Bitter Business

he’s not paying her one penny more than he has to.”
    “When I met with your father this morning I tried to convince him to let me bring in an investment banking group to do a valuation of the company. That way, if it turns out that Lydia really is serious about selling her shares, we’d at least have the information to make her a realistic offer. My guess is that Lydia’s already got her own investment bankers trying to work out what her shares are worth.”
    “She does. I got a letter from Mark Hoffenberg at First Chicago this morning asking for information about the company.”
    Inwardly I cursed Jack Cavanaugh for his stubbornness. He might think that his little girl couldn’t be serious about selling her shares, but once he crossed paths with Hoffenberg he’d know how medieval villagers must have felt when Viking ships appeared.
    “If Lydia’s using First Chicago, who would you recommend for us?” asked Dagny.
    “I’ve worked with them all,” I said. “Personally I liked Bob Halloran at Goodman Peabody, but I’ve got to be straight with you. I couldn’t even get your father to discuss the idea of a valuation. No matter how I approached the subject, he just stonewalled me. According to him, Lydia isn’t going to sell. Period. End of story. He’s chairman of the board, CEO, and the largest shareholder. Until he changes his mind, my hands are tied.”
    “Go ahead and call your friend at Goodman Peabody and see if you can set something up for Friday. Dad will have changed his mind by then.”
    “What makes you so sure?”
    “I’ve invited him and Peaches for dinner Wednesday night.”
    “You must be one hell of a cook.”
    “Now that you mention it, I am cooking his favorite dinner. I’m also planning on telling him that if he doesn’t agree to buy out Lydia, I’m resigning from the company.”
    “Do you really think it’ll work? Aren’t you afraid he’ll call your bluff?”
    “It’s not a bluff. I get job offers all the time. This last one’s a good one—I’d be heading the metal coatings division at Monarch Metals.”
    “I thought they were in Boston.”
    “They are,” she replied matter-of-factly. I remembered what Daniel had said about Dagny not taking shit from her father. Suddenly the situation with Superior Plating seemed less hopeless.
    Dagny glanced quickly at her watch. “I have a conference call in a few minutes with one of our vendors,” she apologized. “Why don’t we take a walk over to my office and I’ll get you a copy of the letter from Lydia’s investment bankers. They’ve asked for a ridiculous amount of information. You’re going to have to tell me how much of this stuff I really have to provide. If I give them everything they’re asking for, it’ll take weeks to get it together. I’ve also had Cecilia run off a copy of our most recent financials.” She stood up and stretched. “That feels so good. I think I’ve been in that chair since ten o’clock this morning.”
    I followed her through a series of narrow passageways that were all paneled in the same imitation woodgrained stuff that seemed to have been indiscriminately applied to every surface in the fifties. She led me into a small suite of offices. I have a terrible sense of direction, but I guessed we were adjacent to the reception area where I’d come in.
    Dagny’s office was off by itself at the end of the hall. At the threshold she stopped so suddenly that I literally ran into her. My automatic apology dried up in my throat as I saw what it was that had stopped her dead.
    “Oh my God,” said Dagny, the rising note of alarm in her voice turning my stomach to lead.
    Facedown on the blue carpet in front of Dagny’s desk, her hair splayed around her head and her short skirt hitched up to reveal red satin panties, lay the inert form of her secretary, Cecilia.
     

4
     
    “Cecilia?” called Dagny, her voice hovering somewhere between bewilderment and alarm. “Are you okay?”
    There was no response from the motionless figure on the floor. For a minute we just stood there, two women in business suits caught completely off guard. Then Dagny ran to her desk and picked up the phone. Silently praying that Cecilia had just fainted or, better yet, had passed out drunk, I dove and knelt beside the prone figure on the blue carpet.
    Shaking her gently, I called out her name. Nothing. I shook harder. Her body was inert, eerily unresponsive. I felt a tightening in my chest and knew that it