“I know, it’s hard to imagine that you can’t make it here in America-the land where dreams come true. But this is also the land where dreams are crushed. E-commerce is the way to go. Sell your fashions online, set up a great website, and save money on buildings, showrooms and rental space.” Diana listened intently, feeling that she may be able to salvage some kind of guidance. “No one has the time anymore to go to stores, outlets or malls just for clothes. People are ordering them online and that’s the trend.” He looked at one of her documents. “I see that you sell quality and original designs.”
“Yes, I design them myself,” she said quietly but with a small amount of pride. But he was shaking his head.
“It’s original, but no one cares here. Do you know why? Because of the second reason: sweatshops. Over 75 percent of successful fashion stores use Malaysian, Bangladesh, Columbian, Indian, or Chinese labor for their garments. They have tens of thousands of people all over the world, working for less than a dollar an hour, and they are imported back here to sell. Cheap, affordable clothing. Diana, unless you have connections with Versace, Christian Dior, or Armani-honey, you’re going nowhere.” She shook her head in defiance.
“No, I won’t import from China or any other Third World country.” Her determination was clear. Then he crushed it.
“Then you’re setting yourself up for failure! Honey, this is America! You need lots of money to make enough money just to break even. Then you need time to build your fortune; years. How are you going to pay the utilities, rent, insurance, taxes, the cost of such quality materials, import taxes, licensing fees, the workers, the returns, the maintenance, the medical coverage for your employees, the machines to make the clothes, the accountants, the lawyers, the advertising? I’m telling you Miss Noel, you. . .will. . .fail.”
She just looked at him on the verge of tears, her hands curled into fists, and her lips began to tremble. He casually took another drink, feeling his utter superiority over her. This was not the first time he served a large dish of reality to a first-time client. There had been hundreds. When she dropped her chin in defeat, he spoke again.
“Now, let me tell you what I can do for you. I’m a senior member of the SBA which is the Small Business Administration. The maximum 7-A loan the SBA can guarantee is $5 million. But you don’t need that much. As a startup, the average amount is between 300 and $350,000. You’ve requested just $200,000.” Diana nodded her head slowly as she wiped away her tears. “There is a fee of 3 percent for guaranteed loans up to $700,000. So, immediately, you owe the bank $6,000 to secure this loan. And if I sign this contract, you owe that today.”
Diana’s eyes widened in disbelief and despair. She barely had $12,000 in traveler’s checks on her for this trip. That money had to last for two weeks to search for locations for her new store, and once she found one, she had to put down money to secure it; then hire an interior decorator, pay for his materials, computers and furniture; hire a project manager to handle things when she went back to Croatia and clear her apartment before moving back to New York.
There were a hundred things she had to pay for without even mentioning her motel, food, and taxi rides. And now, she would have to give up half of that amount for one fee! She felt her dreams melting under his sharp gaze. She felt herself a fool to have considered this.
“Now, after the fee is paid, your loan is guaranteed up to five years at fixed rate of 4 percent. So, that’s $8,000 in interest you owe per year for five years, which comes out to $40,000. You pay quarterly, so you owe me $2,000 every four months.” The numbers were staggering for Diana. How could she sell enough merchandise just to pay the interest, much less everything else he mentioned? It was impossible. She could probably do it, and actually make huge sums of money by going the sweatshop route.
But if word got out to her homeland that children, mothers and grandmothers were working 15-hour days under the NOEL logo, she would be known as a soulless fraud, shaking hands with the corporate devil, and adopting the true American business model. Her six stores in Zagreb would close down in shame, her name would be dirt, and she’d be nowhere. She took a deep breath. She was not going to disgrace herself, her family, or her brand. She was Croatian, and she would not sell her soul. She shook her head quickly and looked up.
“No, Mr. Rosenbaum, I can’t pay that. It was a mistake to come here. A mistake to think I could start a business in America. You are right; I will fail. Thank you very-” She stopped when he raised up a palm. He finished his drink and poured himself another.
“Around New York, I’m known as the ‘Game Changer.’ Do you know what a game changer is, Miss Noel?” She shook her head. “A game changer is the person who delivers a miracle. When the game is on the line, when defeat is looking you in the face- like it’s looking at you right now-you call on me to give you that miracle.” He smirked with conceit and felt the satisfaction at the unseen power he wielded.
“I’m a very important man, Miss Noel. I help this state with money every day. I have shares and holdings worth no less than $300 million, and I can use those resources in any way I want. If the mayor needs money, he comes to me; when the governor needs something fixed, he comes to me; when another bank needs credits; it comes to me. Even the Mafia has come to me for help. Some people would call that dirty money, but I call it business.” He gulped his second drink down in one swallow.
“I’ve made many politicians happy with my contributions; I’ve paid off lobbyists and legislators to have the laws changed to favor my shareholders and my own needs; because Miss Noel, nothing is fair when it concerns one man’s money and another man’s greed. As long as someone controls the money, there will always be greed. It’s an unholy confluence.” Diana quickly recalled the night when Carlos, her English professor, taught the class the meaning of ‘confluence.’
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because, Miss Noel, I can be your game changer, too. I can give you the $200,000 you requested, waive the $6,000 fee, and bring the interest rate down to a fixed 1 percent.” Diana’s eyes blinked at these new numbers as she calculated them in her head. “You would save tens of thousands of dollars.” He reclined back in his chair and waved his hand like it was a trivial thing. Her smile emerged again like the sun out of the fog, and she straightened her posture.
“Oh, Mr. Rosenbaum! Thank you! Thank you very-”
“Take off your clothes.” His face was now flushed with the effects of the alcohol. He reached up and loosened his tie, unbuttoning his top two buttons. “You want all this, you just have to give me your guarantee.” He got up and walked around his desk like a leopard, then moved behind her chair. She froze again not knowing why he was there.
“What guarantee?” she forced herself to ask in a shaky voice. Just then his hands reached around both sides of her shoulders and cupped her breasts. She exhaled in shock, but couldn’t move nor breathe as he gently squeezed and fondled them. “Ah yes, they’re beautiful,” he breathed. “So young, so full, the way I like them.” Tears began to slide down her cheeks and splash on his hands.
“Your guarantee is that after I’ve had you today, right over there on my couch, every week you’ll come back to me.” He spun her swivel chair around towards him and she drew in a sharp breath, shaking like a frightened girl. She watched in disbelief as he slowly unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. He held its length in his hand and jostled it proudly.
“I make all my startup girls as gorgeous as you submit to the guarantee; otherwise, I stop the deposits going into their accounts, and charge them 6 percent interest. None of them refuse; in fact, this morning I had two new entrepreneurs do me at the same time. Right over there on my couch. That’s why I