Episode Five: Racing the Clock
by Terri Main
Sam held Cindy’s business card in his hand. He wasn’t exactly sure what happened. Women usually didn’t just run off from him, especially women who have projects he might invest in. He tucked the card in his jacket pocket.
Brinngg!
Sam pulled the phone out of his pocket. He checked the caller ID. Carter Henderson was calling. Carter was part investor and part gambler. He had billions and was working on trillions. He could make you rich or drive you to bankruptcy, but it was always an exciting ride.
“Carter, what are you up to, you old scoundrel!” Carter and Sam had gone to college together.
“Well, I’ve got a hundred million dollars to invest, and I’m looking for a sure fire investment. I want you to have first crack at the financing. I know you are always on the lookout for unique opportunities.”
“Well, things have been slow. I don’t know—” Sam looked back at the booth. “I might have something for you, though. A brand new venture in the health field. I need to talk to the principal involved. When do you need to know?”
“That’s the thing Sammy boy. This money has to be invested before the end of the fiscal year. I need to get a proposal on my desk in 48 hours. Otherwise, I’ll need to find someone else. I had another project underway, but that one fell through when the CEO was arrested for insider trading. It will be a huge mess with my accounting and tax filings if I don’t find some place to park that money.”
“Okay, forty-eight hours. I can work with that. I just need to get in touch with someone. Email me the paperwork and requirements. I will expect my standard finder’s fee,” said Sam.
“Ten percent as usual if you close the deal by midnight tomorrow. I can’t wait to see what you have for me. That last deal you brought me made us both a good chunk of change,” observed Carter.
“Like you need any more change,” joked Sam.
“We both know making deals is not about the money. Money’s just the way of keeping score.”
“Well, if this one works out like I think it will, you will have a whole new way to keep score.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“No time right now, Carter. I have to catch my contact before she leaves town. Talk to you later.” Sam ended the call before Carter could say anything more.
Sam reached into his jacket pocket to get Cindy’s card.
It wasn’t there!
It must have dropped out when he pulled out the phone a thousand steps back. He looked frantically along the floor, retracing his steps, but he couldn’t see the card anywhere. Back to the booth, he found it empty. All the boxes cleared. Not a single scrap of paper left.
He ran to the door and grabbed one of the event center staff. “The DocMatch vendors. I need to get in touch with them immediately.”
The woman checked her tablet and frowned. “I don’t see DocMatch on our list of vendors.”
“They were right there in that corner booth.” He pointed excitedly at the empty booth.
“I’m sorry. That booth was not rented for this event. One of the vendors dropped out.” She tapped the screen of the tablet a few times. “Ah, yes. We did have a late entry who took over that booth, but it wasn’t DocMatch or anything like it. It was FGM Support Services.”
“Great! Give me their phone number.”
“Hmm… that’s odd. Their phone number seems to have been deleted.”
“I have to get in touch with the woman in that booth. A multi-million dollar investment hinges on me contacting the woman who was in that booth. Hold on. What was the name of that firm? What about Marquez Technologies?”
“Yes, we have Marquez Technologies.”
“Great, give me their phone number.” Sam demanded.
“Sir!” the woman said standing erect. “We are not permitted to give out that information. Besides you probably couldn’t reach them. I heard them say that were flying out tonight. They are probably already at the airport.”
Sam threw his arms out and hugged the woman.
Sam pulled out his phone and opened his travel app. “SFO to PDX,” he mumbled as he entered the information.
“Flight 87 SFO – PDX Leaves 22:35 Pacific Time”
Sam checked his watch. It was almost nine. He had just a bit over an hour and a half to get there. He switched apps and called his driver.
Sam rushed toward the exit. Twice he almost ran into someone in the crowed. Just as he pushed through the door, his driver pulled up. He jumped in the front seat.
“Jason, we need to get to the airport as soon as we can,” he ordered.
“I’ll do the best I can, sir. But the fog is rolling in off the bay. It will be slow going,” Jason cautioned.
“Take short cuts, run red lights, cut through parking lots. Do whatever you need to do. And don’t call me, sir. I’m not that old.”
“Yes, sir.” Jason said as he pulled out into traffic.
Since it was after rush hour, there were not many cars on the road until they got close to the airport. However, the fog slowed them down. Sam could hardly see more than a few car lengths ahead of him. He checked his watch. It was already 10:05. When Jason finally let him out at the entrance to the terminal, he had barely ten minutes left before they boarded the plane.
He rushed down the concourse. He passed the gift shops, the bakery selling San Francisco sourdough, the duty-free stores. He checked his watch. He should make it in time, but then he saw the line.
He forgot about the TSA sweeps. As the line crept forward, he fumbled in his pockets to get out anything metal. He bent down to untie his shoes.
“I knew I should have worn loafers today,” he quipped to the person in line behind him. The man didn’t even look up from his phone.
Sam walked through the metal detector.
Beep
He checked his pockets again.
Beep
“Step this way, sir,” said one of the agents. Sam rolled his eyes. “Hold your arms out, please.” The man ran a wand up one leg and down the other, then between his legs. He went back to his pocket and asked to see what was there. Reaching in, he remembered the small “watch pocket” inside his pants. He triumphantly dug out a bunch of change and the agent, passing the wand again and finding nothing, let him go.
Sam grabbed his stuff put the shoes under his arm and ran to the Executive Club lounge.
The attendant standing behind a small podium examined Sam from head to toe.
“Sir, this is for members only.” Sam wondered how the man could walk with his nose so high in the air. Then again, he must look a sight. Disheveled, a sheen of perspiration on his face, breathing heavily, tie askew, in his stocking feet and carrying a pair of shoes under his arm.
“I’m a member,” Sam said impatiently. “Now let me in.”
“I need to see your membership card.”
Sam looked at his hands. Tried to reach into his pocket, but his hands were full with a pair of shoes. Finally, he drops the shoes on the floor, fumbled his wallet out of his pocket and tried to find the card in one of the slots. It wasn’t there.
“I can’t find it. I need to get in. My name is Samuel Prince. I have Platinum level privileges here.”
The attendant smiled a professionally insincere smile. “That may be, but without a membership card…”
Frustrated, Sam finally pulled out his driver’s license. “Here. Look me up in your computer. I have to get in here,” he said pushing his way past the attendant in his stocking feet.
He got just a few feet before being stopped by an airport security guard. He looked at his watch. It read 10:45. The plane took off ten minutes ago.
The guard grabbed his upper arm gently, but firmly. Somehow he doubted his fitness regimen of Tai Chi and Yoga was sufficient to overwhelm the guard who towered over him with biceps the size of his head.
The attendant returned. He waved to the guard who immediately released Sam’s arm.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” he said almost fawning. “I didn’t know. We have protocols. And this is an exclusive club, you know.”
Sam reached down and picked up his shoes. He sat down on the bench in the waiting area to put them back on. He readjusted his tie and tried to pat down his hair.
“Yes, I know.” Sam felt defeated. “I’m sorry I was so aggressive. I was trying to reach a passenger on Flight 87 to Portland before it left, but that flight left almost fifteen minutes ago.”
“But it didn’t, sir. All planes are grounded because of the fog,” the attendant said. “And a strange fog it is.”
“Strange that it’s foggy in San Francisco?” Sam laughed. “Let’s alert the media.”
“That’s not what I meant, sir. We had a clear night, low humidity up until about an hour ago and then the fog began rolling in.”
“That is strange. Could I ask if you checked in the Marquez Technology Party?”
“Oh, yes sir, they checked in an hour ago,” the attendant paused. “Funny. That was about the time the fog came in. Maybe they brought it with them,” the attendant joked.
“Maybe. Thanks, and again I apologize for my discourteous behavior earlier.”
Sam inclined his head toward the man and hurried into the main part of the lounge. He passed the bar and scanned the passengers waiting to be boarded. Finally, he spotted the family group. Another woman was with them, but her back was to him.
Almost as soon as he spotted her, Cindy turned around. He couldn’t help but notice the warmth in her brown eyes. But he couldn’t spend time thinking about her eyes. He walked over to her as fast as he could without running.
“Cindy! Good I caught you. I have good news and well some bad news about the good news.” Sam said.
“Sam, what does that mean. You aren’t making sense.”
He realized he wasn’t. “After what I went through to get here, I’m not surprised. Right after you left, I got a call from a friend of mine. An investment banker. He’s looking for an investment in something unique. If he likes your program, there’s no limit to its impact.”
“That’s great news.” Cindy had always looked in disdain at those women who jumped up and down and squealed, but her feet were bouncing a bit. Fortunately, she did suppress the squeal.
“But, what’s the bad news about the good news?” she asked cautiously.
“There’s a clock on the offer. We have to get him a full proposal by midnight tomorrow.”
“And exactly who are you? What offer? Cindy, where did you meet this person? What’s he talking about?” Kathryn struck an imperious pose.
“Ms. Helstrom, this is Samuel Prince of Prince Investment Group. He prefers to be called Sam. Remember, I met him in the airport lounge before we left Portland,” Cindy explained.
“I remember you speaking to some scruffy fellow,” Kathryn sniffed.
“That was me, Ms. Helstrom. I prefer casual attire most of the time. But nobody takes an investment banker seriously in blue jeans and a t-shirt.” He stuck out his hand to Kathryn, but before he could shake it Connie pushed herself forward extending her hand palm down. Sam took hold of the hand wondering if she intended for him to kiss it or shake it. He opted for the latter.
“An investment banker,” she cooed. “That is so interesting.”
Emily emerged. “Ignore my sister. She is in marketing.” She said the word as if it were an insult. “I am the director of product development. And our new predictive program for investors is second to none. It has innovative new AI-powered—”
Kathyn stepped out from behind her daughters. She inclined her head slightly, “I’m pleased to meet you. I take it that Cindy has been telling you about her little program.”
Sam looked at Cindy. “Uh – yes, she has. We talked about it a lot at…” seeing the fear in Cindy’s eyes “in the airport lounge at PDX. She’s a bright woman with some incredible ideas.”
“Yes,” Kathyn said skeptically. “Her father started the company and she inherited his creative side. But I am CEO. I’m more adept at financial matters. You say there may be an investor seeking new investment opportunities?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “The fog has dissipated. Priority passengers may now board Flight 87 for Portland, Oregon. The flight will leave in thirty minutes. Again, Flight 87 now boarding priority passengers.”
“About those opportunities?” Kathryn persisted.
“We don’t have time now. I’ll meet you tomorrow in Portland.” He turned to Cindy. “So good seeing you again. Maybe when I’m in Portland we can get dinner or something.”
Connie tugged Cindy’s sleeve. “We’ve got to get on that plane.”
“Yes, you got to go,” he said and was surprised to find he had been holding her hand.
As she headed toward the plane, she waved to him and shouted, “See you in Portland.”
He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. “Yes, I know what time it is. You can get back to the Tonight Show in a moment. I need a ticket to Portland tomorrow. Yes, Portland, Oregon. The earliest flight you can arrange. Also, I’m sending you a file, print it out and load it into my personal laptop. I’ll make it up to you. Take the corporate card and have lunch on me tomorrow.”
He walked to the window overlooking the runway and didn’t leave until Flight 87 left the ground.
[Stay tuned for the conclusion of our story tomorrow, January 1, 2025.]
The Clock is Ticking…
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