The Adamas Blueprint

CHAPTER 12

Clay Tarnwell leaned into the drive, never taking his eyes off the ball, following through with the form he’d learned at Pinehurst. As soon as the ball left the tee, he knew he’d sliced it. The ball curved gracefully away from the center of the fairway and toward the stand of ashes lining the right side of the rough. It bounced once and then came to rest a good 200 yards from the green. He’d be lucky to make a bogey on this hole, let alone par. It was a perfect shot, exactly where he’d wanted it.

A white-haired gentleman sporting a straw hat, lime green pants, and a well-rounded paunch started laughing as soon as the ball hit the ground.

“If I didn’t know you any better, Clay,” said the sweating man as he took his driver from the bag in the back of the golf cart, “I’d say you shanked that one on purpose.”

“You’re right, Rex,” said Tarnwell, trying to sound disgusted. “And the next one is going in the left sand trap if I can make it. What do think? Would a 3 iron do it?”

Rex Hanson laughed again, and then lined up at the tee. After taking sufficient time to level his swing, he drove a beautiful shot at least fifty yards past Tarnwell’s directly down the fairway.

Tarnwell shook his head as if to curse his luck, but he could have easily beaten his companion, probably by at least eight strokes. He played a four handicap but he had intentionally been missing the harder shots on the previous 12 holes. Now he was coming even with Hanson again and saw a good chance to stay behind for a while, so he took it.

Not that Tarnwell wasn’t competitive. He was. Very. But only at one thing. Making money. All this he-man stuff was bullshit. Sure, he was good at it. A natural athlete all his life, Tarnwell had been gifted enough to play linebacker at the University of Michigan until a knee injury ended his career. He’d gotten a lot of sympathy at the time, but one thing nobody seemed to realize was that he didn’t really care.

Football was a means to an end, the method of putting himself through school, his major in both business and chemistry. That was the ticket out of his father’s shadow, the way to make even more than the vaunted Bernard Tarnwell ever dreamed of having. All his life, Clayton Tarnwell saw the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and he couldn’t care less how beautiful that rainbow was. If it could lead him to the pot, fine. Otherwise, it was just in the way.

And losing to this shithead was just another means to that end. If he had to lose a few rounds of golf, so be it. As long as it made Rex Hanson happy and ready to close a deal, he’d piss into the wind for all he cared.

They climbed into the cart with Tarnwell driving. Another of Hanson’s little ways of attempting to show who was in control. He never drove his own cars, preferring to leave that menial chore to his underlings.

Tarnwell was glad to drive, owning six vintage Ferraris himself, often driving one of them to work. Besides, he knew it would make Hanson happy.

“So, Clay,” said Hanson as they drove, “you really think you can pull this merger off? If you don’t, there’s no way I could help save you or your company. Your credit would be ruined. You wouldn’t be able to get a five dollar loan with ten dollars collateral.”

Tarnwell thought he would get this response, which is exactly why he was trying to butter the old man up by losing.

“Rex, I know what I’m doing. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and there’s just no way I can lose. Not with my ace. When the banks realize what this new invention means, they’ll be throwing money at me.”

“Clay, the only reason I’m here, letting you pretend you’re losing to me, is that your father was a good friend of mine. You were always a suck-up and a cheat. But you were also loyal to your father and extremely good at making money. I never understood why Bernie didn’t leave you his company. I suppose it was his attempt to teach you some values, late as it was, most likely the same reason he made you pay for your own education, but I was probably as surprised as you were. Now you’ve built up your own company, almost as successful as your father’s. I just don’t want to see you blow it, son.”

The line about being almost as successful as his father grated on Tarnwell, but he managed to hold back a sneer. His father had built up a mining company from scratch and then sold it for $200 million. When his father died in Clayton Tarnwell’s senior year of college, the will left him with a pittance, less than $500,000, with the rest going to charity. Tarnwell was furious, betrayed by his own father to whom he had shown unwavering devotion. He had used that money to start his own company, Tarnwell Mining and Chemical, just to show the world he was even better at making money than Bernard Tarnwell. Now he was a week away from proving that point.

“This buyout is important,” Tarnwell said. “If it doesn’t come through, it’ll take me two years to get up to full production on Adamas. Forrestal Chemical has the facilities I need now. I’ve been trying to buy those facilities, but they won’t sell. If I had them, I could be producing in two months. The only other choice is to buy the company. And without your support, I’ll never get the loans I need for the leveraged buyout.”

“You’re sure this Adamas process works? How has testing been?”

Tarnwell pulled to a stop near his ball. “Final validation is taking place as we speak. We should know the results by Tuesday. But I’ve seen the process myself. It works. Tarnwell Mining and Chemical already has an invention disclosure out, and the patent process will be well under way this week.”

“I certainly trust your business sense if nothing else. I know you wouldn’t do anything to con me.” Hanson looked at Tarnwell as if posing a question.

“Of course not. This is the wisest investment you’ll ever make.”

Hanson paused and then nodded. “I leave on a business trip Monday afternoon. Come to my office first thing Monday morning. We’ll talk to Wayne Haddam over at First Texas. I’m sure we’ll be able to work out a favorable agreement.”

“Thanks, Rex,” Tarnwell said as he climbed out of the cart. “You won’t be disappointed.”

“I better not be.”