When mergers go wrong . . . a Credit Crunch comedy. What happens when an American Investment Bank buys a very British Insurance company then changes its mind to look for better deals in India and China? The break up, selling off and shutting down of a major London based Financial Services player, seen through the eyes of a romantically smitten insurance clerk called Eric, a neurotic and chaotic Sales Director, Nigel and a 60s rock guitar playing Compliance Officer, Stan aka Feral Wilde. From the offshore banking centres of Bermuda and the Isle of Man, to the insurance streets of London, Edinburgh and East Grinstead. This is as irreverent and humorous as it gets, from an insider at the heart of insurance, investments and banking for the last 30 years.
Merger Mayhem
A novelBy George PavlouAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 George Pavlou
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-1449-0Chapter One
The teenage brothers were waiting to cross the busy London road. The older one was pushing the other into the oncoming traffic, then pulling him back when a bus or taxi roared past. Eventually their annoyed Father shouted, "Oi, you lot. Two words. BE. HAVE." Eric who was standing behind the super-sized family was waiting for the second word. It never came. He imagined it might be, "Or-else," but the lights changed and the crowd migrated across the road as one herd.
For Eric, this was the day. The interview that would enable him to move away from his routine life in the Isle of Man to the capital of the big neighbouring island of Great Britain. The walk from the two star hotel in Euston to Moorgate in the City took longer than Eric expected. It was not raining. A novelty in itself having endured almost a month of persistent drizzle and wind in Douglas. His manager at the Isle of Man Fire and General Insurance Company Ltd, now a subsidiary of National Medical Life, told him to "keep the costs down, so you can forget taxis and fancy London restaurants for a start."
He had heard the story of a Manx man from Peel who flew to London to visit an old school friend running a Dot.Com. He was lost on the Underground for days. If the man had come from anywhere but Peel, Eric would have been dubious about the story. Even so, he decided not to risk it. His tall, skinny frame moved awkwardly, much like a juvenile giraffe learning to master legs that just keep growing. His curly, dark brown hair had just been cut short at the back and sides but still managed to fall across his right eye. His left handed swipe at his fringe only ever offered a temporary respite. His physique did not lend itself easily to wearing suits, which simply hung on him like shapeless blue sacks. His ties alternated between small knots and excessive length, or extremely fat knots and several inches too short. Today was a five inches below the belt day. He normally wore thick glasses, which afforded some charm and cerebral appeal, but was today trying to "break in" a new set of contact lenses, resulting in his right eye winking involuntarily throughout the day.
The reception area at National Medical Life was unlike anything he had expected. It was imposing, spacious and traditional with leather armchairs around a long, smoked glass coffee table. Copies of The Daily Telegraph and Financial Times were carefully placed at a welcoming angle. A bronze statue of a ram welcomed and confused visitors. It was an original feature of the first owners of the building, a wool trading company. Either side of reception boasted incredibly tall, exotic plants and the two receptionists looked as though they had never smiled. They had china doll make-up and hair brushed straight back making them look sophisticated and prim. In Eric's eyes they were gorgeous and, as a twenty six year old bachelor, he allowed himself the brief fantasy of sharing a penthouse flat in Chelsea with one or both of these nymphs.
"Good morning, NML. How may I help you?" Eric was taken aback and wasn't expecting her to speak to him yet. He was still a couple steps from the front desk. She hadn't. He also hadn't noticed the tiny headphones she was wearing and another call had come in just as she looked up at him.
"I've come to see..er," his mind went blank as he struggled to look for the letter bearing the name of the Human Resources Director. His hands flew from pocket to pocket in his desperation and he temporarily froze by the vision of beauty looking straight into his eyes and raising one manicured finger to indicate she would be with him in a moment.
He looked straight up to where she was pointing thinking he may have missed a sign or something, then back down to her finger. He had never seen such long nails and instead of rounded and pillar-box red as he was used to, they were square and clear white. Her name tag said, "Siobhan." He was wondering how it was pronounced when she spoke again. "I'll try to connect you," she said, dealing with the caller and now addressed Eric. "Welcome to NML. Do you have an appointment?" Her eyes were an astonishing shade of blue. She had been cautioned about coloured contact lenses before, but today the new boss was due to visit. He was flying in from America and was meant to be gorgeous and very, very rich.
"Yes, here it is," Eric said, locating the now scrappy piece of paper with his interview details. "I've come to see, er, Andrew Campbell in HR". Again the Chelsea love-nest fantasy kicked in and he missed some of the reply.
"Fifteenth floor, third office on the right. There are lifts on your right but you need to fill in this visitors' pass first." Did she say fifth or fifteenth floor? He daren't ask her so he took his pass and approached the lift, hoping there was a list of departments against each button. There wasn't. He pressed the fifth, he thought that was what she said. When he arrived on the fifth floor a young man, clearly uncomfortable in a suit and wearing a plaster over his left eyebrow, was walking past and asked, "Hello, can I help you?"
"Do you know where ... er?" The name was gone and the hands started their automatic search for the letter. "What happened to your eye?" Eric used, to stall for time.
"Nothing. It's a brow ring but we are not allowed piercings on show. It's Marketing on this floor. Malcolm's room is through there," the youth suggested pointing with his head as both hands were still in his pockets.
"Thanks very much," Eric said deciding to ask whoever Malcolm was, once he had located the letter and the clerk had gone.
"Cool. I'll take you there. Have you come to see the new ads? They're fabo."
"Well actually I was looking for, er ..." By the time the letter was out again they had arrived outside Malcolm's office. Malcolm had adopted the new style of wearing a suit without a tie, but being short and stocky just made him look as though he hadn't yet finished dressing. His ginger hair and green eyes clashed with the blue pinstripe cloth and lilac shirt, open at the neck.
"Hey Malc. A visitor for you. Got the new ads?" Malcolm shushed both the clerk and the goldfish impersonating Eric, who was trying to say something about, it's OK, he'll find his own way. Malcolm was finishing his phone call to the garage about his choice of company car. The new car scheme had just been announced.
"I can't believe it," he said to Eric and the clerk, who seemed to have nowhere to go. "With this new car leasing scheme, I now qualify for a worse car than I had before. Ridiculous. And I'm a grade higher now. What have YOU got?"
"Er, a Golf actually, but it's my Mum's old one. Not a company car," said Eric.
Malcolm continued his rant, "Well I'm NOT driving a Focus, and that's final. The other thing is, they'll insure a wife or fiancée but not a girlfriend. What's the difference between a fiancée and a girlfriend, I ask you? Hang on. I've an idea." He picked up the phone and tapped a four digit extension. "It's Malc again. Great news, she said yes. I know, it's brilliant. Listen, best not shout about the engagement just yet. We want to tell the parents first and hers are away at the moment ... and she's insured from today? Great. It's Amanda Way. W.A.Y. 18th May '82. Clean licence. Cheers."
With a thumbs up sign he was in a cheerier mood. "What do you think of the new strap line on the ads?" pointing to the three mock up posters around his room. "The Yank is coming today so he might want to see them." Eric's blank look made him continue. "The take-over from Californian International Bank. They say it's a merger but it's not. They're huge, but they don't have much in Europe yet. That's where we come in. Anyway, what do you think? Of the ads, I mean. "Professional, Financial and You". Catchy ain't it?"
"What does it mean?" Eric was still taking in the news that the company that took over his, was now itself being taken over.
"Exactly. What does it mean? Our agency researched the most powerful buzzwords. Anything with "and You" is IN now apparently. Who are you looking for, anyway?"
"H.R."
"Fifteenth floor, mate."
"Now tell me, what do you know about Compliance?" Andrew Campbell was still facing his laptop, tapping the occasional key and looking as though it could explode at any moment. "I don't know why they replaced my PC with this thing. I rarely travel, and when I do, I wouldn't take this with me. Weighs a ton".
"I don't know anything about Compliance. I've come about the Training job advertised on the internal bulletin board. Since we were taken over by you, we get yours as well as ours. Bulletins, I mean." Eric's dream of Chelsea bliss was evaporating. His eyes kept straying to Andrew's comb-over hairstyle, his right eye beginning to twitch.
"Ah, yes. Well the thing is, we've merged Training and Compliance into the same department now and they are one man short. Or person short. Can't say man any more. Why don't you pop down to see Stanley Moss, and have a chat? He heads up that team. I've got to prepare for an important meeting today."
"You mean the American," Eric guessed.
"That's meant to be confidential. You do your homework; I'll give you that. Let me call Stan and tell him to expect you around lunchtime."
Eric was surprised by the timing. "Lunchtime?"
"Yes, didn't I say? He is down in East Grinstead, on the industrial estate. He's in charge of storage and documents. It's all down there in case there's a disaster here in London. Now take the tube to London Bridge. It's two stops on the Northern line but I usually walk it, and the East Grinstead train is usually from platform 8. You might have to change at East Croydon. Good luck." Andrew was now standing and holding out his hand to indicate the meeting was over.
Two hours later the meeting with Stanley confirmed the London dream was over.
"It's all to do with headcount, see?" Stanley explained. Eric clearly didn't see, so he continued. "I'm the Compliance Manager and when the Training Manager left, it was suggested I could take over that role as well. We both shared Maggie, our secretary, so we worked pretty closely together. Anyway, I now have his headcount and the budget for both departments, so I kind of mix and match depending on what's needed. At the moment, it's Compliance. There's new reports coming out all the time which I can't keep up with." His large, kindly face beamed at Eric whilst his chubby fingers jabbed at a small pile of files on his desk in an accusing manner.
Stanley's large droopy eyes resembled those of a bloodhound puppy at a rescue home. Even so, Eric was dismayed at this development. "But the advert said Training Officer required. I don't know anything about Compliance. I did tell Mr Campbell that."
"I know that. No one applied for the Compliance Officer's ad so I thought I'd try with the training vacancy. As long as I don't go over my total headcount, Finance leave me alone. It's very important that Finance leave you alone. They haven't got a clue, but they make you fill out forms and do reports and budget forecasts. You can do some training too when we get time. The only thing is, there's no company car in Compliance but there would be if you were in training. I'm still battling that one. Can you start now, only we've got a lot on?"
"Is that because of the new advertising logo, Professional, Financial and You?" Eric ventured.
Stanley looked at him more intently. "That's meant to be top secret. You do your homework; I'll give you that. Let me introduce you to Maggie. She's from Cardiff but she's really nice. I could do with a cuppa".
Maggie turned out to be a Godsend and was able to fill Eric in on all the background and gossip. "Stanley used to have a lovely office in Head Office. Not big, like, but a corner room overlooking the courtyard at the back. When he heard that Record Storage and Disaster Recovery was up for grabs he thought it would be a doddle. Well it is really, for him anyway. I do it all. Four big boxes come in once a week and I take them downstairs and file them. Sometimes in date order, sometimes in alphabetical, depending on my whim.
"Stanley loves the Disaster Recovery. He has to do a drill twice a year for the whole company. He waits till there's something really good on the telly in an evening, like the X Factor final or the Royal Variety with Jonathan Ross, I like him, and then he makes the calls. He has to phone the six Directors and they cascade down to their reports and then they call everyone else in their department. They have to repeat some made up story that he gives them, like there's a bomb in the Liverpool office, warn your direct reports and confirm tomorrow how many people got the message. His record is 68% which is quite good really."
Maggie had a round face with red cheeks and short brown hair. Her cardigan had the top button only done up. She showed Eric around the office and the storage records, "In case I go on holiday and you have to do them," and the huge volume of compliance files that horrified him further. "In fact I am going on holiday next week, to Bermuda as it happens. I love it there. I have at least three holidays a year," she announced happily.
Eric was shocked. He had been to Dublin twice and a few trips to Liverpool on the ferry. His pay seemed to go on rent and beer. A trip to Bermuda seemed unimaginable. He still had a nagging feeling that he hadn't done something when he realised he hadn't really had an interview, but the job seemed to be his, and not the one he was expecting or qualified for.
Chapter Two
Isaac Steele III landed at Heathrow at 7.15 that morning. His three thousand dollar blue suit contrasted nicely with his light brown short hair. He loved the sound that his hand-made Cheaney shoes made when he walked on a hard surface. He was accompanied by his Corporate Legal Council & Deputy Vice President — Northern Hemisphere, Jennifer Pace. Her grey striped suit, long black hair and leather laptop case ensured no-one confused her as neither Steele's wife nor secretary. Steele had been at Californian International Bank for eighteen years and was one of the minority on the Board who had voted against the acquisition of NML. Having to come to England at such an important time in the Baseball season irritated him immensely. Especially now that the Company President had changed his expansion focus onto Asia and away from Europe. New targets in India and China were being looked at with double digit returns on capital, so this project had now turned into an inconvenient mistake. And that was pre Credit Crunch.
"Jenny, let's make this real quick. I need you to check out the assets. See what we can sell off and what is worth keeping, if anything. I need to get back to the World by month end, latest. The Father-in-law's birthday, and it could be his last, with luck. Still time to change the will though. You get the bags, I need to double check I got the air- miles for your flight as well as mine. You sure you don't need them? I'm almost up to a half million. Ain't that something?" Jenny's smile and nod went unnoticed. What she needed was for this assignment to go well enough for the year-end bonus targets in two months. Her manager had one measure only when comparing his direct reports. Cost savings over last year, and Deputy VP Southern Hemi had shut down a number of branches in Australia and South Africa recently. The financial turmoil was biting hard. By the time she was through, National Medical Life would be reduced down to a filing cabinet. She was looking out of the taxi's window at the stationary cars listening to Isaac complain about the traffic. It was twenty to nine on the M4 into London and he hated arriving late. Jennifer could not persuade him to take the train and was now enduring a tirade as to why there was a "Special arrival gate for EU passport holders whilst Americans had to wait in line with everyone else from Africa and all those other places. So much for the special relationship we have with the Brits."
"Let's go through those numbers again. We might need to take this meeting on my cellphone's conference speaker if this cab doesn't move soon." Steele opened his slim, $800 kid-skin briefcase and took out some papers. "What do we absolutely have to keep as a starting point?"
"From a headcount point of view, not much. Legally we need to keep the Finance Director, Chairman and Compliance Officer. You can act as CEO for them to report to and I can be acting Company Secretary. The rest of the staff can be culled or sold, but there are liabilities from the existing book of customers that we need to fund for, unless that is sold too. We still need to keep records but that can be outsourced if it's cheaper. We can probably sell the staff pension liability too at a price. I've set up some meetings this week with a number of European banks looking to buy into the UK."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Merger Mayhemby George Pavlou Copyright © 2009 by George Pavlou. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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