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In fact, by the time I’m done, none of their planes are leaving the ground. Naomi hung up. She stood by the window, watching the heavy machinery pulling Flight 88 away from the gate and began a silent 5-minute countdown in her head. 4,000 mi away, high above the chaotic streets of Manhattan, the 65th floor of the Harrison Capital building was completely silent.
It was a silence born not of peace, but of absolute terrifying power. Robert Harrison sat behind a massive desk carved from a single slab of reclaimed mahogany. At 58, he possessed the rugged, sharpeyed intensity of a man who had built an empire from the ground up and had crushed countless competitors to keep it.
He did not yell when he was angry. He did not throw things. When Robert Harrison was truly furious, he became perfectly dangerously still. He pressed a single silver button on his intercom. William, get in here now. Within 15 seconds, William Barrett, the chief financial officer of Harrison Capital, hurried into the office. William was a brilliant numbers man who knew that when Robert used that tone, billions of dollars were about to change hands.
Sir William asked, closing the heavy glass door behind him. The Horizon Airlines bridge loan. Robert said his voice a low grally hum. The $800 million syndicate with Goldman. Have we signed the final release of funds? No, sir. William replied, checking his tablet. The wire is cued in escrow. We were scheduled to execute the release at 4:45 p.m.
Eastern, right before the market closes to give them the liquidity they need for tomorrow’s creditor meetings. Kill it, Robert said. William froze his thumb hovering over his screen. Excuse me, Robert. If we pull the funding now, Horizon defaults on their fuel vendor contracts by midnight. Their credit rating will immediately drop to junk status.
The airline will essentially cease to exist by tomorrow morning. I am aware of how bankruptcy works, William. Robert replied coldly. I said, kill the wire, drain the escrow, pull out of the syndicate completely, invoke the discretionary withdrawal clause, call Gregory Hayes at Goldman Sachs, and tell him Harrison Capital is officially out.
Williams swallowed hard. May I ask why the underwriters verified? Because Robert interrupted his eyes, locking onto Williams. 10 minutes ago, one of their senior pursers publicly humiliated my daughter accused her of being a thief because of the color of her skin and had police drag her off a flight in London.
Horizon Airlines just told Naomi she doesn’t belong in their first class cabin. So, I’m going to make sure they no longer have a first class cabin or planes or a company. The blood drained from William’s face. He didn’t ask another question. He simply nodded, tapped three times on his encrypted tablet, and walked out of the room to execute the financial execution.
3 minutes later, in a towering glass skyscraper in downtown Chicago, the executive suite of Horizon Airlines was in a state of relaxed anticipation. Arthur Pendleton, the CEO of Horizon, was pouring himself a glass of aged scotch to celebrate surviving the hardest quarter in the company’s history.
The $800 million injection was their lifeline. It was a done deal. Then his private cell phone rang. It was Gregory Hayes, the lead syndication banker at Goldman Sachs. Gregory, tell me the wire has cleared. Arthur answered jovi. Arthur listened to me very carefully. Gregory’s voice was tight strained and panicked. The deal is dead.
Harrison Capital just pulled the plug. They invoked the discretionary withdrawal clause. They yanked their entire position out of escrow. Arthur dropped his scotch glass. It shattered on the hardwood floor. Amber liquid pooling around his Italian leather shoes. What? That’s impossible. We signed the term sheets.
If they pull out, the other investors will panic and jump ship. The they already are, Gregory said grimly. Without Harrison anchoring the debt, the risk models just triggered an automatic sell-off. The entire syndicate is collapsing as we speak. Arthur, the fuel vendors just got an automated alert that your credit has been downgraded to default status.
They are locking the pumps. Why? Arthur screamed, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. Why would Robert Harrison do this 5 minutes before the wire transferred? He left a message for you, Gregory said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He said to tell you, check the passenger manifest for flight 88 out of Heathrow, seat 1A, ask your crew what they did, then call your bankruptcy lawyers.
Arthur’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He slammed the phone down and sprinted toward his assistant’s desk. Get me the VP of European operations on the line right now and patch me through to the cockpit of flight 88 out of London. Do not let that plane take off. Back at London, he throw flight. 88 was slowly lumbering down taxiway alpha, making its way toward the active runway.
Inside the apex sweet cabin, the atmosphere had shifted from tense to triumphant, at least for Brenda. She was practically gliding down the aisle, her chest puffed out with self-righteous pride. She poured more Don Perinon for Mr. Dalton, offering him an extra- wide, blinding smile. “I do apologize again for the unpleasantness, Mr.
Dalton,” Brenda cruned. “We simply cannot let standard slip. Security is our top priority.” “Quite right,” Dalton muttered, though he looked slightly uncomfortable, shifting his eyes away from her. Elellanor, however, was thrilled. You handled it beautifully, Brenda. It’s ridiculous what people will try to get away with these days.
I mean, wearing a hooded sweatshirt in first class. It’s practically an insult to the rest of us. Exactly. Brenda agreed, picking up Naomi’s discarded champagne flute from the empty seat when a and tossing it into the galley trash with a satisfying clatter. She had won. She had protected her domain. In the cockpit, Captain Thomas Mitchell and his first officer were running through their pre-takeoff checklists.
Flap set to 10°. Auto throttle armed. The first officer read off the clipboard. Roger that. Tower Horizon 88 heavy holding short of runway 27 right for departure. Captain Mitchell spoke into his headset. Horizon 88, you are cleared for takeoff. Runway 27 right. the air traffic controller replied. Captain Mitchell placed his hand on the heavy throttle levers preparing to push the massive Rolls-Royce engines to take off thrust.
But before he could move, a blaring red alarm pierced the quiet of the flight deck. Beep beep beep. The ACR aircraft communications addressing and reporting system screen in the center console flashed with an urgent overriding company text message. [snorts] It was coded critical tier 1. Captain Mitchell frowned, pulling his hand off the throttle.
He leaned in to read the glowing green text. Urgent. All Horizon aircraft, hold position. Flight 88 canled. Return to gate immediately. Do not depart. Corporate asset freeze in effect. Engines off upon arrival. What the hell is this? The first officer asked his eyes wide. A corporate asset freeze? Did we go bankrupt? Tower Horizon 88.
Captain Mitchell said his voice tight. We have a company emergency. We are aborting takeoff and requesting immediate taxi routing back to Terminal 5. Horizon 88. Copy your abort. Turn right onto taxiway Bravo. Hold for a tug. Be advised your company’s ground operations team is currently swarming your gate.