Free Cash Burn by Michael Berrier Page B

folded before them. Everyone waited for Ed to pick his up to start the process. The waiter withdrew.
    Ed addressed Jason. “What kind of law does your wife practice again?”
    “Executive comp. She helps companies structure their comp packages around SEC and tax rules. One of her clients is preparing for an offering. She had to fly to New York for some last-minute work on their programs.”
    Ed glanced at Randy and something passed between them without any words. Randy said, “What’s her firm?”
    “Strumb Rossi. She opened the LA office for them three years ago.” And I’ve hardly seen her since.
    Ed swirled the wine in his glass, took a sip. “How is it, being married to a lawyer?”
    “I haven’t won an argument in five years.”
    Randy laughed. Ed’s smile said nothing; his pale eyes rested on Jason over the clear circle of his goblet.
    The waiter hovered around the table as if he longed to occupy the empty chair. Ed finally looked up at him and asked about the appetizers. The heartthrob talked him through the appetizers, and Ed selected for the table the mussels, the gratin of Belgian endive with bacon, and the duck prosciutto. With an approving bow of his head, the waiter retreated.
    The menus still collected dust before them. Entrees would be considered over the hors d’oeuvres, apparently. Ed swirled his cabernet, let his eye take it in before raising the glass to his lips again. He smacked his thin lips and glanced to Randy, then back to Jason. “You came through for us on that financing, Jason,” he said. “Cut it a little close to our deadline, though.”
    “I’ll see if I can get you more cushion next time.”
    Those pale eyes moved again to glance at his CFO. Clearly something was yet to be said here.
    “You guys have been good customers for the bank. We’re glad we can support you.”
    “No trouble getting it done?” Ed had a real fixation on the tone of red that swirled in his goblet in the candlelight.
    “There’s always something to talk about when credits get up beyond ten million. But performance means a lot to us. Our experience with you guys has been solid. That carries a lot of weight.”
    “You mean you wouldn’t lend twenty-three million to just anybody off the street?”
    “No. Not just anybody.”
    “Well, we appreciate it. Right, Randy?”
    Randy nodded.
    Jason lifted his glass over the tabletop. “To another successful acquisition. Congratulations, guys.”
    Their glasses chimed over the table, and all five of them sipped.
    Ed returned to his swirling cabernet.
    “How are things going with getting the Clarington team assimilated?” Jason asked.
    Ed glanced to his wife, as if he wanted to protect her from such detailed business. But he didn’t hold back. “There won’t be much to assimilate when we’re done. Not at the top, anyway.” He grinned at Randy, and his CFO smiled back.
    “The whole executive team?”
    “Shot in the head.” It was the term Ed always used when they discussed acquisitions in the conference rooms at Northfield, but Jason was a little surprised to hear it over dinner with the wives. Ed said it like a gangster, the smile gone, as if releasing an acquired management team was part of a gangland feud.
    Maybe it was.
    The appetizers arrived, and Ed managed their dispersal, the others deferring to him in everything now, making no show of independence. His conversation lingered on Northfield’s business so long, Jason had to finally ask him how things were at their ranch in Montana for a change of pace.
    With the appetizers obliterated, Ed lifted his menu, and the others were quick to seize the opportunity. One by one they replaced the folders on the table, and the waiter materialized and took their orders, gathering the menus under his elbow. To Ed’s order of the house special, braised pork chops, the actor affirmed, “Very good, sir.”
    After their orders were placed, the CEO raised one substantial eyebrow and looked across the table.