thought Jackson. They set me up. Another part of him thought, Maybe I deserved it.
The truth was that Jackson was one of the biggest revenue producers at Wrexall. In his first year alone he’d brought in $25 million. Unfortunately, he was also one of the highest earners. Bob Massey, in particular, had encouraged him to take the maximum allowable bonus in the last three years.
‘Why not?’ he told Jackson genially. ‘You’re only young once. Besides, you’ve earned it. Go buy a yacht or twenty.’
Jackson grinned. ‘I’m tempted. But won’t it look bad? Aren’t we all supposed to be showing corporate restraint this year?’
‘Says who? Look, sure, the media’s up in arms about big payouts. But aren’t they always?’
The rest of the board had concurred. All this time I thought they were being generous. But all this time they were just waiting to stiff me.
Wrexall Dupree had long been famous on Wall Street as a snake pit, one of the most aggressive, unpleasant, macho firms on the street. To that extent, it was not surprising to see Wrexall board members turn on one another. What was surprising was to have all twelve of them unite against a member of the family.
The truth was that while Jackson Dupree had the charm of the devil when he wanted to, and was undeniably good at his job, he could also be insufferably arrogant. At twenty-eight, Jackson was a decade younger than the youngest Wrexall MD, but he’d never made so much as a token effort at humility. Swaggering into the office at ten or eleven in the morning, having clearly just rolled out of some model’s bed, he would typically put in a few hours of phone calls (at least half of them to women), before pissing off to some spurious lunch meeting from which he frequently never returned. The fact that he made as much money as his superiors, whilst blatantly putting in a fraction of the effort, did not endear him to anyone.
Tonight, reading the company statutes, Jackson had a rare moment of self-awareness. I fucked this up. All twelve of them hate me. But he didn’t dwell on it. Getting out a pen and paper he made a quick calculation. There were two weeks to go until his board appointment was supposed to become official. How much more revenue do I need to bring in to stop the veto?
He wrote down the number. It was huge. Short of selling a hotel chain for twice what it was worth, he had no chance of … A slow smile spread over Jackson Dupree’s face. He picked up the phone.
Bob Massey stretched out his short legs, leaning back smugly in his leather-backed chair. Today was the day he was going to nail that arrogant little turd Dupree’s balls to the floor. Jackson was late for the meeting as usual, but this time Bob Massey didn’t care. Nothing could dim the pleasure he was going to have in bursting the boy’s bubble once and for all.
At first Bob Massey had worried he might not have been able to persuade the whole board to back him. Especially Lucius Monroe, the chairman. Lucius was an old friend of Jackson’s father, Walker. Doing the dirty on Walker Dupree’s only son might make things a little awkward at the golf club. Then again, it might not. Old man Dupree was said to be wildly disapproving of his son’s dilettantism, however much he might love him. But Lucius, like the others, had needed no persuading.
‘The boy’s a liability. He’s crass, he’s flashy. Did you see that piece on page six last week? About Jackson driving away naked from Senator Davis’s mansion?’
‘Oh God, yes.’ Dan Peters frowned disapprovingly. ‘The senator came home to find Dupree in bed with his wife and the Puerto Rican housekeeper. At it like rabbits, the three of them. Davis came at him with a shotgun, apparently.’
‘I don’t blame him. Wasn’t Jackson dating the daughter at one point? Lorna? Lorretta?’
‘Lola. Lola Davis. Yeah. That was the week before.’
Jackson’s embarrassing public sexploits gave the board the moral high ground. The company statutes gave them the legal high ground. But everyone knew the real reason behind Bob Massey’s coup: Jackson Dupree was an insufferable, arrogant prick. This would be the last day they’d have to put up with his entitled, self-satisfied swagger. The last day they would have to hear their secretaries salivating over how much they wanted to go to bed with him. The last day …
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Jackson loped into the boardroom with his usual sheepish grin. He was wearing torn drainpipe jeans, a vintage t-shirt and a black Spurr jacket. His dark hair was even more wildly dishevelled than usual and a dark shadow of stubble matched the circles under his eyes. He couldn’t have looked more post-coital if he’d come in wrapped in a sheet and holding a used condom. ‘Rita Halston got into town last night. She needed a lot of entertaining.’
Twelve pairs of envious eyes bored into Jackson as he took his seat. Rita Halston was a well-known ‘adult entertainment’ actress. There wasn’t a man in America who hadn’t fantasized about banging Rita, and the Wrexall board members were no exception. Her body was a Manga cartoon made flesh, and her face, with those ludicrously full lips and innocent Bambi-brown eyes made Angelina Jolie look sexless. Since she bought a string of West Village townhomes last year, Rita Halston was also officially a Wrexall client. Specifically, she was Jackson’s client, which meant spending the morning in bed with her could be classified as ‘work’.
Gloat while you can, jerk-off, thought Bob Massey. By the end of this meeting we’ll have wiped that smile off your face.
Lucius Monroe launched into the order of business. Most of Wrexall’s profits came from US commercial real estate: time-share condominiums in Florida; strip malls and business centres across the country in Denver, Dallas, Atlanta, Seattle; prime retail in Manhattan and Beverly Hills. Occasionally they did residential work, like Jackson’s acquisitions for Rita Halston, or took pieces of real estate deals abroad, in Europe or Asia. Around the table, each board member updated the group on their division’s progress. At the end of the meeting, Jackson’s accession to the board would be formally ratified. Or so he thinks. It was all Bob Massey could do to not rub his hands together with glee.
At last Darryl Jeffries finished his deathly dull update on the latest retail deal. It was time. Bob Massey glanced triumphantly at Jackson. He was furious to see that the boy had fallen asleep at the table and was snoring quietly with his head in his hands.
‘Are we boring you, Mr Dupree?’ Lucius Monroe’s voice shook with anger.
‘Huh? Oh, sorry.’ Jackson grinned disarmingly. ‘I must have nodded off. Is it time yet, for the big announcement? I guess we should get this over with. So, I’m very grateful to all of you, yada yada yada, it’s a huge honour and all that. But I’d really like to get back to bed.’
Prick.
Bob Massey stood up. ‘Actually, Jackson, there’s been a change of plans.’ The smile he’d been suppressing for the last hour and a half spread across his face now like a fungus. ‘You may not be aware of this, but in the company’s founding statutes there are a couple of stipulations concerning your appointment to the board.’
‘There are?’ Jackson feigned ignorance.
‘I’m afraid so. One of them concerns the ratio of your revenues to earnings.’
‘You don’t say. Well, what does it say?’
Bob Massey lifted a piece of paper from the pile in front of him. He began to read, slowly, savouring every word. Around the table, his colleagues smiled and nodded. By the time Bob had finished, they were positively glowing with triumph. ‘I have your numbers here, Jackson. And I’m sorry to say, they don’t look good.’
Lucius Monroe got to his feet. ‘Well, in the light of this, I suppose it’s my duty to put Jackson’s promotion to a vote. Would all those in favour of appointing Jackson Dupree to full membership of this board, with immediate effect, please raise their hands now.’
Nobody moved.
Bob Massey looked as if he might spontaneously combust with joy.
‘I