Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Predator
The morning of October 18, 1994, broke over Manhattan in shades of charcoal and cold slate.
At thirty-five minutes past eight, the executive boardroom on the fifty-fourth floor of the Vance Continental Tower at 140 Broadway was silent. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the morning fog hung low over the East River, obscuring the Brooklyn Bridge in a shroud of white vapor. Inside, six senior vice presidents, three managing directors, and Arthur Finch, the head of general corporate counsel, sat around an elliptical mahogany table that stretched forty feet through the center of the room.
None of them touched the bone china coffee cups set before them. None of them spoke above a whisper.
The double doors at the end of the room swept open, and Silas Vance walked in.
He had not slept. His eyes were cold, sharp, and rimmed with a terrible, crystalline clarity. He was dressed in a three-piece charcoal suit, the fabric cut with surgical precision, his tie knotted in a tight, unyielding Windsor. He held no briefcase, no legal pads, no pen. Behind him walked Gideon Cole, carrying a single leather folder.
Silas did not take his seat at the head of the table. He stood behind his high-backed leather chair, his hands resting lightly on the carved wooden finials.
"Arthur," Silas said.
Arthur Finch, a gaunt, seventy-year-old titan of corporate law who had handled mergers for J.P. Morgan before Silas was born, straightened his posture. "Yes, Silas."
"Has the transfer of Sterling Bancorp stock been staged?"
"It has," Finch said, opening a blue legal folder. "We’ve queued ninety-four blocks of fifty thousand shares each through four different brokerages—Bear Stearns, Salomon Brothers, Merrill Lynch, and Lehman. The orders are set to hit the floor simultaneously at nine-thirty-one."
"What will the price impact be?"
A young, razor-sharp vice president named Caldwell cleared his throat, his face pale under the fluorescent lights. "The current bid is thirty-four dollars and fifty cents, Mr. Vance. Once our volume hits the floor without a buyer of record, the specialists will freeze the quote. When it reopens, it will likely be at seventeen. By eleven o’clock, assuming the margin calls trigger across their retail accounts, the stock will be under nine dollars."
"Make it four," Silas said calmly.
Caldwell blinked, swallowing hard. "Sir... if it drops below five, the New York Stock Exchange will initiate an immediate halt pending solvency verification. That will trigger the acceleration clauses on all of Sterling’s credit facilities."
"I am aware," Silas said. "That is the intention."
Silas looked down the length of the table, his gaze sweeping over the men who managed his billions. Each of them had made millions off Silas Vance’s instincts. Each of them knew that Silas was ruthless in negotiations, aggressive in acquisitions, and uncompromising in execution. But none of them had ever seen this look in his eyes. It was not the ambition of a businessman; it was the absolute, focused malice of an empire crushing an insurgent province.
"Julian Sterling attempted to coerce this firm yesterday afternoon," Silas said, his voice flat, devoid of theatricality. "He used leverage that cannot be forgiven. By noon today, I want the Sterling name eradicated from every board, every trust, and every syndicate in which this company participates. If there is a bank that extends him an overnight bridge loan, Vance Continental will close its accounts with that bank before the close of business. Am I clear?"
"Crystal, Silas," Finch said without hesitation.
"Good. Begin."
Silas turned on his heel and walked out of the boardroom, leaving the room to erupt into a flurry of frantic phone calls, shouts into trading floor squawk boxes, and the mechanical clatter of telex machines executing the destruction of a seventy-year-old financial dynasty.
Silas walked down the private wood-paneled corridor toward his personal office. Gideon followed a half-step behind.
"What is the status of the girl?" Silas asked the moment they cleared the boardroom doors.
"Mrs. Gable called from Bedford twenty minutes ago," Gideon reported. "Clara woke up at seven. She had toast and strawberries. She asked for you three times, but Mrs. Gable gave her Eleanor’s music box. That seemed to settle her. She is currently in the conservatory with the nursery staff."
Silas checked his gold Patek Philippe. It was eight-forty-two.
"Have Thomas bring the car around," Silas said.
Gideon paused. "Silas... the opening bell is in forty-five minutes. Sterling will attempt to reach out through intermediaries. The Chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York might call regarding the liquidity shock in the maritime credit markets."
Silas stopped at the mahogany doors of his private office. He turned to face his security chief, his expression unreadable.
May you like
"Let them call Finch," Silas said. "My daughter is awake."
***
