The Price of Admission

CHAPTER 1

PARTIALLY HIDDEN BEHIND the trunk of a large tree, a figure clad in black leather inched forward from the shadows and studied Peregrine Pharmaceuticals’ office building. A late evening fog had rolled in from the ocean, the damp air causing the man to wrap his arms tightly around his chest. He stood there, the cold moist air making his exhaled breath visible, and watched one particular window on the second floor. The lights inside illuminated a person sitting at a desk.

The figure stepped out from behind the trees and shrubbery into the muted amber glow of a nearby street light. The subdued lighting mixed with the fog and caused an eerie shadow to be cast over his face. He studied the man for a while longer.

Pulling a cellular telephone from his pocket the man nervously dialed a number. His hand shook as he placed the cell phone to his ear. He knew that everyone in the executive suite had gone home for the evening, except the company’s CEO, Brad Paxton.

The man heard the ringing on the other end. His dark eyes watched the CEO look over at the telephone, glance at his watch, and then pick up the receiver.

Hello.

Listen to me. What I have to say is very important, the man said, disguising his voice in a low raspy tone. Test results on the patients taking Metaboci are not true. You’ve got to look into it further, before it’s too late.

What did you…? Who is this?

You need to search deeper. There are things about Metaboci that you don’t know.

Listen, I’m not going to—

"Metaboci is a very dangerous drug, Mr. Paxton. I’m warning you, do not release it!"

The line went dead.

BRAD PAXTON CONTINUED holding the receiver to his ear in stunned silence for a few seconds before slowly replacing it in its cradle. He removed his glasses and placed them on his desk and then pressed the palms of his hands against his forehead. His inner voice was screaming at him, I told you so! Something is not right!

All Brad’s life he had listened very carefully to his inner voice. It had proven to be very astute and not easily fooled. Whether it was a gut reaction or a sixth sense, he wasn’t really sure. Whatever it was, it was seldom wrong and he had learned to heed its warnings. And here it was again, as it had been so many times since this whole ordeal with Metaboci began, warning him that something was terribly wrong!

His worst fears about the consequences of people taking Metaboci, which he had been suppressing for months, now came rushing back to him, spurred on by this anonymous caller with a raspy voice. What did the caller mean? Were people getting sick from taking Metaboci? Or could he possibly mean…?

In hindsight, Brad wished he had never taken on this assignment. Nothing had gone right from the very beginning. Nothing! If he had only said no when Paul Manson asked him a little over two years ago if he would help turn Peregrine Pharmaceuticals around then he wouldn’t be living this nightmare now!

CHAPTER 2

BRADFORD PHILIP PAXTON was an icon in the exclusive field of turning around financially distressed companies. Brad’s trademark was his creativity and innate ability to identify the source of a problem, which for some reason escaped others, and to implement effective remedies which resulted, ultimately, in preventing a company’s demise. Brad Paxton was a genius at what he did. There was no one better or more sought after to turn a company around than Bradford Pax-ton.

A top graduate of the University of Southern California’s MBA program, with an undergraduate degree in accounting, Brad was aggressively recruited by all the elite accounting firms, as well as financial institutions and investment firms across the country. A charming young man, in his mid-twenties by the time he graduated, he stood a tad over six feet with dark brown hair, hazel eyes and a well defined athletic body. Women found his rugged features attractive. He was very active in sports and excelled at a number of them. Although, when someone would ask how good he was at a particular sport he would often reply, I’m a slave to all, a master of none. This was not necessarily true, however, especially when it came to golf.

Brad had received an athletic scholarship in golf from USC. It was during his sophomore year while playing in a college tournament that Brad first met Paul Manson who attended UCLA. They had been paired together on the final day of the three day tournament and were tied at the top of the leaderboard at four under par starting the final round. Both young men played brilliant golf that day, the lead changing hands several times during the round before Brad finally prevailed when he sank a 32 foot putt for birdie on the final hole of the tournament.

As the two men met in the middle of the eighteenth green and shook hands, a bond of mutual respect was immediately formed. During the next few years, their respect for each other turned into a genuine friendship. They stayed in contact throughout the remainder of their college days and followed each other’s business careers after graduating.

Over the years the two men played countless rounds of golf together, but for some strange reason they could never seem to agree on who beat whom the most.

* * * *

PAUL MANSON WAS escorted into Peregrine Pharmaceuticals’ conference room by Lilly Kramer, Keith Hammer’s secretary. This was not going to be a fun meeting, Paul thought as he accepted Lilly’s offer to have a seat.

Mr. Hammer will be with you shortly, Mr. Manson. May I get you some coffee or a soft drink?

No, thank you. I’m fine.

Lilly turned and left, leaving Paul to himself. As he opened his briefcase and withdrew some papers he let out a heavy sigh. No, this wasn’t going to be fun. He loathed these kinds of meetings. However, if he could get Keith Hammer to understand the seriousness of Peregrine’s situation and accept his offer to help, then he had a plan in mind that just might work.

Peregrine was a small pharmaceutical company located in Long Beach, California, that manufactured natural herbal supplements. Founded in 1963, it was a publicly traded company listed on the NASDAQ. The company unassumingly built a solid reputation as a quality organization with the highest degree of integrity, fostered primarily by its three founders: Keith Hammer, Joe Pitman, and Ronald Greenberg.

Slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, the company started to lose market share. Then after a three year decline, it reported its first ever annual operating loss. The stockholders were shocked when they were informed by management that, for the first time since going public, Peregrine Pharmaceuticals was not going to declare a dividend. Unfortunately, the decline continued with each subsequent year’s losses greater than the preceding year. After five consecutive years of operating losses the company found itself in serious financial trouble. The stock price had plummeted below two dollars a share and at that year’s annual stockholder’s meeting management was confronted by angry stockholders demanding answers.

Peregrine Pharmaceuticals was a long-time customer of First Charter Bank. Paul Manson had handled the account for over twelve years and was here today because the bank was genuinely concerned about Peregrine’s ability to meet its financial obligations. In fact, the bank’s Executive Committee wondered if the company would survive.

The conference room door swung open and Keith Hammer walked in. An elderly man, he looked glum and depressed. Forcing a smile, Keith shook hands with Paul and then took a seat.

A few pleasantries were exchanged before Paul cleared his throat and said, Ah, Keith, the reason I asked to meet with you today was to discuss how Peregrine Pharmaceuticals might start paying back some of its loans. By the way, will either of your partners be joining us?

Keith shook his head. No. Ron was admitted to the hospital yesterday. Joe’s there with him now.

This was news Paul had feared was coming for some time. Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Uh…how’s he doing?

Not well. I’m very concerned about him.

Paul nodded his head in understanding and shuffled through the papers he had in front of him, trying to pass an uncomfortable moment. Ron Greenberg had been fighting colon cancer over the past year. The last prognosis was not good.

This is just great, Paul thought as he shuffled though some more meaningless papers. One of Keith’s best friends and business partners is in the hospital dying of cancer and now I’m going to lay some more bad news on him. Just my luck!

Well, Keith, Paul said, reluctantly returning the conversation to its original subject, because of your current financial situation the bank is concerned about your ability to repay your loans.

I figured that’s why you came.

Besides the fourteen million dollars the bank has loaned your company, there are also the two million dollar personal loans to you and Ron and Joe. That’s a total of twenty million dollars.

I’m aware of that.

Paul didn’t want this meeting to turn into a confrontation. He was here to help this man, not upset him. He had to make that clear.

Let me explain an axiom we have in the banking industry, Keith. We want to be your financial lender, not your financial partner. As things stand right now First Charter is a major financial partner in Peregrine Pharmaceuticals.

I know, but I—

No, please, let me finish, Paul said softly. Believe me, I know how bad you must feel. It’s a terrible situation, but you need to understand that I came here today to try to help you. We need to figure out a way to get this company back on its feet. That’s the only way it’s going to survive and for you to repay the bank.

For god’s sake, Paul, I’ve been trying.

I know you have. But the reality is, if the situation doesn’t improve soon, and I’m afraid I mean real soon, the bank’s Executive Committee is going to turn your account over to Earl Davis in our Special Services Department. You don’t want that to happen, Keith, believe me. Davis wants to step in right now. Fortunately, I was able to convince the Committee to stall him for a while longer.

The Special Services Department Paul was referring to was where the bank’s major delinquent accounts were sent. The primary purpose of the department was to quickly assess if the company with the delinquent loan could be salvaged. If not, the bank would exercise its rights under the loan agreement and recoup whatever monies it could by selling off assets. Typically, this action would force the company into bankruptcy and eventually cause it to close its doors.

Thank you, Paul. I appreciate that. And I’m sorry for putting you in this position. It was never my intent. I swear to you.

You don’t think I know that? No one ever saw this coming. Hell, I still can’t figure out what went wrong.

Neither can I. Keith paused for a second and then added, You said you wanted to help. How? I’ve already tried everything. I don’t have any more ideas.

Well, I think I do.

* * * *

SOLICITING BRAD PAXTON to help turn Peregrine around began as soon as Paul Manson returned to his office. He immediately contacted his long-time friend and asked if they could meet for lunch the next day. They did, and after catching up on what each other had been doing since the last time they had seen each other, Paul filled Brad in on Peregrine’s situation.

Would you be willing to meet with Hammer? Paul asked. See if you might be able to help him?

For you, absolutely.

A meeting was scheduled and on the appointed day the two men drove together to Peregrine in Paul’s car. During the drive Paul divulged more details about the key people at Peregrine and what he knew about their attempts to resolve the company’s financial problems, underscoring the fact that nothing had worked to date.

Keith is a wonderful guy, Paul mentioned, and I know he’s doing the best he can. But he’s seventy-two years old and I’m just not sure his best is good enough any more.

For the next thirty minutes, as the two men inched their way along in the infamous Los Angeles freeway traffic, Brad interrogated Paul further about Keith Hammer: What kind of man is he? Do the employees respect him? What is his educational background? Tell me about his family. Has he ever been divorced? What exactly do you like about him? Paul answered as best he could, even though he didn’t understand the significance of some of Brad’s questions.

I think Keith has too much pride, Paul offered as he turned off the Long Beach freeway and onto the surface streets. He built the company from the ground up. I mean, he and Ron Greenberg and Joe Pitman. But Keith is the CEO; he runs the place. The other two just reside on the Board. Oh, and by the way, Ron Greenberg is very ill, dying of cancer. Word is he won’t live much longer. Thought you should know in case it comes up in conversation. The three of them are very close and Keith is taking Ron’s illness extremely hard. Hell, timing couldn’t be worse with what’s going on with the company.

It sounds like Keith Hammer was an astute businessman in his prime.

He was. I think you’ll like him, Paul said as they turned into Peregrine Pharmaceuticals’ parking lot.

The company was housed in a two story building located in downtown Long Beach, next to the active commercial port that helped support the city. Mirrored windows extended around the entire building on both floors, providing the fortunate employees who occupied the outer offices a beautiful view of the port, harbor, or surrounding downtown skyline, depending on which point of the compass their window faced.

Before leaving the car, Brad turned to Paul and said, My only concern is people sometimes become defensive when I show up at the invitation of some outside authority; you and your bank in this instance. They look at me as some high-priced expert who thinks he has all the answers. Remember, they know their company backwards and forwards, and from their point of view I don’t know diddly-squat about it. So how can I possibly tell them how to fix it? It can get kind of touchy at times.

I expect Keith to welcome this opportunity. He needs help and he knows it. He received a vote of no confidence at the last stockholder’s meeting. I think he’ll jump at the chance to use your services. If he decides not to, well, then the bank will be forced to step in. I’ve told him that. My only concern is I don’t know if he can afford your fees.

From what you told me, he can’t. Brad then gave Paul a big smile. But your bank can.

I was afraid you’d say that.

As they stepped from the car Paul asked, By the way, how do you do it?

Do what?

Fix companies when you know nothing about them.

Magic and mirrors, my man. Magic and mirrors.

I figured as much.

CHAPTER 3

THE EXCLUSIVE GROUP of people sitting around the room had one common trait: they all knew how to make money and they had all made plenty of it. The ten member consortium was the inspiration of its de facto leader, the honorable Senator from Ohio, Harmon Fowler. At his personal request, they had all gathered at his magnificent vacation home in Aspen, Colorado.

A little known fact about the senator was that his given name was Jethro. When Jethro was three years old his grandfather died of a heart attack. The family, in honor of their dearly departed member, bestowed the grandfather’s middle name, Harmon, as a nickname onto little Jethro. The name stuck and from that point on, Jethro Baines Fowler was better known as Harmon Fowler.

Before becoming a senator, Harmon Fowler was one of the best known and, at the same time, most hated individuals in corporate America. The expression—Corporate Raider—could not more aptly apply to anyone than Harmon Fowler. Ruthless almost beyond description, Fowler had carved out his reputation at the early age of 26, when he executed his first corporate takeover. What made it the hallmark of his exalted career was that it was his own father’s company he raided. Needless to say, Harmon was never again invited to attend the family’s annual Thanksgiving dinner.

Harmon Fowler thrived during his hostile effort to extricate his father’s company and realized this was what he was destined to do. He became the epitome of a corporate blood sucker. Best know for his total disregard for any idealized corporate mission, he would take over a company and then either carve it up and sell off the various components, or continue running the company, maximizing its short-term profits and then unceremoniously close its doors after it had served his purpose. By the time he was 51, Fowler had successfully accomplished twenty major takeovers of various companies spanning a variety of industries. He was worth hundreds of millions of dollars and had just divorced his third wife and married his fourth. Bored with the corporate piracy line of work, he began taking a keen interest in politics, eventually running for the U.S. Senate. It seemed to be a perfect transition.

Fowler possessed all the primary physical ingredients necessary for political success: he was nice looking, wasn’t overweight, had a full head of silver hair and, above all else, had a captivating smile. His closest friends, however, cautioned him that his reputation, not to mention his new 26 year old wife, might hinder any legitimate chance he had of gaining a senatorial seat. Harmon countered their concerns by simply buying his way in. What was a mere $30 million investment when you considered the influence he would wield as a United States Senator.

He flourished in his new environment and skillfully worked his way up the senatorial pyramid until, by the end of his second term, he reached the position of Chairman of the Appropriations Committee, one of the most, if not the most, influential committees on Capital Hill. Around the start of his third term in the Senate, Harmon Fowler once again began craving the thrill of the corporate battleground. The intoxicating lure of capitalism called out to him once again. He decided to re-enter the high stakes arena of corporate America. This time, however, he had a innovative plan and would use his well earned political influence to his benefit.

Although the nine other people in the room were honored to be summoned by the senator, they had all been a little confused as to the reason. Fowler assured them that if they would meet with him and listen to his proposal none of them would be disappointed. As Fowler expected, they all accepted his invitation, whether out of mere curiosity or the privilege to meet face-to-face with the master of the game they all played.

Fowler had purposely selected his invited guests because each and every one of them possessed the characteristics he considered essential in business dealings. Indeed, some of them were almost as ruthless in their business activities as he had been. But each of them, he knew, held one thing in highest esteem, and that one thing was money.

They now sat before him, obediently attentive. After all, when the master speaks, you listen.

As a collective group, we bring together years of experience. Just look around. You all know each other by acquaintance or reputation. Come on, Fowler said smiling, spreading his arms in an encompassing gesture, I ask you, is there a more celebrated or reputable group of ethical business people anywhere in the world?

Light laughter echoed around the room. Indeed, Fowler was right, they did all know each other, but it was his choice of the word ethical that had prompted the laughter.

My idea is to bring about one of the most profitable manipulations of Wall Street this country has ever seen.

The group’s interest antennas immediately honed in on the senator.

Let me ask you, Fowler continued. What industry currently possesses the most potential for producing internal profits, as well as generating external added value, and yet can be accessed fairly easily by outside investors?

The group immediately started contemplating the question, turning and suggested different industries to one another. Fowler waited patiently.

Assuming you mean the value of stock prices as the added value component, offered Fred Mosher, founder of the wireless telecommunication company, Sky-Link, then I’d have to say the computer industry.

Heads nodded in agreement.

No. Too long of a lead time to break into the big leagues. Besides, tech stocks are too volatile. Any other ideas?

Harold Sterling, a Las Vegas casino owner, posed another possibility, but it was quickly shot down. A few more industries were explored by the group as potentials to the posed trivia question, all receiving the same negative dismissal from the Senator.

Mr. Fowler, or should I say, Senator Fowler? an irritated Rebecca Harding, one of the most adept businesswomen Harmon Fowler had ever met, finally spoke out. Why don’t you just tell us what industry it is and then we can get on with discussing what you have in mind.

Let me give you one last hint. It’s actually a sub-industry within the biggest industry we have in the United States.

Well, the biggest industry in the United States is health care, responded Dr. Daryl Maxwell, a once-upon-a-time cardiologist who had founded the HMO giant, WellCare.

And I’m guessing that sub-industry would be the drug industry, added Bernard Redding, a high profile attorney whose legal practice benefited many known criminals who had big fat folders on file with the FBI, IRS, NSA, as well as many other governmental agencies.

That’s right! The pharmaceutical industry, Fowler said, finally able to extract the answer he was looking for. Last year alone, the pharmaceutical companies generated almost four hundred billion dollars in revenue, and that number is expected to continue to climb. Additionally, there are over eighty billion dollars invested in pharmaceutical stocks on Wall Street. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s a lot of money, and I have an idea how we can get a chunk of it. A large chunk.

Nine pairs of eyes stared intently at the senator standing next to the fireplace. Harmon Fowler definitely had their undivided attention now.

What I propose is that we form a venture capital company, each of us contributing an initial twenty million dollars in an investment pool. For our twenty million dollars, we each receive one voting share in the company. We are all equal partners and we all reside on the Board. I reserve the right to be Chairman since this whole thing is my idea. However, my involvement in this little escapade will have to be kept a secret, for obvious reasons. Can’t let the voting public think my interests lay anywhere else but in the affairs of my constituents.

Fowler paused to take a drink of water and scan his audience for any negative reaction. Seeing none, he continued. We then take a portion of that investment money and acquire some nondescript pharmaceutical company. We hire a young man I have in mind and let him run the show. We will, of course, direct his actions from behind the scenes. We then light the fuse under our new pharmaceutical company and hang on while it takes us to the top. Hell, over the last dozen years or so, I’ve seen drug companies release new drugs and then watched their revenue increase a hundred fold, sometimes more. Stock prices hovering in the low single digits skyrocket and become ten baggers over night. All we have to do is come up with the right drug, work the system and then sit back and watch as the money rolls in.

Rebecca Harding let out a soft snicker. Yes, well isn’t that the primary goal of every drug company, to come up with the right drug, as you put it?

My dear friends, that issue has already been taken care of. Fowler paused and smiled. I already have our drug. But let’s put that topic aside for the moment. I believe the reason many drug companies fail isn’t because they can’t come up with the right drug, but rather they can’t get their drug through testing, primarily because they didn’t influence the right people in the right places. Their mind set is not geared toward that kind of thinking. They typically follow the book. First you do A, then B, and then C, before you ever think of doing D. Well, I’m saying we go directly to D and screw A, B, and C.

When you say influence, don’t you really mean corrupt? asked Jeremy Brines, an entrepreneur who made millions franchising coffee houses across America.

Call it what you will. We all know how the game is played. My point is all of us at some point in our careers have had to work the dark side. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have invited you here today. Believe me, I know. I’ve done my homework. Fowler quickly glanced around the room once more. No one spoke in opposition, so he went on. For now, you’ll have to believe me when I say I have contacts high enough in the system that will assure our success. But based on my best estimate, if everything goes as I expect it to, and there’s no reason to think it won’t, we will each, at a minimum, quadruple our investment from this little adventure in less than three years.

The group shared quick glances at one another.

Cameron Fields, a real estate developer, posed the question everyone was thinking. Did you say you already have someone, or some persons, that can assure the success of this, little adventure, as you called it?

Yes, I do.

I have a question, voiced Phillip McNamara, who owned a national trucking company. Speaking for myself, I know if I can turn a twenty million dollar investment into eighty million, I’ll jump at the opportunity every time. My question is why are you doing it, though? I understand you have more money than God and eighty million doesn’t seem, you know, worth the effort or risk in your case.

Good question. Fowler said. He then paused and took everyone in with his gaze. For the pure excitement of playing the game. Playing the game and winning.

It was a simple answer, but one filled with the very essence of the man who delivered it.

Rebecca Harding lowered her head to conceal a smile and softly whispered a phrase her father used to say. Idle time of the filthy rich. Oh how, oh how, do they fill it? Steven Cushing, who was sitting next to her on the couch, smiled. She then raised her hand and asked, But wouldn’t winning the game be more satisfying if you funded the whole venture yourself? Why exactly do you need any of us?

Because, my friends, I want to share the wealth.

Snickers of doubt filled the room.

But seriously, the real reason is two fold. First, as I assume all of you have experienced from time-to-time, not all of my money is readily liquid right now.

This was a lie. Fowler had plenty of liquidity. The real reason he wanted to include additional members in his daring scheme was so they could be used as viable scapegoats if this venture ever blew up and resulted in criminal prosecution. Essentially, they were a curtain of protection. He was limiting his exposure. If he was required to sacrifice a few fellow business partners to ensure his anonymity, so be it. As Fowler often said, Better them than me.

And second, Fowler continued, because of my present position in the Unites States government, many of my extracurricular activities have to be carefully concealed from the public eye. If I attempted this alone, it would be very easy for some investigative reporter to uncover who was behind the mask. Okay? he said, holding out his arms as if he had just bared his soul.

Whether it was due to their personal greed or the honor of being included in a scheme of his design, they all bought Fowler’s reasons. Heads nodded, communicating their understanding.

Now, back to business, Fowler barked out. I have a document you all need to read and sign. He held it up for all to see. It basically outlines the purpose and structure of our little company, which I took the liberty of naming Celestial Investments. Fowler began passing out copies of the document. But let me caution all of you that by scratching your John Hancock on this document, you will be agreeing to participate in this little enterprise. If you change your mind and want out after we start, you will forfeit your twenty million dollars.

Fowler paused, his facial features taking on a very serious expression. He knew that all the people in this room were very capable in their own rights and all of them had been involved in some form of unscrupulous business dealings in the past. But he had to make a point, leaving no uncertainty as to the serious nature of the formation of this group and the serious consequences if anyone crossed him.

You will also forfeit something else. He paused for another second. Please believe me when I say, for the good of us all, I cannot allow any of you to continue any further with this if you are not completely committed to it, as evidenced by your signature on this document. I know this sounds a little melodramatic, but I have my reasons. Up till now, everything I’ve said or we’ve discussed is hypothetical, and can be denied. But if you agree to continue on, then the playing field changes. Agreeing to stay now and then attempting to withdraw later on, is not an option. Doing so will result in serious repercussions. I think you get my drift. As my dear father used to say, ‘When you dance with the devil, you dance to his tune.’ And right now, folks, you’re looking at Lucifer in the flesh. Make no mistake about it.

Harmon Fowler had just thrown down a gauntlet. For anyone who didn’t want to participate now was the time for them to excuse themselves from the group. Fowler scrutinized the people in the room one last time, looking for any apprehension or doubts. Even though he saw some uneasiness etched on a few faces, no one made a move to leave.

Good. I see we are all on the same page. A smile returned to his face. Now, I advise you all to read the document carefully and discuss it amongst yourselves. I will also add, I cannot allow any of you to seek outside legal assistance concerning this document. Obviously, the fewer people who know of this venture, the better. Mr. Redding is a lawyer, so I advise you to draw on his expertise. Take your time. If anything in the document needs to be altered or changed, we can handle it here and now. Then, after we’ve all signed it and I receive confirmation that each of us has deposited our front money in the bank identified in the document, we will reconvene and I will lay out before you the details of a plan I have been working on for over three years. A foolproof plan, my friends, that cannot fail. I have an ace up my sleeve that you’re not going to believe.

HARMON FOWLER WAS telling the truth on that issue. He did have an ace up his sleeve in the form of Jeffrey Heim, who was a Director with the Food and Drug Administration. The FDA is the federal government agency responsible for overseeing the development and control of drugs manufactured and sold in the United States. Heim was a large African-American, weighing in excess of 285 pounds with massive shoulders and chest. He had played football while attending Grambling, but his once sculptured body now sagged and protruded in all the places the male body normally tends to deteriorate. Being at the Director level, Heim was high enough in the FDA to make things happen with little or no internal scrutiny. This was one of the main reasons that Fowler had pursued a friendship with Jeffrey Heim.

Fowler first met Heim during a fund raiser in his second term in Congress. The two men hit it off and subsequently spent time together discussing all types of topics ranging from the United States involvement in foreign policy to whether the Boston Celtics would ever regain their once prominent stature in the NBA. One topic that sparked Fowler’s interest early on was how drug companies applied for and received FDA approval to release their drugs on the market. They spent many hours discussing the inner workings of the FDA, all the while Fowler piecing together a plan on how to circumvent the system to his benefit.

Then one day, Fowler invited Heim to accompany him to the Bahamas, You know, for some R&R, just the two of us, he told his new friend. There, Fowler unveiled his scheme that encompassed all the elements and intrigue of his glory days as a corporate raider. A plan that flashed with brilliance and at the same time showed total disregard of the law and all common business practices of ethical decency. Definitely a Harmon Fowler trademark.

Heim listened incredulously at first, not fully comprehending what Fowler was suggesting. Only after Fowler had laid out the financial implications of his plan and precisely what Heim’s personal share would be did Heim fully understand Fowler’s intent. Heim immediately saw the value in Fowler’s grand scheme and, as Fowler had predicted, quickly tossed aside any apprehensions he had and enthusiastically agreed to participate. Harmon Fowler, the silver tongued devil that he was, had cast his magical spell on yet another unsuspecting victim.

Fowler had definitely planted the seed of greed in the right man. Jeffrey Heim was a 26 year FDA employee, well liked by his co-workers, devoted husband, supportive father to his two adult sons and their families, and only six years away from retiring on the fixed income retirement plan offered by the United States Federal government. He had been in his present Director position for over eight years and knew it would be difficult to rise any higher in the organization. Age, he was in his late fifties, and the apparent decision by his higher-ups that he lacked the necessary skills and ability to move to the next level, had targeted him as a Director for the remainder of his career with the FDA. Well, maybe he had one last opportunity to shine after all, presented in the form of Harmon Fowler and his master plan that would make him a millionaire multiple times over.

Fowler’s idea on how to corrupt the system seemed so feasible to Heim. The simplicity of Fowler’s plan was ingenious. Because it was so simple, Heim figured it wouldn’t be hard to mask the deception from his co-workers inside the FDA.

But why hadn’t anybody thought of something like this before? Heim wondered. Then he realized maybe they had, and because no one had ever uncovered it meant that they had gotten away with it. All the more reason to jump on board while the window of opportunity was open. If the possibility existed that others had marched this trail before him, then why shouldn’t he reap the benefits of his position? Besides, who would ever suspect that nice old Jeffrey Heim would be mixed up in a high stakes cover-up fashioned by the infamous Harmon Fowler? No one, Heim figured. So he crossed his fingers and jumped in with both feet.

To sweeten the pot, Fowler had informed Heim he would not be required to invest any of his own money in the venture, as if he could come up with anything close to the $20 million required of all the other investors in Celestial Investments. Heim’s contribution to the cause would simply be his position at the FDA.

Something money can’t buy, Fowler had said. Then he forced a laugh and added, But it just has, hasn’t it?

AS THEY HAD been instructed, all of Harmon Fowler’s guests began reading the document and discussing it amongst themselves. After more than four hours of diligent review and analysis, and finding no glaring problems with its content, nine greedy hands simultaneously reached for their pens.

CHAPTER 4

BRAD PAXTON STOOD on the front porch of his ranch house in Montana, his hazel eyes peering out through wire rimmed glasses, observing a falcon gracefully soaring overhead.

The falcon, which was silhouetted against an early evening sky, suddenly pulled in his wings and dove earthward, quickly picking up speed. At precisely the right moment he spread open his wings, angled his tail feathers down, which provided a powerful air brake, and flared out only inches above the ground. He stretched out his massive talons and seized his prey. Tonight he would dine on rodent tartar.

Brad shuddered slightly at the sight, but continued watching as the falcon quickly rose, let out a high shrill screech, turned north, climbed above the trees and was gone. A marvel of beauty and grace, Brad thought, not to mention, a very efficient killing machine. He knew he had just witnessed a candid display of the rules of survival in the wild. Not unlike the rules that governed the corporate business world in which he survived.

Entering the house, he switched off the alarm and immediately headed toward the bar in the family room. Brad’s primary residence was in Palos Verdes, California, a suburb of Los Angeles. He had purchased this ranch after vacationing in Montana with his family. He fell in love with the place; the mountains and lakes captivated him, along with the streams with water so cold it almost hurt to drink it.

He decided to build a second home and after searching the area, settled on a 125 acre ranch near Kalispell that had been put on the market by an elderly couple who wanted to move to Arizona to get away from the cold Montana winters.

Brad immediately demolished the original structures and began building a new log cabin house. At just over 5,000 square feet, the house was not the typical log cabin one might expect to find in rural Montana. The house was a two story structure of varying elevations and widths with a complex roof design. It combined the traditional round log style construction on the bottom half of the house with flat board siding on the upper portion. Limestone masonry accented the front of the house which included a sweeping front porch that turned and ran down the side and melted into a large verandah that overlooked Ashley lake, which was Brad’s backyard. There was also a matching barn where Brad stored ATVs, snowmobiles and sundry other toys.

Brad had come to Montana this time to get away by himself and think. Things weren’t going well at Peregrine Pharmaceuticals. In fact, the way he figured it he had maybe four, possibly six, more months to come up with a solution to save the company. If he couldn’t, creditors would undoubtedly force the company into bankruptcy. The problem was he had already tried every surefire operational fix he knew, but nothing had worked. He had never been in this situation before. Failure wasn’t listed anywhere on his résumé.

BRAD HAD BEEN the CEO of Peregrine Pharmaceuticals for over a year now. The Executive Committee of First Charter Bank had been ecstatic when Keith Hammer offered the turnaround assignment to Brad. All the members were well aware of Brad Paxton’s prior exploits. They weren’t quite as thrilled when Paul Manson informed them that Brad’s $750,000 annual salary would have to be fronted by First Charter. Paul explained that this was an extremely good deal for the services of someone with Brad’s reputation. In fact, he added, Brad had agreed to discount his fees 25% because of their personal relationship. The Committee finally agreed knowing this was probably the only viable alternative they had to recoup their money. They looked at it as an investment in obtaining a $20 million payback. Besides, they felt fairly secure knowing that Brad Paxton had never failed turning a company around. What shocked them was that at the end of Brad’s first year on the job he had made very little progress.

They were shocked even more when Brad informed the Committee that he had placed the $750,000 in an escrow account, only to be paid out if he successfully completed the turnaround. Brad then presented the Committee with a new personal service contract which required First Charter to pay him the annual sum of $1 until such time as he either successfully completed the assignment or the bank terminated his contract under the Lack of Performance clause. If the bank exercised its termination privileges, the $750,000 in escrow would be returned to the bank.

AFTER POURING HIMSELF a glass of wine