Terminal Value (12 page)

“Yes, Dylan. I'm sure.”

“Why didn't you tell me about this before?”

“I dunno,” he said, a bit sheepishly. “Everything was happening so fast, and Christine is so intimidating—I guess I just let it pass, thinking she had other things on her mind as well.”

Dylan's thoughts raced from one scenario to another. If this was true and the SEC found out, they could have cancelled the IPO.

“Anyway, I don't give a shit. They gave me a nice package, and I'm happy to be the hell out of there.”

“What kind of package?”

“Two years' pay, plus my bonus, and they'll let my stock vest for the first year. And they'll cover the cost of COBRA for my health insurance for the full eighteen months as well.”

Dylan was stunned. No one at Rich's level got a deal like that. Hell, no one
ever
got such a deal. The norm was more like one month for every year employed, and if you were let go, you didn't usually get to keep any unvested stock options. “That's rather surprising,” he managed to say.

“Yeah, and they said they wouldn't contest me if I filed for unemployment, either. Said I should represent it as being a lump sum in exchange for signing some stupid release. Guess they thought I might sue or something.”

Dylan said nothing. He kept wondering why Christine would have been so generous.

“Dylan?”

“Yeah. Sorry. So what are you going to do now?”

“Cruise on my severance and unemployment, take a long vacation, and then find another job.”

“All right. I'm sorry it ended like this.”

“Don't worry about me, Dylan. Worry about yourself. You and Tony.”

Dylan was brought up short. “God. Rich. Haven't you heard?”

“Heard what?”

Dylan closed his eyes and told Rich about Tony's death. All the while, questions nagged at him. Ten minutes later, as he hung up the phone, Dylan felt a wave of anger. He was supposed to be one of the most senior executives at Mantric, but he was continually made to feel like an outsider. Could these events have something to do with Tony's death?

He knew Art was in Boston today. He bolted to the guest office he used. “I need to see Art.”

The administrative assistant shook her head. “He's wrapping up a call right now. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No.” Ignoring her, he burst through the door. Art spun around and looked at him.

“We need to talk.”

“Dylan, can't you see I'm in the middle of—”

“Now!” he demanded, slamming the door behind him.

Art stared at him for a second. “I'll call you back,” he said, hanging up the phone. “What's your problem?” he demanded.

“You're joking—right? For starters, you can tell me why Christine fired Rich Linderman without talking to me first!”

“Look Dylan, need I remind you, Rich didn't work for you anymore.”

“So you think it's fine I heard about it from the goddamn receptionist?”

Art paused. “I suppose she should have notified you first.”

“Ya think?” Dylan said sharply. “And why the hell did she have him hauled out of the building in front of everyone else?”

“Because he had access to confidential information.” Art raised his eyebrows and stared at Dylan, waiting for a response. “In situations like this, we have to protect the company from potentially disgruntled employees.”

“So,” Dylan said, his voice brimming with sarcasm, “I guess that means you both face this sort of situation a lot, huh?”

“Unfortunately.”

Dylan blinked. “And you haven't learned that waiting a few hours until people have left is a better option?”

Art bit his lip. “That's a good point,” he admitted. “Maybe we should have done that.”

“And maybe you should have found him another job.”

“That was my call. Based on Christine's recommendation, I felt Rich didn't have the right skills for any other opening. Frankly, he lacks the sort of experience and know-how we're used to seeing in our finance people.”

“Well if he did a bad job, how did he qualify for two years' severance?”

Art flinched then quickly caught himself. “I would have thought you'd be happy we did that for him.”

“Oh I am. It just doesn't make any sense.”

“Maybe that was our way of acknowledging it was a difficult situation.”

Dylan paused for a moment. He didn't know if what Rich had told him was true. But if it was, Mantric had illegally manipulated its financials in advance of the IPO. He decided to tuck that information in his back pocket.

“As a senior member of this management team, I should have been informed, and I think I should be included in all future financial reviews.”

Art remained silent for a moment, then smiled and said, “I'll certainly bring that to the board's attention. We'll get back to you on it.” He said nothing more but reached for his phone.

“Fine. Please let me know their answer.” It was a weak response, and he knew it. He turned on his heel and left before Art could say anything.

Art waited until Dylan closed the door, then dialed Christine's number. “Have you made arrangements to get Tony's computer? I don't think it should be lying around here. Be sure to send Ivan to get it. Oh, and Dylan was just here demanding to be given access to the company financials. I told him I thought that would be a board decision. I don't think there will be any problems, but we should meet and discuss this before it goes any further.”

* * *

May 4, 3:50 p.m. Boston

Heather's four o'clock flight arrived ten minutes early at Terminal C at Logan Airport. Dylan spotted her before she saw him and moved quietly to her side.

“Heather.”

She whirled and reached out to him. Dylan pulled her close and hugged her, feeling her body shake as she sobbed. He stroked the back of her head, trying to comfort her.

“Come on, Heather. Let's get out of here,” he said, taking her bag in one hand and holding her hand in the other.

“I still can't believe it,” she said, sobbing.

“Neither can I,” he said as he guided them out the door and towards the parking lot.

A warm blast of dry air swept across the road. Heather sat in the passenger's seat, reached into her purse, and pulled out a tissue. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She looked straight ahead, staring into the distance. Dylan put his hand on hers, and she turned and looked at him through red, puffy eyes.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

She shook her head. “I don't want to be in a public place.”

“Shall I take you home?”

“No. I need to talk. I want to know—”

“My place?”

She nodded. “That's where we always used to meet and talk, the four of us.”

The four of us.
Dylan started up the car. They drove away from the airport and into the tunnels of the Big Dig. “You okay?” he asked as they pulled onto Storrow Drive.

“I'm just glad I'm back.” She turned to him. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.” The lie was so palpable he could not look at her. He hurried on, changing the subject. “But something happened at the office today.”

“You went to the office? Dylan!”

“It's better to keep busy. And it's a damned good thing I did. I found out Christine fired Rich yesterday.”

“My God,” Heather said, turning to stare at him.

“Pretty, isn't it?”

“What was her reason?”

“Rich said she told him his position was redundant and there wasn't another role for him at the firm.”

“That's harsh. Do you believe it?”

Dylan said nothing as he pulled into his parking space. The bright sun shone through the windows. “Maybe he knew too much.”

Heather gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Rich told me a strange thing about what's going on in finance.”

“Which was?”

Dylan opened his door. “I'll tell you inside.”

In the living room, Dylan fixed a vodka tonic for himself and poured a glass of white wine for Heather. He'd wanted a drink all day but hadn't had anything, knowing he had to drive.

“Rich said Christine forgot to include the reserve for the acquisition of MobiCelus in our prospectus.”

Heather shook her head. “I'm not sure I understand.”

“The SEC requires complete transparency, meaning you have to report everything.”

“Then why wouldn't they include it?”

“I don't know. I confronted Art about Rich, but decided not to let him know what Rich had told me. And I demanded to have access to the financials.”

Heather looked at him. “Do you think Art and Christine will agree to that?”

Dylan took a sip of his drink. “I'm not sure. But I think it's my business to know.”

“You know, Art said something odd,” she said. Then the doorbell rang. Dylan rose and peeked through the spy hole. “It's Rob,” he said, opening the door.

“Hi,” said Rob. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night. “Didn't want you to think I'm checking up on you, but—Heather!”

She went to him and put her arms around him. Dylan stepped back and looked at the floor.
So they were speaking again.

Rob pulled away first, turning his head to wipe the tears from his eyes.

“I'm okay,” he said in response to Heather's look. “No, I'm not. I'm a mess. But I can't do anything about it.”

Dylan got him a drink and refilled his own. Rob drank quickly and threw himself on the sofa. “God, what a day,” he said. “Jesus, Dylan, I'm sorry to intrude, but I have to tell you something.”

“Rich?”

“You know?” Rob set his drink on the table.

“I was at the office this morning. Went to see him about something and saw his empty office.”

“I found out this afternoon. Christine sent me an e-mail. I knew it would rip you, so I thought I'd better come over and tell you myself.”

“Thanks. Maybe you can also tell me the real reason she did it.”

Rob shrugged. “There's no hidden reason. You know I thought you were getting him in over his head at MobiCelus. And the water's a lot deeper at Mantric. I take Christine at her word. He couldn't handle the job. But Jesus—”

“They had no right to fire him without consulting you, Dylan,” Heather interrupted. “Maybe you can convince Art to take him back when you talk to him again about having access to the financials.”

Rob looked from one to the other. “What's going on?” he asked cautiously.

“They're keeping me on the fringes, Rob,” said Dylan. “First the road show, now firing Rich behind my back.”

“Technically, they have the right now to do that,” Rob said.

“I know. They're testing me. If I don't push back, they'll steamroll me and I won't have any power at all.”

“So much for the benefits of acquisition,” said Heather.

Dylan looked at her and heard anger in her voice, saw fire in her eyes.

Rob drained his drink. “I've gotta go.” He rose. Dylan hugged him again and led him to the door.

“Take it easy, Rob.”

Rob's eyes met his. He nodded and left.

Dylan went to the bar. “You want another drink?”

“Sure.” Heather kicked her shoes off and curled up in the corner of the sofa.

Dylan fixed the drinks and then returned to the living room. He took a healthy gulp. The excessive alcohol had made a significant dent in his misery, but not in the doubts that flooded his mind.

“What were you saying before? Art said something odd?”

Heather nodded. “It was at a meeting in New York last week. He was talking to the project managers, telling them how proud he was of them for the revenues they were generating. He said the New York headquarters was our most important office because it accounted for forty-five percent of our revenues.”

“He said that?” It was the first time Dylan had ever heard a breakdown of their revenues by office.

“It's probably nothing, but it just seemed awfully high. Almost half the revenue generated by only one of our ten offices?”

“Yeah.” It seemed high to him as well.

“Plus, aren't only about twenty percent of our people based here in New York?”

“Uh-huh. That doesn't add up. There aren't nearly enough people in New York to generate forty-five percent of Mantric's revenues.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Dylan rested his head in his hands. “Jesus.” He didn't want to show his reaction, but the alcohol had him now, and the doubts that had been lurking behind his misery grew and multiplied: the road show, Rich being fired, and even Rob's reaction to Dylan's anger. For every argument Dylan made, Rob countered. Dylan shook his head to clear his thoughts. Perhaps Rob was right, and Dylan just needed to feel there were more people on his side. But then again. . . .

Heather put her drink down. “We shouldn't be talking about this now. Dylan, we need to talk about Tony, about what's being done.”

He nodded. “His father's in town. He thinks the funeral will be on Saturday.”

“I know. I spoke with him this morning. But that's not what I meant. I've been so upset since you called. I put it out of my mind while meeting with my client—I had to—but on the flight back, it ate me alive.”

“I hear you,” said Dylan, draining his drink. “It's a terrible feeling.”

Heather nodded and shifted her position on the sofa, moving closer to him. “The thing is—I don't know how to say this, but it just doesn't seem like Tony to have made a stupid mistake that would cost him his life. Have you talked to the police?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

He looked down at the empty glass in his hands. “They said it looked like an accident. The press said it would take about a week to get the final cause of death. That's all I know.” He did not like leaving Heather out of the conversation with the police, but for the time being he would.