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Executive Times |
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2005 Book Reviews |
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The Chairman
by Stephen Frey |
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Rating: •• (Mildly Recommended) |
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Preposterous Stephen
Frey’s new novel, The
Chairman, dabbles toward good writing, but never quite arrives. Protagonist
Christian Gillette becomes Chairman of a Wall Street equity firm when the prior
Chairman drowns. After being nearly killed himself
at the beginning of the book, he proceeds to wrest control of the firm and
lead it to unprecedented success. While the plot excites most readers, the
premises are preposterous. Gilllette’s character
begins to develop, but in ways that are so unlikely that financial readers
will not identify with the character. Most other characters are
one-dimensional, and the infighting within the firm reaches unrealistic
extremes, as does the nature of the competition. Here’s an excerpt, from the beginning of Chapter 3, pp. 16-23: Negotiations. The purchase of a company—price, cash or paper,
representations, warranties. Details of a senior executive’s pay
package—salary, bonus, stock options, perks. Terms of a critical
financing—interest rate, repayment schedule, covenants. Issues that the
private equity professionals deal with constantly because the CEO of
a company owned by a private equity firm can’t make a move without his
chairman’s approval. And,
in a world dominated by constant
negotiation, there is one hard and fast rule. It isn’t the one who wants
something less who has the advantage. It’s the one who appears to want it less. Everything about
Donovan’s study was imposing. The huge stone fireplace. Big desk. Dark wood
walls. Expensive furniture. Oil paintings. Photographs of him with famous
people—politicians, sports figures, entertainers—cluttering the credenza and
floor-to-ceiling bookcases. All of it
designed to intimidate the visitor. Gillette took a deep
breath. The scents of leather and wood smoke. It reminded him of his father’s
study. The wooden chair behind
the wide desk creaked as Gillette eased into it. Through the dim light he gazed at himself in a gold-framed
oval mirror hanging on the far wall. Black hair parted on one side, combed
back behind his ears. Sharp facial features—a thin nose, strong jaw,
prominent chin, and high, defined cheekbones. And intense gray eyes that
people naturally locked on to. At six two and a fit 190 pounds, he was an imposing figure on the other side of
the negotiating table—which always helped. The image in the mirror blurred as the
exploding limousine flashed through his mind once more. He grimaced. Two
people dead. A few more paces and he would have been— A knock on the office
door broke the stillness. “Christian.” He recognized the heavy English accent
immediately. “Come in.” The door opened and closed quickly, and
Nigel Faraday appeared out of the gloom. Faraday was pale, round-faced, and
rarely without a drink in his hand if he wasn’t at the office. This afternoon
was no exception. “Bloody hell.” “What’s wrong, Nigel?” Gillette asked,
watching the Brit swirl the ice in his glass with his finger. Faraday was Ben Cohen’s
alter ego. Faraday hated details and had no desire to be tied down by a
family. Thriving instead on “Our plan was a bust,” Faraday
muttered, throwing back a healthy swallow of scotch. “Fucking Cohen.” “Not even going to try to deny the
conspiracy?” Gillette asked, touching his forehead
to make certain it wasn’t
bleeding again. They weren’t particularly close, but he’d always liked Faraday.
His sarcasm was entertaining, and, if you weren’t careful, the accent could
be hypnotic. “Cohen was supposed to get you down
those steps faster, then tell you he’d forgotten something in the church and
get away from the limo. But all that little fucker
can do is run numbers. And babble Latin,” Faraday added, smiling. “Mason and
I should have remembered that.” Gillette almost smiled back—three days
ago he would have—but he controlled his expression. Things were different. He
had to maintain his distance now that he was chairman. “Next time you’ll do a
better job of preparing.” “You’re fucking right we
will.” Gillette shook his head.
Faraday dropped the f-bomb constantly. “Chris, I—” “Christian,” Gillette
interrupted. Faraday chuckled, then
coughed and wiped the smile away with the back of his hand when he realized
Gillette was serious. “Well, look, I just wanted to make sure you were all
right. I was worried about you there for a few minutes, what with all that
blood. I’m not going to lie and tell you I wasn’t disappointed that I didn’t
get the nod from the limited partners yesterday. I thought I had more than a
few of them in my pocket. After all, I raised a lot of their dough.” Faraday
paused. “But I’m glad you’re all right.” Of the ninety-three investors
in the Everest funds, Faraday had won only three votes. Translation: The
limited partners enjoyed the entertainment, and they committed dollars to
Everest when Faraday asked, but they had no confidence in his ability to
actually manage the money. To acquire healthy companies and make savvy
operating decisions once Everest owned them. “Thank you,” Gillette
said quietly. “I also came to let you
know that Senator Stockman fucking wants to see you.” Gillette glanced up from
a manila folder lying on one corner of Donovan’s desk. “Looking for handouts,
is he ?“ It hadn’t taken long for the parade to
start. “I’m sure he’d refer to it as ‘support.’” “Aren’t you fucking sure ?“ Gillette shot back, spotting a razor
cut on Faraday’s cheek. Faraday was swarthy and always nicking himself. Faraday’s round face
slowly broke into another grin. “Yeah. I’m fucking sure.” Gillette nodded. “I’ll
see him. But tell him it’ll be a few minutes.” “Should I come back in
with him?” “No, send Cohen.”
Faraday’s grin evaporated and anger flashed across his face, but Gillette
motioned toward the door before the other man could complain. “Go.” When Faraday was gone,
Gillette glanced back into the mirror. Urgency and efficiency. Make the most
of every second. Bill Donovan’s mantra. Over the last ten years Gillette had
become a disciple. Faraday worked his way
through the crowd toward Cohen. A thousand people had been invited to the
reception and all of them seemed to have accepted. He tapped Cohen on the
shoulder. “Hey, Moses.” His nickname for the little man. Cohen excused himself
from his conversation with Faith Cassidy. “What is it, Nigel?” he snapped, irritated at being interrupted. The Brit grinned smugly.
“Where’s your wife?” “Why?” “She’s usually smarter
about monitoring your fucking pecker.” Cohen pursed his lips.
“Why do you like hassling me so much?” “Because it’s so fucking
easy.” Faraday gestured with his glass. “Our new leader has summoned you to
the study. By the way, he’s calling himself ‘Christian’ now.” Cohen rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I know.” “Sit down, Ben.” Gillette
motioned toward the two chairs in front of the desk. Cohen chose the one
farthest from the door. “I need your help.” “I want to help in any
way I can, Christian. Especially right now when you’re just taking over.” Gillette studied Cohen’s
expression, trying to determine whether the signs of submission were sincere.
“Senator Stockman wants to meet with me, and I need someone else in here
while we talk.” Gillette watched Cohen relax. He understood that a new order
had just been established, and that he was now second in command. “Just so
there’s no misunderstanding later about what was said.” “Thanks,” said Cohen,
looking down. “I appreciate your including me.” Gillette waited for
Cohen’s eyes to come back up to his. “Did you talk to Mason?” “Yes.” “And?” “And you were right,
Christian. One drink and Gillette nodded. It was
exactly as he’d thought. “How about Miss Cassidy? Did you talk to her?” Before Cohen could
answer, the door opened and Senator Stockman walked into the study. He was
tall and distinguished, with silver hair and a healthy tint to his skin. He
strode purposefully to the desk and extended his hand without glancing at
Cohen. “Look at you, Mr.
Gillette,” Stockman said as they shook. “Suddenly you’re a powerful young
man.” Gillette motioned for
Stockman to sit in the chair beside Cohen’s. He’d met the senator several
times over the last few years but always in Donovan’s presence. Before today,
Stockman never seemed to remember his name. “It’s such a terrible
thing about Bill,” Stockman observed, crossing his legs at the knee as he sat
down. “But one man’s loss is another’s gain. Isn’t that true, Mr. Gillette?” “It’s a zero-sum world,”
Gillette agreed quickly, gesturing toward Cohen. “Senator, meet Ben Cohen.” Stockman tilted his head
slightly without looking over. “What do you think happened to your boss, Mr.
Gillette? Was it an accident like the police are saying? Or did Bill have
help filling his lungs with water?” “Why would I think Bill
was murdered?” “Because if you’d come
out of the church thirty seconds earlier, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” The office went deathly
still for a few moments. “Why did you want to see me ?“ Gillette finally asked. “I thought it made sense
for us to get together as soon as possible.” The senator smiled. “To talk
about ways we can work together.” Stockman and Donovan had
never gotten along. They’d always made a point of being good at public
palm-pressing, but they were at opposite ends of the political spectrum, and
that had ultimately turned into an intense personal dislike. There was no
chance that they would have ever helped each other. But maybe there was an
opportunity here. Gillette opened one hand
and gestured. “I’m interested.” “I’d like to ask a few
questions about Everest first.” “Go ahead.” “How many companies do
you control?” “Twenty-seven.” “And how much do those
companies have in combined sales?” “Wait a minute,” Cohen
objected. “That information is highly confidential.” “It’s
fine, Ben,” Gillette said smoothly. “Senator Stockman would never disclose
anything confidential about us to anyone. Would you, Senator?” Stockman smiled thinly.
“Of course not.” “Answer the question,
Ben.” Cohen took an irritated
breath. “The twenty-seven companies have combined sales of over eighty
billion dollars.” “How many employees is
that?” Cohen shot Gillette a quick
look. “Tell him.” “Almost a million.” “A million employees,”
the senator said wistfully. “That’s a lot of votes. How many of those
companies are you chairman of, Christian?” “Seven,” Cohen answered
for Gillette. “But with Bill’s death, as the new chairman of Everest Capital,
Christian will automatically take those chair positions as well. That’s
another thirteen.” “Jesus. Chairman of
twenty companies. And chairman of Everest.” Stockman chuckled. “I hope they
can clone you, Christian. Otherwise, you won’t have time to take a crap let
alone—” “What do you want,
Senator?” Stockman folded his hands
in his lap. “In a few days I’m going to announce my candidacy for
president,” he explained, his voice low. “I want Everest Capital’s support,
specifically those million votes. Employees listen to their chairman.” Over the last few weeks,
Gillette had heard rumors about a Stock-man campaign for the White House. “As you know,” Stockman
continued, “I’m a Democrat. As you also know, Bill Donovan was a
conservative. A senior member of the Republican National Committee, in fact.
It never made sense to ask him for help. I would have had better luck with a
brick wall. But I hear you’re different. I hear that even though you grew up
in “True.” “In fact, one of my aides told me you
still own big pieces of several of those companies. In addition to those
twenty-seven companies you own outright. Is my information accurate
?“ Cohen nodded. “With all the scrutiny on corporate
accounting and control these days, public offerings can easily get bogged
down by SEC bullshit. Even shelved sometimes.” Cohen flashed Gillette an angry look,
anticipating what was coming. “Obviously, that’s not something you
want,” Stockman pointed out, following Cohen’s glance. “I can help you
there.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or not.” “Hold on,” Cohen snapped. “We’ve taken
fifteen companies public over the last ten years. We know plenty of people
who can—” “Have someone in your office call my
assistant,” Gillette instructed Stockman, cutting off the conversation. There
was no need for this to escalate. Not right now, anyway. “Her name is
Debbie.” He rose and moved out from behind the desk. “Have them arrange a
lunch for us next week,” he continued, taking Stockman’s hand, helping him up
out of the chair and guiding him to the door. “We’ll go to the Racquet Club.
Would you like that?” “That’s a nice place, Christian. I
haven’t been there in a while. Yes, I would like that.” Gillette opened the door. “I look
forward to hearing more about your campaign, Senator.” “Thank you.” “What a prick,” Cohen muttered when
Stockman was gone. “Threatening us like that with his SEC contacts. Like
we’re babes in the woods when it comes to IPOs. And
telling us he’s so damn sensitive about minorities. I’ve checked his track
record, Christian. He’s big business all the way. He’s just got a great PR
machine behind him.” “Have Tom McGuire put
together a report on him,” Gillette instructed, sitting back down. “Tell him
to get me everything on the guy. I want it by tomorrow afternoon.” “You’ll have it,” Cohen
promised. “And, Ben, I don’t want
to have to show someone out of a room like that again. You’ll do those things
from now on. Got it?” “Uh-huh,” Cohen agreed
hesitantly. As though he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anyone’s butler. There was a soft tap on
the door, and Gillette’s eyes flicked to Cohen’s. Cohen rose and moved to
the door. “Now Richard Harris wants time,” he called. “Fine.” Cohen gave the okay to
Harris’s messenger. “Do you think Mason is
having affairs with women who work at his portfolio companies?” Gillette
asked. Mason was chairman of the other seven Everest-controlled companies,
and there were always rumors that he used his position to manipulate women
into bed. But nothing had ever been proven. “I. . . I don’t know.” “I didn’t ask if you knew,
Ben. Just what you thought.” “I don’t want to
speculate. “Damn it, Ben,
tell me what you think.” Cohen squinted and
adjusted his glasses. “I’d guess it’s possible.” “Really going out on a
limb, aren’t you?” “Huh?” “Nothing.” Another reason the
investors hadn’t given any consideration to his being chairman of Everest,
Gillette realized. And why Donovan had never made Cohen chairman of any of
Everest’s portfolio companies. Cohen could calculate numbers better than any
quant jock on Wall Street, but he couldn’t be tough. If there was one thing a
top private equity professional had to be, it was tough. Sometimes even with friends. Some novelist will capture what it like
inside a financial firm, but Stephen Frey hasn’t done it with The
Chairman. This novel introduces Christian Gillette, and there are plans
for a series, so perhaps we’ll give him another chance in the future. Steve Hopkins,
October 25, 2005 |
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ã 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the November 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The
Chairman.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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