Message-ID: <14884eli$9809011421@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Bill Morgan" Subject: {Morgan} NEW: Six-month Turnaround, 14 of 16; M/F Rom - lite sex Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Content-Type: text/plain Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19980829120532.27784.qmail@hotmail.com> Author's note: If you are looking for wall-to-wall sex, look elsewhere. This book is a romance with a business setting. Beyond that, the sex is comparable to - or less than - what one would find in almost any work of popular fiction. Permission is granted to post on any free site, as long as the copyright statement is included. Please advise the author of any such postings. Comments are welcome and encouraged. Please address me at morg105829@aol.com. I hope you enjoy the book. My plan was to post a chapter each weekday; however, Eli has been having problems, so ASSM has not been posting daily. As a result, I am uploading the remaining chapters now. This is chapter 14 of 16. Six-Month Turnaround Copyright 1992, 1998 by Morgan. All rights reserved. Chapter 14 It was Tuesday morning following a very eventful week. Kelly's estimate from a week earlier proved to be correct. First the financial papers, then the business sections of the daily press, and finally the general-interest press including TV and the news weeklies, discovered Murphy Manufacturing Company and the first corner on a securities market since the Hunt brothers tried to corner silver. But unlike the Hunt situation which even experts argued over, Murphy was easy to understand. As one anchorwoman said, "It's nice of them to have an even one million shares. It makes the percentages so easy to calculate." And it sure did. It now appeared that there were nearly 100,000 shares sold which couldn't be delivered - nearly 10 percent of the company's stock. One thing had not happened: The sellers of the shares had not yet surfaced. Today was the settle ment day for Tuesday's trades, so it was only a matter of hours. As Bill had predicted, they had tried to open the stock the previous Wednesday, but ultimately could not. The specialist on the floor reported to the exchange governors that he had bids in his book as high as sixty, but there were no sellers. He had sold out his own position the previous day. When he was criticized for his failure to make an orderly market in the stock, he pointed out how thin the market for the stock was and how few shares were normally traded. The inventory of shares he had would have lasted two to four weeks at any time over the previous three years. Now they went out in a matter of a couple of hours as he tried to make a market. The governors asked around but could not find any shares for sale even at a hypothetical $100 a share. They gave up and formally suspended the stock from trading. Now they watched and waited. So far the company security was holding solidly. Too solidly for a couple of kids who were taking a shortcut through a previously unnoticed hole in a fence, and too solidly for a poor pizza delivery man who sheepishly showed the guards surrounding him a large pepperoni pizza he was delivering. Sandy was sitting across from Cliff with her coffee, giggling to herself. He looked at her strangely. "What's got into you? I didn't think you were the giggling type." "I was just thinking about yesterday in the cafeteria. You missed the funniest scene in years. I didn't want to embarrass the other two by telling you yesterday afternoon while they were around, and last night we had other things to do. Anyway, you know how in a crowded place, every once in a while there's a moment of quiet? Well just as one occurred, everyone in the place saw Kelly standing against Kevin's chest and heard her screaming up at him, 'I can't marry you! I refuse to be Kelly O'Rourke!' The whole place just broke up. It's been the talk of the plant. They all think it's great. They were wonder ing who that beautiful dark-haired girl is. Now they know." She looked up just as Kelly came in. "And speak of the devil! Here she is!" "Would you two please do something about this... this Irish wolfhound who keeps following me around!" She came in followed by Kevin, who grinned at the two of them and winked at them over Kelly's head. "Sandy, do something! You own this joint. Can't you get him to do some work or molest a secretary or something?" "Kelly, you must be thinking of two other people. All I do is get the coffee. No one reports to me. I don't even get to share a secretary. Wait until I address the Midwest Women Financial Executives meeting in Chicago in November! I didn't tell you, Cliff, but they invited me down as the featured speaker. Wait until I tell them that I do your correspondence, get your coffee, and perform... other personal services. Boy, are they going to hear about it!" "But what about your treasury duties?" Kelly asked. "Who does those?" "I do those, too. Cliff says that once a good cash management system is up and running, all you have to do is watch the wheels turn." "So what do you do?" Kelly persisted. Sandy shrugged. "I watch the wheels turn," she replied with a grin. "You'll have to ask Cliff about Kevin. He's the CEO." "Okay, Cliff, you do it!" Kelly demanded. Cliff pretended to look puzzled. "Do what?" "Damn it! Tell this big lug to get to work and quit bothering me. That's what!" "Oh, dear!" Cliff said plaintively. "I can't do that. Kelly, I guess you don't know much about systems people, do you?" "I guess not, Cliff," she replied sarcastically, "but I sure know when I'm being conned! But please continue." "Kelly, they're very scarce. Good ones are nearly impossible to get, and unfortunately, Kevin's one of the very best. Hell, I can't tell him to do anything. Ask Sandy. She'll tell you that it takes at least an hour of discussion to try to figure out what sort of mood he's in. We have to wait for just the right time or he'll get mad and sulk... or something worse." He smiled at her. "Actually, Kelly, I want to thank you. His mood has been so much better since you have been around. He hasn't smashed a computer since you have been here and that's almost a full week now!" By this time everyone in the room including Kelly was laughing. She and Kevin collapsed in the sofa. "Okay then, both of you. Just tell Kevin I can't possibly marry him because the name, Kelly O'Rourke, sounds absolutely ridiculous. It's really a stupid name, isn't it?" "I don't know. I think it sounds very nice... a bit ethnic, but nice," Cliff said with a straight face. "A bit ethnic, my ass! Kevin O'Rourke, if you persist, so help me I'll have the map of Ireland tattooed on my chest, right over my boobs. What do you think about that?" Kevin looked thoughtful, and then visibly brightened. "I think it's a fine idea. A bit dramatic and not really necessary, but a fine idea. What do you two think?" By this time, Sandy was laughing too hard to do anything except slowly shake her head. Cliff just held up his hands in a sign of surrender. "You keep us out of this! I have one question, though. Kevin, you're Catholic, aren't you? How about you, Kelly?" "My father is Presbyterian. Only my mother is Catholic," she said. "What about you?" Cliff persisted. "I'm Catholic," she replied reluctantly. "Great! When is the wedding?" "I'll think about it," she mumbled. Then she turned on the sofa, grabbed Kevin, and melted into his arms. Awhile later she came up for air. They heard her whisper, "Of course I'll marry you, you big lug. I feel sorry for you. And I love you so damned much. But Kelly O'Rourke, indeed!" She went back into his arms. Just then Cliff's phone rang. Again, it was Bill from the Snyder trading room for Kelly. She reluctantly pulled away from Kevin, straightened her clothes ostentatiously, and took the phone. "What's up, Bill?" She listened for a while, while she was looking at Sandy. "Bill, exactly how many shares do we have now? Okay, but you know the drill: Placed back with the original owners, with the voting rights retained by us until October 15. If they don't like it, tough. It's a condition of the sale." She hung up the phone and looked at the others. "The pot is starting to boil. Bill says he's never had so much fun - or so many phone calls. Suddenly, Snyder Securities is famous as the only place in the country with a known holding of Murphy Manufacturing shares outside of the family. The phone is ringing off the hook, and we're about to ransom some positions. Sandy, we bought 16,000 shares Monday and Tuesday. So far we've only received 7,000. I propose to do this: We will ransom the 7,000 shares back to known lenders. They must establish prior ownership. You heard me tell Bill we retain voting rights until October 15. The price is $1,000 a share." Sandy was aghast. "You did say $1,000 dollars... per share!... didn't you?" Now it was Kelly's turn to tease. Her face fell and she looked as if she was going to cry. "It's not enough? You're convinced I'm leaving money on the table. Well, Sandra Donnell, I have to live with myself. Any more than... $2,000 a share?... would be cruel! Don't you agree, Cliff? Cliff?" "Don't bother me, Kelly. I'm too busy dreaming. I own ten thousand shares, remember. Cameron, that's ten million dollars! Would you like to sell one thousand shares for me? Then I can get out of hock to the bankers, and maybe have enough left to buy my future bride an engagement ring. A pretty one." "Are you serious, Cliff?" Kelly asked. "I sure am!" he replied. "But it's on the same basis as you're doing it. Kelly, it's time for me to join the crowd. Where are the forms for me to sign to make you my broker, too? I'll arrange for my shares to be transferred to Snyder. One thing more: What about the eight thousand shares you haven't received?" Kelly grinned again. "It's simple. The seller buys out of the contract at the present market price for Murphy shares - $1,000 - unless, of course, Bill's greed gets the better of him and he pushes the price up higher. He is greedy, too. I think $1,000 is just a start. But do you see what's happening? These little deals *are* the market. The fact that the stock's listed on the AMEX has nothing to do with nothing. These sales will be duly reported to the Exchange and go out on the tape. We *are* the market! We have the only shares available at any price. "Whoops, I nearly forgot. I have to call my friend at Ajax Industries. He's been trying to reach me." She picked up the phone and dialed the number. "Hi, Bill. It's Kelly Cameron. I was told you've been trying to reach me." She listened, and made noncommittal noises of comprehension on the phone, but it was obvious she was extremely excited. She was jumping in her chair although her voice remained impassive. Finally she said, "Thanks Bill. When will this be on the wire?" She nodded, and said "Thanks for the confidence. I appreciate it! Stay in touch." She hung up and exclaimed, "George Simpson is out at Ajax! The Board demanded his resignation. Apparently, some Board members were advised by Magna of what Simpson had done. They confronted him and he admitted telling the Chairman of Magna that Ajax would cut them off if they bought from Murphy. That's an antitrust felony, and Magna threatened to sue for treble damages in an antitrust action. The Board had no choice, so Simpson is history." Sandy excused herself to make a phone call while the others considered the effect of the action. Cliff said, "I think that makes it easier for us. We have reason to believe Ajax has rather high total costs. They carry a corporate overhead charge that won't quit, including a whole fleet of corporate aircraft. I don't think they can come after us on price, and I don't believe they can do it on quality either. My God! I think, we're home free!" Just then the plant's emergency whistle screamed. Cliff and Kevin raced for the door with Cliff grabbing his hard hat on the way out. They raced down to the plant floor. As they reached it, they heard screaming police sirens coming their way. At one of the production machines a man they didn't recognize was lying face-down on the floor covered by Pinkerton guns. He recognized Sam Johnson quickly securing the man's hands behind him with handcuffs. "What happened, Sam?" Cliff asked. He could see other Pinkertons roping off a clear area for the police, while others went back on patrol. A few minutes later, police started to arrive on the scene. "We caught this guy starting to tamper with the machine. Look." An inspection port was nearly off the machine. Sitting nearby was a bag of what appeared to be very fine-grain sand. The police were about to help the man up when Johnson's walkie-talkie squawked. He had an earpiece so others couldn't hear. Suddenly his face became grave. He turned to a police sergeant who was obviously in charge of the detail. "Sergeant, you better take a couple of men along the back fence. You'll see a couple of my men about halfway along. This is now a murder investigation: One of my guards is dead!" Sandy and Kelly had just come up to them and overheard what Johnson had said. Cliff saw them both go pale. Sam spoke quietly into his microphone, obviously giving out the news and new orders. Cliff realized that things had taken a sudden, very deadly turn, as he saw the Pinkertons checking the loads in their weapons. The sergeant returned and went to his radio car where he called for homicide detectives and the morgue wagon. When he rejoined Sam, he extended his hand. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I knew your man when he was on the force. He was a damned good cop. I think we ought to let our friend lie there until the detectives arrive. From the looks of Jack's head back there, I think we're going to find a blackjack or something similar on this joker. And you know what? Our lab is going to send him to the chair with the forensics." The detectives arrived and searched the man. As the sergeant had predicted, there was a sap filled with lead shot in his pocket. It was wet with blood on one side. The police crime lab people were soon on the scene. Bill asked if he could have a small sample of what was in the bag. The material looked like fine-grain sand, and they gave him some in a small plastic bag. As the technician did so, he suddenly became interested in the material himself. He warned Bill to be careful with it. "I don't know exactly what this stuff is," he said, "But I have a hunch it's not just sand." A now-somber group went back up to Cliff's office, accompanied by Sam Johnson. Sam was the first to speak. "I just talked with my office, Mr. Fitzpatrick. This changes things for us... dramatically. We tend to take it very personally when one of our men gets killed in line of duty. It's not you and them any more, sir. It's them and *us*! I have been asked to advise you of a proposed change in arrangements. The Pinkerton Detective Agency proposes to work at our cost until this is cleared up. Clearly, it isn't yet. Is our proposal satisfactory?" Cliff looked at Sandy who was nodding her head. "It's very satisfactory. There's only one thing, Sam. We're called Sandy and Cliff around here. I'm sure you noticed, and we'd appreciate it if you would call us that, too." Sam smiled and said, "Sure, Cliff. One thing I should mention to you: This is the finest, most cooperative groups of workers it's ever been our good fortune to work with. We couldn't ask for better cooperation. And your people know our history. They kid us about it, in fact. Anyway, I want you to know we appreciate it. There's one more thing: It may sound personal, but it's professional. Sandy, what happens to the Murphy stock if something happens to you? What if you're hit by a truck? Who inherits?" "Sam, I don't know for sure. After October 1, it's Cliff. Between now and then, I really don't know. Specifically, I don't know if the shares are mine to bequeath now. If they are, the answer is Cliff again. If not, I don't have a clue. While we're all being so forthcoming, there's something else you should know, too. Cliff and I suspect the trustee of the estate, Ezra Stiles, may be behind this. We don't have one tiny shred of evidence, though, but it's the only thing that seems to match up with behavior we've observed." She went on and explained the theory of the corner on the market and the two-thirds voting at the meeting October first. Sam grinned when he heard Sandy already owned over 74 percent of the stock, so any such plan was already doomed to defeat. He picked up the phone and called a number. He explained what he had just learned and hung up. "I'm sorry," he said. "We don't like playing target. This gives us a place to start looking, and we're really very good at looking. The answer to the question I asked about the stock is you don't know and believe you can't ask. I agree. Under the circumstances, we propose to cover you with bodyguards. I know it sounds melodramatic, but they work sometimes. Will you allow us to do it, please, Sandy?" "My God! I guess so. But it sounds so... so creepy!" "Okay, then. I'll be running the bodyguard detail because we know one another, assuming that's all right with you?" Sandy instantly agreed and Sam said, "Well, I'm off." -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----