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Authors: Kenneth L. Levinson
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exercise it, then the partnership is required to--"
"I know what the damn partnership agreement says," Barbereau shouted, and
slapped his open palm loudly on the table. "I don't need you to tell me."
Pennington was staring at me. He had picked up the subtle threat in my
suggestion. "Precisely when are you proposing that we 'just write her a check,' Mr.
Larsen?"
"Oh, not immediately. I understand that you'd need time to make arrangements
with your bank. That might take a few weeks." The three men exchanged uneasy glances
and, of course, I knew why. The bank that had been funding their line of credit was one of
the fourteen Colorado banks the FDIC had seized in the past nine months. The PMBT
account had been acquired by another bank, and no new advances were going to be
approved against their line of credit for the foreseeable future.
Financially, they were caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.
"I don't see how we could do that," Pennington stammered, suddenly looking a
bit pale.
"We're just talking, remember? I'm just pointing out that you gentlemen have
eliminated all of your options but one. If you were more flexible about the other
possibilities, I imagine Ms. Markowsky would be more flexible in terms of when and how
she was paid."
"We need to think this over," he said.
Thomas spoke up. "Boy, do we ever."
"I don't," said Barbereau. "This is blackmail. And I'll say what I said yesterday.
No fucking way."
His tone and demeanor indicated that the meeting was over.
* * * *
When we left the PMBT offices, I could tell that Joyce was fuming about
something. I was pretty sure she wasn't mad at me, but I had no idea what the issue
was.
"What do you think?" I said, as we waited for the elevator.
"They're a bunch of pricks."
Figuring she needed to vent, I waited for her to go on.
She did. "That Conner tries to pretend he's nice guy, but in his own way he's just
as bad as Larry. Maybe worse. Karl once said that either one of them would stab you in the
back--except that Conner would at least look sorry while he did it. And that weasel Guy
Thomas! He just sat there and barely said a word."
"That's true," I said. "He spent the whole time staring at you. You do know he
has a crush on you, don't you?"
A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. "Yes."
"That's why he didn't say anything."
"They're going to screw me, aren't they?"
"Actually, I don't think so. They know you've got them--"
I hesitated, trying to find a delicate way to phrase what I was thinking.
She jumped right in. "By the short hairs?"
I smiled. "I was going to say, backed into a corner. But your way is just fine. The
contract says what it says." The elevator arrived and I held the door open while she
stepped inside. "You wouldn't really want to work for their firm, would you?"
"Probably not." She frowned at me, as though I had just waived a white flag of
surrender. "Are you saying I should simply give in and--"
"No. I'm just saying I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to work for them. One
way or another, they're going to have to pay you the value of your husband's partnership
interest."
"They certainly are." Something was obviously still bothering her, and seemed to
be unrelated to PMBT. When we reached the ground floor, she said, "Do you have time for
lunch?"
"Sure. There's a decent deli in Marina Square."
She said, "I know the place. I'll meet you there."
Her black Lexus was parked five spaces away from my Audi. Since she was
closer to the exit, I ended up following her as she rolled onto Yosemite and then turned east
on Belleview. As we drove, it dawned on me what she was so mad about. I waited until the
waitress had brought us each a glass of iced tea and we had ordered our food--a grilled
chicken salad for her and turkey on whole wheat for me.
"You're really angry at Karl, aren't you?"
She stared at me for a moment, obviously deciding how--and whether--to
respond. Suddenly she was so emotional that she was blinking back tears and
"I know what the damn partnership agreement says," Barbereau shouted, and
slapped his open palm loudly on the table. "I don't need you to tell me."
Pennington was staring at me. He had picked up the subtle threat in my
suggestion. "Precisely when are you proposing that we 'just write her a check,' Mr.
Larsen?"
"Oh, not immediately. I understand that you'd need time to make arrangements
with your bank. That might take a few weeks." The three men exchanged uneasy glances
and, of course, I knew why. The bank that had been funding their line of credit was one of
the fourteen Colorado banks the FDIC had seized in the past nine months. The PMBT
account had been acquired by another bank, and no new advances were going to be
approved against their line of credit for the foreseeable future.
Financially, they were caught between the proverbial rock and hard place.
"I don't see how we could do that," Pennington stammered, suddenly looking a
bit pale.
"We're just talking, remember? I'm just pointing out that you gentlemen have
eliminated all of your options but one. If you were more flexible about the other
possibilities, I imagine Ms. Markowsky would be more flexible in terms of when and how
she was paid."
"We need to think this over," he said.
Thomas spoke up. "Boy, do we ever."
"I don't," said Barbereau. "This is blackmail. And I'll say what I said yesterday.
No fucking way."
His tone and demeanor indicated that the meeting was over.
* * * *
When we left the PMBT offices, I could tell that Joyce was fuming about
something. I was pretty sure she wasn't mad at me, but I had no idea what the issue
was.
"What do you think?" I said, as we waited for the elevator.
"They're a bunch of pricks."
Figuring she needed to vent, I waited for her to go on.
She did. "That Conner tries to pretend he's nice guy, but in his own way he's just
as bad as Larry. Maybe worse. Karl once said that either one of them would stab you in the
back--except that Conner would at least look sorry while he did it. And that weasel Guy
Thomas! He just sat there and barely said a word."
"That's true," I said. "He spent the whole time staring at you. You do know he
has a crush on you, don't you?"
A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. "Yes."
"That's why he didn't say anything."
"They're going to screw me, aren't they?"
"Actually, I don't think so. They know you've got them--"
I hesitated, trying to find a delicate way to phrase what I was thinking.
She jumped right in. "By the short hairs?"
I smiled. "I was going to say, backed into a corner. But your way is just fine. The
contract says what it says." The elevator arrived and I held the door open while she
stepped inside. "You wouldn't really want to work for their firm, would you?"
"Probably not." She frowned at me, as though I had just waived a white flag of
surrender. "Are you saying I should simply give in and--"
"No. I'm just saying I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to work for them. One
way or another, they're going to have to pay you the value of your husband's partnership
interest."
"They certainly are." Something was obviously still bothering her, and seemed to
be unrelated to PMBT. When we reached the ground floor, she said, "Do you have time for
lunch?"
"Sure. There's a decent deli in Marina Square."
She said, "I know the place. I'll meet you there."
Her black Lexus was parked five spaces away from my Audi. Since she was
closer to the exit, I ended up following her as she rolled onto Yosemite and then turned east
on Belleview. As we drove, it dawned on me what she was so mad about. I waited until the
waitress had brought us each a glass of iced tea and we had ordered our food--a grilled
chicken salad for her and turkey on whole wheat for me.
"You're really angry at Karl, aren't you?"
She stared at me for a moment, obviously deciding how--and whether--to
respond. Suddenly she was so emotional that she was blinking back tears and
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