you’re going, buddy!” He shook the folded-up Journal at the disappearing car and shouted back, “I had the right of way, asshole!”
Was it just Tuesday he’d been reading this same copy of T he Wall Street Journal in a chauffeured Mercedes that floated him along polite roads to that garden of wealth?
He reached the overlook, angry and hot and sweaty and dusty and reeking of exhaust fumes. His head pounded with a combination of the traffic he’d escaped from and the rejections from the firms whose money had seemed so promising, so close, so easy to access.
He found an unoccupied bench, tore out an inside page from the Journal, and used it to wipe the seat before he sat down. Below him the Hudson River bore every sort of vessel, from container ships and ferries to small sailboats. Across the river the golden city shimmered in the afternoon heat haze, a magical place of vast sums of money. One of these days that’s where his office would be, directly opposite where he now sat overlooking the river. Money. He would buy a trophy house; no, he’d build a trophy house on Martha’s Vineyard. Money, that’s all it took. He would have that money. Angelo Vulpone had taught him well.
As the pounding in his head subsided, he thought about his future with Universal Fiber Optics. In his imagination he took over the company, that easy producer of money. He visualized taking charge, easing Orion out of the picture. Orion might have more than a problem with stress. The head of Public Works had evaded his question. And Denny Rhodes had outright said that Orion was out of his mind. A nutcase. If Orion was crazy, should he be running the company?
Fourteen million dollars, that was Finney’s goal. He couldn’t gamble on a nutcase. This was his first big one. Fourteen million. A sure thing, Angelo had told that reporter. With Angelo’s endorsement the money was there. Just needed a reliable guy heading the project.
Or a reliable woman?
Finney brightened. In his mind, he saw himself running the project. If Dorothy were the titular head of UFO, that would be a doubly sure thing. A female CEO, one with her own money, heading a multimillion-dollar project.
Yes! Finney thrust a fist into the air, startling a nearby pigeon into flight. The pigeon had been strutting toward and away from him for several minutes, easing closer and closer to a possible food source.
Dorothy wouldn’t need technical know-how. He took out his pen and jotted some notes on the margin of the Journal . He’d call that lawyer, the last of the three references Dorothy had suggested, simply a formality, find out what he thought of Orion’s mental health. Then he’d call Dorothy, broach the subject of her taking over Universal Fiber Optics. In his mind, Orion was already out of the picture. Better to have all the pieces in place, the paperwork done before breaking the news to Orion. No telling how an unstable guy would react to a woman taking over his company.
He looked across the Hudson to Manhattan, golden and sparkling, and decided not to wait any longer. Investors would not put money into a project run by a nutcase.
Finney kept thinking about Dorothy Roche as CEO of Universal Fiber Optics. What a fine woman. An older woman. An intelligent woman. A rich one. That was key. Money.
He got up from the bench and started walking back to his rooms over the photography studio. How long before he could afford a house like Dorothy’s? Six months? A year? Cars, chauffeur, maid. No cockroaches.
Friday’s traffic had thinned out while he was at the overlook. Couples out for an evening drive along the Palisades had replaced the frenetic drivers racing toward the suburbs and the Jersey Shore.
Dorothy Roche as CEO, Finney Solomon as financial wizard. Finney could see the fiber-optics project take off under his management. Angelo was quoted as calling it a gold mine, and Angelo was infallible when it came to money.
C HAPTER 14
On their way to pacify Mrs.
Was it just Tuesday he’d been reading this same copy of T he Wall Street Journal in a chauffeured Mercedes that floated him along polite roads to that garden of wealth?
He reached the overlook, angry and hot and sweaty and dusty and reeking of exhaust fumes. His head pounded with a combination of the traffic he’d escaped from and the rejections from the firms whose money had seemed so promising, so close, so easy to access.
He found an unoccupied bench, tore out an inside page from the Journal, and used it to wipe the seat before he sat down. Below him the Hudson River bore every sort of vessel, from container ships and ferries to small sailboats. Across the river the golden city shimmered in the afternoon heat haze, a magical place of vast sums of money. One of these days that’s where his office would be, directly opposite where he now sat overlooking the river. Money. He would buy a trophy house; no, he’d build a trophy house on Martha’s Vineyard. Money, that’s all it took. He would have that money. Angelo Vulpone had taught him well.
As the pounding in his head subsided, he thought about his future with Universal Fiber Optics. In his imagination he took over the company, that easy producer of money. He visualized taking charge, easing Orion out of the picture. Orion might have more than a problem with stress. The head of Public Works had evaded his question. And Denny Rhodes had outright said that Orion was out of his mind. A nutcase. If Orion was crazy, should he be running the company?
Fourteen million dollars, that was Finney’s goal. He couldn’t gamble on a nutcase. This was his first big one. Fourteen million. A sure thing, Angelo had told that reporter. With Angelo’s endorsement the money was there. Just needed a reliable guy heading the project.
Or a reliable woman?
Finney brightened. In his mind, he saw himself running the project. If Dorothy were the titular head of UFO, that would be a doubly sure thing. A female CEO, one with her own money, heading a multimillion-dollar project.
Yes! Finney thrust a fist into the air, startling a nearby pigeon into flight. The pigeon had been strutting toward and away from him for several minutes, easing closer and closer to a possible food source.
Dorothy wouldn’t need technical know-how. He took out his pen and jotted some notes on the margin of the Journal . He’d call that lawyer, the last of the three references Dorothy had suggested, simply a formality, find out what he thought of Orion’s mental health. Then he’d call Dorothy, broach the subject of her taking over Universal Fiber Optics. In his mind, Orion was already out of the picture. Better to have all the pieces in place, the paperwork done before breaking the news to Orion. No telling how an unstable guy would react to a woman taking over his company.
He looked across the Hudson to Manhattan, golden and sparkling, and decided not to wait any longer. Investors would not put money into a project run by a nutcase.
Finney kept thinking about Dorothy Roche as CEO of Universal Fiber Optics. What a fine woman. An older woman. An intelligent woman. A rich one. That was key. Money.
He got up from the bench and started walking back to his rooms over the photography studio. How long before he could afford a house like Dorothy’s? Six months? A year? Cars, chauffeur, maid. No cockroaches.
Friday’s traffic had thinned out while he was at the overlook. Couples out for an evening drive along the Palisades had replaced the frenetic drivers racing toward the suburbs and the Jersey Shore.
Dorothy Roche as CEO, Finney Solomon as financial wizard. Finney could see the fiber-optics project take off under his management. Angelo was quoted as calling it a gold mine, and Angelo was infallible when it came to money.
C HAPTER 14
On their way to pacify Mrs.
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