The Capitol Game by Brian Haig

the others on his side of the table—Yes, yes, we want this deal. Come on, Jack, let’s get rich together. “Please continue,” Bellweather plunged in very politely.
    “All right, here’s what I’m offering. I know the company, and I’ve mapped out a way to take it over. It’s vulnerable and ripe. Make the right moves and it’ll fall into our lap in no time. I’ve done a lot of research. It will work.”
    No mights, no maybes, no probablys. It
will
work, simple as that.
    “We have plenty of in-house expertise at takeovers,” Bellweather noted, careful not to sound pushy or dismissive.
    “I know you do. And I’m open to better ideas, though I doubt your people will improve on my plan,” Jack replied, looking and sounding quite sure of himself.
    Mitch Walters came to the point they were all wondering. “What do you get in return, Jack?”
    “For starters, I intend to resign my partnership at Cauldron. It would be a conflict of interest for me to remain there.”
    “A job, is that what you want?”
    “A job, no. Call it a limited partnership, and I’d like an office in this building. A small out-of-the-way cubbyhole will suit me. No assistant, no staff; I don’t intend to be a burden. I don’t plan to be here often, but I’d like the accessibility.”
    “Easy enough.”
    “And I want to personally orchestrate the takeover. I’ll need help from a few of your people, of course. But it’s my baby and I want to bring it home.”
    Sure, why not? If he screwed it up, they’d simply take it away from him. Maybe they’d take it away on general principle. “We’re agreeable to that,” Walters answered, a vague assurance at best.
    “And a twenty million finder’s fee for bringing you this deal.” Jack paused and searched their faces, then specified, “Payable the moment we complete the takeover.”
    The heads from CG looked at each other a moment. Twenty million? That’s it, only twenty? Peanuts for a deal that would quickly grow in magnitude to billions. He could’ve demanded fifty and they wouldn’t have blinked an eye. A hundred million was worthy of negotiation. Was he really leaving that much on the table?
    Probably not, they collectively thought. Obviously the boy with a diamond in his pocket had something else up his sleeve, something much bigger. Jack waited until all the eyes were fixed on his face, then said very firmly, “And I want twenty-five percent ownership.”
    A long moment before the mouths fell open. Bellweatheractually squeezed his arms against his sides and popped his lips. Jackson and Haggar rolled their eyes and exchanged incredulous looks.
    “Out of the question,” Walters snorted, speaking loudly and insistently for all of them. “We’re perfectly prepared to give you a larger finder’s fee. And certainly, a piece of ownership isn’t out of the question. A few percent, fine. But a quarter? Forget it,” he repeated, shaking his head emphatically. “I mean it. Not even negotiable.”
    “Think again, Mitch,” Jack answered, not giving an inch. “I have two offers of twenty percent burning holes in my pocket. That and considerably larger finder’s fees.”
    “But you wouldn’t be back here if you didn’t know we’re your best bet, Jack,” Mitch persisted with a sneer. He crossed his arms, worked his lips into a tight pucker, and made clear he meant it.
    Instead of debating that point, Jack bent over and started rummaging through the small black suitcase he had hauled in and placed on the floor. He popped back up after a moment and tossed a green canvas bag on the conference table. The bag slid, then stopped almost dead center. Walters and Bellweather took one look, just one short look—with sinking stomachs, they knew exactly what was inside the sack. They didn’t need to be told—they knew!
    Jackson and Haggar, the other two directors, stared at it. “What’s that?” Haggar demanded, clueless.
    “Oh, this?” Jack asked, as if the question surprised