Master of the Game

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.

Frederick Hoffman was Charlie Wyatt’s opposite. He was a handsome man, with an aristocratic face and soft brown hair tinged with gray at the temples. He was punctiliously correct and filled with a sense of old-fashioned courtesy. On the surface, Frederick Hoffman was pleasant and debonair; on the inside Kate sensed a core of steel.

The conference in Washington lasted three days, and it went well. The meetings were chaired by the Vice-President, and the President made a brief appearance. Everyone there was impressed with Kate Blackwell. She was an attractive, charismatic woman, head of a corporate empire she had helped build, and they were fascinated, as Kate meant them to be.

When Kate got Charlie Wyatt alone for a moment, she asked innocently, "Is your family with you, Mr. Wyatt?"

"I brought my daughter along. She has a little shoppin’ to do."

"Oh, really? How nice." No one would have suspected that Kate not only knew his daughter was with him, but what kind of dress she had bought at Garfinckel’s that morning. "I’m giving a little dinner party at Dark Harbor Friday. I’d be pleased if you and your daughter would join us for the weekend."

Wyatt did not hesitate. "I’ve heard a lot about your spread, Mrs. Blackwell. I’d sure like to see it."

Kate smiled. "Good. I’ll make arrangements for you to be flown up there tomorrow night."

Ten minutes later, Kate was speaking to Frederick Hoffman. "Are you alone in Washington, Mr. Hoffman?" she asked. "Or is your wife with you?"

"My wife died a few years ago," Frederick Hoffman told her. "I’m here with my daughter."

Kate knew they were staying at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Suite 418. "I’m giving a little dinner party at Dark Harbor. I would be delighted if you and your daughter could join us tomorrow for the weekend."

"I should be getting back to Germany," Hoffman replied. He studied her a moment, and smiled. "I suppose another day or two won’t make much difference."

"Wonderful. I’ll arrange transportation for you."

It was Kate’s custom to give a party at the Dark Harbor estate once every two months. Some of the most interesting and powerful people in the world came to these gatherings, and the get-togethers were always fruitful. Kate intended to see to it that this one was a very special party. Her problem was to make sure Tony attended. During the past year, he had seldom bothered to show up, and when he did he had made a perfunctory appearance and left. This time it was imperative that he come and that he stay.