CHAPTER 15

July 21, 1968.

At one minute before midnight, at North York General Hospital, Mike and Barbara celebrated the arrival of their first child, a beautiful seven pound, six ounce girl. By unanimous agreement, they named her Kerri Elizabeth.

The arrival of Kerri was a defining moment for Mike. His daughter was such a precious gift, and she needed a perfect world to grow up in. He strengthened his resolve to do whatever he could to make his marriage work.

Three days later, Mike and Barbara relaxed on the rear lawn of their new bungalow, twenty miles north of Toronto, watching the sun set over pine colored hills. Kerri slept in her crib between them. Mike separated the business section from his Saturday paper and began to search for something that might warrant careful attention. He reached the back page without finding anything of note, and was about to fold the whole section into the rest of the paper when a brief glimpse of an article caused him to stop. He bolted upright.

Barbara frowned. “What’s so interesting?” she asked, continuing to stare at the horizon.

Mike was excited. “I think this company is looking for me.”

“Do you know anything about them?”

“I sure do. International Fuel Brokers is a great company and extremely well respected in the industry. It imports petroleum products from all over the world and sells them in North America.”

“What makes you so sure they’re looking for you?” Barbara asked.

“I have exactly what they’re looking for,” Mike explained. “But what’s far more important is that International Fuel Brokers has what I’m looking for.”

“What’s that?”

“A box seat. I could learn more about the oil business in one year with that company than I could in ten at Canam.”

The response to Mike’s letter and resume was swift. He received a telephone call at his home on Wednesday evening. “May I speak to Mike King, please?” a woman asked.

“Speaking,” Mike said, struggling to conceal his excitement.

“Mr. King, my name is Evelyn Wells. I’m the secretary of Mr. Owen Christian, the president of International Fuel Brokers. I’m calling to advise you that we have received your letter and resume. Mr. Christian has asked me to invite you to have lunch with him at the Dominion Club at noon this Friday. Would that be convenient for you?”

“Yes, that would be convenient.”

“Fine. Mr. Christian would like to meet you in his office at eleven forty-five. I presume you have our address.” From her lips, it wasn’t a question.

“I do.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. King. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Friday.”

Christian was a tall thin man with extremely fine features and a mosaic of facial wrinkles spanning from the dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black, pinstriped suit. His thinning brown hair was graying at the sides and combed so that not one hair was out of place. His matching tie and handkerchief—in fire engine red—were over the top.

Christian wasted no time. “Mike, I invited you here today to meet you and to offer you a job, if I like you. Your resume told us a lot about yourself, and I liked what I read. You appear to be eminently qualified to fill the position.”

“Thank you,” Mike said.

“I see that you’re currently employed by Canam,” Christian continued, staring at Mike with his almost penetrating green eyes. “It’s a fine company. It does a wonderful job of training people. Sometimes I envy Canam’s program, but I think they take far too long to develop talent.”

Mike nodded in agreement, stifling a smirk.

Christian placed his feet on his desk and leaned back in his chair. “Before we go to lunch, I want to tell you a little bit about IFB. Hell, we might discover you don’t like us.” He faked a smile. “Would you agree that’s a possibility?”

Mike nodded.

“IFB is a public company. It’s listed on the Toronto and New York Exchanges, and in Europe on the London and Brussels Exchanges. No company or individual owns more than four percent of the stock. It’s also a very successful company, and with a modicum of humility, I’ll tell you that I am largely responsible for that success. Every decision of consequence is made right here.” He pointed to himself.

“Excuse me, Owen,” Mike interrupted. “How large is IFB?”

“Good question. We move slightly over five billion gallons a year. Is that a satisfactory answer?”

Mike nodded, impressed. “Yes, sir.”

“We plan to get much larger. In the past several years, we’ve been in acquisition mode. Our current policy has been to acquire a half interest in independent distributors—mostly companies selling distillate fuel to homes and factories. The public call it fuel oil, but I call it pure gold. Our game plan is to identify target companies, romance them heavily, and buy fifty percent of their stock. We put the owner on a nice five-year management contract, sign a sweet long term supply contract with him, and then let him run. It’s a beautiful deal for both parties. We lock up the supply and avoid the aggravation and expense of running the companies. Our new partner has a pile of cash in his jeans, security of supply, and the IFB covenant behind him. You understand me so far?”

Mike nodded again.

“The person we’re looking for is someone capable of identifying target companies. We want someone good enough to move these companies through the romantic phase and drag them into the fold. For obvious reasons, the individual has to know the oil business well. More importantly, he must be an opportunist.” Owen squinted at him with a slight smirk on his lips. “Do you think you’re the man we’re looking for?”

“Yes,” Mike replied without hesitation, simultaneously experiencing a pang of insecurity.

“The reason I’m doing this interview is because I’m a substantially better judge of character than any head hunter. The last idiot those jerks sent us was an accident looking for somewhere to happen. He fell flat on his ass and we’re still cleaning up his mess. It’s a damn shame, you know. The kid had all the right credentials.”

Mike couldn’t resist. He had to interrupt again. “Do you mind telling me what his credentials were?”

“He had an MBA from Harvard. Why do you ask?” Christian asked with a puzzled expression.

“Just curious,” Mike said, fighting an urge to smirk.

Christian glanced at his watch and at Mike. “Let’s have some lunch. You hungry?”

“Very.”

Christian continued to dominate the conversation at the Dominion Club, taking time only to swallow three dry martinis and a toasted club sandwich. When coffees were served, Christian stopped his dialogue long enough to ask, “Your resume said you took a year out of school. I’m curious to know why you did that.”

“I didn’t like what I was doing, and wasn’t prepared to waste any more time and money until I found something I did like.”

Christian nodded and winked. “Good answer. I like that.”

Mike finally mustered enough courage to ask the big question. “Owen, how are you going to decide if I’m the opportunist you’re looking for?”

Christian gave Mike an indignant stare. “I told you I rely on my instinct, son. I’m rarely wrong about people.” He winked again. “The way you asked that question didn’t do you any harm… In fact, I’m going to offer the job to you right now. If you accept, I want you to start as soon as possible. Do you have any problem with that?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Your title will be Sales Engineer. If it works out, we’ll change that. Your starting salary will be seventy thousand. You’ll have a company car, a dedicated parking space in the York Garage, a car allowance of six hundred a month, and a very liberal expense account. You’ll have an office next to mine, and you’ll report to me. I won’t keep track of your hours, but I will track your progress. Are you interested?”

Mike stared at Christian in stunned silence. He had expected that the luncheon meeting would merely be the beginning of a long and tedious evaluation process, although he never doubted that he would ultimately receive a job offer.

“I asked you a question, son. I expect an answer.”

Mike considered a coy response, but the thought of doubling his salary overnight and working in one of the most exciting sectors of the business was far too compelling. He decided to plunge into Christian’s challenge and make it work, in spite of his concerns about the apparent ruthlessness of his new boss. He nodded. “If you’re prepared to commit the offer to writing, I’m prepared to give Canam my two weeks’ notice.”

“Then it’s done,” Christian declared. “I’ll have Evelyn type the offer, and you can take it with you. The only thing I won’t give you is a long term commitment. You must understand that you’ll have to earn your tenure at IFB. Nobody’s going to give it to you.”

Mike left the Dominion Club in a state of euphoria. He soon stopped to buy a large bottle of expensive champagne. “Screw the office—it’s party time!” he shouted aloud when he got home, clutching Christian’s offer in his right hand and shaking his fist high.

Barbara, however, refused to share Mike’s excitement. She agreed to share a single glass of champagne with him, and then went to bed, leaving him to finish the bottle alone.