Bitter Business

she knows that she can always come to me for money.”
    “What does Arthur do for a living?”
    “He’s some kind of stockbroker. That’s why this whole thing doesn’t surprise me. He thinks that I don’t see it, but he’s been snooping around for months, asking questions, trying to figure out what Lydia’s shares are worth.”
    “What are they worth?” I asked.
    “I have no idea and I don’t care. Why put a price on something that’s not for sale?”
    “That may be, but when Daniel and I discussed Lydia’s letter this morning, we agreed that our first step should be to bring in a team of investment bankers to do a valuation of the company’s assets. I know that Lydia has never signed any kind of buyback agreement, but I assume that she’d still be willing to entertain an offer from the family, especially if the price was right.”
    “You must not have heard me,” Cavanaugh growled. “I told you, Lydia’s not going to sell her shares.”
    “I understand that as her father you know much better than I do what’s going on in her mind. But look at it another way. She hasn’t signed the buyback. She’s hired a lawyer. I’d say it’s just prudent to be prepared.”
    “And I’m telling you that there is no way that Lydia is ever going to sell those shares.”
    “How can you be so sure?” I demanded.
    “Because,” Jack Cavanaugh announced grimly, “I’ll bum the whole damn company to the ground before I let that happen.”
     
    When I got back to my office I found my secretary, Cheryl, waiting for me with a stack of messages and a pained expression on her face.
    “Who are these Cavanaughs who keep calling?” she demanded, waving a wad of pink message slips at me as I passed her desk. “The phone has been ringing off the hook since you left. You’ve got messages from Dagny, Eugene, and someone named Philip, who is in need of some serious sphincter relaxation exercises. Are these people all related or something?”
    “It’s a file I’ve picked up from Daniel Babbage,” I replied somewhat incoherently as I plunked myself down onto the familiar worn leather of my desk chair.
    “Oh gee, just what we need around here, more work.” My secretary sighed, taking her customary seat and casting a weary glance at the files that lay in ramparts across my desk. “So what’s the deal with the Cavanaughs?”
    “They own the Superior Plating and Specialty Chemicals Company. This morning one of the CEO’s children, his youngest daughter, Lydia, sent everyone a letter saying that she’s planning on selling her shares. I just came from a meeting with him.”
    “How did it go?”
    “I suggest you buckle up. This one’s going to be a royal pain in the ass.”
    “Speaking of pains, your mother called while you were out.”
    “What did she want?”
    “You know she’d never tell me. She doesn’t believe in fraternizing with the help. She did say that she wants you to call her—it’s very, very important.” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Ten to one they just got a new shipment of shoes at Neiman Marcus.”
    Cheryl was a smart kid from Bridgeport who went to Loyola Law School at night. She’d been my secretary since I came to Callahan, and over the years had managed to develop her own brand of mother-daughter relationship with my mother, that is to say, Mother drove her crazy, too.
    “What makes you think the Cavanaughs are going to be a pain?” demanded Cheryl. “I mean, besides the fact that they keep calling all the time.”
    “So far I’ve only met Jack, but if he’s any indication, I’d rather wait awhile before I meet the rest of the family. Let’s say a year or two....”
    “I hate to break it to you, but it’s going to be more like an hour or two.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’ve got a meeting with Dagny Cavanaugh at three-thirty. Madeline, Mr. Babbage’s secretary, set it up.”
    “Are we doing it here?”
    “No, at Superior Plating.”
    “I guess you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a plating plant,” I groaned. “Wait a minute, don’t I already have something at three?”
    “You had a meeting at three with Skip Tillman and the lawyers for Meteor Software, but it’s been moved up.”
    “To when?”
    Cheryl looked at her watch. “Forty-second-floor conference room in three minutes.”
    “But I haven’t even had a chance to look at the file,” I protested. “I was going to do it this morning, but then this damn Cavanaugh thing came up.”
    “I guess