“Cheney Smythe M&A Division,” an efficient receptionist says. “Good morning, how can I help you?”
“Um, good morning.” Once again I am up super early and I am on the phone already. “I need a consultation for an acquisition deal—I would like to schedule an appointment for this afternoon.” I’m trying to sound as professional as I can.
“Very well, is your company already a client with us?” the receptionist asks matter-of-factly.
“Uh, no. I mean, I don’t have a company. I am…mmm…a private investor.”
“Very well.” She doesn’t sound “very well”…she sounds “very skeptical”. “Can I have your name, please?”
“Ally Johnson.” This is the first question I know how to answer properly.
“And what kind of acquisition were you interested in?”
“What do you mean?” I’m once again in the fog.
“What kind of business sector are you interested in?”
“Ah, ok. I want to buy a bank.”
“A bank? You are a private investor and you want to buy a bank? Excuse me? Is this a prank?”
“I can assure you I’m very serious. If your M&A department is not able to assist me I can easily ask one of your competitors—”
“I’m sorry madam, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that your request is quite—” She pauses a second or two, probably to select the right word. “Unconventional. Please hold.”
Scaring people always works.
I have to listen to some classical symphony for fifteen minutes before she gets back on the line. My request must have rattled their procedures.
“Thank you for waiting, Miss Johnson. At what time will you be available today?”
“Six p.m. would be fine.”
“Okay. I have you down for six p.m. at our downtown office—one of our senior VPs will take care of you. I just need to ask you a few more questions and we’ll be all set.” She then proceeds to interrogate me in absolute detail about my generalities, social security number included, apparently so that they can perform a background check on my finances. I bet they are in for a huge surprise.
“Arthur,” I say as soon as I put down the phone. “You should wear one of your sharpest suits today. You’re going to play my assistant.”
“I presume to say it would not be much of an act,” he comments.
“You’re right,” I say absentmindedly, browsing through my wardrobe to select my most down-to-business looking suit.
When I enter the office a little later I am saluted by a round of applause and a mini standing ovation. Everybody is eager to compliment me on my vocal exhibition of Saturday night. As flattered as I may be by all the attention, I need to do a million other things this morning, so I brush my nice colleagues off and hide away behind my cubicle, but not before noticing the evil eye Vanessa is giving me. I quickly scan her mind just in case there’s something new I need to know. Hmm. I detune immediately, as I only get a strong wave of utter jealousy coming my way. Good!
I need to get some more information on banks, acquisitions, price valuation, and loans management. I want to perform a little better than I did on the phone. But most of all, I want to see if I can get a clearer idea of how much money I have since they are background checking me right now.
I turn on my PC and quickly enter my access password. I decide to have a look at my regular bank account first and… Meh! It is plump and healthy, but nothing spectacular. I switch to my little investment fund. After five years of hard work, I managed to save something close to ten thousand dollars; at least it was as much in the B.C. (Before Coffer) era. I type in my client number and pin code and… Oh! I am loaded. But not I-could-buy-all-the-clothes-in-the-world loaded, more like I-could-buy-an-island-with-spare-change loaded.
I lie back, staring at the number in front of me in shock. I mean, I’m not in Bill Gates’s league yet, but I’m getting there fast. I should really leave this job and do something more inspiring with my life, but what?
Unfortunately, I don’t have a clear dream or goal in life, at least workwise. My wildest dream has always been to have a family of my own, and I am afraid that is the one thing money, or wishes, in my case, can’t buy.
Anyway, I occupy the rest of the day alternately surfing the Internet to acquire new financial knowledge and to find inspirations for my future dream job. I even end up subscribing to a career counselling service, filling out an infinite questionnaire about my hobbies, my lifestyle, and myself in general. They’ll send me a detailed ideal-job-profile within a few weeks, along with all the required steps for me to sway my career in the right direction.
At five-thirty I’m already in the street, walking briskly toward Cheney Smythe’s offices with Arthur in tow. I’m glad I’m wearing pants, as their office is located in the opposite direction of the lake, and today the Windy City is living up to its name.
Their building is one of those polished glass-steel tall ones, sleek and sharp; I hope this is a good indication of their attitude as well. The entrance hall is, well, in one word: grand. The space is ample and modern, a little intimidating to be honest. To reach the reception desk I have to walk the entire length of the room, my heels breaking the religious silence with loud clicking sounds.
The receptionist looks like she belongs in a fashion magazine doing bikini commercials more than in a corporate office, and she’s equally intimidating. However, when I talk to her she’s very kind to me and, after taking my name, she directs me to suite number twenty-two.
The secretary upstairs is less friendly and eyes me suspiciously; she must be the same one from this morning. Nonetheless, she shows me into a posh meeting room with a crystal, boat-shaped table surrounded by black leather chairs.
Before leaving me alone she offers me high-end refreshments, which I gladly accept. I choose one of the chairs at the head of the table and nibble my premium macadamia nut cookie. Arthur too seems to be enjoying himself.
After only a few minutes, a tall man dressed in an impeccable dark suit with shiny black shoes joins us. He’s your stereotypical banker. He looks pale and taut, with a hint of dark circles around his eyes. I can’t help but wonder if he ever sees the light of day; this is what a vampire must look like. Exactly what I needed: a bloodsucking creature that lives in the office.
I browse his thoughts quickly to see what I can expect.
Damn Brent, he dumped this on me…
Next I get a mental image of another suited guy being sucker punched, assumedly Brent. Okay, so I am up against a little bit of prejudice. Nothing I can’t overcome, I’m sure.
“Welcome to Cheney Smythe.” He sits next to me, opposite from Arthur, and quickly verifies the name on the folder. “Miss Johnson, I am Nathan Murphy, senior VP. What can I do for you today?” he asks, producing a dashing smile.
Good, he’s a salesman.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Murphy—”
“Please call me Nathan.”
“Nice to meet you, Nathan. This is my assistant, Arthur Pemberley.” They exchange a nod of acknowledgement. “We are here today because I am interested in the acquisition of a local bank.”
I haven’t had the time to read her file. A bank? Is she crazy? Does she know how much it costs?
“I’m aware this may sound like an unusual request, but I assure you that I’m a serious investor, as I’m confident you had time to verify,” I continue, staring knowingly at the folder in his hands.
He takes the hint and flips a couple of pages nonchalantly, probably searching for my financial profile. When he finds it, his eyes widen involuntarily.
You have my attention, girl. Faux pas Brent, this could backfire on you… I bet you didn’t check the numbers before assigning me the client…
“I see from your file you haven’t specified a name. Are you after any bank, or a specific one?” he asks, pretending that was the information he was looking for in my dossier.
“A specific one. Prime Capital National Bank,” I announce.
“Ah, that could be tricky, Miss Johnson. Mr. Van Horn is the majority shareholder of P.C.N., and we know for sure that he’s not interested in selling.”
Never mind, she’s crazy. She wants to go after the most powerful man in Chicago.
“Oh, I know, but you see, that’s a conspicuous cause of interest on my part.”
“Miss Johnson, Adam Van Horn has a strong control share in P.C.N. An acquisition was attempted only last year, which he adamantly refused. We were actually involved in the deal as mediators, but he created the bank himself forty years ago. It was his first entrepreneurial breakthrough. It’s his baby—he would never part from it.”
Unless you forced his hand, he adds to himself.
“As you well know, there are ways to push this kind of thing into happening…” I pause, mostly because I have no idea how this could happen. I need to fish for it in his brain. Luckily enough he promptly delivers me the answer.
The only way is to bear hug the entire company.
I have no idea what “bear hug” means, but once again Nathan’s clever mind provides me with an explanation, and from the sound of it, something directly out of a textbook.
Bear Hug: An offer made to buy a company at a much higher per-share price than effective market value. Technique used when in doubt of the willingness to sell of the management of the targeted company, which is forced to accept the overgenerous offer due to its legal obligation to look out for the best interests of its shareholders.
Mmm, interesting.
“Is Adam Van Horn the only shareholder?” I resume my speech after my fruitful little pause.
“No, but he has the majority share.”
“Is he also CEO?”
“Yes.”
Where is she going with this?
“So tell me, Nathan, assuming the economics weren’t a problem, could I bear hug P.C.N. out of him?”
Whoa, girl, I definitely underestimated you. You may look like a kitten, but you do have claws.
I admit I am tempted to meow aloud, but that would give away too much of my game.
“That would be technically possible,” he concedes. “However, if you do not have a serious strategic reason to buy the company, these kind of acquisitions rarely prove to be profitable.”
Plus you and I would be making an enemy for life, and a powerful one…but the commission on such a deal… I would bring in millions out of nowhere… I could steal the promotion from right under his nose…
He’s very ambitious. Perfect. He would risk being on the wrong side of Vanessa’s daddy if it meant an advancement in his career. I just have to play him a little.
“Humor me, please. Moneywise, how much would it take to ‘hug’ P.C.N.?”
He does a mental calculation to which I listen carefully.
Last year they made about fifty million in profit. I will have to analyze their debt and equity ratio, but a fair multiplier would be around fifteen…to pull off a bear hug that number would at least need to be at twenty, which is…One billion. Yep, one big guy should cut it…
“Miss Johnson, let’s not throw numbers. I would need to do a proper evaluation before I can be confident enough to give you the right figure.” And bill you for the hours it takes me to do it. “But judging from your financial profile, I think a hostile acquisition would be within your means.”
“Again, humor me, Nathan. Do you reckon a multiple of twenty would be sufficient? You think that one big guy would cut me a deal?” I steal his thoughts to add credibility to my financier character.
She knows her math as well…
“Yes, that would be a good rough estimate,” he answers. “But as I said, I would need to examine all the numbers properly first to give an accurate number. But Miss Johnson, I’m not certain that Cheney Smythe is willing to perform a hostile acquisition against Adam Van Horn.”
“What is your commission on this kind of deal, Nathan?”
One percent.
“One point five percent,” he says instead. Sneaky old Nathan.
“What if I doubled that? Would that be enough to ensure your support?”
Thirty million out of nowhere? Yeah, girl!
“Welcome to Cheney Smythe, Miss Johnson.” A wolfish smile spreads on his lips. “I’m confident P.C.N. will be under your control by the end of the year.”
“Ah, no.” I quench his enthusiasm. “I need it by the end of next month. Is it possible?”
I watch his expression switch to one of controlled panic.
I would have to work my team and myself to exhaustion…a month…a month with no sleep in it…if we reuse the due diligence we already made and update it…we would barely make it…it would be a nightmare…but thirty million, plus all the billable hours…
“We are the best M&A division in the world, Miss Johnson. Anything is possible with us.” His answer is far more confident than his actual thoughts.
“Very good.” I smile. “One last thing.”
What now?
“I need to remain an anonymous buyer. My name can’t be linked to the deal in any way.”
“We can make it happen. Would that be all?” he asks, hopeful.
“Yes, thank you very much for your time,” I say, getting up and stretching my arm forward to shake his hand.
“It has been a pleasure.” He has a strong, dry grip; I like it.
I’m about to leave the room when he calls me back.
“Miss Johnson.”
I stop and turn toward him. I can tell he’s hesitant about what he’s about to say next.
“May I ask you why you want to buy P.C.N. so badly?”
“You may ask.” I pause for more effect. “But I may not answer.”
And with that last comment I leave the room highly satisfied.