“We all do, at one time or another,” Zen admitted.
Media built the players up, then tore them down just as quickly. Law tried to stay balanced, whereas Brody’s ego was easily stroked.
“Any news on Guy Powers?” Law asked.
“Less speculation, more solid information,” Zen began. “I’d planned to call you tomorrow and set up a meeting.”
“I’ve time now.” He took a chair in front of Zen’s desk.
“As we assumed, Powers is deeply in debt,” Zen said. “My inside source discovered that a second investor has approached Guy. A private meeting was held between the two men and an unidentified woman.”
“The interested party?”
“Identities have been kept secret,” said Zen. “The initial discussion was so guarded, both sides flew to Baltimore, so as not to gain media attention.”
Law exhaled slowly. “I can’t imagine the Rogues under new ownership.”
“A harsh reality,” Zen agreed. “No one likes change. Players get cut. There’s also the possibility of team relocation.”
Law rubbed his hands together. “Any idea on the asking price?”
Zen leaned forward, eyeing him sharply. “Why? You interested?”
“I’d like specifics.”
Zen riffled through a file and withdrew a sheet of paper. “I’ve run some figures and would expect the market value to run eight hundred million. There’s no new stadium pending or expansion on the horizon. That’s to your benefit.”
He pursed his lips. “The numbers I have show the revenues are high. The operating income’s in line. Gate receipts are respectable. Player expenses are a little high, but an owner gets what he pays for. The Rogues are always World Series contenders.”
Zen wrapped up. “Real estate acquisitions caused Powers’s downfall. He expanded too quickly. He owned the Rogues, got greedy, tried to buy the entire city. He borrowed on the strength of his name and used the team as collateral. Even if he sold off his properties, the revenue wouldn’t cover his banknote.”
“Not many people can afford a sports team,” said Law.
“Your family is one of the few.”
Law breathed deep. “My inheritance and assets are tied to my grandfather and Grace Worldwide. I’ve diversified my holdings through Prosper. But those investments are based on my Rogues contract. Randall is solvent and would have to cosign.”
“Would he?”
“I’m not certain.” Law cut a glance to the goldfish tanks. Watching the fish swim was soothing. He was quiet for a long time. In mental debate.
“Randall expects me to head the hotel chain when I retire from baseball,” he said as much to himself as to Zen. “After all he’s done for me, I could never let him down.”
Zen understood. “You’ve a strong legacy to uphold.”
Law flexed his shoulders. “Hospitality’s in Randall’s blood, while I breathe baseball.”
“Good business sense is in your blood,” Zen reminded him. “And you won’t have to do everything yourself. Learn from your grandfather. He handpicked each member of his board of directors; they’ve all been with him for decades.
“Randall’s a hands-on financier,” he continued. “That’s a major part of his success. When it comes to baseball, there are major-league owners who attend every game and those who don’t know a bat from a ball.”
Zen chuckled. “Remember the ditzy blond trophy-wife who took over the Ottawa Raptors after her husband died?”
Law grinned. “Charlotte Hanson.”
“Right. She was asked to throw out the first ball on opening day. She couldn’t find the pitcher’s mound and threw from third base.”
“The press ripped her to shreds.”
“She posed and giggled through every article.”
“When asked if she felt the Raptors could beat the Mets, she answered ‘only if Mercury was in retrograde.’”
“Charlotte did like astrology.”
Zen paused and steepled his fingers on the desktop. “Guy Powers is about to lose his team. Set yourself up with strong general partners, a president, a chief operating manager, and you’d be fine.”
Zen’s smile was sly. “You’ve got some teammates who will retire within the next two years. Make them general partners and shareholders. Who better to sit on the board of directors than those who’ve played the game? They’re all like brothers. You’d keep the team in the family, so to speak. You’d trust each man to make the right decisions for the club. They’d kill for you.”
As he considered the possibilities, the tension in Law’s chest lessened. “I can picture Kason Rhodes heading contract negotiations. The man’s tough but diplomatic. Psycho in a suit discussing revenues with the comptrollers at our annual meeting would keep the bean counters on their toes.”
“The players would be on your side. That’s all that matters. There’d be no bullshit or betrayal. Each man would give you his best.” Zen’s gaze narrowed. “Tell me, James Lawless, are you in the market for a ball club?”
Law took the dive. “Keep your finger on Powers’s pulse. Find out his asking price and how soon he needs to sell.”
“I’ll move quickly,” Zen said. “My gut feeling: there’ll be no negotiations. Powers is getting the squeeze and wants out. If the right figures cross his desk, he’ll bite.”
“Get on it, Zen.”
“I’ll make some calls tonight.”
West of the city, traffic was nonexistent, and Law pushed the speed limit on the back roads. The Bugatti responded to his lightest touch. It seemed like no time before he cut the car’s headlights and coasted to a stop, a block off Larkspar Lane.
Dusk soon shoved the sun behind the horizon. A timer switch flipped, and lights illuminated the houses and lawns. Early Bruce Springsteen blared from a garage, and the village danced.
Law climbed from his car and stood near the hood. He leaned against the sleek bonnet and searched out Cat amid the throng. He quickly found her, and all he could do was stare.
This Catherine May was far removed from the financial world. She looked fun and free. Sassy. SWEET BABY was printed on her pink T-shirt. Her skinny jeans fit like a second skin. She danced barefoot. Her blond hair bounced. The song “Dancing in the Dark” showed off her moves.