“Yeah, sorry about that Victor, revisiting the skeletons in my closet got me off track.”
Ryman, a master closer, knew he had Martini’s undivided attention. “I’ve invested a half-million in researching and developing an untapped business opportunity,” declared Ryman, flicking his cigar. “I’ve also spent serious time with a number of my advisors. The unanimous consensus? This scheme can make the team and me super-rich.
“Johnny’s told me a lot about you. Let me be perfectly blunt. I need someone with the right corporate pedigree and the right age to help me promote the project, raise the capital, make the acquisitions, and run the companies. You interested?”
Victor leaned back, I’ve known this guy for a half-hour. I haven’t a clue what the hell the business is about, and he’s asking me to abandon twelve years of scratching and clawing up the ladder at A&J from the goddamn mailroom.
“Mr. Ryman, it’s hard to answer that question. You haven’t told me what the business is.”
“Jesus, I’m sorry, I just assumed Johnny filled you in. He managed all the research. My new business concept is simplicity itself. We’re going to legitimize the barter trading industry. By the way, the name is Franklin, not Mr. Ryman,” he smiled.
“Barter is not my wheelhouse. Is there much of a demand?”
“Are you kidding?” retorted Franklin enthusiastically. “People have been bartering goods for centuries, but it’s never evolved into an organized corporate enterprise. My company will be the first to consolidate all the critical functions of re-marketing excess consumer products under one roof, thereby becoming the market leader over-night.”
“Seems a little grandiose for a start-up in this day and age of corporate consolidations.”
“Nonsense,” replied Ryman curtly and confidently. “The Street is searching for innovative companies that can generate stable revenues and real profits. They’ve had it with smoke and mirror tech opportunities and accounting gimmicks. I plan to acquire and consolidate successful private barter companies with attractive operating histories through a series of public financings.”
“Are there enough of these companies to consolidate.”
“My research says that barter is a highly fragmented $20 billion industry populated by hundreds of street-savvy mom-and-pop entrepreneurs who specialize in one type of inventory or one channel of distribution. Some buy thee excess inventories for cash. Some buy under a barter arrangement, and some buy for a little of both. But nobody does it all. We will be the first public company of it’s kind.”
“Isn’t the government forcing the investment banking industry to batten down the hatches on highly speculative public financings?” asked Martini.
“I’m not talking about traditional a Wall Street capital raise. Been there, done that. I’m talking about raising capital through entrepreneurial penny stockbrokers.
“I thought Wall Street was entrepreneurial,” replied Victor, sounding like the neophyte he was.
“Hardly,” responded Ryman arrogantly, taking another puff and blowing a ring of smoke in the air. “Despite all the SEC saber-rattling and government oversight, they've practically ignored the world of penny stocks. The corporate bluebloods make like the world doesn't exist. They call it ‘the dark side of The Street.’ In reality, smart, savvy people raise tens of millions of dollars every day in this niche. Best of all, the rules are fungible; it's like the wild wild west of investment capital.”
Ryman sensed Victor was intrigued. He kept pouring it on, partially out of ego, partially out of need. “That’s the beauty of my strategy; all we need to do is make it sound sexy. As you well know, marketing is all packaging. Once we become America’s great 'whisper stock,' mainstream money will line up at the door.”
“I got it, but don’t quite get it,” said Victor honestly.
Ryman realized Victor was just what the doctor ordered – a naive, blue-chip marketing tenderfoot who could make his prospectus look and sound great.
~
“Here’s how it works. First, we use the public’s money to acquire fifteen or twenty of these niche companies. Then we eliminate redundant functions to add value. The restated earnings will show an income stream that capitalizes in the hundreds of millions. The stock price will skyrocket, investors will realize a significant return, and we’ll both be wealthy beyond our wildest dreams. Me for the second time, you for the first. So are you in??”
Martini wanted to do his own due diligence. “Franklin, what makes a barter company successful? Do they have management continuity? How do they fit together strategically?”
“Jesus, Victor, please, let’s not get bogged down in bullshit details. Business is not about business; it’s about money. If you can’t get filthy rich on someone else’s money, why bother?” Ryman believed deep down everyone was a greedy pig. And he knew how to feed that animal.
“How much do you think I can make,” asked Martini.
“Fifty, maybe a hundred million dollars in three years. Depends.”
The estimates blew Victor away. The sounded too good to be true. “Franklin, I’ve got to be blunt. The numbers are tantalizing, but the business and the financing sound like bullshit!”
Ryman was infuriated. “Bullshit! My plan is fucking brilliant!. You sound like my tight-ass United Medical nay-sayers.”
~
“I need some time to think about it, talk to my wife,” said Martini, sipping his now cold coffee. “I’ve got a great career with a first-class organization. Been there twelve years. I just can’t...”
“Oh, I get it. You want to check me out. Go ahead. You’ll find everything I told you is true. How much time do you need?”
“A few days.”
Ryman went for the close. “That’s fine, but no bullshit stringing me along; I’ve got to get on with my plan. If not with you, then somebody else. Do we understand each other?” Ryman was good. Very good.
Martini was already leaning. “By the way, Franklin, does your new creation have a name?”
“Yeah. International Trade Incorporated. The stock symbol is ITI. It’s easy to remember and sounds like a subsidiary of AT&T.”
The men shook hands, promising to meet again soon. Ryman noticed a large butter stain on Martini’s tie. “Victor, don’t know if you noticed, but I have a bad habit of talking and eating at the same time. I wind up tossing more butter-stained $125 ties in the garbage.”
Martini thought Ryman’s comment was an odd way to end their meeting.
Ryman smiled and pointed at Martini’s butter-stained tie. “Looks like we might be business and etiquette partners. ”I’d suggest a new tie for our next meeting.”
Chapter 7
Pitching Sandra
Victor hadn’t spent time at a library since his college days. This Saturday would be different.
Victor rummaged through old newspapers and magazines at the Greenwich Library looking for United Medical stories and analysis. To his utter amazement, everything Ryman said was true, right down to the torrid romance with Brit Samantha Brighton, a distant cousin of Prince Andrew.
However, Ryman ignored a few tasty morsels. Samantha had indeed jilted Ryman for a well-known Swedish jetsetter, Ingrid Bourne. The British and Scandinavian tabloids had a field day with the story because Ingrid, some eight years prior, had a sex change operation. Ryman ultimately became the laughingstock of corporate Europe. The widely-read daily tabloid, the Daily Mirror, derided Ryman in its headlines as “The man who loves women dumped by a woman who had a sex change.”