Remember When

  “They wouldn’t be nearly as fond of me if I were shoving worming tubes down their noses,” Cole said with a distracted glance down the hallway. His breath caught as Jessica’s face appeared in the doorway of his room; then she made a wild dash across the hallway, holding her red-and-white top over her bare breasts. Cole swung around to block Charles Hayward from leaving the stall, and in the process he hit the coffee mug against the man’s arm and sent coffee spewing over hay and trickling down Charles’s shirt.

  “What the—” Hayward began; then he choked off his startled exclamation and began brushing at the drops.

  “I’m sorry,” Cole said.

  “That’s okay, I’ll get another one. Why don’t you put our new resident on a longer line and see how he goes. I only spent a half hour looking him over in Memphis in a stall because that was all the time I had.” He peered at Cole, who’d started to turn, and said, “Is anything wrong? You seem a little edgy tonight.”

  Cole shook his head in the negative and followed him down the hallway, actually beginning to believe that Jessica had made a safe escape and nothing worse would come of her antics tonight. His relief came a moment too soon. “That’s odd,” Charles Hayward said as he passed Cole’s room. “I distinctly saw you close that door behind you tonight when you came out of your room.”

  “It probably swung open on its own—” Cole began, but his voice trailed off as Hayward came to a sudden halt, a puzzled smile still on his lips, his eyes riveted on something in Cole’s room.

  “I gather you were entertaining, and I interrupted,” Hayward said. “And now the young lady’s run off or in hiding—”

  Cole’s gaze followed his to the lacy white bra on the floor near Cole’s rumpled bed, but before he could react, the older man had noticed something much more damning than the bra, and his expression went from startled, to accusing, to furious. “Aren’t those my wineglasses?” he demanded; then he stepped forward and jerked the bottle of wine up to see its label. “And this is Jessica’s favorite—”

  “I borrowed it—” Cole began. “No, I stole it—” he said, trying to prevent the inevitable even as Hayward stalked toward the rear doorway of the stable, peering toward the flash of white racing toward the back door of the house.

  “You son of a bitch!” Hayward exploded as he whirled and swung with his right arm, his fist connecting with Cole’s jaw with stunning force. “You fucking bastard!”

  Momentarily free of imminent discovery, Jessica fled to the house and up the stairs to her room, but when she peeked out the window, she saw her husband moving at an infuriated half-run from the stable toward the house. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, quaking in terror as her comfortable life began to shatter around her. “What’ll I do—?” she whispered, looking wildly around the dark room for some way to avoid disaster.

  Down the hall, Barbara turned her stereo up another notch, and inspiration struck.

  “Barbara!” Jessica cried, racing into her startled daughter’s room and slamming and locking the door behind her.

  Barbara looked up from the magazine she was reading, her expression first startled and then alarmed. “Mom—what’s wrong?”

  “You have to help me, darling. Just do what I tell you, and don’t ask questions. I’ll make it worth your while—”

  Chapter 10

  Dallas, 1996

  GOOD AFTERNOON, MR. HARRISON. AND, CONGRATULATIONS,” the guard called as Cole’s limousine passed through the main entrance of Unified Industries’ ultramodern fifty-acre campus not far from Ross Perot’s E-Systems. A smooth four-lane drive meandered through a gently rolling landscape dotted with trees, past a massive fountain and manmade lake. In fine weather, employees who worked in the seven sprawling, mirrored-glass buildings that were linked together by enclosed crosswalks frequently gathered there to eat their lunch.

  The limo glided past Unified’s administration building and continued past the research laboratories, where three men in white lab coats were engaged in a lively debate as they approached the front door. The limo finally rolled to a stop in front of a discreet sign at the curb that said “Executive Offices.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. Harrison,” the receptionist said as Cole stepped out of the elevator on the sixth floor.

  Cole replied with a brief, preoccupied nod and continued through the executive reception area, which was separated from the offices by a tall teak-paneled wall bearing the corporation’s insignia. There, visitors with appointments waited in luxurious comfort on pale green leather sofas, surrounded by a sea of thick oriental carpeting dotted with graceful mahogany tables and accent pieces inlaid with mother-of-pearl or trimmed with brass.

  Oblivious to the restrained splendor of the reception area, Cole turned to the right behind the teak-paneled wall and continued down the carpeted hallway toward his office, only vaguely aware that the place was unnaturally silent.

  As Cole passed by the main conference room, Dick Rowse, the head of advertising and public relations, stopped him. “Cole, could you come in here a moment?”

  As soon as Cole stepped into the crowded room, champagne corks began popping, and forty employees burst into applause in honor of the corporation’s latest coup—the acquisition of a profitable electronics firm with fat government contracts to sweeten their balance sheet and a new computer chip that was in the testing phase. Cushman Electronics, owned by two brothers, Kendall and Prentice Cushman, had been the object of hostile takeover attempts launched by several major corporations, and the widely publicized battle had been bloody and fierce. Today, Unified Industries had emerged victorious, and the media was going crazy.

  “Congratulations, Cole,” Corbin Driscoll, the company’s controller, said as he pressed a glass of champagne into Cole’s hand.

  “Speech!” Dick Rowse called out. “We want a speech,” he persisted determinedly in the jocular tone of a man who feels compelled to make everyone feel relaxed and everything look rosy, and who has also had too much to drink. In this case his efforts struck a particularly false note, because jovial camaraderie between the executive staff and the corporation’s hard-driving CEO simply did not exist.

  Cole glanced impatiently at him, then relented and gave his “speech.” “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a brief, perfunctory smile, “we’ve just spent one hundred and fifty million dollars to acquire a company that won’t be worth half that if we can’t market that computer chip. I suggest we all get busy thinking up ways to cut our losses if that happens.”

  “I was hoping for a quote I could use for the media,” Rowse said. “My phone’s been ringing off the hook since the announcement was made two hours ago.”

  “I’ll leave that to you. Thinking up quotable quotes for the media is your job, Dick, not mine,” he replied; then he turned and headed toward his office, leaving Dick Rowse feeling reprimanded and everyone else feeling a little deflated.

  Within minutes the group had disbanded, leaving only Rowse, his new assistant director, Gloria Quigley, and Corbin Driscoll in the conference room.

  Gloria Quigley was the first to speak. Tall, blond, and glamorous, the thirty-year-old was the youngest, and newest, member of the senior staff. “What a letdown,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Wall Street is in an uproar because Unified Industries wrested Cushman away from Matt Farrell’s Intercorp and two other major players. We’re all euphoric, the clerical staff is proud, and the janitorial people are probably dancing a jig,” she finished, “but the man who masterminded the whole buyout doesn’t seem to care.”

  “Oh, he cares,” Dick Rowse told her. “When you’ve been here for six months, you’ll realize that you’ve just seen Cole Harrison exhibiting extreme pleasure. In fact, he was happier just now than I’ve ever seen him.”

  Gloria looked at the two executives in disbelief. “What’s he like when he’s unhappy?”

  Corbin Driscoll shook his head. “You don’t want to see that.”

  “He can’t be that bad,” Gloria argued.
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  “Oh, yeah?” Corbin joked. He pointed to his thick, immaculately groomed gray hair. “I didn’t have a strand of gray hair two years ago, when I went to work for Cole.” The other two laughed, and he added, “That nice, fat salary and benefit package you got when you came to work here comes with a few strings attached.”

  “Like what?” Gloria asked.

  “Like phone calls at midnight because Cole has some new idea and wants you to act on it,” Dick Rowse said.

  “And you’d better learn how to pack a suitcase and catch a plane with an hour’s notice on a weekend,” Corbin added, “because our CEO doesn’t live by clocks or calendars.”

  “Weekends?” Gloria exclaimed in mock horror. “I’ll have to start turning off my answering machine at home on Friday nights!”

  “I’m glad you mentioned that,” Rowse said with a wry chuckle as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, black object. “This is a present for you—something to replace your answering machine and a token proof that you have a position of some importance here.”

  Gloria automatically opened her hand, and Rowse slapped a pager into her palm. “Welcome to Unified Industries,” he said dryly. “If you’re wise, you’ll sleep with that pager.”

  Everyone laughed, but Gloria had known when she applied for this job that a great many demands were going to be made of her. The challenge had been much of its appeal.

  Before giving up her own Dallas PR firm to come to work for Unified Industries, she’d read every article she could find about the aggressive, enigmatic entrepreneur who had made history by putting together a very large, very profitable conglomerate before he was thirty years old.

  From personal experience, she’d already learned that he was an exacting and demanding employer, with an aloof, impatient attitude that discouraged familiarity, even among his senior executives, who all treated him with caution and deference.

  He seemed to be as unconcerned about making enemies as he was about his public image, and yet, he was ferociously protective of the corporation’s reputation.

  Customer service was his personal “hot spot.” As a result of his rigid high standards, Unified Industries had received justifiable acclaim for the unparalleled customer service offered by every one of the companies beneath its corporate umbrella. Whether the newly acquired subsidiary was a floundering drug manufacturer, a small fast-food chain, or a large textile company, the first order of business for Harrison’s takeover team was to bring the customer-service area up to Unified Industries’ superior standards.

  “He’s a complete mystery to everyone in the business world, including the people around here,” Gloria said, thinking aloud. “No one really knows anything about him. I’ve been interested in him ever since he made headlines during the Erie Plastics takeover two years ago. A friend told me that MBA candidates are studying his takeover techniques.”

  “Well, Erie Plastics wasn’t that complicated. I can give you a concise view of what really happened there, and you don’t need to be a candidate for a master’s degree to understand it,” Corbin offered wryly.

  She looked at him intently. “Please do.”

  “Basically, the reason Cole succeeded was he ran the competition out of time and money. When other corporations decide to acquire a company, they weigh the acquisition’s value to them against its cost in money and time. If the cost gets too high, they cut their losses and back off. That’s the established practice among successful corporations all over the world. That’s the way Cole’s adversaries play the game. While the battle is raging, they constantly reassess what they have to lose against what they have to gain; then they try to predict their adversary’s next move based on their estimation of what he has to lose and gain.

  “Cole is different. When he wants something, he won’t stop until he gets it, no matter how high the cost goes. His adversaries have finally realized that, which gives Cole an even bigger edge. These days, when he decides to acquire something, other potential buyers generally pull out and let him have it, rather than go to the trouble and expense of fighting him. Basically, that’s his weapon and why he wins.”

  “What about Erie Plastics? That’s what made him a legend.”

  Corbin nodded. “In the case of Erie Plastics, there were originally five suitors who courted them, and we were the first. Erie’s board of directors had agreed in principle to our generous offer, but when the other companies suddenly jumped in, Erie’s board decided to take advantage of the competition among us by upping the ante. The price and the concessions Erie wanted kept escalating until the three smaller companies finally dropped out of the bidding. That left only Intercorp and us in the game, but just as the other companies dropped out of the bidding, another plastics company that Intercorp liked even better approached them with an offer to sell. Intercorp pulled out and that left us as Erie’s only remaining suitor. The day after Intercorp pulled out, Cole retaliated against Erie’s board by offering them less than he’d originally offered in the very beginning. Erie screamed ‘foul’ all over Wall Street. They got some sympathy, but no other suitors came forward with an offer because buyouts and takeovers cost a fortune, win or lose, and Cole was still standing in the ring—like a heavyweight champion with gloves on and fists raised—ready to take on the next contender if they made a move on Erie. The rest is history—Unified got a plastics company for less than it was worth, and Cole got some bad publicity and a whole new set of enemies.”

  “I can’t do anything about his enemies,” Gloria said, “but I intend to do something about our public relations.”

  “Cole doesn’t care about making enemies. He cares about Unified and about winning. That’s the point I was trying to make earlier: Cole Harrison would have paid whatever it took to get Erie, no matter how much it was. It’s as if winning is as important to him as the thing he’s after, maybe even more important.”

  “With that kind of tunnel vision, I’d have expected him to be a failure in business instead of such a dramatic success.”

  “You’d have been right, except that Cole Harrison has a very special gift—in addition to tenacity,” Dick Rowse said grudgingly as he poured scotch from the conference room’s bar into his glass.

  “What gift is that?”

  “Foresight,” he said. “He has an extraordinary ability to foresee a trend, a change, a need, and to be ready to capitalize on it long before most of his competition.”

  “You don’t sound as if you admire that,” Gloria said, puzzled.

  “I admire the talent, but not the man,” Rowse said bluntly. “Whatever he does, he does it with some sort of intricate hidden agenda in mind. He drives the Wall Street analysts crazy trying to second-guess him, and they rarely succeed. He drives all of us crazy trying to second-guess him.”

  “He sounds like an intriguing man,” Gloria said with an apologetic shrug for her dissenting opinion.

  “What makes you think Cole Harrison is a man?” Rowse replied half seriously. “I have reason to believe he’s actually a six-foot-two robot with artificial intelligence in an eight-thousand-dollar suit.” When the other two laughed, he lightened up a little. “You’re laughing, but there’s data to support my opinion. He doesn’t play golf, he doesn’t play tennis, and he’s not interested in professional sports or any sort of social life. If he has a friend in the world, no one knows who it is. His former secretary told me the only nonbusiness calls he gets are from women. Women,” Rowse finished with an accusing glance at Gloria, “all seem to find him fascinating.”

  “That shoots down your robot theory right there, Dick,” Corbin joked.

  “Not necessarily,” Rowse replied. “How do we know that the latest robotics technology can’t produce a male robot with a—”

  “I hate to interrupt this enlightening discussion,” Gloria lied as she stood up and put her glass on the table, “but I have a job to do, and I’d better get at it. Mr. Harrison may not care about his public image, but it affects the corporation, and we’re
being paid to enhance it. While he’s here today, let’s talk him into a press conference about the Cushman deal—future corporate plans, and all that.”

  “He won’t do it,” Rowse warned as he stood up. “I’ve tried.”

  “Let’s double-team him then and see if the two of us can prevail upon his good sense.”

  “He’s already turned me down. Maybe you’ll have beginner’s luck if you try it alone—assuming you can even get in to see him.”

  * * *

  Getting in to see Cole Harrison was much easier than getting his attention, Gloria had realized within moments of being admitted to the chrome-and-glass inner sanctum with its silver-gray carpeting and burgundy suede furnishings.

  For the past ten minutes, she had been seated in front of Cole Harrison’s desk, trying to convince him to agree to a press conference while he signed documents, talked to his secretary, made several phone calls, and mostly ignored her.

  Suddenly his eyes leveled on her. “You were saying?” he said in the clipped tone of one issuing a command to continue, which of course he was.

  “I—” Gloria faltered beneath that cold, assessing gaze, then forged ahead. “I was trying to explain that a press conference now is not merely helpful, it’s vital. The press has already made the Cushman takeover look like a bloodbath. The losers were screaming ‘foul’ before the game was over—”

  “I play to win. I won. They lost. That’s all that matters.”

  Gloria looked him squarely in the eye and then decided to test her job security. “According to your opponents, and a lot of people on Wall Street, sir, you play unnecessarily rough, you don’t take prisoners. The press has been making you look like some sort of rapacious wolf who enjoys the kill more than the food.”