The door of the conference room clicked shut, leaving Elias and Arthur alone again. The heavy, thudding presence of Walter's report still seemed to fill the room.
Elias Thorne was breathing fast. The thrill of the discovery was still running through him. He was a lawyer, a man who had spent his life reading contracts and advising caution. For the first time, he felt like a banker. A hunter.
"My God, Arthur," he said again, his voice a low whisper. "He was right. Walter was right. They are on their knees. They have sixty-two days. We have them."
He looked at Arthur, who was calmly stacking his papers. The 18-year-old's face was unreadable.
"Yes, we do," Arthur said. "Walter has given us the 'what' and the 'when.' He has given us the target. Now, we must build the cannon to fire the shot."
Elias frowned, the excitement fading, replaced by the familiar fog of caution. "What do you mean, 'cannon'? You said it yourself. We create the Capital Raising Division. That's just... that's just us, isn't it? I'll call them. I'll send a letter. I'm the president of a bank. I'll tell them we are prepared to offer them a loan."
Arthur stopped stacking his papers. He looked at Elias with a patient, firm expression. The look of a teacher correcting a well-meaning, but slow, student.
"No, Elias," he said. "This is the most important part. You must never think that way again."
"Think what way?"
"Like a commercial banker," Arthur said. "What you just described is what the First National Bank of Seattle did. They gave Boeing a loan. A loan is a rope. You give it to a drowning man, and then you stand on the shore and charge him interest. If he sinks, you lose your rope. If he gets to shore, all you get back is your rope, plus a small fee. It is the business of a pawn shop."
Arthur stood up. "We are an investment bank, Elias. We are not in the rope business. We are in the ship business. We are not going to lend them the money to get to shore. We are going to get in the water with them. We are going to fix their boat. And in exchange, we are going to own a piece of that boat. Forever."
Elias was quiet for a long moment, letting the new idea settle. "Equity," he said. "You don't want to be their lender. You want to be their partner."
"A 10% partner," Arthur said. "They are desperate. They need $2.8 million to pay a loan. We will not give them a loan. We will raise the capital for them. We will solve their problem. And in exchange, we get 10% of the entire company."
Elias saw the logic. It was breathtaking. "For $2.8 million... we get 10% of the B-17. Of the patents. Of that genius engineer. And we get it... just by paying their bill."
"Exactly," Arthur said. "But now comes the hard part. The execution. Walter's team is perfect for finding facts. They are quiet, invisible, and they love details. They are hunters. What we need now is the opposite. We need a charmer."
"A charmer?"
"Think about it, Elias. You are the CEO of Boeing. You are proud. You are desperate. You are terrified. Your company is about to die. A letter arrives. It is from 'Continental,' a bank you have never heard of. It is signed by 'Elias Thorne,' a New York lawyer you have never met. What do you do?"
"I... I throw it in the trash," Elias admitted. "I assume it's a scam. A vulture, trying to pick at the bones."
"Correct," Arthur said. "They will not trust us. They will not trust our facts. They will not trust our money. They will only trust a man who they already know. They will trust a man who speaks their language."
Arthur walked to his small office, with Elias following. He pulled a new file from his desk. This one was thin.
"We need a salesman, Elias. We need a man who can walk into that Seattle boardroom, and they will see him as an equal. A man who can make '10% equity' sound like a 'generous partnership,' not a 'hostile takeover.' We need a man who is already at the top."
"A man like that," Elias said, "is already working at Morgan. Or Chase. He will never leave a job like that to come to... well, to us. We are two men and a library."
"We are," Arthur said, "a bank with $5 million in cash, no debt, and a live, priceless target. A man at Morgan has to ask ten partners for permission to buy a pen. A man at Continental... he only has to ask you. We are not offering him a 'job,' Elias. We are offering him a kingdom."
He opened the file. It was another one of Walter's reports. "Walter's team has been researching bankers, too. I have a name."
Elias read the name on the report. He gasped. "Arthur, no. Julian Graves? Julian Graves? He is... he is a legend. He is the top rainmaker at Kuhn, Loeb. He is... he's... he's one of the most connected men on Wall Street. He would not even take my call."
"He will," Arthur said. "Because Walter, our genius, found something else. Mr. Graves is famous. He is rich. And... he is deeply in debt. He lives in a penthouse he cannot afford, and his wife spends money like water. He is a charmer who has charmed himself into a golden cage. He is desperate for a big win, and his partners at Kuhn, Loeb are tired of his flash. He is just like Boeing, Elias. He is a priceless asset... with a ticking clock."
"So," Elias said, his mind racing. "We... we hire him."
"We do," Arthur said. "We create the Capital Raising Division. And we make Julian Graves the Head of it. We are not just hiring a man, Elias. We are buying his entire, priceless network of contacts. We are buying his reputation."
Three days later, Julian Graves walked into the modest offices of Continental.
He was everything Walter Hayes was not.
He was tall, handsome, and in his mid-forties. His suit was a dark, elegant charcoal, perfectly tailored. He wore a gold watch. When he walked, he did not make a sound. He smelled faintly of expensive tobacco and citrus. He was the definition of "old money" power.
He looked around the simple reception area, his expression one of faint amusement.
"Mrs. Gable," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "Please tell Elias Thorne that Julian Graves is here."
He was shown into the main conference room. Elias stood at the head of the table. Arthur sat to his right, silent, holding a notepad.
"Julian," Elias said, holding out his hand. "Thank you for coming. It has been a long time."
"Elias," Julian said, giving a firm, single shake. "It has. I was sorry to hear you left the firm. And... to start this? A bank? In 1940? You are a brave man." His eyes flicked to Arthur. "Or a foolish one. And who is the boy?"
"This is my Special Advisor, Mr. Vance," Elias said, sitting down. "He... helps with my analysis."
"I'm sure he does," Julian said, sitting opposite them. He did not unbutton his suit jacket. "Now, Elias. This had better be good. I left a meeting with the board of US Steel to be here. Your message said it was a 'deal of a lifetime.' That is a very large promise."
"We will not waste your time, Julian," Elias said. "We want to hire you."
Julian Graves laughed. It was a polite, quiet laugh, but it was a clear dismissal. "Hire me? Elias, I am a Senior Partner. I have an office that is bigger than this entire floor. I am not... for hire."
"We are not offering you a salary, Julian," Arthur said.
Julian's head turned. He looked at Arthur, truly seeing him for the first time. The boy's eyes were not the eyes of a boy. They were cold and steady.
"We are offering you a commission," Arthur said. "On a deal that will make you more than you made in all of last year. In one transaction."
Julian's amusement faded. He turned his full attention to Arthur. "A commission? On what? What deal could you possibly have that my partners at Kuhn, Loeb do not?"
"We have a target," Arthur said. "A private, industrial company. They are in a deep, temporary crisis. They are sixty days from a fatal loan call."
"And?" Julian said.
"And," Arthur continued, "they hold the patents to what will become the single most important military asset of the next twenty years. They are about to be seized by a small, stupid bank that does not know what it holds. They need $2.8 million. We have it. We are going to offer to raise that capital for them. In exchange, we are going to take a 10% equity stake in the entire company."
Julian Graves did not move. He was a statue. The implications of what Arthur said were spinning in his mind. This was not a normal deal. This was a predator's move.
"What company?" Julian said, his voice now a flat whisper.
"Before we tell you," Elias said, "we need to know. Are you with us? Are you the Head of our Capital Raising Division?"
Julian looked at Elias. He looked at Arthur. He thought of his debts. He thought of his boring partners, who were happy making small, safe profits on bonds. And he thought of a deal. A real deal. The kind of deal that makes a legend.
"If I say yes," Julian said, "I have to walk back to my office and resign. Today. I will be... burning my entire career to the ground. For... for a rumor."
"It is not a rumor, Mr. Graves," Arthur said. He nodded to Elias.
Elias pressed the intercom. "Mrs. Gable? Please ask Mr. Hayes to step in. And to bring Project B.C."
A moment later, Walter Hayes, in his rumpled suit, walked in holding the thick, blue report. He looked terrified to be in the same room as the famous Julian Graves.
"Mr. Graves," Arthur said, "this is Walter Hayes, our Vice President of Research. Walter... please open to Part Three. The financials. And Part Two. The patents."
Julian said nothing. He leaned over the table. Walter, his hands shaking slightly, opened the book.
For ten full minutes, the only sound in the room was Julian Graves reading. He read the cash-on-hand: $84,000. He read the loan: $2.8 million. He read the due date: April 30th. Then he read the analysis of the B-17, the "flying fortress."
He closed the book. He looked at Walter, his eyes filled with a new, profound respect. "How," Julian whispered, "did you find this?"
"I... I read the union newsletters," Walter stammered.
Julian Graves slowly leaned back in his chair. He looked at the ceiling. Then he looked at Arthur. He had just seen the whole machine. The quiet genius who finds the target, and the smooth killer who closes the deal.
He smiled. A true, dangerous smile.
"Gentlemen," Julian Graves said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. "I must apologize. I have a meeting to attend."
Elias frowned. "You're leaving?"
"Yes," Julian said, walking to the door. "I am going back to Kuhn, Loeb. I have to go... and clean out my desk. I will be back this afternoon, Mr. Thorne. And my first piece of advice as Head of your Capital Raising Division... will be to book me a first-class ticket to Seattle. Tonight."