PROLOGUE

A View from the Top

Michael Mulroney is insolvent.

Insolvent—|in'sälvnt| adjective, unable to pay debts owed: the company became insolvent.

• relating to insolvency: insolvent liquidation.

noun: an insolvent person.

He puts a fine point on the difference between insolvency and having no money. Who deals in money anymore? Make that cash, long green, the pocket wad, and the short answer is nobody. Any day, anytime, he can pluck a C-note or three or eight from his wallet as if from thin air. It’s plain to see he’s got money and can get plenty more where that came from. So he’s not broke.

Broke means no money, busted, elephant ears, no checkbook or credit cards, no influence or associates or friends of means—broke means no presence in the free-market flow. Broke was for people in the Depression. Brother, can you spare a dime? Soup lines and 5¢ apples are for broke people—people without resources, without hope. But a guy with assets and a clean shirt and notably pricey shoes and a watch that went a few grand more than your average tick tock, a guy with apparently hygienic inclinations—good teeth, fair skin, a haircut and a pleasant scent—a guy with a smile on his face because he knows what the world can do for him in return for all he’s done; that guy is not broke.

Broke |brōk|: adjective [predic.] informal: having completely run out of money: many farmers went broke.

Insolvent, on the other hand, means still part of the game as defined by the modern, mixed free-enterprise system, in which cash might be king, but real moolah is reflected in numbers on paper or in electronic synapses measuring scads o’ dough that can’t simply vaporize but will accrue sooner or later to the viable players in that system, of whom Michael Mulroney is one. That is, persons participating in the modern system live free to buy more, to enjoy life to the maximum and pay later because the money will come. What else can it do? Cash is not king but merely the Archduke of Down Payment in the realm ruled by Credit—by which the world can be leveraged. Leverage is magic, making each little greenback worth many times more than its face value, making those little greenbacks do the heavy lifting on the front end, allowing the player to go long on value, on the back end, so to speak. Leverage is like atomic fission, allowing a little bitty bang to go KABOOM! So? If a guy is short on cash, so what? He’ll get more, and he’ll know what to do with it. It’s only a matter of time, given his viability and track record.

Insolvency is merely a word describing a certain phase of that mixed free-enterprise system that every player will experience sooner or later. It may be a phase that not every player will experience, but it can happen to the best of them—maybe not to the extremely wealthy or cautious players, but the self-made guys who get in there and mix it up, who land a few and take a few on the chin and who fall down but get up and dust off and go again. It can happen to them, and so it does, as naturally as left-right-left. It may be a brief phase if the player still knows the moves. Or it can take him out, if he’s old and infirm, in nature’s inevitable way.

In any event, insolvency is a reversal segment, but it by no means disqualifies those players with continuing vim, vigor, and forward thinking, who remain networked and attuned to the common rhythm, integral and part of the scheme of things. Although slightly underwater, or, as the imagery goes, upside down, belly up, wrung out, pinched, in a jam or shitting through the eye of a needle, the insolvent, intact player is still confident in the ephemeral nature of fortune. Insolvency begins with in, just like inclusion, in the world, and incredible.

Michael Mulroney lives at One Summit Nest in a single-family dwelling, which should not be confused with a dwelling of similar profile in, say, Shanghai or Tokyo. The dwelling at One Summit Nest is shaped to accommodate a family and all its stuff, along with its visions and continuing needs. It’s big, a rambler with ostentatious generosity, grandiosity, and luminosity on finish materials, volume, and redundant luxuries. He bought it right, on the way up for two point four mil and spent another point two on a new roof, no big deal. What, you want leaks? And the hot tub was a pittance, to ease his aching joints. He’ll have to pay the pesky six points on the commission, and he owes two point two because he leveraged a ninety percent loan. He had the cash to pay for the house, but he also had golden opportunities on four new lots in prime locations right at point five each, which seemed serendipitous and convenient. Oh, the smart player sees the down cycle for what it has to offer, what would otherwise be an arm and two legs in a healthy economy. Beyond the incredible bargain, the acquisition budget of point five times four new lots included inventory, because a seasoned player knows the diff between a real budget and a fool’s paradise, so things can only go uphill from here. Or would that be downhill? Fuck it; you fill four lots with inventory for seventy-five cents on the dollar because economic indicators first leveled car prices at the dealer auctions and then eased to a slight but nonetheless further decline. That made for a bargain if a player had the cash, and the player had the cash, in a classic example of that ironic phase of economic fluctuation: the rich get richer, and the poor do what they do best. Naysayers predicted that the slight decline would steepen to a descent. But what? Californians were going to stop driving?

Not. And few people in the world could be more snug in the catbird seat on a wild ride than Michael Big M OK Used Cars Mulroney. Pre-owned? Get the fuck outta here with that pre-owned bullshit. You want smoke up your skivvies? Get down the road to certified pre-owned. The fuck is that? They prove to you that it’s used? Besides, used is the new new: BMW, Mercedes, Jag—who knows the diff between an ’09 and a ’16? You get your fucking image and save your fucking dough.

Michael Mulroney has depended since forever on swear words to make a point or deliver a punch line. He read somewhere that people who swear are most often telling the truth. He liked that and, factoring the correlation into his credibility quotient, increased his blue-language frequency. These days his language is nearly azure blue, though some find it exasperatingly blue. But those people don’t truly comprehend the nature of truth or the need for some to strive for greater truth, like, say, a used car magnate. Michael Mulroney is renowned for honest deals, what he calls your honest motherfucker—but never in print or on the air. People want to sense decency, and they do. So why press the point? Why not leave the Mulroney paradox as another unnatural pattern in nature, kind of? That would be nature as defined by Mulroney’s uncanny ability to serve the car buying needs of Californians—and a few Nevadans who come over for the fair dealing and honest language.

Yet, alas, a brief interlude intercedes, wherein the decline column goes from slight to steep, until inventory and overhead outweigh revenue. He’s out on a limb with the house, and he can raise cash only as fast as the cars move out. Or he could sell the house, which could happen any day, but he’s sure as hell not taking a loss on it. He fire sales a few cars as necessary because taking a loss on a car is all part of retail. The loss leader is old as onions, 19¢ a pound. It fills the store and keeps things going. It generates excitement—are you kidding? An ’07 550 SL for $18k? That’s the auction price—and it’s cherry! And it gets them talking, especially the lucky fuck who bagged it. And talking leads to thinking, to pondering acquisition and residual benefits, including enhanced image and more fun.

But the specter arises: what if car-buying habits don’t come back to where they were? Of course, they will; they have to because they always have and always will. What, you can imagine a world without more cars? It’ll never happen. But what if car-buying habits don’t come back in six months? Because that’s the extent of the means to keep this show going. Maybe seven months in a pinch on some pledges. It makes for pressure, and nonstop pressure is tough—if you’re a pedestrian pussy and not the greatest living closer west of the Fertile Crescent. As it is, a downturn brings out the best of the private reserve. Are you kidding? Californians not drive? Californians oblivious to brand?

Allison plops onto the sofa much as a small bird lights on a big limb, to chirp her little song. She announces good news, sincerely, in her pretty, petite way: she’s moving to Hawaii and hopes that Michael will join in the fun. Mulroney laughs so abruptly he nearly grunts. What’s she going to do, go alone?