The Lost Girl (A Mickey Keller Thriller Book 1) Page 4

  “Yes, angel investors are where you want to start. If things go well…” Lira shrugged. “We can sit down and talk some more. If your prospects are promising, we’ll buy out the angel investors at a hefty profit and start pumping money into your business. Millions. For a percentage of the company, of course.”

  Since Ellis was not much of a businessman, Christine had given him her input and did some research. He at least arrived in San Francisco equipped to ask a few pertinent questions. “What percent?”

  “Can’t say at this point. But VC takes a big enough chunk to make our investment pay off. Otherwise, if the ROI, or return on investment, isn’t sufficient, there are other places we could be deploying that capital. There’s gotta be enough in it for us. You understand.”

  Ellis did not like it, but he understood. As a neophyte small business owner, profit and loss were concepts he was becoming all too familiar with. If he didn’t make money and watch his expenses, he would not be able to keep his doors open very long. That much was simple math.

  “How do I find these angel investors?”

  “A guy I know focuses on health care and medical device companies. Is there technology involved in your business?”

  “Yes. A lot.”

  “Even better. I’ll set you up.” Lira pulled out his iPhone and a moment later was chatting with someone he appeared to be very friendly with. He handed the device to Ellis, who answered some questions, set an appointment for the next day, and then ended the call.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank me after they decide to invest. Until then, I didn’t do you any favors except make a phone call.”

  EVERYTHING HAD GONE AS LIRA had described. Lira’s company, AIL, had bought out the angel investors two years into the venture and promptly provided, in addition to expertise and cash, a credit line that Ellis tapped as they expanded and hired a consultant to take the product through the process to obtain FDA approval.

  The credit line expanded as more capital was needed to market LifeScreen to the medical practitioners who would either sign on for the genetic screening service or purchase the equipment and computer software that would assist in the analysis, identification, and filtering of the most disease-free and genetically “normal” embryos a couple could implant.

  “This has the potential to revolutionize health care,” Ellis told Lira when they were ramping up for the IPO process. “Think about it. How much society pays for the care and support of people with genetic diseases—it’s a staggering sum.”

  “And we own the patents.”

  “One thing, though. I’ve heard some grumbling from a couple of friends, liberal types, who feel this will only benefit those who can afford to have the tests run.”

  “How’s that different from, say, cancer therapy?”

  “Well, a lot of cancer therapies are covered by insurance. In a lot of states, IVF isn’t—so who knows if LifeScreen would be, either. I’ve got some people working on that, a lobbyist in DC who’s making the pitch to several members of Congress, showing how it’ll dramatically reduce health care costs. But we had another idea.”

  Lira leaned back in his leather chair. “And that is?”

  “We take one percent of our net profit and put it into a beneficiary fund. We dole it out on a first-come-first-served basis. We let someone from a federal agency make the distribution so we don’t have any liability for who gets the grant and who doesn’t in case the money runs out in a given fiscal year.”

  “One percent of net.” Lira rocked in his seat, mulling the idea. Finally he nodded. “I like it. It neutralizes the argument before it becomes an issue—before it becomes a political issue.”

  “Exactly. And it gets us some terrific PR—completely free—that we’d otherwise pay millions for. Not to mention the goodwill it’d generate.”

  “Brilliant, Brandon.”

  “It was mostly Christine’s idea.”

  “Let’s build it into our presentation. I’ll have my marketing guys coordinate with yours, make sure the message is properly conveyed.”

  IN MANY WAYS, FOUR YEARS passed quickly. But at other times it crawled by with the alacrity of a tortoise.

  “So,” Lira said, “this begins your last two weeks as a well-to-do citizen. At the end of the month, you’ll join the exclusive ranks of billionaire entrepreneur.”

  Ellis shook his head in disbelief. “I always figured I’d do well in reproductive medicine. But this is way beyond anything I thought possible.”

  Lira consulted his watch. “I’ve got a roomful of people waiting to walk you through what’s going to happen during the next couple of weeks. You ready?”

  Ellis rubbed his palms together. “Let’s do it.”

  As he entered the conference room, Ellis was surprised that every seat was taken. Since starting the company, he had sat in dozens of meetings, but during the past month they had intensified in frequency and in the number of individuals attending. Still, this was the first time the large oval table was packed shoulder to shoulder. All were in custom suits, the women among them wearing exquisitely tailored business attire.

  He recognized about a third of the people in the room. Lira had told him to expect representatives from the investment banker, Soliman Perkins, AIL Venture Capital, their underwriters, law firms representing all three entities, and support staff.

  Christine was not present, by design. As they had decided early on, Ellis possessed the better constitution for serving as the inspirational figurehead.

  “Good morning,” Ellis said. “It’s been a marathon, but we’re incredibly close now. I want to thank every one of you who’s been involved in the process, and all those behind the scenes who’ve made this a reality. We’re going to enrich ourselves, yes—but we’re also going to enrich the lives of each and every one of those parents and parents-to-be who come to us hoping to avoid the scourge of horrible, painful genetic diseases that, up till now, were largely left to chance.

  “We’ve almost completely eliminated that randomness—and with it, cut the risk of contracting a debilitating condition by sixty-nine percent.” Ellis waved a hand. “I know many of you in this room have seen the statistics. Some have parsed the research data. But for those who haven’t, this is going to be an exciting day for this country. And eventually all developed countries in the world.”

  “The cost savings to health care will be enormous,” Lira added, “the strain on governments running national health care programs reduced considerably. For those of you not on the analytics or marketing side, that’s a prime reason why we’ve been so successful in gaining relatively swift FDA approval and the endorsement of medical organizations in over a dozen countries.”

  Lira continued speaking, then called on each of those attending to provide status reports.

  Todd Soliman, sporting salt-and-pepper hair and wearing a red power tie and navy pinstriped suit with a white pocket square, looked the part of a successful entrepreneur. “Some great news. In the past hour, we’ve gotten buy ratings from Citigroup, Morgan Stanley, JPMorgan, and Bank of America. We’re expecting UBS to fall in line as well, tomorrow at the latest.”

  A round of applause broke out—which surprised Ellis. He felt overwhelmed by the swell of excitement—and surge of adrenaline—in his chest. If he didn’t know the cause, he would have suspected the tightness was the onset of a massive heart attack brought on by the stress of taking the company public. He allowed a grin to spread his lips.

  Securing the buy ratings was a significant development, one that Lira had predicted just prior to the “road show” portion of the IPO process, but could not guarantee. Now it was in the bag, substantially improving their ability to score a huge payday.

  AIL would be cashing out upon the IPO launch, its job done, profits booked, and the funds reinvested into another private company’s efforts to take its organization public.
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  “We have fourteen days until we launch,” Lira said. “You’re all professionals in this room, but I feel better saying it nonetheless: we’re still in the quiet period. Most analysts will respect that. But if you get a call from some up-and-comer looking to make a splash, just say, ‘No comment’ and hang up.”

  A woman raised her pen in the air.

  “Yes.” Lira pointed at her.

  “Nora Dickson, marketing. I’ve got a request from Vanity Fair to do a personal interest story on Drs. Ellis and their daughter, Melissa. It’s a soft promo for LifeScreen and because of the IPO’s quiet period, it’ll only make peripheral mention of the company. This’ll focus on your personal lives, to show the people behind the venture. That Melissa is your only living relative makes it even more of a human-interest story. It’s for their next issue. Cover story. Coming on the—”

  “No.” Ellis’s face had flushed. He turned to Lira, then swung his gaze back to Nora. “We discussed this. Privacy is very important to both myself and Christine. Using our daughter’s face to promote LifeScreen is one thing, but talking about her, our lives, any of that, is just off-limits. I mean, Melissa just turned five years old. Jesus Christ.”

  “Dr. Ellis, my job is to promote your company and maximize its value. And in turn enhance shareholder value. This feature would be the lead in a top ten periodical with a solid web property. Hitting so soon after the IPO would give us a tremendous boost and second wind at a pivotal mo—”

  “No.” His gaze bore into hers.

  “Where do things stand with Melissa?” one of the senior bankers asked, breaking the tension in the room.

  “The photos were taken a week before the road show,” Nora said. “The videographers finished shooting their B-roll and worked through the night to assemble the promo piece and sizzle reel.”

  “It helped a lot with the investment bank pitches,” Lira said. “For those of you who haven’t seen it, Melissa’s a beautiful girl and her wholesome looks drive home the emotional aspect of what LifeScreen is all about. She is, after all, a product of LifeScreen’s technology.”

  Nora nodded. “A long-form version is being put together as well as various shorts for Facebook and Instagram ads that’ll be demographically targeted to all women of child-bearing age.”

  “About the Vanity Fair piece,” Soliman said. “I appreciate you wanting to maintain some degree of privacy, Dr. Ellis. But does privacy really exist anymore?”

  Nora spread her hands. “Even if it did, didn’t you give it up when you made Melissa the poster child for LifeScreen?”

  The muscles in Ellis’s jaw contracted. “No.”

  “I can make sure we guide the quest—”

  “I don’t know how else to say it, Nora. We. Are. Not. Doing it.”

  “Okay,” Lira said, holding up his right hand. “Let’s all take a deep breath. Dr. Ellis and I will discuss this—in private—and we’ll get back to you, Nora, on potential options. Maybe the editor would be open to a different angle. Meantime, let’s not take any action.”

  Nora turned away and bit her bottom lip. The others in the room did their best not to make eye contact, studying their pens, tablets, and laptops.

  “Excuse me,” Ellis said. He turned and reached the door in two strides, slamming against it with his left forearm and continuing down the hall.

  LIRA CLEARED HIS THROAT. “We’ve all seen this before, people. The final weeks and days before an IPO are incredibly stressful for everyone—no one more so than the company’s founder. He had the vision and the idea, and he shouldered the early risk. It’s his baby and he’s now getting ready to send her off into the world.

  “That’s stressful enough, but he and Dr. Ellis have a lot riding on what happens during the next couple weeks. Do it right and they’ll become billionaires overnight, wealthy beyond anyone’s dreams. Do it wrong, fuck up in any way, and they’ll be facing a depression the likes of which they’ve never experienced. It could rip apart their marriage, destroy their family.”

  Nora nodded but did not make eye contact, her gaze fixed on her iPad as she scribbled a note.

  “I know how hard it is to get these features. I’ll talk with him. We’ll work something out.”

  She glanced up and Lira gave her a reassuring wink before turning his attention to the large screen behind him.

  7

  Ellis walked into his office, his blood pressure still elevated, his jaw still clenched.

  Christine was sitting at his desk. “Well?”

  He looked at her.

  She studied his face. “What’s wrong?”

  Ellis took a deep breath and shook his head. “Everything’s fine. I’m—I’m just on edge. They want to do a—” He waved a hand at the dead air. “Never mind. Not important.”

  Christine pushed out of the chair and stepped in front of Ellis, gave him a hug. “We’re in the home stretch. It’ll be over soon.”

  “I know. I just have to get through the next two weeks.”

  “Is Lira causing problems?”

  Ellis leaned away. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because they’re vultures. They’ve taken half our company. For what? It was all our idea, our hard work to make it a reality. The eighty-hour work weeks for the past seven years. The stress we’ve been under, what that’s done to us. Our marriage. Do I have to go on?” She dropped her arms and walked away from him. “Their price is too high. Greedy bastards.”

  “Without their capital we’d have nothing but a great idea,” he said to her back. “No way to execute. You know this. Nothing’s changed.”

  “What’s changed is that they are about to reap a financial windfall—from our idea and our hard work.”

  “I didn’t want to give away the store either. But there was no choice. You had no idea how to develop the product, build the business, or even fund it. Neither did I. And I sure as hell didn’t have the contacts to get us to—and through—each phase.”

  Christine shook her head. “I knew it’d come back to bite us in the ass. I told you when you first signed on with that angel investor.”

  “It was our only way to make it work.” He walked over to her and gently turned her around. “They’re not the only ones who are going to reap a financial windfall. We’re going to be billionaires. Whether it’s one or two, three or four, what does it matter? It’s more money than anyone needs in a lifetime. Ten lifetimes.” He shook his head. “I mean, it’s a thousand million. Or two thousand million. Either way, that’s…it’s an inconceivable amount of money.”

  Christine scoffed. “You’ve always lacked drive, Brandon. Ambition. If it wasn’t for me pushing you, lighting the fire every step of the way…” She put a hand on his chest and drove him back. “You never were a good negotiator. I told you: you had to be prepared to walk away from the deal and tell them no. Remember?”

  How could he forget?

  “But you didn’t even make a counteroffer.”

  “That wasn’t the right call at the time.”

  “Maybe we could’ve found a way to do it without Lira and his conspirators. You could’ve brought me into the negotiations. I’d have put them in their place.”

  He had no doubt she would have. And it could have blown the deal apart before it got off the ground.

  When he was negotiating their first office space lease, Christine did not like the conditions the landlord put on them—in the eleventh hour—and told the guy it’d be the original deal terms they agreed on or they’d find another medical building. The man told them to take a hike. They spent three months finding a suitable location—and ended up paying more per square foot. In standing their ground, Christine thought they had won but they had really lost, something she refused to admit.

  “Look,” Ellis said, choosing not to dredge up old arguments. “How about we focus on the good this screening technology wi
ll do for millions of people?”

  “After all we’ve been through, the sacrifices we’ve made, the only millions I’m concerned about are the ones this deal will be netting us. In our brokerage account.”

  “And you call them greedy? I wish you’d open your eyes and appreciate what you’ve got. Your dear departed daddy always made sure you got whatever you wanted. You have no idea what it’s like to do without.”

  Christine reached back and slapped his left cheek.

  It caught him off guard and he felt his jaw clunk. The skin tingled and burned simultaneously.

  It was not the first time she had done that. It was not the tenth.

  Ellis clenched his molars, walked past her, and sat down at his desk. “I’ve got work to do. Please close the door on your way out.”

  8

  Amy walked briskly toward the large plaid flannel blanket stretched across the grass a few dozen feet from the lake’s edge. The noon sun streamed through the tall trees and a cool breeze rippled across the leaves.

  As Amy crossed the street, she saw the ice cream truck that Melissa had mentioned was at the curb serving children and adults out of its large side window.

  Giselle turned to see Amy approaching. Amy held up the waxed white bag containing the heavy pumpernickel loaf and smiled. Giselle tapped Melissa’s arm. The girl spun on her tiny rear and clapped when she saw Amy.

  “You knew I’d keep my promise, didn’t you?”

  Melissa jumped to her feet. “Is the brown bread in there?”

  “It is.” Amy took a seat between the two of them and unrolled the top edges of the bag. She held it up for Melissa to peer inside.

  “It is brown.”

  “Of course it is, silly. That’s why I called it brown bread. Actually, the real name is—”

  “Plum,” Melissa said, bouncing up and down on her knees. “Plum-something.”

  “Pumpernickel.” Amy reached in and removed three paper plates and a compostable knife, then cut into the loaf. “I know, it’s a strange name.”