The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,86
My father is dead so it’s not like they’re going to dig him up and put him behind bars. And after everything he pulled, I’m not concerned with preserving his memory. Let the bastard go down in flames for everything, and then let’s move forward with the company.” He took a drink from his mug. “Oh, which reminds me. I e-mailed you what Lenghe sent me on the WWB Holdings companies. It’s more than we had and yet not nearly enough.”
All Jeff could do was stare at the guy. “You know, I can’t decide whether you are incredibly entitled or simply so desperate you have lost your damn mind.”
“Both. But I can tell you that the latter is more material. It’s hard to be entitled when you can’t pay for anything. And as for your compensation, as far as I’m concerned I’m in a fire-sale situation here. So back up a truck and load the damn thing to the roof. Whatever you think is fair.”
Jeff looked down at the newspaper again. It seemed appropriate that the article was covering all of the work he’d been doing.
“I can’t be down here forever, Lane.”
But he did have something he had to take care for himself. In addition to Lane’s newest laundry list of demands and bright ideas.
“What about senior management?” Jeff asked. “Did you bribe them, too?”
“Not at all. For that bunch of suits, I put them on unpaid administrative leave for the next month. I figured there was enough evidence so that it was justified, and the board is sending them notice. The middle managers will pick up the slack until I find an interim CEO.”
“Gonna be hard with this out.” Jeff tapped the front page. “Not exactly a good recruiting platform.”
As Lane just looked across at him, Jeff felt a splash of figurative cold water hit his head. Putting up both his palms, he started shaking his head again. “No. Absolutely not—”
“You’d be in charge.”
“Of a torpedoed ship.”
“You could do anything you want.”
“Which is like telling me I can redecorate a house that’s in the middle of a mudslide?”
“I’ll give you equity.”
Annnnnd cue the screeching of tires. “What did you just say?”
Lane turned away and went to the door. “You heard me. I’m offering you equity in the oldest and finest liquor company in America. And before you tell me I’m not allowed to, blah, blah, blah, may I remind you that the board’s in my back pocket. I can do whatever the hell I want and need to.”
“As long as you can find the money to pay them.”
“Think about it.” The slick bastard looked over his shoulder. “You can own something, Jeff. Not just crunch numbers for an investment bank that’s paying you for being a glorified calculator. You can be the first non-family shareholder in the Bradford Bourbon Company, and you can help determine our future.”
Jeff went back to staring at the article. “Would you have ever asked me if things were going well?”
“No, but that’s because in that case, I wouldn’t be involved in the company at all.”
“And what happens when all this is over?”
“Depends on what ‘over’ looks like, doesn’t it? This could change your life, Jeff.”
“Yeah, there’s a recommendation. Look what it’s done to you. And P.S., last time you wanted me to stay you threatened me. Now, you’re trying to bribe me.”
“Is it working?” When he didn’t answer, Lane opened the way out. “I didn’t like strong-arming you. I really didn’t. And you’re right. I am thrashing around here like an idiot. But I’m out of options, and there is no savior coming down from heaven to give me a miracle and make this all go away.”
“That’s because there is no making this go away.”
“No shit. But I’ve got to deal with it. I don’t have a choice.”
Jeff cursed. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“What do you need from me so you can?”
“After all this? I’m not sure I ever can.”
“Then be self-interested. If you own part of what you’re saving, if there’s a tremendous upside—and there is—then that’s all the incentive you need. Think about it. You’re a businessman. You know exactly how lucrative this could be. I give you the stock now, and then things turn around? There are Bradford cousins who will be dying to buy the shit back. This represents the single best chance of an eight-digit capitalizing event for you—outside of the fucking lottery.”
On that note, because the bastard knew precisely when to pull out, Lane left,