THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 25

Sharp at eight the following morning, Mike met Tom Fletcher at the Sunrise Restaurant, an aging but clean Greek establishment located a block and a half from Fletcher's office. It was time to take his audacious plan to a new level. With Paul Conrad's letter of intent in his briefcase, he now had access to money, which was the prime mover and most crucial component of his plan. If he was unable to convince Fletcher to participate, he was prepared to go it alone.

"What's new?" Fletcher asked as Mike took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

"Everything," Mike said, smirking.

A waitress delivered two clean mugs and a canister of freshly brewed coffee to the table, and the men gave her their breakfast orders.

"I had dinner in New York last night. My host was Paul Conrad, the president of Golden National Oil."

"You're kidding!" Fletcher said, genuinely impressed. "How the hell did you do that?"

"I phoned him and asked for an appointment. You seem surprised. You know him?"

"I don't know him personally, but I know a hell of a lot about him."

"Tell me what you know."

"The guy's a living legend—one of the most incredible rags to riches corporate stories I've ever heard. He wanted to drill a wildcat well in Alberta, but couldn't find partners. He was the only human being who believed there was oil in the Red Rocks area, so he mortgaged everything he owned and did it alone. The rest is history. That well hit it big and he kept on going. They said he had the Midas touch."

Mike suddenly realized why Conrad had questioned Mike's decision not to go it alone. "Did he ever find a partner?" he asked.

"I guess you could say he did. He owned a hundred percent of the common stock when he incorporated Golden National. I don't think he owns any more than ten percent now...but tell me what he had to say."

"He told me all the reasons they built a new refinery, but one of them wasn't downstream market timing. They couldn't have picked a worse time to be looking for wholesale gasoline distribution. They don't have any retail distribution of their own, so they're desperate for large volume gasoline supply contracts." Mike removed Conrad's letter of intent from his briefcase and handed it to Fletcher. "He told me they're looking for contracts like this one."

Fletcher shook his head from side to side as he stared at the letter in disbelief. "This is incredible! Either Conrad's really desperate or you're one super negotiator."

"It's a sweetheart deal for you and me, but it's at least as important to Golden National."

"Why?"

"Put yourself in their position. You own oil wells and you know you can sell every barrel of oil you produce to some country or refiner for a dollar. But if you owned your own refinery, you could sell those same barrels to your refining division for three dollars. Then your refinery can separate those barrels into petroleum products and sell them for four dollars a barrel."

"I think we're wasting our time," Fletcher said, shaking his head again. "Maybe you and I should go find some crude oil."

"You'll cry when I tell you what else he told me."

"Go ahead. Make me cry."

"Golden National doesn't sell its crude production directly to its refinery. Every barrel is sold to its wholly owned Bermuda subsidiary. The Bermuda company never physically takes possession of the oil. It just temporarily owns it on paper, and then sells it to Golden National's refining division. The profit on the sale is tax free."