"I'd be very confident with two hundred thousand dollars," Bob said. "As the amount drops to zero, so does my confidence."
"Two hundred thousand," Angela repeated with a sigh. "Unfortunately, that's a lot of money, and I'm fresh out of ideas. What it comes down to is whether any of you smart people have any suggestions. From your perspective, the main problem, of course, is that all of you will have to meet payroll, and with a negative cash flow continuing, that is getting more and more difficult unless we help you. The trouble is, all our cash accounts are drawn down."
"What about withholding paying taxes?" Stewart suggested. "It's just two weeks."
"Bad idea," Bob said with hesitation. "Payroll tax and withholding tax are paid by wire transfer. If any of you or we hold it up, the bank will know, because we would have to instruct them to do so. Instructing the bank to not pay taxes would be an enormous red flag."
"What about going back to our lead angel investor?" Niesha suggested.
"I'm going to try tomorrow," Angela said. "I'm not optimistic.
Our placement agent, who found the angel investor initially, has already squeezed out a quarter of a million a month ago, and at the time led me to believe that well was dry. Yet I'm still going to try."
"What about a bridge loan from the bank?" Stewart said. "They know about the IPO. Hell, it will only be two weeks. With the interest we've been paying on our loans, they've been making a fortune from us."
"You are forgetting what I said at the outset," Bob said. "I got a call Friday from our healthcare relationship manager at the bank. He was disturbed that we'd drawn down on facility by selling the bonds to pay our stent provider. They are not all that happy with us at the moment. If he called even part of our loan, the game would be over."
Angela looked from one person to another at that point. Everybody was looking down at their feet through the glass table. "All right," she said, when it was apparent no one had any other ideas. "I'm off to the bank and then our placement agent tomorrow. I'll do my best. If anyone has any additional ideas, I'll have my cell phone at all times. Thank you all for coming."
There was a scraping sound as all the chairs save for Angela's were pushed back on their Teflon-tipped legs. Everyone filed out, with most giving Angela's shoulder a reassuring squeeze in the process. For a few moments she stayed where she was, staring out at the gilded conical roof of the Crown Building across the street, while thinking about her company's predicament. It didn't seem fair that after all her work and anxiety, she and her nascent Angels Healthcare empire might be brought down by some lowly bacteria. At the same time, she wasn't surprised. In the financial world, whether it involved manufacturing lightbulbs or delivering healthcare, fairness was at best an afterthought. Money was king, and she'd learned that lesson the hard way, vainly trying to keep afloat her primary-care practice, which saw more than its share of Medicaid patients. It was that wrenching experience of bankruptcy more than anything else that had driven her to business school, where she had excelled as a kind of revenge and where she came to realize that medical care, if approached correctly, could make one not just financially comfortable but truly rich.
With a renewed sense of resolve, Angela pushed back her own chair and stood up. She retrieved her coat and umbrella from her office but purposefully left the notes she was holding and her briefcase on her desk. She planned to retrieve them in the morning before heading over to her first meeting of the day at the Manhattan Bank and Trust. She knew that in order to get a good night's sleep and be in top form on the morrow when she'd need all her wits, she had to make an active effort to clear her mind. By doing so under similar stressful circumstances in the past, she not only felt better the following day but often viewed problems from a different perspective and had new ideas. It was as if her subconscious was an active participant in her decision-making.
On the corner of Fifth Avenue and 56th Street, Angela stood a step away from the curb and raised her hand in an attempt to hail a cab, well aware that cabs were hard to come by at eight-twenty-five in the evening, especially on a drizzly early-April night. Since many of the city's taxi drivers were ending their shift, most of the cabs she saw had their off-duty lights on. The others were occupied. Until the previous month, Angela had regularly used a car service, but with the account seriously in arrears, she'd been reduced to taking cabs. Just when she was about to start walking to her 70th Street apartment, a taxi pulled up to discharge a passenger. The moment the man paid and jumped out, Angela climbed in.
As the cab sped toward Angela's destination, she took a deep breath and let it out with a huff. It was only then that she became conscious of her tenseness. With her arms crossed in front of her, she massaged the tips of her shoulders, then did the same with her temples. Slowly, she could feel her abdominal muscles and thigh muscles relax. Opening her eyes, she took in the lights of the city reflected in the slick, wet streets. There were plenty of pedestrians out, many arm in arm, sharing umbrellas. It was at such moments, between the demands of the workday and the domestic concerns involving her daughter, that Angela was aware of the fact that she had no social life, specifically with members of the opposite sex. Interacting with men was restricted to work-related encounters, the rare parents' night at her daughter's school, or, sadly enough, with someone in the checkout line at the grocery store. The fact that it was her choice, both as a driven woman and as a woman whose experiences with men caused her to question their monogamous ability, didn't lessen the occasional desire.
Refusing to give the issue more thought, she pulled out her cell phone and pressed the speed-dial button for home. Expecting to hear her daughter's voice since she usually answered before the completion of the first ring, Angela found herself talking with Haydee, the nanny-cum-majordomo. As busy as Angela's life was, she allowed Haydee to fill multiple roles.
"Where's the terror?" Angela questioned. The appellation "the terror" was the way Angela and Haydee humorously referred to Michelle behind the girl's back. It was humorous because it was the opposite of what they felt. Both women thought Michelle mildly and age-appropriately willful and occasionally argumentative, as evidenced by the belly-button-piercing issue, but otherwise near perfect.
"She's in bed, and I believe already asleep. Should I wake her?"
"Heavens, no!" Angela said, feeling a mild pang of loneliness. "Surely not."
After a short conversation about various domestic issues, Angela made an impromptu decision. She concluded the conversation by telling Haydee not to wait up for her, as she wouldn't be home for several more hours.
Sliding forward on the seat, Angela spoke to the driver through the Plexiglas partition. Instead of going home to a sleeping daughter, she'd decided to go to her health club. With all that was going on, she'd not been there for months and certainly could use a workout for mental as much as physical reasons. Besides, she reasoned, there would be people around, and on top of that, she could get a bite to eat in the club's surprisingly good restaurant/bar.
Angela's athletic club was close to her apartment, a block over and a few blocks down Columbus Avenue. She found her underused membership card without much difficulty in her overstuffed wallet. In short order, she changed into her workout clothes and took a turn on one of the stationary bikes while watching CNN. She was dismayed at how out of shape she was. Within five minutes, she was out of breath. After ten minutes, she was sweating to the extent that she feared she looked like a glass of iced tea in the tropics. Yet she persisted on sheer willpower until she had reached her twenty-minute goal.