The Collectibles by James J. Kaufman Read Free Book Online Page A

that had picked up the too-good-to-be-true numbers on the operating statements of San Francisco Autoplaza; his shrewd questioning and persistence that uncovered the general manager’s attempt to hide the capital losses.
    The silence was interrupted by an older woman who asked them to follow her to Mr. Brookfield’s corner office.
    â€œGood morning, Preston, Casey. Glad you could make it. Would you like coffee, tea?” He came around his large cherry desk and offered his hand. Andrew Brookfield was six feet, one inch tall, on the slight side, and wore thin, gold-framed glasses in front of intelligent if darting blue eyes. Except for his thin, gray hair he carried his sixty-four years well, leaving one with the impression that his experiences at Harvard and later with the United States Commerce Department, followed by the Securities and Exchange Commission, were all taken in stride.
    â€œNo, thank you, Andrew,” Preston said. “Can we sit at your table in the corner?”
    â€œOf course, please,” Andrew said as he gestured, picked up a yellow pad, carefully selected one of his three fountain pens from the inside of his suit jacket pocket, and strolled to the corner where they sat on comfortable straight chairs with high backs, gathered around a small, round marble table. Casey took a yellow pad from his briefcase and prepared to record every word that Andrew said at his billable rate of $680 per hour. “Well, Andrew, have you taken Wilson’s temperature?” Preston asked.
    â€œYes, several times,” Andrew replied.
    â€œLet’s have it,” Preston said, looking at Casey, who was studying the parquet wood that surrounded the border on top of the table. Casey, of course, had informed Preston of San Francisco’s cooking of the books and said he regarded the situation as serious, a word Casey did not overuse.
    â€œAs you know, Wilson Holdings has guaranteed the debt of its six subsidiaries, and each has guaranteed the debt of the others. Accordingly, they are all cross-collateralized . . . ”
    â€œExcept for East Bay Porsche Audi,” Casey interrupted.
    â€œWell, East Bay is the only store standing alone and in the black at the moment,” Andrew acknowledged. “As you know,” he continued, “the only franchises East Bay has are Porsche, Audi, and Range Rover. While these franchises are not down as much as Ford and certainly not demonstrating the huge losses being generally realized in Chrysler or GM stores, their volume is only average, and insufficient to carry any of your other stores, let alone all of them.”
    Andrew rose from the table and poured himself a glass of water from the Waterford cut glass pitcher. Turning to Preston and Casey, he continued the lecture.
    â€œYou have $16.4 million past due in cap loans in three of your stores, some going back six months. The banks are pressing . . . hard. In an off-the-record statement, the bank’s counsel in San Francisco told me she thinks your operating statements are bogus and your dealership’s are SOT. She is threatening to go to the manufacturers on the statements, and we can expect her to seek a Temporary Restraining Order to protect the bank. In other situations, some suits have already been commenced and it’s foreseeable that more will follow.”
    â€œWhat’s the good news?” Preston asked with a tight smile that never reached his eyes.
    â€œWe have had the privilege of serving you for many years. You like your coffee strong and the talk served straight.” Andrew pulled his vest down as he made this remark. Casey looked over at Preston and rolled his eyes which, if Andrew saw, he ignored.
    â€œThis is a serious matter. What I have not covered yet are the audits. Each demonstrates non-payment under the terms of the floor plan. Our auditors are still trying to determine how much.”
    Andrew returned to the table, set down his glass, perused his