The 48 hours passed. Then 72.
The calendar in the Continental offices turned to late March. The mood in the small suite of offices was not just tense; it was toxic.
Julian Graves had returned from Seattle two days after his 48-hour deadline expired. He had waited in his hotel room at the Olympic, a block of cold fury, staring at a silent telephone. No call came. He had checked out, flown back to New York in grim silence, and walked into the bank.
"We wait," he had announced, and shut the door to his new office.
Now, a full week after the pitch, the bank was a pressure cooker.
Elias Thorne, the bank's president, was a wreck. He paced the floor of his office, smoking one cigarette after another, the ashtray on his desk overflowing. He snapped at Mrs. Gable for the sound of her typing. He picked up his phone, stared at it, and slammed it back down.
"This is not how business is done, Arthur!" he complained, bursting into Arthur's small office for the fifth time that morning. "A 'yes' comes with a phone call. A 'no' comes with a phone call. This... this silence! It's an insult! He's trying to make us look foolish!"
Arthur Vance did not look up from his book. It was a technical manual on steel refining. "He is not trying to make us look foolish, Elias. He is trying to get a better deal."
"What better deal?" Elias said, his voice high with stress. "As Julian said, it's 100% of zero! They have no other offers! Walter's team checked! No other bank is even looking at them!"
"They are proud," Arthur said, turning a page. "They are engineers. They hate being told what to do, especially by a banker. They are waiting until the very last minute. They will call on April 29th. Be patient."
"Patient!" Elias spat. "This is not patience, this is a humiliation. And what about Graves? He hasn't spoken to me in two days. He just sits in that office, staring at the wall. He burned his entire career to join us. If this deal fails... he will be ruined. And we will be a laughingstock."
Arthur finally closed his book. He looked at Elias. His 18-year-old face was calm, but his eyes were cold. "The logic is sound. The asset is priceless. The deadline is real. They have no other choice. They will accept. Panic does not help us."
"That's easy for you to say," Elias grumbled, walking out and slamming the door.
In his own office, Julian Graves was, in fact, panicking. He was on the phone, calling in favors he no longer had.
"Tom, it's Julian... yes, that Julian... Yes, I heard. Look, I'm at a new firm. What are you hearing about Boeing?... Nothing? You're sure?... Yes, I'll hold."
He was on hold for five minutes. The man, a former colleague at Kuhn, Loeb, came back. "Sorry, Julian. My partners are saying that Boeing is 'off-limits.' Word is they are in discussions with their original lenders. It's a closed matter. You... you backed the wrong horse, Julian. I'm sorry."
The line clicked dead.
Julian stared at the receiver. Established financial partners. They had gone back to their old banks. The old banks, who had no vision, were now trying to steal his deal. He felt a hot, bright anger. They were not just rejecting him; they were trying to erase him.
He was about to storm into Elias's office when Mrs. Gable's voice came over the intercom.
"Mr. Thorne? A messenger just arrived from... from Seattle. It is a letter. From The Boeing Company."
The entire office froze. The typing stopped. The silence was absolute.
"Bring it to the conference room, Mrs. Gable," Elias said, his voice a dry croak. "And... ask Mr. Graves and Mr. Vance to join me."
A moment later, the three men were in the room. Walter Hayes, the head of research, hovered nervously by the door, but Elias waved him in. "You started this, Walter. You should be here."
The four men stood around the polished table. In the center was a single, thick, cream-colored envelope. It was addressed to:
Mr. Elias ThornePresident, ContinentalWall and Broad, New York
Elias's hands were shaking. He used a silver letter opener to slice the envelope. He pulled out a single, heavy sheet of paper.
He read it. His face, which had been pale with anxiety, turned a dead, ashen white. He dropped the letter onto the table.
Julian snatched it. He read it fast, his eyes darting across the page.
Then he let out a single, sharp, humorless laugh. "Well, gentlemen. It seems they would rather go bankrupt."
Walter and Arthur looked at him.
"What does it say, Julian?" Arthur asked.
Julian tossed the letter onto the table. "It's a 'no.' A very polite, very final 'no.'"
Elias sat down, heavily. "It's over," he whispered. "The first plan. It's... it's over."
Walter picked up the letter. He read it aloud.
"Dear Mr. Thorne,
We thank you and your associate, Mr. Graves, for your presentation last week. We were most... impressed... by your analysis of our company and its future.
However, after a long and careful review by our board, we have come to a decision. The Boeing Company is a proud, private institution. We have built this company from the ground up, with our own hands and in partnership with our community.
While we understand the logic of your financial offer, we cannot in good conscience agree to such terms. We are not, and never will be, a company that gives up 10% of itself to an outside party.
We have also taken advice from our long-standing financial counselors, who have been with us for many years. We have decided to pursue a different path, one that involves our established partners. We do not feel comfortable placing the future of our company, our workers, and our technology in the hands of a... newly-formed... institution such as Continental.
We wish you the best in your new venture.
Sincerely, Philip Johnson President, The Boeing Company"
The room was dead.
Julian Graves began to pace, his face dark red. "Fools! Blind, sentimental, stupid fools! 'Proud'? 'Community'? They're bankrupt! They just signed their own death warrant! And all because they were too stupid to see a gift when it was handed to them!"
Julian was shouting. This was a personal failure. His great, legendary charm had failed. "And 'newly-formed'!" he spat. "They are insulting us! They would rather be eaten alive by their old, lazy banks than do a deal with me!"
Elias Thorne just stared at his desk. He looked broken.
"He's right, Julian," Elias said, his voice flat. "They are not the fools. We are. I am. I let an 18-year-old boy talk me into a fantasy."
He looked at Arthur. There was no anger. Just a deep, bottomless disappointment.
"It's over, Arthur. This is the real world. This isn't numbers in a book. This is reputation. This is trust. And we have none. We are just a name on a door. 'Continental.' An empty, meaningless word. They... they trust their old banks. Even if those banks are going to destroy them. Because they know them."
Elias stood up. "We are done. I am dissolving the bank. I will put the five million into government bonds, just as the trust says. I will give you," he said to Julian and Walter, "a generous severance. I am sorry. I... I am truly sorry. I failed you."
Walter looked like he was going to be sick. Julian looked like he was going to hit someone.
The first plan had failed. Utterly. Completely.
Only Arthur Vance was not moving.
He had not spoken. He had just listened. His face was a mask of calm. He reached out and picked up the letter. He read it once. Then he read it again.
"They're not fools," Arthur said, his voice quiet.
"What did you say?" Elias said, his voice tired. "Arthur, don't. It's over."
"They are not fools," Arthur said again, louder. "They are engineers. They just made a perfectly logical, emotional decision."
"That's a contradiction!" Julian snapped.
"No, it's not," Arthur said. "They were presented with two choices. Choice A: Die on April 30th. Choice B: Be saved, but be conquered by an unknown, aggressive, 'newly-formed' bank from New York. They looked at Julian, and they didn't see a partner. They saw a conqueror. So they are trying to find a Choice C."
Arthur placed the letter on the table. "They don't want to be saved by a banker, Elias. They are builders. They will respect someone who builds."
Elias shook his head. "What are you talking about? We are not builders! We are a bank!"
"We are now," Arthur said. He looked at Elias, and his eyes were no longer calm. They were bright. The 38-year-old analyst was gone, replaced by a 1940s general.
"The first plan failed," Arthur said. "You are right. We cannot walk in the front door. They have locked it, and they have been told by their old friends that we are the enemy."
He tapped the letter. "So... we will stop knocking."
Arthur turned to Walter Hayes, who was still hovering by the door. "Walter. You and your research team. Your hunt is not over. I have a new target for you."
Walter, desperate for a second chance, stepped forward. "Anything, Mr. Vance."
"They won't sell us 10% of their company," Arthur said. "Fine. Then we will buy something else. Find me a company. A small company. A company that Boeing needs. A company that... say... makes a part for their B-17. A part they cannot make themselves. A part they cannot fly without."
Elias and Julian stared at him.
"You... you can't be serious," Elias whispered.
"If they will not open the front door," Arthur Vance said, a cold smile touching his lips, "we will buy the back door. And we will walk in that way."
He looked at Elias. "Mr. Thorne... it is time to create our next department. It is time... to build the Mergers & Acquisitions Division."