H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy by H.J. Gaudreau Page B

increasingly empty. There simply wasn’t anything to do in the shop. He did his best to hide it. Each morning began exactly the same. Elaine, the master of the cutting remark, made some comment about how she wanted to move to Grand Rapids, Chicago or Ann Arbor and he pretended there was something important to do at the office. There wasn’t. There hadn’t been anything to do there in months, but Cole felt like he had to keep up the appearance. Normally he slipped out of the office about noon. He’d head to the golf course or take a turn of the lake on one of his boats. Although lately he’d spent more time on a sailboat than a powerboat. The days of burning a hundred dollars of gas in an afternoon were coming to an end.
    This morning however he did have an important meeting. His banker, Alan Wisecup, seemed to be very concerned about Cole’s loan payments. To Cole, Wisecup was the perfect banker. He wasn’t young. He was youngish. Which meant that he should have been promoted long ago. He hadn’t been which meant he wasn’t very good and he was still young enough to be stupid. He seemed to be a bit of, well, he seemed like a pencil pushing geek. Cole always had to work at not laughing outright at the man. Young, pencil pushing geeks were good, they could be pushed around.
    Cole knew Wisecup was coming with bad news. The loans were coming due in less than ninety days. But, he was certain he could either talk the tight wad sonofabitch into an extension on the loan or simply refinance the entire thing.
    This was important. The small amount of cash the business generated from boat repair, storage and commission sales wasn’t covering the note. Hell, it barely covered his house payment and the payroll for the four remaining employees.
    At ten o’clock sharp Alan Wisecup, deputy chief loan officer of the Traverse Savings and Investment Bank walked through the door of Prestcott Boats. The secretary, Donna LeGrange, directed him to a seat in the waiting area in front of her desk. A move which annoyed Mr. Wisecup; he’d expected to be shown right to Cole’s office. Donna offered him water, not coffee, which also annoyed Wisecup. Then she disappeared into Cole’s office.
    Alan hated Cole Prestcott, hated him more than anyone or anything in this world. A year ago his promotion looked certain, now this loan made him look like a fool. Worse yet the auditors might find how he had altered the books and made this incompetent show horse look like the second coming of Warren Buffett.
    He had tried to force Prestcott to pay his bills, but it hadn’t happened. Now all he could hope for was to break even. He opened his briefcase, a shabby, tattered brown affair and removed a multicolored spreadsheet. The payment history was bad, Prestcott hadn’t made a full payment in the past five months. The cash flow looked worse, maybe if he took the house there would be enough there. Wisecup grimaced. He had to get this loan off the books before some auditor came snooping around. The house, the boathouse, the boats, the company. Maybe he could save his job and stay out of prison.
    “Cole baby, the banker is here” Donna was a constant source of amazement to Cole. She knew the situation; she couldn’t help but know the situation. She had to know the business was in trouble. She had watched the parking lot empty itself over the past six months. Hell, she’d typed the lay-off notices. Now there were only five cars if you counted Cole’s, four if Jim Abbot rode with his brother. But she never mentioned it, never asked Cole about it and never treated a banker any better than dirt.
    Cole could only shake his head in amazement; either the woman was as stupid as a post or she simply didn’t care. In either case, Cole liked it.
    Today he was feeling cocky, he’d played the scene over and over in his mind, and he was certain he knew how the conversation would go. He pulled Donna to his lap and kissed her. “Its alright honey, send him in,”