Chapter 17: The Rival Banker
The silence in the boardroom was as cold and hard as stone.
Elias Thorne stood, stunned. He had played the final card. He had made the perfect threat. And the man had said "no."
Julian Graves's face was white with shock and anger. He looked like he was going to lunge across the table.
Philip Johnson, the President of Boeing, just stared at them. His face was hard. He was calling their bluff.
Elias, a man who had never been at a loss for words, did not know what to say. He had no more cards to play. He had no plan B.
From the small chair against the wall, Arthur Vance stood up.
He did it quietly, holding his notepad. He looked like a simple assistant, ready to leave. But his movement broke the tension.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Johnson," Arthur said. His voice was polite and completely neutral. He nodded to Elias. "Mr. Thorne? We have a flight to catch."
Elias and Julian stared at him. That's it? We're just... leaving?
But Arthur's calm was a command. Elias, recovering his dignity, slowly picked up the rejected proposal from the table. He put it back in his briefcase.
"Indeed," Elias said, his voice stiff. "You have our number, Mr. Johnson, should you change your mind about... your landing gear."
It was a weak, parting shot, and everyone knew it.
The rival banker, the one who had been smiling, gave them a little wave as they walked out. He had won.
The walk from the boardroom to the front gate was the longest walk of their lives. Julian was vibrating with anger.
"I don't believe it! He said no! He flat-out said no!" Julian hissed, walking so fast he was almost running. "What kind of fool is he? We own him! We have him! And he said no!"
"He is not a fool, Julian," Elias said. He was pale and his hands were shaking. He felt sick. "He is a proud man. And we pushed him too far."
"No!" Julian snapped. "It was that other banker. The one from First National. Did you see him? He was laughing at us! He knew something. He had a card up his sleeve. He told Johnson something, and it made him brave."
The black car was waiting for them. The three men got in. Arthur, the 'assistant', sat in the front seat next to the driver. Elias and Julian sat in the back.
As the car pulled away from the factory, Julian kept ranting. "What do we do now, Elias? Huh? Do we do it? Do we actually close the Axelrod factory? Do we bankrupt them?"
"We can't," Elias said, rubbing his face. "Think, Julian. If we bankrupt them... they really can't pay us. We get nothing. The Axelrod factory is worthless, because its only customer is gone. We would be cutting off our own nose to spite our face. We would lose our entire investment."
Julian slumped back in the seat. Elias was right. The threat... the gun to their head... it was a fake. It was a bluff.
And the rival banker had known it.
The car was silent. Elias and Julian were defeated. They had failed. The M&A gambit, the entire Ohio trip... it was all for nothing. They had lost.
In the front seat, Arthur Vance was perfectly still. He was looking out the side window, at the pine trees passing by. He was not angry. He was not defeated.
He was thinking.
He was re-playing the meeting, second by second. He saw the faces of the engineers, hungry for the money. He saw the scared accountants. He saw Philip Johnson, torn.
And he saw the banker. The smiling, confident, rival banker.
Julian is right, Arthur thought. He knew something. He wasn't afraid of our threat. Why? Why was he so sure we couldn't close the factory?
And then, he remembered the banker's whisper to Johnson. Johnson's face had changed. He had gone from 'torn' to 'angry.'
The banker hadn't just given him reassurance. He had given him a weapon.
What did he say? Arthur thought.
The long, two-day flight back to New York was miserable. Elias and Julian barely spoke. They drank whiskey and slept. Their first big move, their brilliant, complex plan, had failed.
Arthur sat in his own seat, staring at the clouds. He was still thinking.
The rival bank...They are Boeing's main lender.They were not afraid of our threat.They were so confident, they told Johnson to say 'no' to five million dollars.Why?
There was only one answer. The rival bank had its own plan. A plan that was better than Arthur's.
What could it be? Arthur thought. What is more powerful than owning the supply chain?
He closed his eyes. Owning the company itself.
They don't want us as a partner, Arthur realized, because they are planning to take the whole thing.
How? Boeing was broke. They owed the rival bank money. A lot of money.
The loan.
Arthur's eyes snapped open.
That's it. The loan. They don't need a complex plan. They just need to call in their loan.
In 1940, business loans were not like 2025. They were often "demand notes." That meant the bank could demand full payment at any time. If Boeing could not pay... the bank would seize the company. All of it.
That's why the banker was smiling. He wasn't just blocking Arthur's deal. He was clearing the field for his own. He was going to let Boeing hang on for a few more weeks, and then, when they were at their most desperate, he would call the loan. He would take the entire company, B-17s and all, for pennies on the dollar.
Compared to that, Arthur's 10% equity plan was childish.
Arthur finally understood. He was not just in a negotiation. He was in a war. And he had just lost the first battle.
They landed in New York on a rainy afternoon. The mood was terrible. They went straight to the Continental office.
Elias went into his office and shut the door. Julian slumped at his desk, staring at the wall.
Arthur Vance walked over to the Research department. Walter Hayes, the researcher, looked up.
"Mr. Vance. How was Seattle?"
"Informative," Arthur said, his voice cold. "I have a new job for you. A top priority. I need it done in 48 hours."
"What is it?" Walter asked, pulling out a notepad.
"I need to know about a loan," Arthur said. "A very specific loan. The one between The Boeing Company and the First National Bank of New York."
Walter frowned. "That's private information, Arthur. I can't just look that up."
"I don't care," Arthur said. "I need to know everything. The total amount. The interest rate. And, most importantly, I need to know the terms. I need to know if it is a 'demand note.'"
"Arthur, that's impossible..."
"Find a rumor," Arthur said, his voice flat. "Go to a bar. Talk to a clerk from that bank. Bribe someone. I don't care how you do it. But in two days, I need that information."
Walter was stunned by the young man's intensity. This was not the polite assistant. This was a different person.
"And Walter," Arthur said, turning to leave. "When you find this information... do not tell Mr. Thorne. Do not tell Mr. Graves. You come to me, and only me."
Walter nodded, a new, cold fear in his stomach. "I... I'll see what I can do."
Arthur walked to his small desk. He sat down. He was no longer the 'assistant.' He was the general.
He had been beaten. The rival banker had out-played him.
But, Arthur thought, as he stared at the rain hitting the window, he also just showed me his hand. He showed me his weapon.
Arthur's mind began to work on a new, much more dangerous plan.
You want to use their loan as a sword? he thought. What happens... if I buy that sword?