about eleven million, two hundred thousand. With Woody gone, you split the money not by three, but by only two. After all the bills are paid, even if you reinvest something in the company, you could walk away with five million dollars apiece.”
“Five point two,” Frank said.
Riggs checked his figures again and nodded.
Fifteen percent was a standard agency fee. But unlike an advertising agency that worked by committee and spent money needlessly, requiring months or even years to craft an ad campaign that might never hit its intended target, a decent media consultant knew content outweighed style every time. Armed with the right research, once you defined the message, you could hit your target in a matter of weeks or days and actually compute the response.
Frank could see Linda taking it in. Even without a night’s sleep, her face seemed to glow. Still, the whole thing felt like the reading of a will to Frank. He was uneasy about it. With Woody gone, he and Linda would profit, dividing the take in two. Each of them would be receiving an additional $1.7 million just because Woody had been murdered. $5.2 million in total. The fee might have been standard, but it was a lot of money. And everyone in the room knew that it was a lot of money.
Frank stood up and looked through the glass into the war room as he stretched his legs. Tom was shuffling through polling data while Harry erased Eldridge’s name from the client board mounted on the wall. Behind them, Frank could see the plasterers covering up the bullet holes by the lobby door and two men in green overalls scrubbing out the blood stain on the carpet in his office. In spite of the circumstances, his staff had showed up for work and were dealing with it as best they could. All except for Tracy, he noticed, on the phone with her eyes riveted out the window.
Riggs sat back in the chair, pushing his glasses over his forehead. “All I’m saying is that it’s a two-way split on a big year. One of your biggest, considering it’s not a presidential year.”
“I want their bonuses doubled,” Frank said, still looking at Tracy.
“Are you sure that’s the way to handle this?”
“I want them doubled,” he repeated. “You guys finish up without me.”
Frank opened the door, crossing the war room to Tracy’s desk. She glanced at him for a moment, then turned back to the window.
“What do you think they’re doing out there?” she asked.
Frank noted the fear in her voice and moved closer to the window. He looked at the parking lot one floor below. He didn’t notice at first, but then he saw it. The car that didn’t fit. An unmarked car, with Randolph and Grimes sitting in the front seat.
Harry and Tom moved to the far window. Linda walked out of her office with Riggs, the meeting apparently over, and joined them. Frank could see the anxiety in their faces. Paranoia was in the air. When the locksmith suddenly appeared, he had an audience ready and waiting.
“You’re all set,” the locksmith said. “These are the new keys to the front door.”
He handed Tracy five copies of the new key. As Tracy passed them out, Frank took his and noticed the small, timid man staring up at him.
“Mind if I keep the old one?” the locksmith asked.
Frank shrugged. “The old what?”
The locksmith brought his hand forward, displaying the lock. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Look. Not even a scratch.”
Frank nodded, wondering why the sight of the lock seemed so odd. Then he looked outside at the detectives in the parking lot and headed for the door.
Chapter 18
Frank legged it across the lot and looked inside the car. Randolph sat behind the wheel with Grimes beside him. Lunch was spread out on the seat and dash.
“You’re scaring the shit out of my staff,” Frank said. “What are you guys doing here?”
Randolph gave him a look. “This is the first chance we’ve had to eat. We’ve been at it all night. Relax, Frank. We were
“Five point two,” Frank said.
Riggs checked his figures again and nodded.
Fifteen percent was a standard agency fee. But unlike an advertising agency that worked by committee and spent money needlessly, requiring months or even years to craft an ad campaign that might never hit its intended target, a decent media consultant knew content outweighed style every time. Armed with the right research, once you defined the message, you could hit your target in a matter of weeks or days and actually compute the response.
Frank could see Linda taking it in. Even without a night’s sleep, her face seemed to glow. Still, the whole thing felt like the reading of a will to Frank. He was uneasy about it. With Woody gone, he and Linda would profit, dividing the take in two. Each of them would be receiving an additional $1.7 million just because Woody had been murdered. $5.2 million in total. The fee might have been standard, but it was a lot of money. And everyone in the room knew that it was a lot of money.
Frank stood up and looked through the glass into the war room as he stretched his legs. Tom was shuffling through polling data while Harry erased Eldridge’s name from the client board mounted on the wall. Behind them, Frank could see the plasterers covering up the bullet holes by the lobby door and two men in green overalls scrubbing out the blood stain on the carpet in his office. In spite of the circumstances, his staff had showed up for work and were dealing with it as best they could. All except for Tracy, he noticed, on the phone with her eyes riveted out the window.
Riggs sat back in the chair, pushing his glasses over his forehead. “All I’m saying is that it’s a two-way split on a big year. One of your biggest, considering it’s not a presidential year.”
“I want their bonuses doubled,” Frank said, still looking at Tracy.
“Are you sure that’s the way to handle this?”
“I want them doubled,” he repeated. “You guys finish up without me.”
Frank opened the door, crossing the war room to Tracy’s desk. She glanced at him for a moment, then turned back to the window.
“What do you think they’re doing out there?” she asked.
Frank noted the fear in her voice and moved closer to the window. He looked at the parking lot one floor below. He didn’t notice at first, but then he saw it. The car that didn’t fit. An unmarked car, with Randolph and Grimes sitting in the front seat.
Harry and Tom moved to the far window. Linda walked out of her office with Riggs, the meeting apparently over, and joined them. Frank could see the anxiety in their faces. Paranoia was in the air. When the locksmith suddenly appeared, he had an audience ready and waiting.
“You’re all set,” the locksmith said. “These are the new keys to the front door.”
He handed Tracy five copies of the new key. As Tracy passed them out, Frank took his and noticed the small, timid man staring up at him.
“Mind if I keep the old one?” the locksmith asked.
Frank shrugged. “The old what?”
The locksmith brought his hand forward, displaying the lock. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Look. Not even a scratch.”
Frank nodded, wondering why the sight of the lock seemed so odd. Then he looked outside at the detectives in the parking lot and headed for the door.
Chapter 18
Frank legged it across the lot and looked inside the car. Randolph sat behind the wheel with Grimes beside him. Lunch was spread out on the seat and dash.
“You’re scaring the shit out of my staff,” Frank said. “What are you guys doing here?”
Randolph gave him a look. “This is the first chance we’ve had to eat. We’ve been at it all night. Relax, Frank. We were
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