fictionpage Chapter 279 Well-intentioned Opportunism
Chapter 279 Well-intentioned Opportunism
(A long chapter of 5400 words~)
The Upper East Side of Manhattan. The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
1:15 PM.
The private exhibition hall was empty. Soft halo lights from the ceiling shone down vertically, illuminating the oil paint textures of the 19th-century Post-Impressionist paintings on the walls with exquisite detail.
Satsuki wore a beige thin long trench coat, with a dark black silk short-sleeved shirt underneath, and a fitted skirt in the same color.
She stopped in front of a landscape painting by Paul Cézanne.
On the canvas, the outline of Mont Sainte-Victoire is divided and recombined by large blocks of geometric color.
Satsuki had her hands in the pockets of her trench coat, her gaze slowly moving upwards along the brushstrokes in the lower right corner of the painting. The colors of the painting left dappled light and shadow on her retina.
She took a deep breath and, with her left hand discreetly pressing on her flat stomach from the outside of her trench coat pocket.
A very faint feeling of fullness (an illusion) still lingered in my stomach.
As Gaoyue looked at the blue-gray sky in the painting, thickly layered with paint, a faint smile gradually appeared on her lips.
It feels so good to be willful.
Actually, the day before yesterday, she had only planned to leave those bureaucrats waiting for a few hours. But she was so childish as to argue over a steak, thinking that since it had already been delayed by several hours, adding a few dozen more hours wouldn't bother those uncles, right?
While such behavior may have considerations related to business negotiations, it is still a very immature approach overall.
But I have the right to do this! Does it have to be to work myself to death to be considered completely rational?
If it were in a previous life.
That young analyst who works hard at a Wall Street investment bank for a year-end bonus of tens of thousands of dollars, even if he has stomach cramps so bad that he needs to swallow a lot of painkillers, would he still run into the conference room with his heavy briefcase the moment he gets off the plane?
They were terrified that being even a minute late would get them kicked out of the acquisition team involving hundreds of millions of dollars...
By the way, is this painting a fake? I remember the real one was in the gallery above the Crystal Palace.
Just then, steady footsteps echoed from the oak floor of the corridor.
Frank, carrying a black leather briefcase, strode into the private showroom. He stopped about two meters to the side and slightly behind Satsuki.
"Boss."
Frank's voice was very low.
"The office of Chief Liquidator Miller at RTC (Restructuring Trust) New York has just made its fifth call."
Frank opened the brass clasp on his briefcase and took out a travel confirmation slip.
"The other party's secretary repeatedly confirmed your schedule for today over the phone. I gave an affirmative answer."
"Are you sure you're attending the meeting today?"
Satsuki continued to look at the landscape painting in front of her, without turning around.
"Okay, let's do it today. It would be impolite to break our promises too many times."
"How are those middle-aged men doing?"
"According to our informant within RTC, Miller's team has recalculated the late payment interest and security costs for those twenty commercial buildings in the past 48 hours. Their departmental meeting this morning was very tense."
Frank laid the itinerary flat on the side of his briefcase.
"The Congressional Budget Committee has put tremendous pressure on them. Washington needs to see the bad debts cleared from the books. Miller must deliver a substantive asset disposal report by next Wednesday."
"Uncle, you've really worked hard..."
Satsuki turned around.
She removed her hands from the edge of her trench coat pockets and let them hang naturally at her sides.
"Let's go."
She started walking towards the exit of the exhibition hall.
"Let's go see what plan they have prepared for us."
……
Midtown Manhattan, the New York office building of Restructuring Trust Company (RTC).
When the cold wind blew in from the car corridor downstairs, Satsuki left her light windbreaker in the car.
She was only wearing a dark black silk short-sleeved shirt today, a choice she regretted the moment she stepped into the building—the air conditioning in America is free, it can be as cold as you want.
Satsuki shivered and subtly touched her bare arms. It wasn't appropriate to go back for her clothes now, as Frank had already pushed open the door to Conference Room One.
Four men in dark suits sat around a long, narrow walnut conference table.
Upon hearing the door open, Chief Liquidator Miller, who was sitting in the main seat, was the first to stand up.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Saionji, Mr. Frank."
Miller walked around the conference table and went to the doorway to greet him.
His smile was so considerate that you couldn't tell he'd been deliberately ignored by the spoiled young lady for 48 hours.
The two shook hands and sat down. Miller's assistant brought coffee and asked Satsuki if she wanted hot tea instead.
"Are you feeling better?" Miller asked as he sat back down at the head of the table. "The temperature difference in New York this time of year is huge, and many people struggle to adjust. If we need a break during the meeting today, please let us know."
His concern was expressed so naturally, as if he were genuinely worried about a guest who had come from afar.
Even though his life wasn't easy in reality—the RTC had a timetable for handling these assets, and the Congressional Budget Committee hearing was next month; every day of delay increased the pressure on him. Satsuki had made him wait forty-eight hours; not only could he not rush her, but he also had to worry about her health.
"Thank you for your concern, I'm much better now," Satsuki said, her tone carrying just the right amount of apology. "I'm so sorry for taking up everyone's time."
"Not at all," Miller waved his hand. "Health is the most important thing."
Frank sat down next to her and placed his black leather briefcase flat on the table.
Satsuki's gaze swept across the table.
In front of Miller and his subordinates, besides the newly printed asset appraisal book bound in color, lay several old legal records.
The words "failed to sell" and "sold out" were visible at the edge of the top document.
Next to these documents lay a stack of forms bearing the RTC internal accounting watermark. The edges of the papers still held a trace of the printer toner's warmth.
The header of the form reads "48-Hour Maintenance and Interest Additional Calculation Sheet".
It seems that some people are indeed in a hurry.
Satsuki placed her hands, folded together, on the table.
Miller sat back down in the main seat. He straightened the hem of his suit and pushed a colored evaluation booklet in front of him forward half an inch.
"Ms. Saionji," Miller said, placing his hands crossed on the table and getting straight to the point, "Regarding the list of prime Manhattan commercial properties that you previously expressed interest in acquiring, our team has spent the last two days re-organizing and categorizing them."
He glanced at his subordinate beside him. The subordinate immediately distributed several bound, color-coded evaluation booklets to Satsuki and Frank.
"These twenty buildings are currently either stalled or vacant due to the original developer's broken funding chain." Miller looked at Satsuki. "Washington has extremely high expectations for the disposal of these assets. We have a responsibility to taxpayers' money and must ensure the maximum recovery of asset value."
Satsuki listened quietly. She didn't open the evaluation book in front of her.
"Therefore, the committee has decided to break up these assets." Miller tapped his fingers lightly on the table. "We will separate five of the best-located properties and sell them as a separate Grade A asset package."
"These five buildings include that old, twenty-story trust fund building," Miller paused for two seconds, "their locations are impeccable, and their ground floor value remains strong. We will settle them separately at a price slightly below the current market valuation."
"As for the remaining fifteen properties, they will be packaged into a Grade B asset package. If SA Investment is willing to take over, we can offer you a very attractive discount on the price of the Grade B package."
The only sound in the meeting room was the hum of the air conditioner.
Frank turned his head and exchanged a very brief glance with Satsuki.
Frank opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick due diligence report.
"Mr. Miller," Frank placed the report flat on the table, "regarding the Class A asset package you mentioned, our engineering assessment team completed the site survey last week."
Frank looked directly into Miller's eyes.
"That old trust fund building used a lot of asbestos materials left over from the 1970s in its ventilation ducts and fireproof layers."
"If it is to be put back into commercial operation, an asbestos stripping project must be carried out in accordance with the Federal Environmental Protection Agency's (EPA) highest national emission standards (NESHAP)."
Frank turned to the fourth page of the report and pointed to the budget table at the top.
"The cost of this stripping project alone, plus the subsequent reinforcement of the internal load-bearing walls, has already exceeded 20 million US dollars."
Miller's subordinate immediately opened the file in his hand and leaned forward.
"Mr. Frank, asbestos is a common problem in older buildings in Manhattan. We've already deducted $20 million in anticipated repair costs from the overall valuation of Package A," his subordinate quickly responded. "Even with repair costs included, its prime location still commands a premium exceeding our quote."
"The twenty million dollars is just the cost of the project itself," Frank said calmly. "That doesn't include the ripple effects it triggers."
Frank turned to the next page of the report.
"Once asbestos removal work begins, EPA inspectors will immediately move into the site. This will trigger an extremely complicated work stoppage review process."
"At the same time, the Manhattan Construction Union will never allow workers into asbestos-contaminated areas without the highest level of protective equipment. This would trigger protests against hazardous work, or even a full-blown strike lasting for months."
Frank looked at his subordinate across from him.
"In the current credit crunch caused by the savings and loan crisis, no commercial bank in the United States will approve a loan for the repair of a building with serious environmental defects and the risk of strikes."
"This building is a high-quality asset on your books," Frank said, closing the report. "But in reality, it's a liquidity quagmire that can't be financed and has to be constantly filled with pure cash."
The subordinate was rendered speechless by this detailed data-driven counterattack. He opened his mouth, trying to find a new angle, but found that the other party's logic was airtight.
He turned his head and looked at Miller for help.
Miller kept his hands crossed. He rubbed the pads of his thumbs together twice on the backs of his hands.
"Mr. Frank's due diligence is very thorough," Miller adjusted his posture. "However, these problems are not insurmountable. We can further adjust the weighting of repair costs in the valuation model..."
Satsuki extended her fingers, which were gloved with thin leather.
He tapped the smooth mahogany table surface twice with his fingertips.
"Tap. Tap."
The crisp knocking sound interrupted Miller's defensive rhetoric.
Satsuki raised her head and looked directly at Miller.
"Mr. Miller, your finance department should have recalculated the bills within the last forty-eight hours."
Her gaze fell on the form in front of Miller, still warm from the ink.
"These twenty buildings generate exorbitant property maintenance and security costs every day."
Satsuki stretched out her right hand and pinched the edge of the "48-Hour Maintenance and Interest Supplement Calculation Sheet".
He pushed it back along the mahogany tabletop. The paper slid across the surface and stopped right under Miller's nose.
"Your budget is being drained of funds by these empty concrete frames."
"The hundreds of billions of dollars in holes left by those bankrupt banks require massive amounts of cash to fill. And the congressional committees in Washington need to see the deficits closed."
Satsuki placed her hands, folded together, on the table.
SA Investments rejects any form of asset splitting.
"We only accept bulk sales. Package A and Package B must be bundled together."
"Furthermore, the total price of these twenty assets must be discounted by 70% from your current total valuation."
"Three-fold settlement".
The air in the conference room froze for a few seconds.
The young liquidator next to Miller sat up abruptly.
"A 30% discount? Miss Saionji!" The young liquidator's voice rose eight octaves. "This price isn't even half of the original developer's land acquisition cost! The Diet will absolutely not approve such a liquidation agreement!"
Satsuki didn't even glance at the young liquidator.
Her gaze remained fixed on Miller's face.
"Mr. Miller."
Satsuki's voice was extremely calm.
"As soon as we sign the letter of intent, SA Investment will issue a cash draft fully guaranteed by Chase Manhattan Bank this afternoon."
"This amount of pure cash, amounting to hundreds of millions of dollars, will appear in the RTC's Federal Reserve account before the banks close for the day."
"This money can cover your deficit in minutes. It will allow you to take a complete liquidation report to Washington."
She looked at Miller.
"In the current credit environment, there is no other institution on the market that can come up with hundreds of millions of dollars in pure cash to absorb the entire non-performing asset portfolio in one go."
The choice is yours.
"Or, take this cash to settle the matter."
"Either you continue to hold onto these empty steel and concrete structures and face tomorrow's soaring interest and security bills."
Miller did not answer immediately.
He lowered his head, looking at the accounting sheet that had been pushed back to him. The numerous failed bids over the past few months were magnified in the face of this cold reality. Without credit support, no one was willing to take on these flawed, heavy assets.
"Ms. Saionji," Miller lowered his voice, "this discount... I need to consult with Washington."
"Of course," Satsuki said. "However, Mr. Miller, the Chase Manhattan Bank branches close at 5 p.m. today. Cashier's checks need to be issued at the counter."
She glanced at the watch on her wrist.
"It's 2:40 PM now."
Miller remained silent for a long time.
He turned his head and exchanged a fleeting glance with his team members beside him. His subordinates looked at each other in bewilderment. The young liquidator who had just spoken out in protest lowered his head and remained silent.
Miller let out a long breath.
He loosened his crossed hands, picked up the pen on the table, and uncapped it.
"Mr. Frank," Miller's voice was weary, "please have your legal team bring over the entire acquisition offer letter of intent."
Frank nodded, pulled three thick legal documents from his briefcase, and pushed them across the table.
The only sounds in the meeting room were the rustling of papers turning and the scratching of pens on paper.
The legal team and liquidators meticulously reviewed the exclusivity clauses and details of the reserve price in the letter of intent, word by word.
4:15 PM.
Miller signed his name at the end of the final letter of intent.
Frank also signed in the buyer's section.
The settlement price of 30% has now been locked in. The subsequent congressional audit and formal transfer process will be handled by the legal teams of both parties.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Saionji." Miller stood up. But there was no joy on his face, only a sense of relief after shedding a heavy burden.
"It's a pleasure working with you, Mr. Miller." Satsuki nodded slightly.
Miller picked up his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair and, with a slightly heavy gait, led his team out of the conference room. They were heading to the legal department to handle the subsequent filing procedures.
The heavy wooden door slowly closed behind them. The lock clicked crisply.
Only Satsuki and Frank remained in the meeting room.
The tense, business-like atmosphere in the air vanished the moment the door closed.
Satsuki's originally straight back slumped slightly.
The moment the door closed, her shoulders immediately hunched over.
She crossed her arms and hugged her bare arms, which were exposed outside her black silk short-sleeved shirt. She rubbed them up and down vigorously a couple of times.
A fine layer of particles appeared on her fair skin.
She frowned slightly.
"Honestly, I should have made them sell it for a lower price, these barbarians who don't know how to treat ladies." Satsuki sniffed, her voice trembling slightly from the cold. "Are they planning to keep penguins in the conference room?"
Frank stood to the side. He looked at his boss's current state, a smile appearing in his eyes.
Frank turned around and opened the black leather briefcase.
He took out a silver stainless steel thermos from the inner compartment of the briefcase.
He unscrewed the lid of the thermos. A rich steam, carrying the sweet aroma of cocoa butter and fresh milk, filled the cold air.
Frank flipped the lid of the thermos over and filled it with steaming hot cocoa.
He held the cup with both hands and handed it to Satsuki.
"This was prepared in advance to prevent you from feeling uncomfortable during the negotiations," Frank said calmly. "The temperature is just right."
Satsuki reached out and took the slightly hot cup lid, glanced at Frank, and said earnestly.
"Frank, you may be the last gentleman in America."
I held the cup tightly in both hands. The heat seeped into my palms little by little.
She lowered her head and gently blew away the rising steam. She took a small sip.
The rich, hot cocoa slid down my throat, and the chill in my stomach subsided somewhat. A touch of color gradually returned to my cheeks.
Holding the cup, Satsuki stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window of the conference room.
The Midtown Manhattan skyline was etched with jagged outlines in the afternoon light. The massive blocks of steel and glass curtain walls were bathed in a pale golden hue of the setting sun.
Some of them, from today onwards, belong to her.