The Fourth Estate

Everyone nodded except Armstrong.

“Good. Then the first item on the agenda is the one we discussed at great length during our recent finance meeting,” continued Sir Paul, “namely the current position of the pension fund. On that occasion Mr. Wakeham did his best to brief us following his short trip to New York, but I fear several questions still remain unanswered. We came to the conclusion that only our chief executive could properly bring us up to date on what was actually taking place in New York. I am relieved to see that he has found it possible to join us on this occasion, so perhaps I should begin by…”

“No, perhaps it is I who should begin,” interrupted Armstrong, “by giving you a full explanation of why it was impossible for me to attend last month’s board meeting.” Sir Paul pursed his lips, folded his arms and stared at the unoccupied chair at the other end of the table.

“I remained at my desk in New York, gentlemen,” continued Armstrong, “because I was the only person with whom the print unions were willing to negotiate—as I am sure Peter Wakeham confirmed at last month’s board meeting. Because of this, not only did I pull off what some commentators described as a miracle—” Sir Paul glanced down at a leader that had appeared in the New York Tribune the previous week, which did indeed use the word “miracle”—“but I am now able to confirm to the board something else I asked Mr. Wakeham to pass on to you, namely that the Tribune has finally turned the corner, and for the past month has been making a positive contribution to our P and L account.” Armstrong paused before adding, “And what’s more, it is doing so for the first time since we took the paper over.” Several members of the board seemed unable to look in his direction. Others who did were not indicating approval. “Perhaps I deserve some praise for this monumental achievement,” Armstrong said, “rather than the continual carping criticism I get from a chairman whose idea of enterprise is to feed the ducks on Epsom Downs.”

Sir Paul looked as if he was about to protest, but Armstrong waved a hand in the air and, raising his voice, said, “Allow me to finish.” The chairman sat bolt upright, his fingers gripping the arms of his chair, his gaze still fixed rigidly ahead of him.

“Now, as far as the pension fund is concerned,” continued Armstrong, “the company secretary will be in a better position than I am to confirm that we are holding a considerable surplus in that account, a little of which I used—quite legitimately—for investments in the United States. It may also interest the board to know that I have recently been in confidential negotiations with Keith Townsend, with a view to taking over the New York Star.” Most of the directors looked stunned by the announcement, and this time all of them turned to face him.

“It’s no secret,” continued Armstrong, “that Townsend is in deep financial trouble following his foolhardy takeover of Multi Media, for which he paid three billion dollars. The board will recall that only last year I recommended we should offer no more than one and a half billion for that particular company, and in hindsight it turns out that my judgment was correct. I have now been able to take advantage of Townsend’s disastrous mistake and make him an offer for his shares in the Star that would not have been thought possible only six months ago.”

Now he had everyone’s attention.

“That coup will make Armstrong Communications the most powerful newspaper presence on the east coast of America.” Armstrong paused for effect. “It will also ensure an even larger contribution to our bottom line than we presently enjoy from Britain.”

One or two of the faces round the table brightened up, but the chairman’s was not among them. “Are we to understand that this deal with Townsend has been concluded?” he asked quietly.

“It is in its final stages, Chairman,” replied Armstrong. “But I wouldn’t dream of committing the company to an undertaking of such importance without first seeking the board’s approval.”

“And what exactly does ‘final stages’ mean?” inquired Sir Paul.

“Townsend and I have had an informal meeting on neutral ground, with both our professional advisers present. We were able to come to an agreement on the sort of figure that would be acceptable to both parties, so now it’s simply up to the lawyers to draw up the contracts for signature.”

“So we don’t yet have anything in writing?”

“Not yet,” said Armstrong. “But I am confident that I will be able to deliver all the necessary documentation in time for the board’s approval at next month’s meeting.”

“I see,” said Sir Paul drily, as he opened a file in front of him. “Nevertheless, I wonder if we might now return to the first item on the agenda, and in particular to the current state of the pension fund.” He checked his notes and added, “Which has recently had withdrawals totaling over four hundred and…”

“And I can assure you that the money has been well invested,” said Armstrong, once again not allowing the chairman to finish his sentence.

“In what, may I ask?” inquired Sir Paul.

“I don’t have the precise details to hand at the moment,” said Armstrong. “But I have requested that our accountants in New York produce a detailed and comprehensive report, so that members of the board are in a position to make a full appraisal of the situation before the next board meeting.”

“How interesting,” said Sir Paul. “When I spoke to our accounts department in New York only last night, they had no idea what I was talking about.”

“That’s because a small inner team has been chosen for this particular exercise, and they’ve been instructed not to release any details, owing to the sensitivity of one or two of the deals I am currently involved in. I cannot therefore…”

“Damn it,” said Sir Paul, his voice rising with every word. “I am the chairman of this company, and I have the right to be informed of any major development that may affect its future.”

“Not if that might jeopardize my chances of closing a major deal.”

“I am not a rubber stamp,” said Sir Paul, turning to face Armstrong for the first time.

“I didn’t suggest you were, Chairman, but there are times when decisions have to be made when you are tucked up in bed fast asleep.”

“I would be quite happy to be woken,” said Sir Paul, still looking directly at Armstrong, “as I was last night by a Monsieur Jacques Lacroix from Geneva, who rang to tell me that unless an outstanding loan to his bank of $50 million is repaid by close of business tonight, they will find it necessary to place the matter in the hands of their lawyers.”

Several of the directors bowed their heads.

“That money will be in place by tonight,” said Armstrong, without flinching. “Of that I can assure you.”

“And where do you propose to get it from this time?” asked Sir Paul. “Because I have issued clear instructions that nothing more can be withdrawn from the pension fund as long as I remain chairman. Our lawyers have advised me that if that check for $50 million had been cashed, every member of this board would have been liable to criminal prosecution.”

“That was a simple clerical error made by a junior clerk in the accounts department,” said Armstrong, “who foolishly deposited the check with the wrong bank. He was sacked the same day.”