The First Billion

"Yes, it is time we offer shares in Mercury to the investing public," said Kirov. "Time to show the world Russia is no longer a second-class country. That Russia is not a land of criminals, for criminals, and by criminals. That rights of ownership, once documented, are respected by rule of law."

"I couldn't agree more," said Gavallan, liking the man: the muted confidence, the palpable determination. Of course, if Mercury Broadband had been solely a Russian company, as Kirov was implying, Gavallan wouldn't have touched it with a ten-foot pole. But with operations in Switzerland, the Czech Republic, and Germany- and even an R &D facility literally just up the road in Palo Alto- Mercury Broadband deserved to be called a multinational, and multinationals were exactly the kind of client Gavallan was looking for. "The timing is ideal. The market's hungry for a first-class international operation like Mercury. I'm confident an offering would be greeted favorably."

"I am of the same opinion," said Kirov.

"Mercury's revenues have demonstrated a pattern of consistent growth. You have a solid record of earnings and a sustainable business model. We've taken a close look at the financial statements you so kindly provided, and my colleagues and I believe an offering in the neighborhood of five hundred million dollars is realistic."

"Five hundred million?" Kirov pursed his lips, his expression puckered with uncertainty.

"For ten percent of the company," Gavallan hastened to explain. "We'll go out with fifty million shares priced at ten bucks per, then float another ten percent in a year when the market sees what a great job you're doing and values the company accordingly. We don't want to sell Mercury short before you realize your true worth."

Normally, if a company met its revenue forecasts, it could count on floating additional shares within twelve to twenty-four months at a price significantly superior to the original offering. It was important, therefore, that the client not give away too much of itself at a less than maximal price.

"So you believe Mercury deserves a valuation of five billion dollars?"

"No," said Gavallan. "I'd say ten or fifteen billion, but we'll need time to work the market up to that level." It was crucial he offer Kirov a mildly inflated but marginally realistic value for his company. There were others out there chomping at the bit to get the deal, and he could only guess at how high they had valued Mercury Broadband.

The process of wi

Next, they turned their attention to the client, whispering tantalizing nothings in his ear about the true market value of the company in play, boasting about the size of the offering- bigger was always better- and giggling, with eager eyes about how diligently they would support the stock. Yessir, we'll keep the price up, up, up. After a drink or two, it was time for the bankers to drop their negligees and show some skin, letting slip that their analyst, invariably an Institutional Investor "first teamer," would start the party off with a bang by issuing a "strong buy" on the stock.

If the client was not yet sufficiently aroused, the banker would trot in the big guns, often the bank's CEO himself, to drive home the firm's overwhelming desire to win the business. With a wanto

In short, it was a diamond-crusted striptease, and the bank with the nicest tits won.

"I was thinking more in the neighborhood of two billion," Kirov suggested. "We have ambitious plans to expand. When you learn of the full scope of operations, you will be convinced."

"I don't doubt it," conceded Gavallan, not wanting to lose the business before he had it. "Two billion is doable, provided you're willing to part with the extra chunk of your company. I wouldn't advise that at such an early stage."

"Two billion," Kirov repeated, his resolve to be found in the firm set of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes. "We must have two billion. Now is the time for us to expand. We must strike while the iron is heated."

"Two billion it is. It's big for Nasdaq, but why not."

"I'm afraid that Nasdaq is out of the question," said Kirov, his voice hardly a whisper.

"Oh?" asked Gavallan, knowing that this was how the Russian showed his anger, not with bluster but with discipline, the fist clenching tighter.

"Nasdaq is for new, unproven companies. We are established. We are profitable. A market leader in the East. Perhaps you are not as conversant about our company as you should be. It comes down to a question of face. We, Russians, have a terrible inferiority complex. Several of our nation's larger corporations are already trading on the New York Stock Exchange. We must list Mercury alongside them. It is the New York Stock Exchange or nothing."

Gavallan made the appropriate soothing noises, ego gratification being perhaps the most important job of a chief executive. He'd bring up the listing requirements at a later date- if there was a later date. After a promising start, the meeting had embarked on a series of wrong turns. The first order of business was to change the atmosphere. A long, drafty hallway was hardly the place for this conversation.

Gavallan suggested they continue their discussion in the provost's lounge, where they might sit and have a cup of coffee. He had attended business school at Stanford and knew the provost's lounge as the spot where the university president wined and dined the school's more important benefactors. Apparently there was something about oversized club chairs and oil portraits of long-dead scholars that made people free with their checkbooks.

Inside the lounge, the two men sat down, agreeing almost immediately that the chairs were wonderfully comfortable. Settling himself in, Kirov delved into his pocket for a sterling-silver cigarette case. "Sobranie?" Opening it, he offered the case to Gavallan. The cigarettes were long and black, the two-headed Russian eagle stamped boldly above a shiny gold filter. One head faced east, the other west. In Russia, danger had always come from within and without.

"No thank you," said Gavallan. "I don't smoke."

"I know, I know," pleaded Kirov, as he slipped one into his mouth and lit it with a matching silver lighter. "But a man should be allowed one vice." The brows jumped excitedly under the curtain of blue smoke. "After all, we are not saints!"

Kirov drew thoughtfully on the cigarette, inhaling for what seemed an eternity before expelling the smoke in neat flutes through his nose. "I have spoken with a few of your competitors these last days," he said offhandedly. "As you can imagine, a good many are anxious to work with us. Please don't think me rude, but I was hoping you might be able to tell me why I should consider someone outside of New York. Someone so much smaller."

Gavallan made it a point never to discuss his competitors- comparisons conveyed weakness and insecurity. "True, we're a smaller company," he said, launching into a pitch he'd given a thousand times, "but we think our size is one of our advantages. We choose our clients with great care and we like to think they exercise the same scrutiny in choosing us. Our record in the Internet sector is second to none. Of the forty-two companies we've taken public in the last four years, more than fifty percent are trading at significant multiples of their offering price. Not one has gone belly-up. We're selective with whom we work, Mr. Kirov. Black Jet's name on a prospectus has come to indicate a certain quality. We're deeply committed to the companies we offer our investors. The clients for whom we do choose to work receive the complete and dedicated resources of our company."