This Little Piggy. M.G. Crisci

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      “You young guys,” laughed Ryman between a forkful of egg, a sip of coffee, and a cloud of cigar smoke. “They didn’t exist in the Sixties and Seventies. I fucking invented them. There was no Kaiser, no Oxford. I was the guy who completed the first health management IPO — $125 million — exclusively to buy private hospitals, integrate them into one system, and eliminate costly operational duplication. The deal was oversubscribed before it hit the market. I named the company United Medical Systems.”

      “I’m not familiar with…”

      “Of course, you’re not. It’s long since been renamed Yuma Medical.”

      “Like in Yuma Medical, the $15 billion hospital management colossus?”

      “One and the same.”

      Victor wondered with that kind of track record, why did Ryman want to go back to work?

      “The thing was so successful,” continued Ryman, “it wasn’t long before competitive hospital networks sprang up. The Street’s pea-brain analysts thought it would be a problem. You know, cut market share and stuff. But I saw it as another $10 billion opportunity. I created a venture capital fund that lent money to my competitors.”

      “Why the hell do that?” asked Victor, chewing on a greasy toasted sesame-garlic bagel.

      “You sound like the dickheads on The Street! Would you rather have 25 percent of a $50 billion market or 60 percent of a $10 billion market? Within two years, United Medical was listed on the New York Stock Exchange, and my capital fund, Seminal Investors, was listed on the American Stock Exchange. I was living the goddamn life of Riley. Everything was moving so fast. I wasn’t even thirty, and I had more money than I knew what to do with.”

      Victor took a sip of coffee and a bite of his bagel. Franklin distributed more cigar ashes as his life spilled across the table.

      “In the middle of all this, I had another flash of pure genius! Why not execute my private hospital acquisition strategy in Europe? If McCann’s Hamburgers can export fast food to Europe, why can’t I export a successful financial model? I created Crystal Bond Medical. It turned out I couldn’t execute the same strategy because hospitals were inextricably linked to socialized medicine. So, I decided to consolidate the medical instrument industry. It was like taking candy from a baby! We got listed on the London Exchange in less than fourteen months. The fucking money just kept pouring in. Had two kick-ass 737s, one for me, one for my best friends, my furry Newfoundlands Buzz and Wilfred,” said Ryman, raising his voice, oblivious that anybody else was in the restaurant or even at his table.

      “The three of us just went back and forth between the parties and the drug binges. I had more women than I could accommodate. They were all so easy. Brits, Scandinavians, whatever.”

      Ryman stared emotionless. “I not only fell in love with London, I somehow fell in love with Samantha Brighton, the femme fatale of Knightsbridge. I chased her all over Europe. Not only didn’t she marry me, but she unceremoniously dumped me – for a fucking other woman! There I was, one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, publicly humiliated. I couldn’t handle it. Took some time off the merry-go-round.”

      Victor realized Ryman had a certain “dark side” charisma. Wall Street was in turmoil over the sub-prime mortgage mess, tight credit, and poorly run companies begging for multi-billion-dollar federal handouts. Ryman had convinced himself that none of that mattered. “I see reservation written all over your face. You’re wondering, where the hell did all the money go?”

      As they continued to talk, Ryman sensed Martini was what he needed he – a greedy little pig, wrapped in a polished corporate veneer. A man who was willing to accept some version of the truth.

      “It all ended abruptly one night at a party in my Malibu beach house. I just fell off the edge of the earth for what seemed like an eternity. Nobody knew where the hell I was, including me. My financial empire crumbled. The rest was stolen by my associates or foreclosed by the banks. When I regained my sanity, everything and everybody was gone. I’ve spent the last twelve months sobering up, getting physically fit, and regaining my mental edge. No alcohol, no drugs.”

      “Are you broke?” asked Victor.

      “Let’s just say I want to get it all back, plus some.”

      “Johnny said you had a new wealth-building idea.”

      “Yeah, sorry about that Victor, revisiting the skeletons in my closet got me off track.”

      Ryman, a master closer, knew he had Martini’s undivided attention. “I’ve invested a half-million in researching and developing an untapped business opportunity,” declared Ryman, flicking his cigar. “I’ve also spent serious time with a number of my advisors. The unanimous consensus? This scheme can make the team and me super-rich.

      “Johnny’s told me a lot about you. Let me be perfectly blunt. I need someone with the right corporate pedigree and the right age to help me promote the project, raise the capital, make the acquisitions, and run the companies. You interested?”

      Victor leaned back, I’ve known this guy for a half-hour. I haven’t a clue what the hell the business is about, and he’s asking me to abandon twelve years of scratching and clawing up the ladder at A&J from the goddamn mailroom.

      “Mr. Ryman, it’s hard to answer that question. You haven’t told me what the business is.”

      “Jesus, I’m sorry, I just assumed Johnny filled you in. He managed all the research. My new business concept is simplicity itself. We’re going to legitimize the barter trading industry. By the way, the name is Franklin, not Mr. Ryman,” he smiled.

      “Barter is not my wheelhouse. Is there much of a demand?”

      “Are you kidding?” retorted Franklin enthusiastically. “People have been bartering goods for centuries, but it’s never evolved into an organized corporate enterprise. My company will be the first to consolidate all the critical functions of re-marketing excess consumer products under one roof, thereby becoming the market leader over-night.”

      “Seems a little grandiose for a start-up in this day and age of corporate consolidations.”

      “Nonsense,” replied Ryman curtly and confidently. “The Street is searching for innovative companies that can generate stable revenues and real profits. They’ve had it with smoke and mirror tech opportunities and accounting gimmicks. I plan to acquire and consolidate successful private barter companies with attractive operating histories through a series of public financings.”

      “Are there enough of these companies to consolidate.”

      “My research says that barter is a highly fragmented $20 billion industry populated by hundreds of street-savvy mom-and-pop entrepreneurs who specialize in one type of inventory or one channel of distribution. Some buy thee excess inventories for cash. Some buy under a barter arrangement, and some buy for a little of both. But nobody does it all. We will be the first public company of it’s kind.”

      “Isn’t the government forcing the investment banking industry to batten down the hatches on highly speculative public financings?” asked Martini.

      “I’m not talking about traditional a Wall Street capital raise. Been there, done that. I’m talking about raising capital through entrepreneurial penny stockbrokers.

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