The Fourth Estate (71 page)

“But by the time
the trial comes around it will all be ancient history.”

“Not as long as
I’m proprietor of the Star, it won’t.”

“How long will
it all take?” asked Townsend.

“About twenty
minutes would be my guess,” Tom replied.

“And how many
people have you signed up?”

“Just over two
hundred.”

“Will that be
enough)”

“It’s all I
could manage at such short notice, so let , s hope so.”

“Do they know
what’s expected of them?”

-Fhey sure do. I
took them through several rehearsals last night. But I still want you to address
them before the meeting begins.”

“And how about
the lead player? Has she been rehearsing?” Townsend asked.

“She didn’t need
to,” said Tom. “She’s been understudying the part for some time.”

“Did she agree
to my terms?”

“Didn’t even
haggle.”

“What about the
lease? Any surprises there?”

“No, it was just
as she said it would be.”

Townsend stood
up, walked across to the window and stared out over Central Park. “Will you be
proposing the motion?”

“No, I’ve asked
Andrew Fraser to do that. I’m going to stick with you.”

“Why did you
pick Fraser?”

“He’s the senior
partner, which will ensure that the chairman realizes just how serious we are.”

Townsend swung
round and faced his attorney. “So what can go wrong?”

When Armstrong
walked out of the offices of Keating, Gould & Critchley, accompanied by the
senior partner, he was faced with a battery of cameramen, photographers and
journalists, all hoping to get the same questions answered.

“What changes do
you intend to make, Mr. Armstrong, when you are the chairman of the Star?”

“Why change a
great institution?” he replied. “in any case,” he added, as he marched down the
long corridor and out onto the sidewalk, “I’m not the sort of proprietor who
interferes with the daily running of a paper. Ask any of my editors. They’ll
tell you.”

One or two of
the journalists who were chasing after him had already done so, but Armstrong
had reached the relative safety of his limousine before they could follow up
with any supplementaries.

“Bloody hacks,”
he said, as the car set off in the direction of the Plaza Hotel where the
Annual General Meeting of the Star shareholders was to be held. “You can’t even
control the ones you own.”

Russell didn’t
comment. As they proceeded down Fifth Avenue, Armstrong began glancing at his
watch every few moments. Lights seemed to turn red just as they approached
them. Or did you only ever notice such things when you were in a hurry?
Armstrong looked out at the busy sidewalk and watched the natives of Manhattan
streaming back and forth at a pace he now took for granted. As the lights
turned green, he touched his breast pocket to check his acceptance speech was
still in place. He had once read that Margaret Thatcher would never allow an
aide to carry her speeches, because she had a dread of arriving on a platform
without the script. He understood her anxiety for the first time.

The nervous
conversation between Armstrong and his attorney stopped and started, as the car
passed the General Motors building. Armstrong took a large powder puff out of
his pocket and dabbed his forehead. Russell continued to stare out of the
window.

“So what can go
wrong?” asked Armstrong, for the tenth time.

“Nothing,”
repeated Russell, tapping the leather briefcase on his knees.

I have shares
and pledges totaling 51 percent of the stock, and we know Townsend has only 46
percent. Just relax.”

More cameramen,
photographers and journalists were waiting on the steps of the Plaza as the
limousine drew up. Russell glanced across at his client who, despite his
protests to the contrary, seemed to be enjoying every moment of the attention.
As Armstrong stepped out of the car, the manager of the Plaza took a pace
forward to greet him as if he were a visiting head of state. He guided the two
men into the hotel, across the lobby and on toward the Lincoln Room. Armstrong
failed to notice Keith Townsend and the senior partner of another distinguished
law firm step out of the elevator as he and his party swept by.

Townsend had
arrived at the Plaza an hour earlier. Unnoticed by the manager, he had checked
out the room where the meeting would be held, and then made his way to the
State Suite, where Tom had assembled a team of out-of-work actors. He briefed
them on the role they would be expected to play, and why it was necessary for
them to sign so many transfer forms.

Forty minutes
later he returned to the lobby.

Townsend and Tom
Spencer walked slowly toward the Lincoln Room in Armstrong’s wake. They could
easily have been mistaken for two of his minor acolytes.

“What if she doesn’t
turn up?” asked Townsend.

‘Then a lot of
people will have wasted a great deal of time and money,” said Tom as they
entered the Lincoln Room.

Townsend was
surprised to find how crowded the room wasi he had imagined that the five
hundred chairs he had watched the staff putting out earlier that morning would
prove far more than were needed. He was wrong-there were already people
standing at the back. About a third of the way down the room, a red rope
prevented anyone other than stockholders from taking a place in the twenty rows
nearest the stage. The press, employees of the paper and the simply curious
were packed into the back of the room.

Townsend and his
lawyer walked slowly down the center aisle, the occasional flashbulb popping,
until they came to the red rope, where both were asked to produce proof that
they were stockholders of the company. An efficient woman ran her finger down a
long list of names that covered several pages. She made two little ticks, gave
them a smile, and unhooked the rope.

The first thing
Townsend noticed was the amount of media attention being focused on Armstrong
and his entourage, who seemed to be occupying most of the front two rows. It
was Tom who spotted them first. He touched Townsend on the elbow. “Far
left-hand side, about the tenth row.”

Townsend looked
to his left, and let out an audible sigh when his eyes settled on Lloyd Summers
and his deputy, who were seated next to each other.

Tom guided
Townsend to the other side of the room, and they took two vacant seats halfway
back. As Townsend looked nervously around, Tom nodded in the direction of
another man walking down the center aisle.

Andrew Fraser,
the senior partner of Tom’s law practice, slipped into an empty seat a couple
of rows behind Armstrong.

Townsend turned
his attention toward the stage, where he recognized some of the Star directors
he had met during the past six weeks, milling around behind a long table
covered in a green baize cloth which had printed on it in bold red letters the
legend “The New York Star.” Armstrong had promised several of them they would
remain on the board if he became chairman. None of them believed him.

The clock on the
wall behind them indicated that it was five to twelve.

Townsend glanced
over his shoulder, and noticed that the room was becoming so crowded that it
would soon be difficult for anyone else to find a place. He whispered to Tom,
who also looked 6ack, frowned and said, “if it’s still a problem when they
start coming in, I’ll deal with it personally.”

Townsend turned
back to the stage and watched the members of the board beginning to take their
places behind the long table. The last person to occupy his seat was the
chairman, Cornelius J. Adams IV, as a smartly printed card placed in front of
him reminded the less wellinformed. The moment he took his place, the cameras
switched their attention from the front row of the audience to the stage. The
buzz that had been filling the hall became distinctly subdued. As the clock
behind him struck twelve, the chairman banged his gavel several times, until he
had gained everyone’s attention.

“Good afternoon,
ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “My name is Cornelius Adams, and I am chairman
of the board of the New York Star” He paused.

“Well, at least
for a few more minutes.” He looked in Armstrong’s direction. A little laughter
broke out for what Townsend suspected had been a well-rehearsed line. “This,”
he declared, “is the annual general meeting of the greatest newspaper in
America.” This statement was greeted with enthusiastic applause by large
sections seated at the front of the hall, and with silent indifference by most
of those behind the red rope.

“Our main
purpose today,” he continued, “is to appoint a new chairman, the man who will
have the responsibility of leading the Stat into the next century. As I am sure
you all know, a takeover bid for the paper was launched earlier in the year by
Mr. Richard Armstrong of Armstrong Com -munications, and a counterbid was made
on the same day by Mr. Keith Townsend of Global Corp. My first task this
afternoon is to guide you through the procedure which will ensure that a
transfer of power takes place smoothly.

“I am able to
confirm that both parties concerned have presented to me, through their
distinguished counsel, proof of their entitlement or control over the company’s
stock, Our auditors have double-checked all these claims and found them to be
in order- They show,” he said, referring to a clipboard that he picked up from
the table, 11 that Mr. Richard Armstrong is in possession of 51 percent of the
company’s stock, while Mr. Keith Townsend has control over 46 percent. Three
percent of stockholders have not made their preference known.

“As the majority
shareholder, Mr. Armstrong is ipsofacto in control, so there is nothing left
for me to do other than hand over the chair to his stewardsh i p – u n less, as
the marriage service states, anyone can show just cause or impediment for me
not so to do.” He beamed at the audience like a priest standing in front of the
bride and groom, and remained silent for a moment.

A woman
immediately jumped up in the third row. “Both of the men who have been bidding
to take over the Star are foreigners,” she said. “What recourse do I have if I
don’t want either of them as chairman?”

It was a
question that the company secretary had anticipated, and for which Adams had an
answer prepared. “None, madam,” came back the chairman’s immediate reply.
“Otherwise any group of stockholders would be in a position to remove American
directors from British and Australian companies throughout the world.” The
chairman was satisfied that he had dealt with the woman politely and
effectively.

The questioner
obviously did not agree. She turned her back on the stage and stalked out of
the room, followed by a CNN camera and one photographer.

There followed
several more questions in the same vein, which Russell had warned Armstrong was
likely. “It’s simply stockholders exercising their goddamn rights,” he had
explained.

As each question
was answered, Townsend turned round and looked anxiously toward the door. Every
time there were more people blocking it. Tom could see how nervous his client
had become, so lie slipped out of his seat and went to the back of the room to
have a word with the chief usher. By the time the chairman was satisfied he had
answered every question from the floor, several of them twice, Tom had returned
to his place. “Don’t worry, Keith,” he said. “Everything’s under control.”

“But when will
Andrew.

“Patience,” said
Tom, as the chairman announced, “If there are no more questions from the floor,
I am left only with the pleasant task of inviting Mr. Richard...” He would have
completed the sentence if Andrew Fraser hadn’t risen from his place a couple of
rows behind Armstrong and indicated that he wished to speak.

Cornelius J.
Adams frowned, but nodded curtly when he saw who it was wanting to ask a
question.

“Mr. Chairman,”
Fraser began, as one or two groans went up around the room.

“Yes?” said
Adams, unable to disguise his irritation.

Townsend looked back
toward the entrance once again, and saw a trickle of people making their way
down the center aisle toward the shareholders’ seats. As each of them reached
the red rope barrier, they were stopped by the efficient woman who checked
their names on the long list before unhooking the rope and allowing them
through to fill up the few remaining places.

I wish to bring
to your attention,” continued Tom’s colleague, 11rule 7B of the company’s
statutes.” Conversations started up around the room. Few people on either side
of the rope had ever read the company’s statutes, and certainly none had any
idea what rule 7B referred to. The chairman leaned down to allow the company
secretary to whisper in his earthewords; he hadjust lookedupon page forty-seven
of the rarely consulted little red leather book. This was one question he had
not anticipated, and for which he did not have a prepared answer.

Townsend could
see from the frenzy of activity in the front row that the man he had first seen
climbing into the back of the limousine outside 147