One of Brad Rogers’s responsibilities was to oversee the Long-Range Planning Department of Kruger-Brent, Ltd. He was brilliant at finding businesses that would make profitable acquisitions.
One day in early May, he walked into Kate Blackwell’s office. “I’ve come across something interesting, Kate.” He placed two folders on her desk. “Two companies. If we could pick up either one of them, it would be a coup.”
“Thanks, Brad. I’ll look them over tonight.”
That evening, Kate dined alone and studied Brad Rogers’s confidential reports on the two companies—Wyatt Oil & Tool and International Technology. The reports were long and detailed, and both ended with the letters NIS, the company code for Not Interested in Selling, which meant that if the companies were to be acquired, it would take more than a straightforward business transaction to accomplish it. And, Kate thought, they’re well worth taking over. Each company was privately controlled by a wealthy and strong-minded individual, which eliminated any possibility of a takeover attempt. It was a challenge, and it had been a long time since Kate had faced a challenge. The more she thought about it, the more the possibilities began to excite her. She studied again the confidential balance sheets. Wyatt Oil & Tool was owned by a Texan, Charlie Wyatt, and the company’s assets included producing oil wells, a utility company and dozens of potentially profitable oil leases. There was no question about it, Wyatt Oil & Tool would make a handsome acquisition for Kruger-Brent, Ltd.
Kate turned her attention to the second company. International Technology was owned by a German, Count Frederick Hoffman. The company had started with a small steel mill in Essen, and over the years had expanded into a huge conglomerate, with shipyards, petrochemical plants, a fleet of oil tankers and a computer division.
As large as Kruger-Brent, Ltd., was, it could digest only one of these giants. She knew which company she was going after. NIS, the sheet read.
We’ll see about that, Kate thought.
Early the following morning, she sent for Brad Rogers. “I’d love to know how you got hold of those confidential balance sheets,” Kate grinned. “Tell me about Charlie Wyatt and Frederick Hoffman.”
Brad had done his homework. “Charlie Wyatt was born in Dallas. Flamboyant, loud, runs his own empire, smart as hell. He started with nothing, got lucky in oil wildcatting, kept expanding and now he owns about half of Texas.”
“How old is he?”
“Forty-seven.”
“Children?”
“One daughter, twenty-five. From what I hear, she’s a raving beauty.”
“Is she married?”
“Divorced.”
“Frederick Hoffman.”
“Hoffman’s a couple of years younger than Charlie Wyatt. He’s a count, comes from a distinguished German family going back to the Middle Ages. He’s a widower. His grandfather started with a small steel mill. Frederick Hoffman inherited it from his father and built it into a conglomerate. He was one of the first to get into the computer field. He holds a lot of patents on microprocessors. Every time we use a computer, Count Hoffman gets a royalty.”
“Children?”
“A daughter, twenty-three.”
“What is she like?”
“I couldn’t find out,” Brad Rogers apologized. “It’s a very buttoned-up family. They travel in their own little circles.” He hesitated. “We’re probably wasting our time on this, Kate. I had a few drinks with a couple of top executives in both companies. Neither Wyatt nor Hoffman has the slightest interest in a sale, merger or joint venture. As you can see from their financials, they’d be crazy even to think about it.”
That feeling of challenge was there in Kate again, tugging at her.
Ten days later Kate was invited by the President of the United States to a Washington conference of leading international industrialists to discuss assistance to underdeveloped countries. Kate made a telephone call, and shortly afterward Charlie Wyatt and Count Frederick Hoffman received invitations to attend the conference.
Kate had formed a mental impression of both the Texan and the German, and they fitted her preconceived notions almost precisely. She had never met a shy Texan, and Charlie Wyatt was no exception. He was a huge man—almost six feet four inches—with enormous shoulders and a football player’s body that had gone to fat. His face was large and ruddy, and his voice loud and booming. He came off as a good ol’ boy—or would have if Kate had not known better. Charlie Wyatt had not built his empire by luck. He was a business genius. Kate had talked to him for less than ten minutes when she knew that there was no way this man could be persuaded to do anything he did not want to do. He was opinionated, and he had a deep stubborn streak. No one was going to cajole him, threaten him or con him out of his company. But Kate had found his Achilles’ heel, and that was enough.