Hate Me by Jillian Dodd Page B

Of course it’s possible. He’s, like, leveraged, right? And that’s bad.”
    “Yes, he is. The company is ripe for a takeover, but you have to be able to make it happen.”
    “And how do I do that?”
    “You offer to buy his investors out. If enough people sell, then you end up with the majority of the stock, which means you control the company. That’s what you want, right?”
    “Yes. Are there any other benefits?”
    “Well, the obvious one would be that you vote the current Chairman of the Board out of office.”
    “Is Vin, um, Mr. Sharpe the chairman?”
    “Yes, he is.”
    “That’s perfect. I want to do both. Buy them out and appoint someone else. What will it cost?”
    “That all depends on what his stockholders want. I’m emailing you a simple document so you can follow along.” The way he says “simple” makes it sound like he thinks I don’t have a clue.  
    I mean, I don’t. But still, I’m not loving his attitude.  
    I don’t say anything, though, because I desperately need his help.  
    “I have the email,” I tell him, pulling the document up on my computer.  
    “His company isn’t publicly traded, so it’s hard to get financial information. The numbers you see are what I believe it to be worth. And, from the digging I did as a favor to Mr. Wright, I have a list of investors along with their initial investments. Those are below. Do you see them?”
    “Yes.”
    “The next document shows the company’s liabilities. And the next is Mr. Sharpe’s balance statement.”
    I scroll through page after page of spreadsheets, trying to keep up. “Uh, huh.”
    “As you can see, his asset to debt ratio is very high.”
    “Okay. And why is that important?”
    “That ratio refers to his liquidity. He’s borrowed money on all of his assets, meaning he won’t be able to personally fight a hostile takeover. From on-the-ground intel, he’s invested a lot of money in a single movie and is betting the farm that it’s going to be a blockbuster.”
    Mom’s movie could financially ruin him?
    Wouldn’t that be poetic justice?
    “But, as you can see from the figures on the last page, acquiring this company will take a substantial amount of capital.”
    I look at the very big number on the last page. One that would require more than my entire trust. I think about the scholarship check I just wrote.  
    For a second, I reconsider it.  
    I quickly shake my head, clearing the thought. I can’t take it back and I don’t want to.  
    Besides, B promised his trust to help.  
    I’ll be fine.
    “How do you plan to raise these funds?”
    “Well, I have my trust fund, and Brooklyn said we could use his for whatever I’m short.”
    “That’s what I thought. Unfortunately , Brooklyn doesn’t have control of his trust, nor will his father authorize the early release of any funds. So, unless you can arrange financing, there’s nothing further to discuss.”
    This is why B didn’t want to be on the call.  
    Freaking chicken shit.
    “I can get the money,” I say quickly.
    “And how is a seventeen-year-old going to do that?” he asks condescendingly.  
    “I don’t know exactly,” I admit quietly.
    “That’s what I figured.”
    I bite my tongue, thank him for his time, and hang up.  
    I set the phone down in my lap, feeling paralyzed, like I’m lost at sea with no land in sight.  
    How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to win without B’s help?
    I can’t.  
    That means prong two of my attack is out, which blows my whole plan to smithereens.
    Damnit!  
    He has to help me. He promised! This was his idea!
    I call him.  
    He doesn’t answer.  
    I hang up and call again.  
    And again.  
    And again.  
    And again.
    And again.  
    I keep punching the button over and over.

    By the time he finally answers, I’m pissed and crying frustrated tears.    
    “You should have told me yourself if you didn’t want to help me! I can’t believe you would bail on me like this! I need