Russell Wiley Is Out to Lunch Read Online Free Page A

. The drawing dates back to the days when he made his first billion in the grocery cart business, with the infamous Ghosh Guarantee. The plan was simple. Its execution inspired shock and awe. Under cover of night, a network of sales reps dispersed. At first light they descended on the purchasing departments of major retailers to promote Ghosh Carts with an unprecedented lifetime wheel-alignment warranty. The orders flooded in. Ghosh’s competitors never knew what hit them.
    Larry Ghosh was hailed as a business genius. And he didn’t stop there. After winning the grocery cart wars, he really went shopping. Within twelve months, Ghosh Corporation established a significant presence in media and entertainment, acquiring a host of second-tier radio, film, TV and music assets. Another year later, drowning in debt, he sold the original Ghosh Cart business.
    Just in time. Ghosh got out of grocery carts right before his cheap wheels began seizing up and his old customers started hurling lawsuits.
    Ghosh was condemned as a charlatan and a con artist. But luckily for him, the general public was less outraged by unsteerable grocery carts than they were by the Enron, World-com and Martha Stewart scandals.
    By the time it was all over and settlements had been reached, Ghosh was ready for his next big act. Murdoch beat him to MySpace. The Google guys beat him to YouTube. So Ghosh did something different. Instead of paying a premium price for a company with a big future, he looked back in time and bought a business that was priced to sell: Burke-Hart Publishing.
    Not the most exciting acquisition, perhaps. It didn’t even make our own front page. But it signaled Ghosh’s quest for legitimacy as well as profits. And it made the Daily Business Chronicle the jewel in his media crown.
    Henry tips his head as we pass Ghosh’s table, but he and Connie are engrossed in conversation. Neither gives any sign they’ve noticed us. I can’t quite understand why, after all the company’s recent belt-tightening, Henry thinks it’s a good idea to be seen in the same restaurant as Connie Darwin, let alone Larry Ghosh.
    We’re seated at an inconspicuous table against the back wall. I take a slice of rosemary-infused sourdough from the selection of breads I’m offered. Henry waves the bread away. He’s still freaked out by carbs. He tries to limit them in solid form in order to justify a more unrestricted approach to consuming them via beer and wine. Henry’s rules regarding liquid carbs: When alone, personal consumption is allowed only after five o’clock. When in the company of clients, liquid carbs may be taken at any time the client deems appropriate.
    “You see that?” says Henry. “Larry Ghosh wants people to see him with Connie. It’s a clear signal.”
    “Right.”
    “A public acknowledgement of the trust he has in her.”
    “Or maybe he wants to show how hands-on he’s being,” I say. “That it’s really him who’s calling the shots.”
    Henry looks disturbed. But the waiter appears before he can speak again. He orders mineral water for the table and asks for “the usual.” The waiter nods and makes a note. I ask for the hamburger with fries. It’s the restaurant’s signature dish. A sixty-dollar concoction perfected by Fabrice de Monbrison himself using imported beef and specially grown organic herbs. It has been taste tested on national TV and photographed exotically in several magazines.
    Henry spreads his napkin across his lap and surveys the restaurant one more time in a faux-casual way.
    “That’s Patrick Moncur,” he says. “In the corner, in the hat, that’s Anna Scrupski.”
    I nod as if I’m impressed, though the names mean nothing to me. The maître d’ appears at Henry’s side, whispering in his ear, apologizing for the fact that the waiter is new, asking him to clarify his order.
    “Cobb salad, no avocado,” says Henry.
    We sip our mineral water. Henry is acting in a self-conscious way, as if he