Buying Brazil (Buying Brazil Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “What is it?”

  “Something in one of the documents we received from BrasTel today. I want to discuss how to deal with it, shall we say, diplomatically.”

  “Can we just talk about it?”

  “I think it best if you see the document yourself.”

  Remembering the probability we were not alone on the call, “What time?”

  “He will pick you up at 8:00 … on Haddock Lobo. You know my car?”

  I was about to say it was a little late for a drink but this was Brazil, “A white Passat. I’ll be ready. I’m sure you know a place with a quiet corner.”

  “Very good, ate logo my friend.”

  Turning to the window I wondered what Rossi could have found. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention to the dark clouds in the distance but they went unnoticed while I searched for something I couldn’t know.

  At eight sharp I took the elevator to the garden. Rossi’s white Volkswagen sedan was at the curb across from the garden’s security gate, his uniformed driver standing at its open door exhibiting the rigid posture of one of the Queen’s beefeaters presented in the size of an American football player. “Obrigado”. The thud of the heavily armored door shut out street noises leaving me in an uncomfortable stillness my more lightly armored Golf didn’t share.

  A quick left followed by an equally quick right and we descended the lower part of the Rua Augusta hill with garishly lit shops then past the Sports Club marked by its impenetrable dark green hedge and tennis court lights dimming the stars in the early night sky. Twenty minutes later we crossed over the river Pinheiros to the quiet streets of Morumbi, the hilly barrio that was home to the more affluent members of São Paulo’s rapidly growing middle class.

  The further from the river we went into Morumbi the narrower the streets became and less frequent the streetlights until our headlamps were almost all there was to light our way. Slowly we climbed an uphill country lane thickly overgrown on both sides by neglected bushes and tangled trees. The high tropical growth on both sides prevented São Paulo’s powerful urban glow from penetrating the deepening darkness even though the city was less than 500 feet below and no more than two miles away. Alone, lost in the night’s blackness, uncomfortably I remembered Rossi was a faithful servant of the military regime.

  Involuntarily my hand started toward the door handle but hung in mid air. It would be locked and controlled by the driver who spoke only Portuguese. I’d been too trusting, stupid. I remembered my cell phone. Damn, no signal. One of the biggest cities in the world and no signal … it had to be the car.

  We reached the top of the hill and I saw a dim light ahead on the right … was it our destination? My pulse quickened. I felt clammy even though the air conditioning was blowing dry cold air. My mouth was dry, tasted metallic as we turned into a narrow unpaved road leading deeper into the darkness.

  After about half a mile entrance lights marking a driveway began to twinkle through the trees ahead. Soon the outline of a very wide low house, still partially obscured by darkness and rows of low shrubs, became visible and then we were on a neatly raked circular gravel drive taking us to a broad, well lit covered portico supported by eight thick white columns where two armed guards in military green guarded the steps to a covered porch. As we stopped a servant in crisp white linen hurried to open the door letting the night’s noises in and with them a deepening sense of unease.

  A smooth, educated voice reached into the car, “Please, this way Senhor.”

  I stepped out and stopped becoming firmly rooted to the gravel-covered drive under me. The smell of flowers, the crunch of the gravel under foot freed my thoughts from the heavily armored captivity of the ride, “Where am I?”

  Motioning to the stairs with slow studied movements meant to avoid of any implication of threat, “Please Senhor”.

  Resolving it would be fruitless to do anything other than comply, “Certainly.”

  He climbed the four stairs and started down a darkened unremarkable hallway. I was in step behind trying not to imagine the unknown that was waiting. We passed through a set of glass doors into cool dry air and low warm light reflecting from a large mirror at the end of the hall. The scents of cigar smoke, brandy and old leather intermingled with a touch of mustiness reminded me of London’s older private clubs.

  We entered a large room furnished in the ornate Portuguese empire style I had seen many times in Lisbon. Leather bound books lining three walls to ceiling height, heavily carved upholstered chairs and sofas all marked by the soft glow of gold leaf and the passing of time clustered formally around low wood tables whose translucent surfaces betrayed their years of polishing and their advanced age. Sitting near the far wall were four casually dressed men listening intently through a cigar smoke haze. A fifth, in his late fifties, standing ramrod straight, back to the wall was the subject of the others’ attention. He was flanked by two very large portraits with faces I recognized from my readings on Brazil; Jão and Pedro the two Portuguese emperors who ruled their empire from Rio de Janeiro during the Napoleonic wars.

  Turning his attention to me, “Ah, Mr. Matthews … please join us.”

  I took the chair he pointed out and quickly scanned the faces of the five.

  “Sr. Pedro asked to be forgiven for not being here. He said he was sure you would understand.”

  “Thank you Senhor …?”

  “Please forgive us but it is best we leave formalities for another time. Let me assure you of one thing … you will finish this night safely in the comfort of your home. Now, would you care for some brandy? I understand you smoke cigars. May I offer you one? We have both Havana and our own from Bahia which I prefer.”

  Deciding to let him get to the point when he was ready, “Alonzo Menendez?”

  “You know of our resident Cuban master.”

  “… it’s the brand I smoke since coming to Brazil.”

  A servant was at my side with a humidor filled with a variety of Menendez cigars. I chose a maduro toro; a dark six-inch cigar a little under an inch thick. I was handed the cigar along with a cutter and a lighter. In minutes I was adding to the thickening haze.

  The other four remained seated saying nothing but intently watching my every move. The fifth continued standing while waiting for me to light my cigar.

  “For tonight’s purposes you should understand the five of us represent certain of BrasTel’s shareholders. We have been told you wish to buy BrasTel and may have an interesting proposal to make. Tonight we would learn about your offer.”

  I had no doubt who their ‘clients’ were, General Aranni and other past and present members of the army General staff. Aranni was said to be the master of what politicians call ‘plausible deniability’, the art of keeping his distance when the action took place.

  “Perhaps … perhaps not. I have no idea who you gentlemen are so I have no reason to talk to you and a legal reason not to. One thing that is quite certain, Brazilian securities law requires me to inform all shareholders of a publicly traded limited company, at the same time when I choose to disclose the terms of an offer. I am a guest in Brazil and will do my very best not to break its laws.”

  “Mr. Matthews, we both know you are thinking of ways to better your rewards. We both also know of your mixed feelings concerning Mr. Watson. Lastly, the mere fact that your lawyer Sr. Pedro invited you here should give you some comfort regarding your legal risk. Shall we get to the point?”

  “I still don’t know who I’m talking to. I have learned not to trust anything told to me by anyone who chooses to remain anonymous.”

  “I can find no fault with a cautious man and am quite pleased when I have the opportunity to find one.” He held his hand out toward a darkened corner of the room, “Favor, Senhorita.”

  A chair shifted followed by the sound of high heels on the naked hardwood floor. Alana appeared out of the shadows. “Consider her my introduction. She will tell you our mutual friend hopes we get on well tonight.”

 
; I started to get up but Alana motioned that I shouldn’t. Coming beside me she leaned over, her long silken hair brushing my ear sending sparks exploding down my spine bringing every fiber of my being to the peak of awareness. She whispered a slow, well-rehearsed message, “Querido, my patron knows of this meeting and wishes you success.” She straightened and walked from the room.

  Smiling inwardly, “You have a very charming way of introducing yourself.”

  “I hope you are more at ease.”

  Now certain of my complete control, “Yes, but what I say will depend on the direction of the questions you ask. Let me start by saying I have come to learn quite a bit about Brazil and where the country is today. I know very little about what the plans are for tomorrow and have no desire to meddle with the future no matter what it is.”

  “That is a reasonable position for a guest in our country. If it is true, why do you want to make an investment here?”

  “I do not. My employer wants to make the investment for his company. His reasons do not involve Brazil except as part of a larger, strictly financial strategy.”

  “Is this larger strategy in Brasil’s interest?”

  “How can I say … I am not Brazilian.”

  “A reasonable answer but not an acceptable one.”

  “We have no intentions other than to operate BrasTel as it has been operated before. Our goal is to make money from the stock market and not from operating earnings or even from anything inside Brazil.”

  “Is that the only way you expect to make money?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you say you will make money from the stock market you mean you will sell stock. Maybe you will sell the whole company with all its foreign holdings.”

  “Yes to the first and maybe to the second. The ultimate decision regarding Laser Telecom’s ownership is a strategic decision for a later time. It is one that does not concern me.”

  One of the four who had been silent cleared his throat and the others seemed to stiffen. I learned who was in charge.

  “… so. You tell us in the end you have no idea who will own BrasTel.” His deep clear voice filled with his sense of command. “Not only do you not know you seem to say it has no importance in or to your plans for BrasTel.”

  “Please allow me to point out that owning and controlling are two different things. Management controls assets and operations in a public company. A Brazilian subsidiary would have its own Board of Directors constituted under Brazilian law and would be managed locally. In many cases where there is foreign ownership shareholder agreements are put in place at the time of acquisition that set out intentions and commit to observance of the acquirer’s domestic laws as governing law over the transaction.”

  “Yes, but under both your law and ours the Board and management can be changed by the owners whenever they want. There would always be a cloud hanging over BrasTel. This is more than simple speculation, it is fact. Your company Laser Telecom is very deep in debt. Your Mr. Watson has a history of doing unnatural things to survive and therefore cannot be trusted. Why should investors be interested in dealing with you?”

  “Their interests will be bought for cash fully paid at closing and they should have no further investment interest in BrasTel.”

  “Some investors have more interests than simply return on investment. They are not all bankers. If they were different we would not be having this conversation.”

  “Please forgive me but I wouldn’t know about them or their investment goals and I am not sure if there happens to be non-monetary goals what they might be or how they could fit into a deal structure. Brazilian law requires all shareholders to be dealt with equally and fairly in a purchase transaction. Without knowing what all of the goals of a seller are it’s not possible for me to comment on possible deal structure.”

  “Please Mr. Matthews do not be coy. We know Sr. Pedro told you about certain other non-financial interests. Naturally he was discrete but we are told you are a smart man. Smart enough to send Watson’s son outside the country to ask for satellite telephones.”

  A small grin slipped onto my lips. The office was bugged and the information reported widely in certain quarters as Rossi had very carefully not said.

  “Our friend who heads the peace keeping mission in Haiti has told us of your weekend spent renewing old friendships with a respected Austrian merchant banker. We also know you do not like, or shall I say trust Sam Watson your employer. There is much we know but we want to know all. It is time to either speak or leave Brazil on the next plane and forget about BrasTel.”

  “Thank you for your suggestion. I believe …”

  Curtly cutting me off, “It is not a suggestion. There is someone we all know who is very difficult to impress. It is his thoughts I give you. He felt you should have an opportunity to avoid other solutions.”

  “It is very kind of him and of course you gentlemen. May I trouble you for some cold water … sem gelo favor.”

  The original spokesman stood, “Please forgive us for being poor hosts. It is late and we have a light supper prepared. Will you stay and talk with us?”

  It was a good time to break bread and hopefully build some kind of bond with them, “Thank you, I would be happy to stay.” I was prepared to make a pitch to Aranni now I had to play to a committee … or did I?

  “We hoped you would stay. It will give us an opportunity to learn what you think about Brasil as well as to talk business.”

  A small room filled with the glow of candles and the scent of flowers outside its open windows adjoined the salon we had been meeting in. It had been set with a round table and six places of fine china; just the kind of china Shelly would love. Softly worn glaze, hand painted, gilded rims with a coat of arms dominating the cream center, the plates whispered their age with grace and dignity. I wondered about the house and who my host was.

  When the seating was sorted I was across from the one who had questioned Laser Telecom’s plans. I was certain he was the one I was really talking to and the rest were simply there as observers expected to see or hear anything that may otherwise have been missed.

  Sitting motionlessly across from each other, his hard grey eyes level, he studied my face as I studied his for anything that might tell one something about the other. Again relying on my years of experience negotiating I showed him nothing but found less in the weathered, deeply lined, tanned face capped by snow white hair.

  Seeing everyone was seated the spokesman opened, “Mr. Matthews, you have been in Brasil long enough to have formed some thoughts about our country. Tell us what your first impressions are.”

  “My first impression is that I see energy, opportunity and to some degree a particular lack of self confidence. They are the kind of things I have seen people trying to both reveal and conceal in other emerging economies.”

  Eyes turned to the man across from me, “You are very perceptive Mr. Matthews. Many people from outside see this last condition and misread it as bravado or ego.”

  My tactic was working so I pressed on with it. “Thank you. The difference I see here is the personality of the Brazilian people. They are industrious but not militant, intense but not angry, religious but not doctrinaire. I see a people who can shape a very good future for themselves. Please remember, I am a banker and not a social scientist so what I say reflects only the untrained eye of an amateur.”

  “Sometime I think training can cloud vision and not strengthen it. Please understand I strongly support education for our people. But, education can only strengthen skills God has given to a person. It cannot build new ones.”

  “I hadn’t thought about education that way but can understand your view. Many times I’ve seen people with outstanding educational credentials fail because they lacked the gift of using knowledge. I have seen businesses fail when an outstanding number two became number one but lacked the gift of leadership.”

  “Exactly! The ability to recognize human limitations is the responsibility of leaders. They must
balance and direct for the common good. It is easy in a small socio-economic system like a company. It is much more difficult in a country the size of Brasil with almost two hundred million people. The country’s leaders need a great deal of information every day to understand the pulse of our society. We have to be imaginative about how to collect this information. Do you understand Mr. Matthews?”

  “Only to the extent an outsider could possibly understand. Still, I know why I am here in Brazil. I know when BrasTel was built and who was leading the country forward at that time. I am told those years are referred to as Brazil’s Golden Years because so much good was accomplished. I can only imagine the information needed to be gathered to accomplish such major and successful steps forward.”

  He sat looking at me. Seconds feeling like hours struggled past. The others started to shift in their chairs. Slowly a grin started to play at the corners of his mouth, “I see you understand quite well.”

  “You give me too much credit.”

  “Perhaps not enough. The prawn salad needs our attention. Please … wine Carlos.”

  A white wine was poured that sparkled with the slightest green tint in the candlelight. On the tongue it was fruity with the slightest effervescence. “Ah, Vino Verge.”

  “You know Portuguese wines Mr. Matthews.”

  “Yes I have learned a little about them but only since I am here in Brazil. When I was in Portugal French wines were sold to foreigners at too high prices to help strengthen the economy.”

  “During the Golden Years we learned to grow, mine and manufacture almost everything we needed but good Vino Verge remains beyond our skills.”

  “So much was accomplished that perhaps you should allow this one small thing to remain incomplete.”

  “My family has a fazenda where we grow grapes and make wine. We use the best classical methods from Europe. Our vintages are small. All of our wines are respected except our attempts with Vino Verge. They have been shameful but one day we will succeed.”