Corporate Warfare

P r o l o g u e Friday, June 12th, 3:35 p.m. Santa Barbara, California The driver of the late model Grand Prix with the white license plate and blue lettering cursed the yellow bus blocking his path. He glanced at his watch. It was precisely 3:35 p.m. Ignoring the flashing red lights on the back of the bus and the stop sign that had just been lowered, the man in the car cranked his steering wheel hard and gunned the engine. He would go around the bloody thing. The heat waves shimmering off the pavement had momentarily blinded him. His head hurt and his heart had begun to pound. It was another blazing hot June day in California and he needed a fix-badly. He pressed down on the accelerator till his foot touched the floor. The car lurched forward. Among the children that had lined up beside the yellow school bus that afternoon were seven-year-old Leona Baker, MWA Studios’ hottest child star, and her twin Melinda. The two little girls had been holding hands and giggling, happy that school was over for another week. A witness would later testify that someone called Leona’s name. No doubt this had prompted the little girl to step out of line and into the path of the Grand Prix. When the car struck Leona, she was still clutching her sister’s hand. The bumper on the right side of the big car had caught the strap of Leona’s book bag, and as their horrified schoolmates looked on the screaming twins had been dragged, still linked, across twenty-two feet of scorching pavement. Melinda had rolled several times beneath the car, ending up face down, her small frame twisted like a pretzel. Much of the flesh on her face and upper torso had been peeled away, like skin from a grape. Investigators would later find a coil of her copper colored waist-length hair lying on the road several feet from where she fell. Melinda would be confined to a wheelchair indefinitely. Leona, her sweet sister and best friend, beloved by fans around the world, suffered massive cranial trauma. She had died instantly. The investigation by the US Occupational Safety and Health board into the incident cleared the Santa Barbara, California school bus contractor of all liability. Nothing came of the two-year nation-wide manhunt for the hit-and-run driver. Ten years later, Melinda Baker, aged seventeen, would join the Victims Against Unresolved Crimes, determined to avenge her sister’s killer. And then one day Melinda saw him. He was staring at her from a photograph in the business section of the San Francisco Journal. She recognized the eyes. They were the same dark eyes she had seen that day, glaring at her from behind the wheel of the Grand Prix. Melinda knew it would take patience and time to find him. But she was determined to keep her secret promise to her dead sister. C H A P T E R 1 Thursday, July 15, 3:15 p.m. TeleTek Hirosaki Pre-Merger Negotiations, Los Angeles, California The lone CNN reporter waited on the stone steps leading to the towering glass office building, a fifty-story glass needle that pierced the sky. With her camera ready, Beverley Nadeau stood patiently, bearing the oppressive Los Angeles heat and humidity in a sleeveless chocolate Gucci dress. It was just part of the job. She was watching the man coming down the staircase. Jonathan Ellis, CEO and primary shareholder of TeleTek Incorporated, looked quietly confident. He was an attractive man, with warm brown eyes and flowing salt-and-pepper hair that softened a sharp nose and square jaw. His clothing: wool crepe sports jacket, linen trousers and a linen shirt with silk ascot-was pure aristocrat. Jonathan ‘s cool gaze rested for a moment on Beverly, then on her camera. He looked quickly away. A young man appeared suddenly beside Jonathan, panting slightly and brushing away a lock of sleek dark hair that fallen across his face. The man was Erik Brooks, Attorney-at-Law with Edelson, Simpson, Doyle, and Associates, and personal lawyer to Jonathan Ellis. Brooks turned to the reporter’s familiar face and said firmly, “No comment Beverly.” Then he turned to his client and whispered, “No press Jonathan. Not now. This is no time for distractions.” Erik looked smart in his cool wool suit, crisp white shirt with gold monogrammed cufflinks and polished leather shoes. Beverly frowned. “Could-” Erik cut her off. “No comment.” “Sir, why do you consider your negotiations a merger? Isn’t it true that Hirosaki Industries is bigger-much bigger-than your company?” “Beverly, I said ‘no comment’,” Erik snapped. Beverly ignored the rebuke. “Mr. Ellis-Why would such a large corporation want to merge with TeleTek, a much smaller company? Why not a normal takeover?” Jonathan frowned. Beverly smiled. She had struck a nerve. “Why go public with this? After all, Hirosaki has always been discreet about its corporate affairs-especially takeovers.” “It’s not a takeover, it’s a permitted bid,” Jonathan replied tartly. His British accent was still strong, despite years living in the US. Erik moved between his client and the reporter. “Beverly you’ll just have to wait until the public signing and press release tomorrow.” Then the lawyer hailed a passing cab and ushered his client away. The reporter watched them leave, her head teeming with unanswered questions. “P’s and Q’s Pub,” Erik told the cabby, “on Wilshire.” “No problemo.” The cab took a sharp left and headed north up Western Avenue. “That little scrum with Nadeau went well,” Erik said. He rubbed his hands together. “Jolly good!” Jonathan said sarcastically. “Now, now. It’s not all that bad.” “I’m still not convinced that they will sign tomorrow. Crazy Japs, keeping me in the dark until the very last second.” “They’ll sign. They approached us first, remember.” “Yes.” In fact it had been Hirosaki Industries that had approached Ellis with the offer of a quick deal. “We have them doing circles around us.” “I hope our negotiations on this one are better than the last fiasco.” “What?” Erik asked. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” “You know-the divorce. I sure got shafted once, but I won’t allow it to happen again.” “We didn’t lose the negotiations against your ex-wife. We compromised. And why the hell are you bringing her up? Man, don’t think about her. She’s a bitch.” “She got my boy,” Jonathan said disappointed. “But you got your freedom.” “The boy needs a proper father. That boyfriend of hers was no role model,” Jonathan said, shaking his head back and forth. His eyes dropped as he frowned. “Plus, she hit the divorce lotto with me.” “Well, once we sign tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about those alimony payments. One hundred and seventy one million is nothing to sneeze at.” Jonathan snorted. “Transferred stock and convertible securities. I can’t run around town, buying buildings and the like with that.” “It’s still money.” Erik smiled. “Wait’ll you see my invoice!” Jonathan responded with a thin smile. P’s and Q’s was Jonathan’s favorite L.A. pub. It was a dimly lit, homey place where the bartender acknowledged him. Today, as always, the pub was crowded. Tall wooden stools circled the bar that took up most of the floor space. Two men were playing darts at the back of the room. A narrow wooden staircase to the left of the front entrance led to the second floor. Jonathan and Erik slid onto the last two empty stools. The bartender nodded at them. “What’ll it be?” He had a raspy smoker’s voice. “A couple of Double Diamonds,” said Jonathan. Erik placed his briefcase on the floor beside his stool. The bartender slammed two frosted mugs of brown ale down on the table in front of them. Erik took a long gulp of his beer. Jonathan noticed his lawyer’s slouch, the forward roll of the shoulders, the elbows resting on the bar. “You look tired Erik. You usually have more energy than this.” Erik straightened slightly, loosened his yellow silk tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “Been a long week.” “I’ll be glad when this bloody thing is over,” Jonathan said. Erik looked thoughtful; contemplating the