Unintended Consequences

with much pleasure. Last night she made me a very good offer to become her kept man—an apartment, clothes, the works.”
    DuBois threw back his head and laughed. “You must really have impressed her, because that is the exact opposite of her usual operating technique. How did you respond?”
    “With an old American aphorism which says ‘Why buy a cow when milk is so cheap?’ She was buying dinner, and I told her that was reward enough.”
    DuBois laughed again. “Wonderful, wonderful.” He took an envelope from his pocket. “Forgive me if I dispense with business before lunch.”
    “Of course.”
    DuBois handed Stone the envelope. “This is my offer for The Arrington.”
    Stone opened the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper. Typed on it was a number: one billion dollars.
    “What do you think?” duBois asked.
    “I think it’s low,” Stone replied. “I know what the land is worth, and I know how much we spent on construction, landscaping, and staffing.”
    “Forgive me, my offer does not include the land. I would continue to lease it from you on favorable terms.”
    “Then your offer is a serious one,” Stone said, “but I’m not inclined to accept it. Please let me explain.”
    “Please do.”
    “This is the first business I have ever been involved in that I and my investors built from the ground up. Therefore, I am very attached to it, and the property includes the house where my son grew up.”
    “I see,” duBois said, looking at the ceiling. “Perhaps I can make the offer more attractive.”
    “Please don’t,” Stone said. “Let me suggest another alternative.”
    “I am all ears,” duBois said.
    “We would like to build more Arringtons—we thought in the United States. But building some in Europe might be a good idea, too.”
    “That was my fallback position,” duBois said. “As it happens, I inherited a chain of hotels from my father—nothing fancy, meant for commercial travelers and tourists on a budget. There are forty-odd of them, all pedestrian and beginning to decay, but perhaps a dozen of them are built on spacious plots of land in neighborhoods that began gentrifying a decade ago and that are ripe for razing and redevelopment.”
    “Very interesting,” Stone said. “We could provide design and decorating services, in line with the look of the Bel-Air property, and train staff to our standards. And, although I and my investors are not in your class of capitalists, we would also be able to offer investment in the group.”
    “Shall we get specific, then?” duBois asked.
    “Oh, please, no. I do not fancy myself negotiating a business deal with you. I am not equipped for that. If we agree in principle, then I will send representatives to work out a concrete arrangement.”
    “I agree in principle,” duBois said. “How about you?”
    “I, too, agree in principle.”
    “Then,” duBois said, rising, “let’s talk no more of it and enjoy our lunch.” He led Stone to the table, where their first course, a slab of terrine, awaited them. A waiter held Stone’s chair and poured the wine.
    “You know,” duBois said, “I have never done business in America, though I have, of course, dealt with many Americans in Europe. I like their straightforward attitude. They are, or seem to be, guileless. Of course, one must, as you say, dot
i
’s and cross
t
’s as in any business arrangement.”
    “I hope to see you do a lot of business in the States,” Stone said, “and speaking for Woodman & Weld, we would be very pleased to represent you in any venture you might undertake.”
    “Thank you, Stone. I have already done my due diligence on your firm, and I would very much like you to represent me.”
    “Thank you, Marcel.”
    “I also admire the American fashion of governing, and I just read a very interesting new book by a former CIA officer. I was very impressed with some of the operations the Agency conducted.”
    Stone had an inspiration. “You’re interested in intelligence work, then?” he asked.
    “Intelligence is half of business,” duBois said, smiling. “I could not survive without it.”
    “Perhaps you have read in the papers that our director of Central Intelligence is retiring.”
    “I have, and I understand you are acquainted with Mrs. Lee and the president. Do you know who will succeed Mrs. Lee at the CIA?”
    “I do. His name is Lance Cabot, and he has recently been testifying before the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence. I