Martin pulled up to the restaurant in his silver Porsche Carrera and, slipping the keys along with a crisp $20 bill to the valet attendant, stepped out of the car. He walked around to the front passenger seat and gave his hand to his longtime wife, Barbara Ellis, who joined him for his farewell party that evening. The young valet boy, who was perhaps no older than 18 or 19, fumbled with the keys in his hands before sitting in the driver's seat, apparently awestruck and excited about handling such a valuable car. Martin and his wife stalked up to the entrance, whereupon two doormen graciously opened the heavy marble doors and beckoned them inside.
The restaurant in question, El Rey, was the jewel of the old part of the city. Founded in 1973 on top of a hill overlooking the city skyline, its cuisine and atmosphere was featured in magazines and television shows on a regular basis. It was also the first place where three young men, just arriving home from the war, struck a pact to start up a financial consulting business. The owner of the restaurant was a personal friend of Martin Ellis and saw no trouble in reserving the choicest of private rooms for his farewell party. Despite receiving the news from Martin on such short notice, he would do anything for a friend. Throughout his long career, Martin had developed quite a network of friends and acquaintances.
That evening Martin wore a grey tweed coat, a white button-up dress shirt, and black slacks with white pinstripes. His shoes shined as if it were his first day on the job. Although, he thought to himself wistfully, it would be his last. Barbara found a zip-up red dress in the back of her walk-in closet at home, finding it a perfect match with the new wedge heels her husband had bought for her birthday. She may have been 12 years younger than her 61-year-old husband, but they had been married for 27 happy years and he wouldn't have had it any other way. Although their libido had declined significantly with age, they maintained a platonic relationship that fostered a good environment for their three children to grow up in. The children had since matured and moved away from home. Martin wondered how he would keep himself busy in retirement.
Martin and his wife entered the private dining room of the restaurant. Most everyone from work was there, including a few of his closest friends who had retired already. He received many congratulations, small gifts, cards, a set of cutlery, and even a speech extolling his 36-year-career at the company. Barbara joined the wives of the other associates in gossip and small talk. While Martin greeted a longtime friend.
"Well if it isn't Bradley Owens Sr.! Glad you could make it! How is retirement treating you?" Martin asked, shaking the hand of a bald, portly man dressed in a Hawaiian t-shirt and khaki shorts.
The man grinned, wrinkles forming in his eyes and face, as he said, "Marvelous, Martin. I would say it couldn't get any better, but you know this damned arthritis is killing my knees. I was in a scrambles tournament last weekend and they locked right up on the 14th hole. Couldn't go any further! I went back to the club and recovered immediately, thanks to that magical elixir they call scotch. But I wouldn't have missed your retirement party for the world."
"You ought to take it easy, Bradley." Martin said, as they ambled up to a line of people being served food catered by the restaurant. Chefs prepared large tins of Atlantic salmon, rotisserie chicken, garden salad, a cranberry couscous, and a bevy of other hors d'oeuvres in a great feast. "Wait until I retire, then I can show you a thing or two about golf."
Bradley Owens Sr. burst out laughing, patting his old friend on the back. "That'll be the day! You know you can't golf for crap. You remember what Anders used to say about you, 'Always better for making greens than hitting the greens.' Ah.... shame he couldn't be here with us tonight. He was a helluva golfer."
Martin nodded somberly. Anders Jonsson passed away from a heart attack earlier that year. The news came as quite a shock since he was always seen as the most athletic and fit of the three businessmen. Martin suspected that it served as a reality check for Bradley Sr., as he announced his retirement just a few months later. For 36 years, the leading executives of the financial consulting firm had been those three friends. Now, for the first time, OwensEllisJonsson, LLP, would have none of its original partners working at the firm. It was a bittersweet moment.
Martin sighed. The company had changed so much since they began operations from inside a rotting old building, long since condemned, all those years ago. Most of the people at his farewell party were young go-getters. Boys, fresh out of business school, full of knowledge but lacking the judgment and expertise he had accrued over time. Boys who cared about their careers and could work 12 hours per day to advance themselves up the corporate ladder. Boys who showed up to an old man's farewell party in order to be seen by upper management. Their young wives hanging about their arms like their wrist watches. Was it bad to look upon them with negativity? Perhaps, with jealousy as well? They were so young, yet they were as transparent as tissue paper. Their backs didn't ache in the mornings like Martin's back did. They had their whole lives to look forward to, while Martin was descending the hill rapidly into the inevitable coffin at the bottom.
Enough. Martin stepped outside on the balcony adjoining the room which overlooked the city. It was a cool, October evening with a slight breeze tussling the old man's thinning hairline. Out on the balcony he found Bradley Owens, Jr., along with his girlfriend, leaning against the railing. The young man, 28 or 29 years old by his recollection, had his hands all over the girl, fondling her plump ass and caressing his fingers along every curve on her body, which was encased in a sequined, skin-tight dress. They were chuckling like schoolchildren.
"Excuse me," Coughed Martin, making his presence known to them. Bradley Jr. spun around, almost spilling his champagne glass which he had placed precipitously on the edge of the balcony.
"What are you doing out here?" He asked. His face was red and Martin noticed him slur his words occasionally.
"I wanted to get some air." Martin admitted, putting his hands in his pockets.
Bradley Jr. looked at his girlfriend and slapped her on the bum, ushering her back inside the restaurant. She strode past the old businessman, her ass wiggling and hips swaying with each step.
Martin joined the young businessman and new CEO along the railing. He took off his thick-rimmed spectacles, rubbed them with a handkerchief, and broke the silence casually, "You know, this firm has a long history of consulting. Your father and I, we used to meet with the top executives and principles in the nation. It didn't matter who -- state governments, public corporations, hedge funds -- we worked with all kinds. Your father and I. We didn't market ourselves to the public, so obviously OwensEllisJonsson didn't have the same recognition that others had. Salomon Brothers. Bear Stearns. Goldman Sachs. We avoided the limelight in favor of the fundamentals. Simple. Compliant with regulations."
Bradley Jr. downed the last of his champagne. He replied, "God damn, do you know how long I've waited for you to retire? You're just like my father. You talk about everything except the things that matter. And in this business, in today's age of finance, it's about cash flows. It's taken years for you and your geriatric partners to retire or die off, and that's freed up a bunch of space for new payroll. I got a few of my friends hired, even brought that hot piece of ass Angie on board as a secretary. So what? My father gave me control of this company, and I'm ready to run it the way I want."
Martin was stunned to hear Bradley Jr.'s tirade. He feared that his business partner's son liked to live 'fast and loose', just not with the company's strategy and culture.
He put his glasses back on and leered at the young man. "Is that so? Maybe I should continue working here for a few more years. I'm not confident about the new management that is taking over after I'm gone."
Bradley Jr. turned to face Martin. "You seem to have forgotten why you're retiring. Should I remind you that this is not your decision to make? After the colossal screw up from the Kamesky deal, you should be glad I didn't fire you on the spot! This is a resignation, not retirement. We're calling it that to preserve whatever dignity you want to keep in the professional world."
Martin blanched at the young man's antipathy. The firm was tasked with advising a client company, who will remain nameless, about making a leveraged buyout for Kamesky Inc., a producer of premium women's apparel. OwensEllisJonsson created a model advising the client to submit a buyout offer to Kamesky, and everything appeared to go along fine. The deal was supposed to net the firm an additional $2 billion in advising fees, or 4 percent of the enterprise value of Kamesky. Unfortunately for Martin, who was spearheading the deal, their data was leaked to the public. Within hours, a half dozen other firms submitted bids for the buyout of Kamesky. OEJ and its client lost their bid and the debacle embarrassed both companies in public. How the model and data were leaked has remained a mystery. Bradley Jr., who had just taken over, was furious and blamed Martin for incompetence. This drama was known only to OEJ's top executives and directors; the lower associates and junior partners were ignorant of what transpired outside of the newspaper press. It was this incident which prompted Martin's untimely 'retirement' from the firm.
"That was not my fault! You know that!" Martin retorted angrily.
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