strom’s huge hand, “Thanks Strom, you’re a good and loyal friend, but Barnes railroaded me once on this money situation. He’s not going to do it again. And, I’m not going anywhere—at least not for awhile.”
“Keep your head down and your left arm straight out there today,” Strom ordered.
“Will do,” Alex replied.
Strom struggled to lift his big torso from the deep chair and hurriedly left the office. Alex stood and watched as the door fell shut. He quickly cleared his desk and snapped the speaker phone back on. “Clear my schedule Erica, I’m out for the afternoon.”
“I know Alex, it’s Wednesday. Your schedule is already clear.”
“Thanks Erica, you’re the best. And by the way, what’s the high for today?”
“The paper said 90 this morning.”
“Hmmm….another hot August day. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
Alex slipped into his private restroom, changed into his golfing clothes and quickly ducked out the side entrance of his office.
………
Alex’s pulse quickened as he struggled up the hill toward the first tee at Crooked Stick, an exclusive country club in Carmel, Indiana, a near north suburb of Indianapolis. He looked forward, with great anticipation, to his weekly game of golf. Nearing the tee, he knew that he was in for some serious ribbing from his golfing buddies for showing up late. The three of them were already pacing on the tee and taking occasional short, quick practice swings as they awaited his arrival. Jake, owner of a local computer store, was the first to see Alex approaching the tee.
“Evening, Alex,” Jake joked, leaning down to tee up his ball.
“Good afternoon everyone. Sorry I’m late.”
“Late? Hell, we’re all tickled pink,” Dr. Will Everett barked. “This is the first time we’ve teed off before 1:15 this month.”
Alex grinned and shook his head, “That’s BS Doc, and you know it.”
“Okay fellas, take it easy on him. He probably had to run an errand for Nicky or something,” attorney Joe shouted.
The other players howled in delight. This was the ultimate insult among golfers—to insinuate that an order from one’s wife was the reason for being late.
“You’re all hopeless,” Alex shot back. “But at least your money’s good, so let’s hit it.”
“Throw your bag on my cart, we’re riding together,” Jake ordered.
Alex dropped his bag on the back of his old friend’s cart, tightened the strap, and carefully lifted his prize Taylor-made driver from the bag. He yanked off the head cover and tossed it in the little metal basket behind the seat.
“Twenty a hole and double for birds,” Doc announced. The wager had been the same
