Find a quiet spot, turn the page, and let’s see what this story has been hiding 🌙
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At noon the next day, Julian sent Faith and Taylor onto their flight back to Nashville.
Everything seemed to be moving onto the right track.
Now he needed to wait for the next issue to reach newsstands, roughly a month away.
He had only been back in Chicago for four days, and most of that time had been spent tangled up with Faith Hill.
His real working hours barely reached five.
Even so, Julian felt deeply tired.
“People need work-life balance.”
On the ride from the airport to the company, he began imagining where to have fun.
‘High-end clubs?
Private lounges?
Why not open one myself?
Then I wouldn’t spend money; I’d make money.
Perfect.’
He did not get much time to fantasize.
Soon after returning to the office, an unexpected visitor arrived.
She was a lean older woman with fine wrinkles at her throat.
Her name was Rowell, and she was the company’s CFO, responsible for all accounts and cash flow.
“In reality, the company cannot even afford proper maintenance,” Rowell said.
“The storage rooms have roaches.
Two color printers in editorial are broken and have been left that way.”
“We have tried almost everything short of deeper layoffs.
Senior executives took collective pay cuts between ten and thirty percent.
The company building has been sold to a New York asset-management firm and leased back.
Even the vehicle you are riding in has been used as collateral with an auto lender here in Chicago.”
Her tone remained flat.
“As I said, we cannot even fix broken equipment.
At the end of next month, debt to three banks comes due.
It is not much, only several million dollars, but after payroll, we have no spare cash.”
“So, Mr.
Moretti, the company urgently needs your support.”
Julian had money.
Haven Home had brought in five hundred million dollars in cash.
Capital committed to the take-private and other expenses totaled about two hundred ten million.
Most of the remainder sat in investments, but he still had sixty million in liquid funds.
He could easily help the company through this.
But that was not the point.
A magazine with a stable audience might not earn much anymore, but it should not be this starved for cash.
If conditions were this tight, something was wrong.
“Where did the money go?”
“Before coming here, I sent a five-year expense summary to your email.
The hole is partly from new-business development, but also from procurement.”
“Such as a twelve-thousand-dollar toilet, an eight-thousand-dollar bed, and seven-hundred-dollar glasses?”
Julian understood.
“Roughly.
A Hefner family member was once attached to procurement, though most of the people who handled the purchases are no longer with the company.
I only became CFO at the beginning of the year.
There are also problems in existing lines of business, especially rights procurement for the pay channels.”
“Then investigate it.
All of it.
I will have Saul send anyone who stole from this company to prison.
As for the cash problem, I will handle it.”
Julian authorized a ten-million-dollar bridge loan from his investment vehicle, subject to documentation by Saul’s team.
“Fix what needs fixing.
Replace what needs replacing.
Try to give employees a comfortable work environment.
Also, stock the break rooms and add an afternoon snack service.
None of that costs much.
If you run into problems, come to me.”
Having spent years as an ordinary employee in his previous life, Julian understood how grinding office life could be.
He intended to improve employee benefits step by step.
“Yes, Mr.
Moretti.”
Rowell released a breath she had been holding.
On the surface, she had remained calm.
In reality, she had been exhausted.
Christie had not had her heart in the company.
Richard, the number two, was stubborn.
The other executives had built their own factions behind closed doors.
Julian did not know all of that yet, but Rowell was beginning to think he might be a decent boss.
His private life, however, was another matter.
‘Sleeping with his mother’s friend?
Really?’
The truth was that Julian’s behavior was not especially shocking by the standards of the company he was taking private.
The previous regime had simply left the bar so low that he looked almost noble by comparison.
Julian, meanwhile, was evaluating Rowell too.
She had entered senior leadership almost alongside him, did not belong to Richard’s camp, and seemed competent.
This seasoned, worn-down executive might become a reliable subordinate.
He opened his computer and logged into Twitter.
The previous day’s press conference had succeeded.
Taylor had crossed a thousand followers, while Faith and Julian had both climbed further into the low thousands.
The public replies were chaotic.
Some people cursed him outright.
Some told him to stay away from Faith.
Some asked when Taylor’s album would release.
Others wanted to buy a specific issue of the magazine from a certain year.
Almost none of the messages were positive.
At best, they were neutral.
The more Julian read, the more annoyed he became.
Eventually, he found one message that seemed to praise him, only to discover the sender wanted a job at the magazine.
Clearly, he needed to change public perception soon.
After thinking for a while, Julian posted:
People keep asking why I sold my finance company.
The Fed’s tightening cycle is exposing cracks in subprime credit.
If that stress reaches Wall Street, Bear Stearns will be one of the first firms to show it.
Watch the stock.
This is an observation, not investment advice.
Bear Stearns was one of America’s major investment banks.
Before the crisis fully revealed itself, the stock still had enough liquidity, reputation, and volatility to become useful to Julian.
Julian had already built a bearish position through puts and short exposure.
It had begun to move in his favor, but the real payoff was still months away.
Once a prophet’s predictions kept coming true, every sentence he spoke would begin to sound like scripture.
And scripture could move reality.
He planned to carve a piece out of Wall Street.
This was preparation.
That, however, was still a couple of months away.
Julian continued scrolling through replies and emails forwarded from the company’s public contact address.
Dear Julian, I am from New Jersey.
Ever since I saw you on television, I have been hopeless.
I need you.
Please contact me: XXX-XXX-XXXX.
Other replies and emails were even more direct, filled with phone numbers, links to photos, invitations, and offers from women who had very clearly seen the blurred parking-garage images.
Internet users were impressively blunt.
There were also practical requests.
The most common involved buying old issues of the magazine.
Seeing those, Julian remembered the neighbor in Nashville.
Richard had not been entirely wrong.
Some people had grown up with the magazine and developed a real nostalgia for it.
In the eyes of a pure businessman, nostalgia was fertile ground.
The crop was ready to harvest.
Julian called Rosenzweig.
“I have a new idea for the magazine.
Want to hear it?”
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Ready for more?
I hope this chapter drew you further into the story.
Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.