Chapter 18: The Second 'No'
The silence in the Boeing boardroom was heavy. It was a solid, uncomfortable thing.
Elias Thorne stood at the head of the long, polished table. He had just delivered his final line: "Make us a partner, or find a new way to land your planes." The words hung in the air, a perfect, polite threat.
Arthur sat in his small chair against the wall, his notebook open, his face blank. He watched the men at the table. He was not just watching the main speaker, Philip Johnson, the President of Boeing. He was watching everyone. He was reading the room.
The room was split. He could see it clear as day.
On one side of the table were the engineers. These were the men who built the planes. They looked excited. Their eyes were bright. They had been starved for money for months, watching their beautiful B-17 bomber design collect dust. To them, Elias was not a threat; he was a savior. He was the man with the money. They wanted the deal.
On the other side of the table was a man who had not spoken a word.
He was older, in his late fifties, with a perfectly trimmed grey mustache and a dark, expensive suit. He was not a Boeing employee. He was Walter Clarkson, a senior vice president from National Metropolitan Bank in New York. He was Boeing's primary banker, and he looked at Elias with pure, cold dislike.
Philip Johnson, Boeing's president, looked trapped between the two sides. He cleared his throat.
"Mr. Thorne," Johnson said, his voice strained. "That is... a very strong position. We appreciate your bank's... creative... entry into this negotiation." He glanced at the Ohio Gear-Works contract on the table. "Owning our supplier is certainly a bold move."
"We believe in the B-17, Mr. Johnson," Elias said smoothly. "We are simply ensuring that this vital program has the two things it needs to succeed: a secure supply chain and full financial backing."
One of the engineers leaned forward. "Mr. Johnson, if this... Continental... is willing to fund the new production line, we could be in full operation in six months. We could meet the Army's request. This is the chance we've been waiting for."
Johnson nodded, but before he could speak, the banker, Walter Clarkson, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room.
"A very pretty offer," Clarkson said, looking at Elias. "From a very new bank. 'Continental.' I must confess, Mr. Thorne, in my thirty years in finance, I have never heard of you."
Elias met his gaze. "We are a private investment bank, Mr. Clarkson. We do not advertise. We focus on results."
"So it would seem," Clarkson said with a thin smile. "You are so new, you still have the wrapping paper on. And yet, you have five million dollars to... 'invest.' And you have a... 'Special Advisor'..." he glanced at Arthur for a split second, "...who looks to be barely out of high school. Forgive my caution, but this all seems highly irregular."
"The only thing that matters," Elias said, his voice firm, "is that our capital is real and our offer is on the table. We are offering to solve Boeing's money problem. Today."
Clarkson nodded slowly. "Boeing's financial situation is, of course, of great interest to us, Mr. Thorne. As its long-time partner, National Metropolitan Bank has supported this company for over a decade. We are... protective."
He turned his gaze from Elias to Philip Johnson. The look he gave him was not friendly. It was a look from a master to a servant.
"Phil," Clarkson said, his voice suddenly hard. "You are building bombers. War machines. This is a business of national importance. It requires stability. It requires partners you can trust, partners with history, with deep roots. Not... newcomers. Not opportunists."
The message was clear. We are your real bank. They are nobody.
Johnson looked pained. He was a brilliant aircraft builder, but he was not a financial fighter. He was caught between the banker who held his past and the new man who offered him a future.
"Walter, I understand your concern," Johnson said. "But the fact is, they are offering the capital. The Army contract is on the line."
"The Army contract is not yet signed," Clarkson countered. "And perhaps it is for the best. This is a risky venture. Maybe a slower, more 'safe' approach is needed. One that your current financial partners can agree with."
It was another threat. Clarkson was telling Johnson that if he made this deal, National Metropolitan Bank would become an enemy.
The engineers looked furious, but they held their tongues. They could not fight the company's main banker.
Philip Johnson looked at the table. He saw his engineers, desperate to build. He saw his banker, his face a mask of cold disapproval.
He looked at Elias.
"Mr. Thorne," Johnson said, his voice low. "I must ask you and your... advisor... to step out. The board needs to discuss this in private."
Elias nodded. "Of course."
He and Arthur stood up. Arthur grabbed his briefcase, his face still perfectly neutral, as if he were just a secretary. They walked out of the boardroom and into a small, plain waiting area.
The door closed, and the muffled sound of voices began.
Elias let out a long breath and loosened his tie. "That was... intense. That banker, Clarkson. He has it out for us."
"He is afraid," Arthur said quietly.
Elias looked at him. "Afraid? He looked like a king. He's trying to kill the deal."
"He is afraid because he is a king," Arthur said. "He rules this company. We are a new power, and he cannot control us. So, yes, he will try to kill the deal. He has to."
"Do you think he will succeed?" Elias asked.
Arthur looked at the closed door. "It depends. It is a fight between the men who want to build the planes and the man who controls the money. In my experience, the man with the money usually wins."
They waited. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The muffled voices from inside the room grew louder. There was a sharp, angry tone. Then, silence.
After thirty minutes, the door opened.
Philip Johnson stood there. His face was pale and tired. He looked like a man who had just lost a battle.
"Mr. Thorne," he said, not meeting his eyes. "Please, come in."
They walked back into the boardroom. Walter Clarkson, the banker, was sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed, a look of smug victory on his face. The engineers were staring at the table, their faces grim.
"Gentlemen," Johnson said, "I... we... appreciate your very generous offer. It is clear you see the potential in the B-17."
He paused, taking a deep breath.
"However... the board has decided. At this time, we must respectfully decline your offer of partnership."
Elias Thorne stood perfectly still. He had not expected this. He had come with all the leverage. He had the supply chain. He had the money. And they were still saying no.
"I see," Elias said, his voice tight. "May I ask why?"
It was Walter Clarkson who answered. "The board has decided, Mr. Thorne, that it is in Boeing's best interest to maintain its current, stable financial relationships." He smiled. "We will find a way to manage. We always do."
Elias looked at Johnson, but the president would not meet his gaze. The banker had won. He had bullied the board into submission.
"Very well," Elias said. He picked up his briefcase. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Johnson."
He and Arthur walked out of the room, down the hall, and out of the Boeing building. The Seattle air was cool, but Elias felt hot with anger and confusion.
They stood on the pavement, a taxi idling nearby.
"He beat us," Elias said, stunned. "How did he beat us? We had all the cards!"
"We had the supply chain," Arthur corrected him, his voice calm. "He has the debt. We own a small piece of their plane. He owns them. His leverage was bigger."
"So what now?" Elias said, defeated. "We go home? We go back to New York and... and what? Sell landing gear?"
Arthur looked up at the grey sky. He was not angry. He was not defeated. He was thinking.
"No," Arthur said. "This is not over. That banker... Mr. Clarkson... he just taught us a valuable lesson."
"What lesson?" Elias snapped. "That he is stronger than we are?"
"No," Arthur said, a very cold, thin smile playing on his lips. "He taught us that whoever owns the debt, wins."
He turned to Elias. "He thinks he won. He thinks he just swatted a fly. He has no idea what he just started."