You're Worth Dying For Ch. 01

Next Maggie purchased three apartment blocks that were attracting adverse publicity. The newspaper articles, supported by letter writers, described the jerry-built apartment blocks as degenerating into unwanted slums. Maggie then drew adverse publicity for giving all tenants of the ninety-six apartments six week's notice to leave their buildings which were to be reconstructed. She entered partnerships with three small building firms to redevelop the buildings -- principally re-cladding the leaking structures and upgrading interiors.

The ninety-six apartments were then sold on unit titles -- many of them to former tenants -- at rather high prices, with the development consortium of each building providing low-interest loans to approved purchasers for one year or at a higher rate of interest for three years. The mortgages of course were advanced by a company totally owned by Maggie.

In an about-face, the local newspaper publicly praised Maggie for her innovative approach and this resulted in the city council awarding her a 'Good Citizen's Plaque' -- a small version to take home, the larger version being screwed into the wall along with others in the foyer of the Town Hall. Almost overwhelmed by this formal presentation in front of one hundred and fifty council staff and invited citizens, mostly business and professional people, Maggie make a courtesy call on the editor to thank him for reversing criticism into praise. In making that visit Maggie found she was looking at a failing business located in totally unsuitable and second-rate premises -- a ripe plum for the picking.

Editor-in-chief Clive Boys had an eye for a good woman; those eyes almost popped when Maggie arrived to sit in front of his desk. As she was ushered it, ever curve and nuance of her ripening twenty-nine year old body was creatively depicted by the tight blue and white mottled silk dress. Clive jumped to his feet, sending his half-filled coffee cup flying off the saucer.

"Damn -- oh, clean up my mess please Cathie while I attend to my visitor."

With the accent on 'attend' Maggie mused about what part of her body he had in mind to attend; his eyes were everywhere, almost turning him cross-eyed. What a creep.

She thanked him. He said charmed and produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses. Maggie looked around for the sofa but there wasn't one. Well, if he though he was going to rumble her on the carpet, he better have another think coming. In fact unless he backed off he'd bettered by prepared for a nut-cracker kick. Fortunately his assistant Cathie popped in to announced, "Excuse me but there's a call for you Clive, Mrs Boys -- she says it's urgent." The accent had definitely been on Mrs Boys and Maggie smiled at Cathie, acknowledging the forty-something's half wink.

"A roast, not more than $20; yes dear."

Clive returned to his whisky as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. They chatted and he asked Maggie what her next project would be and she said she was thinking about building the proposed stadium.

"Look, don't touch it," advised Clive. "My information is a Maori iwi is waiting for construction to start and then they will slap a claim on the land as part of their Treaty of Waitangi settlement application, which will delay construction a year, possible up to five."

"Can they do that?"

"Yes, because the site is State-leased farmland just outside the 18 by 16 mile block vested in the city council for development of the City of Southgate by Act of Parliament.

"But the act forbids the city to expand beyond its gazetted boundaries."

"That's true, but the stadium is passing through the planning and consent processes because it's exempt as it's clearly a regional amenity."

"Oh yes, I do believe I am aware of that exception. Bugger, I'll have to look for new options."

Clive sat up straight, fingering his ginger mustache. "Perhaps you'll need not look any further -- redevelop this ailing business."

"What, I know nothing about producing newspapers."

Looking pained, Clive said his emphasis was on the word business. The newspaper was billed as the company's flagship but it really was small cheese; in the last financial year commercial printing accounted for eight-seven percent of the company's net profit.

"These buildings of ours and the printing presses acquired third-hand are millstones, dragging the company down. Our founder Chas. White was driving us forward but then dropped dead and that gave us Widow White as our new millstone as she knows nothing about business, but excels as senior women's golf and Bridge and bringing us flowers from her garden."

The solution seemed so obvious to Maggie. "Why doesn't she inject more capital and sort out the problems?"

"Because she's resolved not to spend another cent on the business."

"Then why doesn't she sell?"

"We've tried but she refused to sell off the newspaper and the commercial division separately because it was the dream of her husband to develop such an integrated business for the new city to create wealth for his son and two daughters, but they have no interest and all three live overseas."

"So stalemale, unless she drops dead."

"Exactly."

Sitting with her legs crossed, Maggie adjusted the way her bra was sitting to give Clive something to concentrate on for half a minute. She bent up her fingers, apparently studying her nail polish. Thirty seconds later she pulled her skirt down and asked for another whisky and water. As Clive was attending to that Maggie requested he call the chief executive, commercial manager and accountant in for a preliminary meeting. To another question Clive confirmed that he controlled the entire editorial operation.

Clive opened the door and asked Cathie to call those officers Maggie named to a meeting PDQ.

"They won't come as they are busy people, not unless you wave a carrot," Maggie heard his PA say.

"Tell them I have a possible buyer for the business -- the whole fucking lot?"

"You mean that young woman in there with you?" was the response thick with disbelief.

"Yes, and bring in a bottle of white wine for Dana and another bottle of whisky."

"What about your guest?"

"She drinks whisky,"

"Ohmigod -- a real woman."

Maggie decided she really liked Mrs Cathie Whatshername.

Pierce Muggeridge the commercial manager arrived first and smiled charmingly at Maggie, saying had it know he was to meet a beautiful young woman he would have combed his hair and put on a jacket.

The accountant Dana Sorensen was courteous and cautious and then the big chief arrived. Oh he was tall -- about six-three, with unruly hair in multiple browns but what surprised Maggie was Ryan de Lacey age -- he looked around 30, so young for someone in his position of responsibility. She saw Ryan looking at her and flushed, realizing he was probably thinking the same thing about her young age for a serious investor.

Clive then gave a résumé of Maggie's connections with the city and her background, even knowing her mother was the socialite (his description) Harriet Holbrow (Harriet never used the name of her husbands). Maggie couldn't fault the presentation then realized he'd been at his laptop while she'd been talking to Dana and Pierce; obviously the newspaper had her profile on its database.

All executives were now taking a real interest in Maggie and she was invited by Clive to outline her interest. He explained to the others her interest had simply emerged during a casual chat.

"I know what the condition of your admin building and factory are in without the benefit of an inspection -- massive problems with permeation of rainwater that are almost impossible to stem, rotting of timber that was not adequately treated, deflection due to the trimming back of safety margins on loadings and..."

"Are you sure you haven't inspected our premises?" interrupted Ryan, grinning.

"Clive told me the names of the architects, engineers, quantity surveyors and the developer -- all of whom I know are no longer residents of this country. I have already redeveloped three properties in which that syndicate was involved; it's a shameful legacy."

"And you aim to fix the building problems?" asked Dana.

"No."

"Then what are we doing here listening to you?" queried Ryan, an edge to his voice.

"If I become involved, I would imagine a total relocation to new purpose-built premises leased from the reputable developer would be our best option; but I would have to get advice on that."

Mouths opened in astonishment.

"No-one else has suggested that," Clive ventured.

"So, it sounds crazy to you Clive?"

"Not at all, bloody brilliant in fact. Allow me to top up your glass."

Ryan's smile was back. "It's not revolutionary; it's just it was not considered an option. May I ask, have you any idea how much buying the company and relocating the entire operation would cost, and remember it would be idiotic not to replace the printing presses?"

"I haven't a clue; I engage consultants to provide that information for me. My first step is to focus on company acquisition, so hang on to your drinks and seats as I am about to be my shocking self: what is the lowest possible price do you think Mrs White and co-investors would accept to give me total acquisition?"

Dana was shocked, clutching the table with both hands. "We couldn't possibly be party to manipulating price for you."

"A fair enough comment, Dana but what if it was our venture?"

"Our?" Pierce said, curling an eyebrow.

"Yes, what if I was to invite you and your under-managers to mortgage/borrow yourselves to the hilt and join me in a management buyout. In completing the purchases and becoming executive chairman, I would inject the most substantial amount, of course, as all up it could cost upwards of $10 to $15 million before the spending of capital ends."

The executives looked at each other and looked at Ryan as if authorizing him to speak on their behalf.

"Why would we want to do that?"

"For you people, to feel you were part of the reconstruction process. As the company prospers I would be prepared to buy back your shares at valuation. For my part I would know I had a committed management team to give me confidence in taking the plunge, though I have a great deal of investigation to do before that stage is reached. This will be a very expensive project, which is why we mustn't pay any more for the company than what it's worth as an ailing business."

Clive scratched an ear. "Would you envisage ditching the newspaper or continue on with it as a loss-making division?"

"Losses in any division are not healthy for any company, Clive. This would need careful consideration but my feeling is that we would strengthen marketing and promotion and widen the circulation area of theNew City Echo to 30 miles of the city boundaries, turning it into a regional daily newspaper and taking theNew Zealand Herald andWaikato Times head-on."

The executives looked at Maggie silently until Dana said softly, "God, aren't you something." That broke the tension and everyone lifted their whiskey or wine.

Pierce turned to the editor-in-chief. "What do you think of that idea, Clive -- crazy or brilliant or will you fence-sit?"

"Gutsy is how I'd term it. Advertisers always want an increasing circulation and greater frequency. We would be giving them both, big time, and picking up national advertising as well. We would go from publishing Monday-Wednesday-Friday newspaper to Monday to Friday and, on Friday as well, publishing a weekend magazine edition that would be distributed on Saturday morning -- at least that's how I see it. I reckon we could notch up 30,000 sales a day to casuals and subscribers, plus probably 60,000 for the weekender edition. TheHerald andTimes would try to slay us, of course but they'll learn money doesn't buy loyalty -- readers will love us because they know we pamper them exclusively and are part of them, owned locally, not like those other two newspapers."

"Well, time's hurrying on Maggie, so what now?" Ryan asked.

"We meet here same time the day after tomorrow when you'll tell me what you think of my proposal and your commitment to it, if any."

"We'll meet in the boardroom," Ryan said.

"I'd prefer here, Ryan. Let's keep this low key. No sense in stirring up the natives."

"She's right, Ryan," Dana said.

"Here is fine," Ryan said, holding out his hand to shake. Maggie obliged and cheekily squeezed his hand, seeing his eyes widen. She dipped her eyes and smiled.

"I'll walk you out to your car, Maggie," Clive said gallantly.

"You'll be safer with me, come on Maggie," Dana said, taking Maggie's arm.

"Goodbye Mrs Roberts," Cathie called, flashing a warm smile.

What a wonderful Friday, thought Maggie, with a skin full of whisky that perhaps put her over the borderline of being a safe driver, so she concentrated on driving the straight and narrow with due attention to the idiosyncrasies of other motorists who clearly identified themselves as either incompetent or drunk drivers.

She arrived home safely and immediately thought, "I should be out tonight drinking in a bar with a handsome companion -- a new companion she hastened to correct herself, knowing that Stephen was with her no more. A cry of anguish touched her breastbone but was gone in an instant, vaporized as had the body of her husband when he was cremated according to his previously revealed wish.

But a moment later Maggie was staggered with the vision of the drinking companion her mind conjured up -- it was that fellow Ryan -- absolutely crystal clear in her mind right down to his 5 o'clock shadow. Caught in a panic she didn't know what to do so shut herself in the toilet to think. Maggie quickly came to a decision over the purchase and reconstruction of the publishing/printing company -- do it, dictate the terms and jettison anyone opposing her vision or was half-hearted about it.

That left her mind free until...Stephen. "Sorry, darling; I'll never forget you but it's time you retreated as a past memory. I have my new life to live.

The truth was the marriage had been failing. It was all full-on sex, just like it had been in Malta, and Stephen truly had been what's she'd call the consummate organic lover. She knew what that meant and if she had to explain what they meant then it was a waste of time.

Stephen had been an aviator, piloting freight aircraft around the world -- cargoes of fine foods, exotic cars, arms, thoroughbred horses, foodstuffs for refugees, the lighting and sound gear for musicians on tour, the paraphernalia for live fashion shows and even the households of Sheiks. Maggie had assumed that on such charters, far away from home, Stephen had not necessarily slept alone at nights.

She sighed, recalling those magic two days and two tumultuous nights with him in Malta. She then returned home and miraculously he followed her, changing his base from an airfield out of Paris to Auckland International Airport which, surprisingly, turned out advantageously for him being so close to Australia to service the needs of the clients of the international consortium he and his crew worked for. His English speaking crew and ground support team reveled at being in a culturally compliant environment even though in a distant land. But, regrettably, the marriage between Maggie and Stephen began to falter.

Being licked, stroked and kissed to unbelievably exquisite heights in sexual liaison is one thing, and for a time it seems easy to think that's the beginning and the end. But gradually the lights dim and other more mundane things being to filter in, such as companionship, muttering sweet nothings, doing simple things together such as sitting on a rock wall and enjoying the sunset or rolling out of the bed in the morning to walk along the beach, hand in hand, watching the dawn color the sky and sea.

Eventually Maggie ceased ignoring the warning signs; she recognized that the robust or even gentle pre-sex administrations from Stephen, igniting harmonious responses from her, were becoming a thing of their past. Hiding her desperation she tried to recapture those delicate subtleties of young love, to no avail -- the subtleties of their whole being together seemed to remain only with her.

At times he had eight to ten days off flying. They'd go away in that first week to resorts and he'd be tremendous in bed again but then spoiling it by getting drunk and then boasting about the women he'd known, pretending they lay in his past, but he'd make errors about timing that allowed her to know some of them belonged to current times.

Did she want this? Was it worth putting up with? Maggie decided no, that this was not the man she'd fallen into bed with and then thinking he was the man she was prepared to spend the rest of her life with. He was, by all accounts, an excellent pilot, and she knew first hand he could ram the daylights out of her, having her in a screaming, quivering mass than no man before him had managed to achieve. But beyond that, what did he offer? At that Maggie struggled to produce answers.

On night when he was drunk they had a tiff, ending up with him hitting her across the mouth, cutting her lip and causing her mouth to swell grotesquely. She retaliated, smacking her first into his eye and within half an hour the eye had closed completely; he missed out on an assignment as he was unfit to fly, which riled him no end and he behaved abominably.

At that point Maggie knew the marriage was over and began thinking about seeking a divorce.

A few days later Stephen flew a cargo of tinned foodstuff from Budapest to Baghdad and then went on to a destination in Turkey where they took aboard 'rural community supplies' in wooden crates to a location in Afghanistan. Documentation was in order and they were cleared to fly across borders but unfortunately an over-exorbitant air force pilot disregarded conventions and fired a missile into Stephen's plane without attempting to identify the aircraft or attempt to force it to land, killing all aboard in the crash. No weapons were found amongst the debris of the payload at the crash sight, only water pumps.

Stephen's body, or what was left of it, was returned home to his wife and six months later a sum of $NZ2.7 million dollars in compensation from an unnamed source was paid into Maggie's bank account. There was no explanation apart from the bank manager confirming it was "a legitimate payment to her, approved by the New Zealand Government" and she received a further payment of $NZ50,000 from Stephen's employers and his insurance company paid out $840,000.

She cried, of course, at the news of Stephen's death, believing it to be so unfair. Not unexpectedly, she missed him and in the final analysis decided she'd prefer him to the money as nobody should die as horribly as did he and his crew. But since he was no longer around, she'd accept the money.

Going off for a month to be in recluse and after exorcising those dreary thoughts -- well, unless you were firm, they could remain with you forever -- Maggie thought that perhaps Ryan was a suitable replacement for her. The compelling thought she had was he was a lot less aggressive than Stephen and that raised the question, did he have backbone. For that she'd have to wait and see.

* * *

Maggie purchased the publishing and printing business. A meeting of managers was called and the details of purchase and relocation within eighteen months was explained to them, plus news presses for the newspaper and its expansion into a regional Monday to Friday daily newspaper plus a weekend magazine edition.

The response was overwhelming. Only one manager failed to participate; pledges from the others ranging from $10,000 to $350,000 (Ryan), which pleased Maggie enormously. Once she had the purchase of the company finalized she and her advisers calculated they were $2.6 million short but the Midland Bank was sure to advance that amount. However, Maggie decided to try elsewhere.