Fast and Loose

6

The Carlssons, father and daughter, arrived on time for drinks, and after Stone had served everybody, Dr. Paul handed Stone a brown envelope.

“What’s this?” Stone asked.

“Some photographs. Take a look at them.”

Stone opened the envelope and removed half a dozen color photographs of a Concordia 40. “This is gorgeous,” Stone said. “Better equipped and newer-looking than mine.”

“It was one of the original Concordias, the ones built in Germany, like yours,” Carlsson said. “Would you consider it an adequate replacement for your yacht?”

“More than adequate,” Stone said. “Superior, I would say.”

“Then if you will accept it as a fair replacement, it’s yours, and I will deal with my insurance company for the cost.”

“Then I accept. Where is she?”

“She’s out of the water in Rockland, but ready to launch after an extensive refit. One of my crew knew somebody who knew somebody, and there she was. She’ll be at your dock tomorrow.”

“You take my breath away,” Stone said, handing them to Dino to see.

“We very nearly took your breath away permanently, and I’m relieved that you like the replacement Concordia.”

Ed Rawls looked at the photos and raised his glass. “To new old boats,” he said, and everybody drank.

Over dinner Paul Carlsson was very quiet, and his daughter noticed. “Dad, is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, exactly,” Carlsson said, “just a little worrying.”

“Anything an attorney and a policeman and a retired spy can help with?” Stone asked.

“I don’t think so, it’s a business thing.”

“The Carlsson Clinic is your family business, isn’t it?” Dino asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“The city sent me there for my last physical.”

“I hope it was performed to your satisfaction.”

“Well, the city was satisfied, and that’s all I cared about.”

Carlsson sighed. “I’m not sure it will be the same clinic this time next year.”

“Oh, Dad,” Marisa said, “this isn’t about that thing with that man St. Clair, is it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“But he died — surely he’s not a problem anymore.”

“May I ask,” Stone said, “are you referring to Christian St. Clair?”

“I am,” Carlsson replied. “Shortly before his death, he made a takeover offer for the Carlsson clinics. I, my daughter, and my two sons own forty percent of the stock, but over the years we’ve awarded shares to many of our employees, mostly doctors and nurses, who were valuable to our work. They’ve formed an association, and St. Clair made an offer — an inadequate one, which was apparently his practice — for the stock held by the association members.”

“Did they accept?”

“They voted to accept in principle, dependent on a much better offer. Selling their shares would make many of them wealthy, some of them very wealthy, so the prospect is tempting to them. And now I’ve heard that St. Clair’s business interests will be run by a man named Macher, who apparently has a reputation that is something less than savory.”

“Who is representing you in this matter?”

“We have a competent firm who represents us in our normal operations and who has defended us in malpractice matters, though very few of them, but I don’t believe they are equipped to take on this challenge, and we’re faced with a deadline. St. Clair’s offer is to expire in about three weeks.”

“I see,” Stone replied. “If I can be of help, please let me know.” That was as far as he was prepared to go without encouragement from Carlsson.

“Well, Dr. Carlsson,” Dino said, “since this transaction involves a hospital, you should know that our friend Stone is a well-known ambulance... chaser, and very good at it.”

“Thank you for your confidence, Dino,” Stone said wryly, “but I’m sure Dr. Carlsson can address his problem without it.”

“I confess that the matter crossed my mind when I saw your business card, while we were drying you out.”

“And drying out is one of the things Stone does best,” Dino said. Everyone laughed. “Sorry, bad joke, but I couldn’t resist.”

“I’ve heard of Woodman & Weld,” Carlsson said, “and after making a few calls to friends more knowledgeable than I in these matters, I must say I am impressed with what I’ve heard. Would your firm consider taking us on, Stone?”

“I think we’d both benefit from sobriety before going into that, Dr. Carlsson, and we have taken drink this evening. May we discuss it tomorrow, in the cold light of day?”

“Of course.”

“I will say that I’m optimistic that we can find a solution to your problem.”

“Thank you, I feel better already.”

After coffee, the Carlssons excused themselves, and Stone walked them down to his dock, where their launch awaited. Carlsson extended his hand. “Thank you for dinner, Stone, and I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Would ten o’clock here be convenient, Dr. Carlsson?”

“Certainly, and you must call me Paul — everyone but my children does.”

“Of course, Paul. See you tomorrow.” He waved them off, then walked back to the house. Dino and Ed Rawls had disappeared. Stone sat down and made a phone call to Arthur Steele, chairman and CEO of the Steele Insurance Group, a client, and on whose board he sat.

“Good evening, Stone, is everything all right?”

“I’m sorry to call so late, Art, but something has come up that I think might be of interest to you, and there are time constraints, so I thought I shouldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“That’s quite all right. How can I be of help?”

Stone told him about being run down by the Carlssons’ yacht. “Paul Carlsson and his daughter came to dinner tonight, and he told me that Christian St. Clair, before his death, had made an offer for the Carlsson clinics. An association of stockholders who are current and former employees own sixty percent of the company, and apparently many of them are willing to cash out.”

“I see,” Steele said. “And since it’s St. Clair, I’m sure the offer was inadequate.”

“That was my view, as well. Perhaps you’ve heard that St. Clair’s enterprises are now in the hands of one Erik Macher.”

“That came in on the grapevine this afternoon. What I know of him isn’t good.”

“What would you think of the Carlsson Clinic as an investment?”

“I’ve had many dealings with the Carlssons over the years, and I can tell you that it is a very well-run company, both medically and business-wise.”

“I had thought that the case.”

“Would you like me to investigate putting together a counteroffer for the clinic?”

“I think Paul Carlsson might be receptive to that, if he could be assured of his family continuing to operate as they have in the past.”

“Certainly. I think the family is one of the clinic’s greatest assets. They are very profitable and operate with little or no debt, and they own the real estate on which their branches sit.”

“I’m meeting with Carlsson tomorrow morning, and I’ll pass on your interest and ask him for the documentation you’ll need to put together an offer.”

“Does the St. Clair bid have a deadline?”

“It does — it expires in three weeks.”

“Then we’ll want to see that the association knows a better offer is in the wings. We don’t want them to cave in while we’re thinking about it.”

“Good. Also, as you know, I sit on the board of Strategic Services, Mike Freeman’s security company, so I know that Mike is interested in acquisitions.”

“Mike would make an excellent partner.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Very good, Stone. Get back to me at the office after you and Carlsson have talked further.”

“I’ll do that. Good night, Art.”

“Good night.”

Dino came into the house. “I drove Ed home,” he said. “He was a little worse for the wear, and it’s a dark night.”

“Thank you, Dino.”

“I’ll bet you’ve already called Art Steele,” Dino said.

“Ah, you know me too well. And thank you so much for those remarks about ambulance chasing and drying out.”

“Anytime, pal, anytime.”