Thank God they weren’t a public company and didn’t have to concern themselves with all those complications. There would be no stockholders’ revolt, no hammering of their stock, no antagonistic directors screaming for a bloody purge. Fortunately, no big concerns from the SEC either.
“How are we going to manage this?” Haggar asked, getting to the point.
Jackson jumped in. “First thing we’re going to do is destroy all the files.” He glanced at Walters. “No subpoenas have been issued. Not yet. Get rid of everything, incriminating or otherwise.”
“Got it. A big, indiscriminate bonfire before close of business.”
“Is there anybody in the firm who knows enough to do us harm?”
“A few folks, probably. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Make a list and gather them together. Be liberal, don’t overlook anybody. Have legal counsel remind them about their legal obligations to the firm, then offer a strong recommendation about the right to remain silent.”
“Easy enough.”
“You might want to consider a few quick overseas transfers. Anybody who looks like trouble, send them to the other side of the moon. Tomorrow wouldn’t be too fast.”
Walters nodded. What a relief to have the expert in scandals here, offering his sage advice.
Jackson rubbed his jaw and looked thoughtful. “Here’s the only happy news. Nobody was killed or harmed as a result of the polymer. At least we don’t have to worry about our exposure to lawsuits from distraught families.” He seemed to be rattling down a mental checklist titled “How screwed am I?”
“Right,” Walters said.
“However, the Pentagon might launch a big suit to recover its expenditures. It’s worst-case, but we need to consider it. How much have they paid out to date?”
Walters squirmed in his seat. He suddenly looked like his hemorrhoids were killing him. His eyebrows bunched together, and his lips felt rubbery. This was the one question he had hoped to avoid. He had lain awake the night before, sweating and contemplating the numbers.
He briefly weighed lying, or just fudging a bit. What would be the point, though? “Roughly three billion as of a month ago,” he mumbled, garbling his words, hoping they couldn’t hear him. “Might be another billion since then. Hard to say. A lot of big costs were front-loaded.”
Jackson heard him only too well and seemed to choke. “Four billion?”
“Or maybe five,” he admitted, looking away. Actually five and a half, he well knew. “What’s the difference?” His eyes shifted back to their faces. “I didn’t hear anybody complain when it was pouring in.”
Jackson began asking questions hard and fast, forcing Walters to disclose the full and complete possible financial damage. Walters tried his best to dodge and weave and trim, but Jackson was brutally relentless.
It began to sink in what a terrible finanicial disaster this could be; it was far worse than anybody had imagined. There was a bad case and a worst case; the difference between them was almost insignificant.
The bottom line was possibly six billion in direct losses-one promised to the Saudis, five to the Pentagon-plus many more hundreds of millions in sunk expenses-the hundred million paid to Perry Arvan, thirty-six million more to Arvan’s stockholders, twenty million to Wiley for his finder’s bonus, another twenty million spent on the influence-buying spree around Washington. Another three million frittered away to get the goods on Jack, money billed by TFAC, and over seven million in bribes paid to Charles and Wallerman, none of which would see the light of day on any corporate ledger.
Then, whatever had been wasted on upgrading factories, hiring workers, raw materials, etc., etc. Throw in another two or three hundred million there, Walters guessed-the numbers were already dizzying.
Nobody had worried about the costs when the polymer looked like a fountainhead of profit. Money had been spent profligately with little regard to the risks. They had been so sure of themselves, so optimistic about their amazing product, so quick to commit a hundred million here, five hundred million there. Chump change when the dream promised to produce tens of billions in profit.
When you’re robbing a bank you don’t stop to count the change.
Coming back as losses, the numbers fell like artillery shells.
Their moods sank from bad to nearly suicidal.
There also was the ancillary financial damage to be factored into the heartbreaking total. Globalbang, which Walters had coerced into canceling Arvan’s chemical contract, had never recovered. After the other suppliers witnessed Globalbang pulling the plug on Arvan, nearly all of them sprinted for the exits the moment their contracts expired. No way were they going to bank their economic survival on a firm that behaved so arbitrarily, so dishonorably, so cruelly.
Suddenly denied the materials to manufacture its rockets and bombs, after several months of desperate efforts, Globalbang strangled to death on a last series of futile cost cuts. It went bankrupt and out of business.
The Capitol Group had paid a whopping three billion for Globalbang back in the opening year of the Iraq war, when it seemed that buying any defense company was a license to print money. According to the general accounting principles, that stupendous write-off would have to go on this year’s annual earnings. Yet another casualty of the cursed polymer.
Walters tried to make the feeble argument that the steep losses offered a tax offset, as if that was a solace. It wasn’t, not at all. It was dawning on everyone in the room that, for the first time in the Capitol Group’s storied history, there would be no annual profit to be taxed.
Jackson was scribbling numbers on a legal pad as fast as his ears and fingers could keep up. The creaming was worse than he ever imagined. As best he could tell, the loss could total a whopping ten billion. Ten billion!
Once Jackson mumbled that number out loud, the magnitude began sinking in with Walters. His face went pale, his chest ached, he was having trouble breathing.
The fat bonus he had planned on demanding, and had already mentally spent, was laughable. The three-million-dollar renovation of his Great Falls estate would have to stop. He’d have to withdraw the offer he made two weeks before for the lovely lodge in Aspen. He would be lucky to hold on to his job.
Jackson and Bellweather looked almost as miserable. Both had vast fortunes already, enough and more to live in grand style for the rest of their lives. But like many rich men, it was never enough. In a city increasingly sprinkled with billionaires, both were nothing more than run-of-the-mill millionaires. Sadly, millionaires just didn’t get the respect they once enjoyed. A billion bought much better invitations, better access, vastly more people sucking up to you. And the word “billionaire” just sounded so much better; it had such a charming ring when the lips pursed to spit that lovely word.
The polymer had been their ticket from the M-word to the B-ranks.
Haggar wasn’t nearly as depressed about the numbers as the other three. They, as well as the other directors, all had big, expensive mansions, fleets of cars, vacation homes, yachts, greedy ex-wives, even a smattering of private jets to worry about. Big lifestyles required big profits.
After a long, impoverishing career in stingy public service, Haggar had yet to cash in and had relatively little money. His lifestyle remained modest. He had few expenses-a fair-sized town house in Springfield, one kid so disgruntled, dumb, and lazy he was lucky to be attending an inexpensive community college. Plus he was still married to his first wife, the same college sweetheart he’d been hitched to the past thirty years, through good times and bad, sickness and health, and all that. In truth, they could barely stand the sight of each other. They slept in different beds, used different bathrooms, avoided each other as much as possible. But both, for their own selfish reasons, had seen his job in the Capitol Group as a reason to tough it out.