As if on cue, two waiters barged in and began laying down steaks. “Rare, right?” one asked Perry, who nodded vigorously. Evidently, Jack Wiley had done an impressive amount of research.

Perry grabbed his knife and fork, studied his plate a moment, then tore into his steak. “Go ahead with your pitch, I’m listening.” He hadn’t eaten since the night before and was famished.

“After fifteen years in investment banking, I can tap into plenty of deep pockets. Yours is a cyclical business, up one year, down the next. You need access to capital to get you past the rough patches.”

Perry stuffed a big piece of steak between his lips. No use denying it. “True enough,” he mumbled between bites. Well, what the hell, he was getting a free meal along with the lecture.

“Also I have an array of contacts.” Jack went on a bit, smoothly reeling off names of companies in the industry he was confident he could appeal to for business. He recited from memory. If nothing else, he exposed an impressive mastery of the automotive and munitions industries.

Perry ate and listened.

Mat fought an urge to stand up and walk out. He was sorely tempted to say, Do you really think we haven’t already banged on all those doors and begged every one of those companies for business? It’s not that easy Mr. Big Shot Wall Street guy with your soul-sucking job, looking for a new hobby. You’re an overconfident hustler. In fact, I’d love to give you the company for free just to watch you make a big belly flop. You’ll be broke and bankrupt inside a year, and I’ll laugh until my guts ache. He would have, too, at the top of his voice and with a blaring smile, except Perry placed a hand on his arm.

Jack finished up by saying, “If I might be so bold, I believe you’ve made a cardinal strategic blunder.”

Mat by now was irritated to the point of distraction. Mr. High and Mighty, who’d never sold a nut or a bolt, was about to explain where they had screwed up so horribly. He so badly wanted to take his fork and drive it into Wiley’s forehead. “And what would that be?” he asked, biting his lip.

“You’ve stayed independent too long, Mat. You need to partner up with somebody big who can open doors.”

Mat started to object before Perry said, “Might be you’re right about that, son.”

“I am, Mr. Arvan. I’ve participated in over a dozen turnarounds, mostly companies like yours, small, independent outfits being strangled by market forces beyond their control. It takes a powerful partner to avoid being pushed around.”

More looks shot between Mat and Perry. That phrase-“pushed around”-rattled around their brains. Why did he phrase it that way? Was he aware that Globalbang had just pulled the plug? How much did Wiley know? And the big question-where was this Wiley guy getting his information?

Mat scraped forward in his chair and leaned across the table. “Meaning what?” he asked, nearly a growl.

“Nothing specific, Mat. Align yourself with a powerful conglomerate and you’re feared. Might makes right in the modern marketplace.”

“It’s an interesting proposal, but I’m not interested,” Perry said, sounding very conclusive. He took another big bite of his steak. He chewed slowly for a moment, then put down his fork. “This is my company, Mr. Wiley. I built it, grew it, made it what it is today. I have no intention of giving it to some stranger.”

Jack did not flinch, or indeed show any reaction at all. “Sorry to hear that,” he said very slowly, very quietly. So far he had ignored his meal.

“Are you?” Mat observed. “Then why do I detect something else in your voice?”

“I am, Mat. Truly, I am very, very sorry. I was hoping we could do this friendly. Of course, I’m prepared to go the other way.”

“What other way?” Mat asked.

“I want your company. I’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”

“Why you dumb son of-”

“Easy, Mat, settle down,” Perry interrupted. He picked up his fork and resumed eating again. “What does that mean, Mr. Wiley?”

Jack crossed his arms and leaned backward. “For starters, I’ve contacted some of your largest investors.”

“Who? Parker? Longly? Malcome?”

“Them,” Jack replied, nodding, “and others.”

“Doesn’t worry me in the least. They’ve been with me a long time. They’re my friends. I trust ’em.”

“Two years ago, your shares were at $2.30. As of yesterday, they’re at sixty-five cents. You’ve lost these boys a lot of cash.”

“I know the share price, son.”

“And so do they.”

“And I’ve made ’em a ton of money in the past.”

“Ancient history. Parker’s down four million, and he’s the lucky one in the group.”

“Like I said, they’re my friends, Mr. Wiley. I was you, I wouldn’t count on ’em.”

Jack twisted the knife deeper. “And the banks?”

“What about ’em?”

“They your friends, too? Do you trust them?”

“I’ve always paid my way.”

Jack shook his head. “They’re sitting on a big pile of your debt. One hundred and fifty million, last time I checked.”

“They have nothing to fear,” Mat huffed. From his tone, he and Perry were ready and able to write them a check for 150 million on the spot. No problem: a quick scribble and dash, the whole problem would go away.

“They are afraid, Mat, very afraid. And they’re not your friends. In fact, they have hearts of ice,” Jack replied, frowning tightly. “The last thing they want is to own a bankrupt chemical company.”

“They won’t,” Mat insisted, straining and failing miserably to mask a growing dismay that Wiley seemed to know so much. Where was he getting all this information?

“You’re five million in the hole on interest this year,” Jack noted in a tone of absolute conviction.

Mat’s mouth nearly fell open. “How do you know that?” he finally blurted. More like 5.3 million to be exact, as if anyone cared.

“Doesn’t matter. Now listen closely, because here’s what does: If you’re overdue or short again, they’re going to foreclose.”

Perry’s face nearly went white. The fork slipped from his hand, and he slumped deeper into his chair and stared at the tablecloth.

And Mat was finally speechless. All his bluster and bravado had just had the floor pulled from underneath it. He had spent his entire career at Arvan, twenty-three years in which never once had he been forced to contend with the likes of a Jack Wiley. A medium-size factory in an unglamorous, blue-collar business, located in grungy, depressed Trenton, of all places, was so far off the screen that the buzzards in New York had ignored it. Oh, there’d been a few offers over the years, friendly tenders, all of them. Mostly amiable competitors anxious to grow a little the easy way, usually proposed as a merger in one form or another. A polite but firm “no thank you” and they went away.

This guy, though, just walked in out of the blue. No warning, no invitation, no sweet talk-just, Hello, I’m Jack, I’m here to rip out your guts and strangle you to death.

Mat was in the mood to fight, to tell this Wall Street pretty boy where to put his offer, but it was Perry’s company, and out of deference he bit his lip and kept his mouth shut. His boss should have the warm privilege of telling this guy where to shove his offer.

Perry drew a few deep breaths and tried to recover his composure. “So we’re clear, what are you proposing, Mr. Wiley?”

“It’s fairly straightforward. My people do a quick audit, assess your value, then we decide on a fair price. I’ll assume your debt, all of it. Paying it off will be my problem.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s even easier than that, and a very good deal for you. You’ll walk away with a mountain of cash. Buy a big boat, sail around the Caribbean for a year or two, and I’ll inherit all your problems.”

“What about my people?”

“I’ll keep as many as I can. That’s a promise.”

“What’s that mean?” demanded Mat, almost snarling.