Monday
Hard at work on my plan to spin Armadillo out of Tulip-Walter Group, contingent upon (a) coming up with enough financing to allow Tulip to avoid an embarrassing write-down, and (b) taking John Bonanza with us. Big Excel models, deep into the night. (The great thing about Excel is that at the click of a button, you can make a company grow at a 34% CAGR, generate stellar Partner earnings, then print it all out with shiny bar charts. Connection to reality? Less certain.) Get an annoying circularity in my Balance Sheet, but Heide Vertig's working late on FinnBox (some things never change) and fixes it for me. At least Bonanza isn't around to mess things up. He took a week off to go to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, apparently organizing a special party for his old wacka-wacka monk pals at the Self-Enlightenment and Love Fellowship (SELF). Since when did monks party like wild things? Maybe he'll forget to come back.
Tuesday
Having trouble defining which people to take with Armadillo when we split out. Looking for 20, which means some tough "you can't come" meetings. Glad to race to Logan and a little client work in DC for a change of pace. Dinner with case team, and I notice how young and eager they all look, how they laugh at my war stories, how they pretend to be sophisticated. We taste Armagnac in massive snifter glasses — fun, if a little 1990s.
Wednesday
Ouch. Must have had more than I realized. Day starts badly when we take taxi to SatComTel and only realize that we were supposed to be at IntComSat when we're standing in SatComTel's lobby, being frisked. Fifty minutes late for the kickoff meeting. One of our RAs will hang for this (i.e., stay at Tulip). IntComSat is the most confusing building ever, organized into hexagonal "pods." We get lost coming back from the cafeteria and are late for the afternoon session, too. Pod F, pod K — all look the same. Momentary interruption when Bonanza calls my mobile and screams drunkenly at me. Gibberish. Hang up and turn it off. Before we leave, I'm invited up to the ninth floor to the God Pod, where the CEO of IntComSat offers me tea. The usual speech about how important this work is to them, how much they're depending on us to beat SatComTel, how stellar our references were, and don't our people all look young! Give him reassurance speech 13 (looks can be deceiving, judge us on our results, ask not what your consultant can do for you …) to keep him quiet. Note the Washington Wizards photos on the wall and make mental note to take him to see MJ play next visit. Spend flight home running Armadillo financial scenarios — how did anyone ever make any money in this racket?
Thursday
Clandestine meeting of the Gang of Eight (Armadillo escapees) in Galleria food court. Buy the team a big box of chicken tenders and then demand everyone empty out their pockets for loose change. Only Ken has none — no surprise, since he doesn't believe in carrying money personally. Newbie VP Mark Wahlberg contributes 17 pennies. Review my Excel masterpiece with them all, then scoop up their heaps of coins into my empty chicken tenders box, refusing to explain myself. You'll see, I tell them.
Friday
Case team meeting on IntComSat, where I read my crew the riot act and send everyone to the phones for 100 interviews to be completed by next Tuesday. Little Jason Wozzel, now infamous for directing us to the wrong satellite company, is sentenced to creating a competitor profile on SatComTel by Monday morning and losing his earring by the same time. Entire team is instructed to visit Brooks Brothers and buy "dull." Once everyone's ears are glowing, I sneak a shot of Armagnac from my hip flask (Christmas present) and head upstairs to see Van Galen to pitch our bid for freedom. More crazy-putting, and this time I play to win. I agree to take Bonanza with us, but as a grunt. VG agrees to my list of 20 consultants. He studies my pro forma and smirks. And our buyout, he asks? You're going to make a 100% return in under 12 months, I tell him, smacking my golf ball 'round a banked curve and straight into the cup. From my pocket I pull a paper bag and dump it onto his table. Two bucks in small coins. VG explodes in laughter. Get out of here, he says, which means we have a deal (I think).
The elevator arrives, and John Bonanza steps out unsteady and unshaven, heading for the corner office. Fix him with my toothiest grin and smack him on the back. Boy, are you in for a rude awakening. It's a Brave New World, Monk B. Welcome to Rayne's World.
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