“Too bad. I broke my leg once a few years ago; fell off a bicycle. Can you imagine that?” He wagged his head in a rueful way. “Well, Miss Addison tells me you’re interested in buying some of our stock.”
“I may be, yes.”
“A wise choice — you won’t regret it. Here, have a seat. I can only give you a few minutes, I’m afraid; I’m on a tight schedule today.”
“I understand.”
I sat in one of two visitors’ chairs, and Tedescu went around behind the desk again and plopped himself down in his own chair. It was big and wide, made of leather and oak, and it dwarfed him somewhat. Unlike his partner, Bexley, he didn’t look much like a typical business executive. He was wearing casual slacks and a blue shirt open at the throat, and there were bluish stains on his hands — ink of some kind.
He put his elbows on the chair arms, laced his pudgy fingers together. The smile he gave me seemed genuine. “So,” he said. “You’re a speculator, Mr. James?”
“Not exactly, no.”
“What is it you do for a living?”
“I’m a small businessman,” I said.
“Electronics-related?”
“No. I own a chain of laundromats. They make me enough so I can afford to dabble in the market.”
“Have you been successful at that, too?”
“I’ve done pretty well. My broker keeps after me to expand my portfolio, but I guess I’m too cautious to tie up all my extra capital.”
“May I ask who your broker is?”
“Waller and Company.”
He nodded. “A good firm. Are they the ones who told you about Mid-Pacific?”
“Actually, no,” I said. “I have a friend in the electronics industry, works for an arm of IBM. He heard you were going public and suggested Mid-Pacific might be a good investment.”
“And that’s why you’re here? Size us up, find out more about us before you decide to take the plunge?”
“Yes. I’m the cautious type, as I said.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I’d better tell you, though, that you’re a little premature. It’ll be a few months yet before we put any stock up for sale — probably not until after the first of the year.”
“I’m in no hurry. Besides, I don’t like to rush into an investment.”
“Well, we appreciate your interest, in any case.” Tedescu scraped through the clutter on his desk, came up with a package of filter-tipped cigars. He said as he lit one, “How acquainted are you with Mid-Pacific?”
“Not very. I understand you manufacture a component for industrial computers.”
“Yes. A microcircuit. I could give you a technical rundown on it, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t mean much to a layman.”
“That’s not necessary. Computer technology is big business these days; that’s all I need to know.”
“Very big business,” Tedescu said. He clamped the cigar between his teeth. “We started on a shoestring five years ago; today we’re on the verge of becoming a ten-million-dollar corporation. The sky’s the limit in computer electronics, Mr. James.”
“You have two partners, is that right?”
“Right. Phil Bexley and Carl Emerson.”
“Emerson is the controlling partner?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been told he owns the patent on your microcircuit. Is he the one who designed it?”
Something happened in Tedescu’s face, a subtle change as though strong emotion — anger or bitterness — had come up near the surface. “With my help, yes,” he said. “The original concept was Carl’s.”
“You’re a designer, too?”
“I am,” he said, and the emotion was in his voice now. Just a trace of it, but enough to let me recognize it as bitterness.
“What about Bexley? What does he do?”
“Handles marketing and production.”
“And Emerson?”
“Business development,” Tedescu said. The bitterness was there again: he did not like Carl Emerson worth a damn, I thought. “I suppose you could say he’s responsible for building Mid-Pacific into what it is today.”
“The three of you own all the company stock, as things stand now?”
“Yes. Carl has fifty-one percent; Phil and I divide the balance.”
“Why is that? I mean, why not three equal shares?”
Tedescu’s eyes shifted away from me; he leaned forward to jab out his cigar in an onyx ashtray. “It was Carl’s idea to form the company,” he said. “The original microcircuit concept was his, as I told you, and he arranged to put up most of the money we needed to get started.”
“Sounds as though he’s pretty well off.”
“He wasn’t then, no. He had some capital from private investments and he managed to float a couple of loans through business contacts.”
“What did he do before?”
“He was with Honeywell. So were Phil and I; that’s how we met.” Tedescu put his penetrating gaze on me again. “Are you always this curious, Mr. James?” he asked mildly.
“Just my nature, I guess. Do you mind my asking all these questions?”
He shrugged. “Not at all.”
“Was it Emerson’s idea to go public with your stock?”
“It was.”
“For purposes of expansion?”
“That’s right. We have patents pending on two new designs. All we need is sufficient capital to begin manufacture.”
“Are the new designs also Emerson’s?”
“No,” Tedescu said, “they’re mine.”
“I see.”
The smile he gave me seemed forced. “The fact is, we have a plant in Silicon Valley that we’re in the process of expanding now.” Silicon Valley was another name for Santa Clara County, a section of the Peninsula between Redwood City and San Jose where dozens of computer-related firms had established themselves in recent years. “Next year we hope to have a second plant, with a dozen new employees. And larger offices here in the city.”
“Can you tell me how much stock you’re planning to make available?”
“I’m afraid not. That decision hasn’t been reached yet.”
“But it’ll be enough so that I can buy, oh, say a thousand shares?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That will be a substantial investment, you know.”
“I think I can afford it. What will a share sell for?”
“I can’t tell you that either. But a thousand shares will probably cost you a nice piece of change.”
“From what you’ve told me, it would be well worth the risk.”
“No question about that. Mid-Pacific will be a gold mine in a few years. A thousand shares could make you a rich man.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t good at all.
Tedescu glanced at his watch, my cue that the interview was finished. I took it; I’d got all I was going to get out of him. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Tedescu. Thanks for talking to me; I appreciate your candor.”
“Not at all,” he said. He was already on his feet. “My pleasure. I’ll show you out.”
He took me down the corridor and opened the door to the anteroom, and we shook hands again. I said, “I’ll be waiting for an official announcement.”
“Yes,” he said. He sounded preoccupied now. “You do that, Mr. James.”
He shut the door as soon as I was through it. Behind her desk, the secretary, Miss Addison, gave me another impersonal smile. I didn’t answer it; I did not feel like smiling even to be polite.
Outside, the streets were crowded with office workers on their way to lunch. I wanted a cup of coffee and a place to do some quiet brooding, but all the coffee shops and lunch counters were jammed and I wasn’t in a mood to share space with anybody. I made my way back to Montgomery, to the garage where I’d left my car. It was quiet in there, at least. I sat slumped on the car seat with my eyes closed, resting.