Part 91 (1/2)

”OK, let's pretend all that. Now I'll tell you: what's on that postcard is the financials for a Disney Parks buyout of your friends'

entire operation here. DiaBolical, the ride, all of it.”

Suzanne had been expecting a lot of things, but this wasn't one of them. It was loopy. Daffy. Not just weird, but inconceivable. As though he'd said, ”I sent you our plans to carve your portrait on the moon's surface with a green laser.” But she was a pro. She kept her face still and neutral, and calmly swallowed her cappuccino.

”I see.”

”And there are -- there are people at Disney who feel like this idea is so dangerous that it doesn't even warrant discussion. That it should be suppressed.”

Guignol cleared his throat. ”That's the consensus,” he said.

”And normally, I'd say, hey, sure, the consensus. That's great. But I'll tell you, I drew up these numbers because I was curious, I'm a curious guy. I like to think laterally, try stuff that might seem silly at first. See where it goes. I've had pretty good instincts.”

Guignol and Suzanne snorted at the same time.

”And an imperfect record,” Sammy said. Suzanne didn't want to like him, but there was something forthright about him that she couldn't help warming to. There was no subtlety or scheming in this guy. Whatever he wanted, you could see it right on his face. Maybe he was a psycho, but he wasn't a sneak.

”So I ran these numbers for my own amus.e.m.e.nt, to see what they would look like. a.s.sume that your boys want, say, 30 times gross annual revenue for a buyout. Say that this settles our lawsuit -- not theirs, just ours, so we don't have to pay for the trademark suit to go forward. a.s.sume that they generate one DiaBolical-scale idea every six months --” Suzanne found herself nodding along, especially at this last one. ”Well, you make those a.s.sumptions and you know what comes out of it?”

Suzanne let the numbers dance behind her own eyelids. She'd followed all the relevant financials closely for years, so closely that they were as familiar as her monthly take-home and mortgage payments had been, back when she had a straight job and a straight life.

”Well, you'd make Lester and Perry *very* wealthy,” she said. ”After they vested out, they'd be able to live off the interest alone.”

Sammy nodded judiciously. His sidekick looked alarmed. ”Yup. And for us?”

”Well, a.s.suming your last quarterly statement was accurate --”

”We were a little conservative,” Sammy said. The other man nodded reflexively.

*You were very conservative,* she thought. *DiaB's making you a fortune and you didn't want to advertise that to the compet.i.tion.*

”a.s.suming that, well, you guys earn back your investment in, what, 18 months?”

”I figure a year. But 18 months would be good.”

”If you vest the guys out over three years, that means --”

”100 percent ROI, plus or minus 200 percent,” Sammy said. ”For less money than we'll end up spending on our end of the lawsuit.”

Guignol was goggling at them both. Sammy drank his Thai iced-tea, slurping noisily. He signalled for another one.

”And you sent me these financials on a postcard?”

”There was some question about whether they'd be erased before I could show them to anyone, and I knew there was no way I'd be given the chance to re-create them independently. It seemed prudent to have a backup copy.”

”A backup copy in my hands?”

”Well, at least I knew you wouldn't give it up without a fight.” Sammy shrugged and offered her a sunny smile.

”We'd better go rescue that postcard from the basket before Lester develops a domestic instinct and takes out the trash, then,” Suzanne said, pus.h.i.+ng away from the table. Shayna brought the bill and Sammy paid it, overtipping by a factor of ten, which endeared him further to Suzanne. She couldn't abide rich people who stiffed on the tip.