The Hindu Business Line : Bribes come in neat covers on the table

STORY so far: With India having been pushed downward in the ranking of tourist preferences, in the aftermath of communal problems and border tension, the hotel industry has taken a beating and the posh lobbies seem ill-suited for any cheerful conversation. Which is why perhaps I tell Tarun in so many words that he is wasting his time in trying to get a controlling stake in my company.

Episode 15

Over a leisurely dinner, I looked into the papers that Tarun had brought. There were all those workings of different options, done to classroom perfection, complete with charts, tables and graphs, as they teach in CA for the financial management paper. The real world doesn't behave like that, I reminded him. There was an institutional investor in my company — who is popular by the name Lay Bros — with a sizable holding, and Tarun's strategy didn't speak a word about how LB would tilt.

"A big hole in your analysis," I said, "you move one way and they move the other, and that would be the end of your pipe dreams."

"I agree LB is a blackbox," he conceded. "But I am trying to get a contact there, Swati."

"Who?"

"The country head, Pereira."

"How?" I was curious.

"My sister's classmate said her cousin works in the local office of LB," he said with great enthusiasm.

"Stop chasing that cousin," I advised him. "The boss plays golf with Pereira whenever they meet in Delhi."

"I thought you would join our side," Tarun said hopefully. "And when my brother-in-law becomes the MD, and I become the production head, you could become VP Finance, Swati!"

"Boss will become chairman emeritus," I extended his logic.

"That's right," Tarun acknowledged. "We can give him a fancy title such as Corp Guru, and his only job would be to attend the annual meetings and say a few words."

"But Chandru is already heading finance," I pointed out.

"He is so nice, you know," said Tarun. "We can put him in charge of HR which my BIL would no longer be able to look after. You'll get ten or fifteen times of what you get paid now."

"That would mean about almost half a million every month," I said, doing a quick arithmetic on a paper napkin.

"Plus ESOP," said Tarun, "and you have to only keep us informed."

"Of my decision to support you?" I asked incredulously.

"And regular inputs about the inside information," he said in a hush. "On what moves the boss makes and copies of confidential letters that he sends to the top customers, bankers, rating agencies and the regulatory bodies. Also, the factory reports from Gupta that he marks FYEO, `for your eyes only' and sends to the boss."

I tossed in my mind how my account would swell with enough money to buy a big house within a year and I had to only keep a photocopier warm by my elbow and pile the classified info into a neat folder for giving to the right guys. Also, tell them how boss was upset when he got a call from a director who pointed out what he had heard from the SEBI chief over a cocktail. I could use a hidden tape-recorder, and a camera as the DeHellKha chaps did and there would be a big scoop.

"Two scoops or one," asked the bearer with a big ice-cream bar.

"Three," I said, happily.

"You're not saying anything, Swati," Tarun was persistent like a nagging sore throat.

"I could say yes, straightaway," I said, "but what's the guarantee that you'd not go back on your promise."

"Take my word," he said. "I swear. And to indicate the earnestness of people on my side, there is something in this cover for you."

He pushed a fat envelope by the side of salt-and-pepper shakers, and from its dimensions I could guess it held a couple of bundles of Rs 1000 notes. "Is that my price?" I thought to myself, in utter distaste, while mixing a bitter coffee to cap my dinner.

All of a sudden, there was the tall supervisor from the lobby rushing to my side with a brief note that read: "There's an urgent call from your boss. URGETN."

"Excuse me, Tarun," I said, rising, and the supervisor lead me to a phone at the far end.

"Swati," the boss said, quite calmly. "Sir," I said gasping. "Sorry I had to interrupt your date," he sounded apologetic. "Nothing," I said. "I was only trying to check things out." "Do you have any plans for the evening?" he asked tentatively. "Well," I answered. "The dinner is just over and I was about to take a cab back home and watch a Bond thriller on DVD." "Ugh, ugh," he cleared his throat and said, "There could be a slight change in your programme. Chandru called me about 10 minutes back from Jakarta. I had sent him to look at some of the glitches in the software developed by our infotech wing for Bank Gartha Aha." "Sir," I interrupted, "They owe us 20 million rupiahs for the old bills." "26 actually," he corrected me. "When Chandru reminded them about the dues, the Indonesian police swooped in from nowhere and he should be in their van now. He convinced the cops to allow him a visit to the toilet from where he could call me." "What do we do now, sir?" I asked trembling. "Take it easy," he said. "In about 20 minutes you will get the ticket — one way to Jakarta. And an international debit card that you can charge without hesitation. I am sure you can handle the crisis. Want to back off?"

"No," I said firmly. "I am going."

"The flight leaves in about four hours from now," he said. "You have time for some quick shopping. Take that cash Tarun is giving."

"Ah," I exclaimed, "You know everything!"

"That's actually my money. Govind had borrowed it for some urgent expenses. Call me after you get the ticket from Vikky. Bye."

(To be continued)

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