The Fourth Estate (73 page)

“it should be with
us in a few moments,” said Russell as he arrived by his side.

“How did he fix
the vote?” Armstrong demanded.

“He must have
created a large number of shareholders in the past twenty-four hours, who
wouldn’t show up on the register for at least another two weeks.”

‘Then why were
they allowed into the meeting?”

“All they had to
do was present the person checking the list with evidence of the minimum
required shareholding and their identity. A hundred shares each for, say, a
couple of hundred of them, would be all that was needed. They could have bought
the stock from any broker on Wall Street, or Townsend could have allotted them
20,000 of his own shares as late as this morning.”

“And that’s
legal?”

“Let’s say that
it’s within the letter of the law,” said Russell. “We could challenge its
legality in the courts. -17hat might take a couple of years, and there’s no
saying which side the judge would come down on.

But my advice
would be that you should sell your shares and satisfy yourself with a handsome
profit.”

‘That’s exactly
the sort of advice you would give,” said Armstrong. “And I don’t intend to take
it. I’m going to demand three places on the board and harry the damned man for
the rest of his days.”

Two tall,
elegantly-dressed men in long black coats hovered a few yards away from them.
Armstrong assumed they must be part of Critchley’s legal team. “So how much are
those two costing me?” he demanded.

Russell glanced
at them and said, “I’ve never seen them before.”

This seemed to
act as a cue, because one of the men immediately took a pace forward and said,
“Mr. Armstrong?”

Armstrong was
about to answer when Russell stepped forward and said, “I’m Russell Critchley,
Mr. Armstrong’s New York attorney. Can I be of assistance?”

The taller of
the two men smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Critchley,” he said.

“I’m Earl
Withers of Spender, Dickson & Withers of Chicago. I believe we have had the
pleasure of dealing with your firm in the past.”

“On many
occasions,” said Russell, smiling for the first time.

“Get on with it,”
said Armstrong.

The shorter of
the two men gave a slight nod. “Our finn has the honor to represent the Chicago
News Group, and my colleague and I are eager to discuss a business proposition
with your client.”

“Why don’t you
contact me at my office tomorrow morning?” said Russell, as a limousine drew
up.

“What business
proposition?” asked Armstrong, as the driver jumped out and opened the back
door for him.

“We have been
invested with the authority to offer you the opportunity to purchase the New
York Tribune.”

“As I said...”
Russell tried again.

“I’ll see you
both back at my apartment in Trump Tower in fifteen minutes,” said Armstrong,
climbing into the car. Withers nodded as Russell ran round to the other side of
the vehicle andjoined his client in the back. He Pulled the door closed,
pressed a button, and said nothing until the glass had slid up between them and
the driver.

“Dick, I could
not under any circumstances recommend...” the lawyer began.

“Why not?” said
Armstrong.

“It’s quite
simple,” said Russell. “Everyone knows that the Tribune is in hock for $200
million, and is losing over a million a week.

Not to mention
that it’s locked into an intractable trade union dispute.

I promise you,
Dick, no one is capable of turning that paper around.”

“rownsend managed
it with the Globe,” said Armstrong. “As I know to my cost.”

“That was a
quite different situation,” said Russell, beginning to sound desperate.

“And I’ll bet he
does it again with the Star.”

“From a far more
viable base. Which is precisely why I recommended that you should mount a
takeover bid in the first place.”

“And you
failed,” said Armstrong. “So I can’t think of any reason why we shouldn’t at
least give them a hearing.”

The limousine
drew up in front of the Trump Tower. The two lawyers from Chicago were standing
there waiting for them. “How did they manage that?” asked Armstrong, pushing
himself out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

“I suspect they
walked,” said Russell.

“Follow me,”
said Armstrong to the two lawyers, as he marched off toward the lifts. None of
them said another word until they had reached the penthouse suite. Armstrong
didn’t ask if they would like to take off their coats, or to have a seat, or
offer them a cup of coffee. “My attorney tells me that your paper is bankrupt and
that it is most unwise of me even to agree to speak to you.”

“Mr. Critchley’s
advice may well turn out to be correct. Nevertheless, the Tribune remains the
New York Star’s only competitor,” said Withers, who seemed to be acting as
spokesman. “And despite all its current problems, it still commands a far
higher circulation than the Star.”

636 JEPFREY
ARCHER

“Only when it’s
on the streets,” said Russell.

Withers nodded
but said nothing, obviously hoping that they would move on to another question.

“And is it true
that it’s in debt for $200 million?” said Armstrong.

‘Two hundred and
seven million, to be precise,” said Withers.

“And losing over
a million a week.”

“Around one
million three hundred thousand.”

“And the unions
have got you by the balls.”

“In Chicago, Mr.
Armstrong, we would describe it as over a barrel. But that is precisely why my
clients felt we should approach you, as we do not have a great deal of
experience in handling unions.”

Russell hoped
his client realized that Withers would happily have exchanged the name of
Armstrong for Townsend if half an hour earlier the vote had gone the other way.
He watched his client closely, and began to fear that he was slowly being
seduced by the two men from Chicago.

“Why should I be
able to do something you’ve failed so lamentably to achieve in the past?”
Armstrong asked, as he looked out of the bay window over a panoramic view of
Manhattan.

“My client’s
long-term relationship with the unions has, I fear, become unsustainable, and
having the Tribune’s sister paper, as well as the group’s headquarters, based
in Chicago doesn’t help matters. I’m bound to add that it’s going to take a big
man to sort this one out. Someone who is willing to stand up to the trade
unions the way Mr. Townsend did so successfully in Britain.”

Russell watched
for Armstrong’s reaction. He couldn’t believe his client would be beguiled by
such sycophantic flattery. He must surely turn round and throw them out.

He turned round.
“And if I don’t buy it, what’s your alternative?”

Russell leaned
forward in his chair, put his head in his hands and sighed loudly.

“We will have no
choice but to close the paper down and allow Townsend to enjoy a monopoly in
this city.”

Armstrong said
nothing, but continued to stare at the two strangers, who still hadn’t taken
off their coats.

“How much are
you hoping to get for it?”

“We are open to
offers,” said Withers.

“I’ll bet you
are,” said Armstrong.

Russell willed
him to make them an offer they could refuse.

“Right,” said Armstrong,
avoiding his lawyer’s disbelieving stare.

“Here’s my
offer. I’ll take the paper off your hands for twenty-five cents, the current
cover price.” He laughed loudly. The lawyers from Chicago smiled for the first
time, and Russell’s head sank further into his hands.

“But you will
carry the debt of $207 million on your own balance sheet.

And while due
diligence is being carried out, any day-to-day costs will continue to be your
responsibility.” He swung round to face Russell. “Do offer our two friends a
drink while they consider my proposition.”

Armstrong
wondered just how long it would take them to bargain. But then, he had no way
of knowing that Mr. Withers had been instructed to sell the paper for a dollar.
The lawyer would have to report back to his clients that they had lost
seventy-five cents on the deal.

“We will return
to Chicago and take instructions,” was all Withers said.

Once the two
lawyers from Chicago had left, Russell spent the rest of the afternoon trying
to convince his client what a mistake it would be to buy the Tribune, whatever
the terms.

By the time he
left Trump Tower a few minutes after six-having sat through the longest lunch
of his lifethey had agreed that if Withers rang back accepting his offer,
Armstrong would make it clear that he was no longer interested.

When Withers
called the following morning to say that his clients had accepted the offer,
Armstrong told him he was having second thoughts.

“Why don’t you
visit the building before you commit yourself?” suggested Withers.

Armstrong could
see no harm in that, and even felt it would give him an easy way out. Russell
suggested that he should accompany him, and after they had seen over the
building, he would phone Chicago and explain that his client no longer wished
to proceed.

When they
arrived at the New York Tribune building later that afternoon, Armstrong stood
on the sidewalk and stared up at the art deco skyscraper.

It was love at
first sight. When he walked into the lobby and saw the seventeenfoot globe
marked with the distance in miles to the world’s capital cities, including
London, Moscow and Jerusalem, he proposed. When the hundreds of staff who had
crammed into the hall to await his arrival began cheering, the marriage was
consummated. However much the best man tried to talk him out of it, he couldn’t
stop the signing ceremony taking place.

Six weeks later
Armstrong took possession of the New York Tribune. The headline on the paper’s
front page that afternoon told New Yorkers, “DICK

TAKES OVER!”

Townsend first
heard of Armstrong’s offer to purchase the Tribune for twenty-five cents on the
Today show, just as he was about to step into a shower. He stopped and stared
down at his rival, slumped in an armchair and wearing a red baseball cap with
“The N.Y. Tribune” emblazoned on it.

“I intend to
keep New York’s greatest newspaper on the streets,” he was telling Barbara
Walters, “whatever the personal cost to me.”

“The Star is
already on the streets,” said Townsend, as if Armstrong were in the room.

“And keep the
finest journalists in America in a job.”

“They’re already
working for the Star.”

“And perhaps, if
I’m lucky, make a small profit,” Armstrong added, laughing.

“You’ll have to
be very lucky,” said Townsend. “Now ask him how he intends to deal with the
unions,” he added, glaring at Barbara Walters.

“But isn’t there
a massive overmanning problem which has beleaguered the Tribune for the past
three decades?”

Townsend left
his shower running as he waited to hear the reply. “That may well have been the
case in the past, Barbara,” said Armstrong. “But I have made it abundantly
clear to all the trade unions concerned that if they won’t accept my proposed
cuts in the workforce, I will be left with no choice but to close the paper
down once and for all.”

“How long will
you give them?” demanded Townsend.

“And just how
long are you willing to go on losing over a million dollars a week before you
carry out that threat?”

Townsend’s eyes
never left the screen.

“I couldn’t have
made my position clearer with the trade union leaders,”

Armstrong said
firmly. “Six weeks at the outside.”

‘Well, good
luck, Mr. Armstrong,” said Barbara Walters. “I look forward to interviewing you
again in six weeks’ time.”

“An invitation
I’ll be happy to accept, Barbara,” said Armstrong, touching the peak of his
baseball cap. Townsend flicked off the television, threw off his dressinggown
and headed for the shower.

From that moment
he didn’t need to employ anyone to tell him what Armstrong was up to. For an
investment of a quarter a day he could be brought up to date by reading the
front page of the Tribune. Woody Allen suggested that it would take a plane
crash in the middle of Queens to remove Armstrong from the front page of the
paper-and even then it would have to be Concorde.

Townsend was
also having his problems with the unions. When the Star came out on strike, the
Tribune almost doubled its circulation overnight.

Armstrong began
to appear on every television channel that would take him telling New Yorkers
that “If you know how to negotiate with the unions, strikes become
unnecessary.” The trade union leaders quickly sensed that Armstrong enjoyed
being on the front page of the paper and regularly appearing on television, and
that he would be loath to close the Tribune down or admit he had failed.