The investment bankers and lawyers threw themselves a big lunch in a nice private dining room at an upscale restaurant. There was lots of toasting and back-slapping, and then Timmy Big Deal rose to speak. Big Deal cleared his throat and tapped the microphone.
“Hey, listen up,” he said. He waited for the room to quiet down. “We got the doors locked, and no one gets dessert until we get a problem solved.”
There were chuckles and snickers and someone spoke up. It was one of the lawyers with Bill, Bill and Billsomemore. “Problem? Who has a problem?”
“Yeah,” a banker yelled, “Two-and-half trillion dollars of deals in the first half of the year alone. Fees, baby. If that’s a problem we should all be so lucky.”
Big Deal shook his head. “You guys don’t get it, do you?” he asked. “We’re all raking in the big money in fees now, but it’s going to be over soon.”
“Over?” someone yelled from the back.
“What the hell are are you talking about, over?” someone else yelled.
“Look you imbeciles,” Big Deal said, “we’re just about out of companies to merge. Don’t you get it? When we run out of companies to combine, we’re in trouble. And by my calculation, we’ve done just about every merger possible.”
The room went quiet. Big Deal went on. “Look, we all got guys out there in every city and town from Atlanta to Zanesville, shaking trees, and scouring businesses for possible deals. But it ain’t looking good.”
“How can you say that?” a banker yelled. “There’s always a deal to be done.”
Big Deal leafed through his papers and said, “Oh yeah, hot shot? You know about the deal last week in Indiana? No, of course not. You were probably too busy living in the past, celebrating the big media merger you and your boys did three months ago. Well, let me enlighten you.”
“I didn’t see any deal in Indiana,” a lawyer yelled. “What gives?”
“I’ll read you the press release,” Big Deal said. “The Boards of Stephens Paper Clips and Stretch Inc., the maker of rubber bands, are excited to announce the two companies will merge in a deal valued at $937,000. The resulting company will be called Band & Clip, and serve the greater Indianapolis market.”
The room was quiet and Big Deal put his papers down. He looked out at the faces looking back at him. He nodded and smirked. “Yeah, I figured that would get your attention. That was the big deal of the last week. Any of you geniuses want to guess the fees generated on the good old Band & Clip deal?”
Someone coughed a nervous little cough.
“I didn’t think so,” Big Deal said. “Try $100,000, split 28 ways between the lawyers and bankers.”
“We gotta do something,” a banker yelled.
“Let’s increase our fees so we get more, no matter the size of the deal,” a lawyer said.
“Yeah,” a few people said.
“No,” Big Deal said. “A stupid idea.”
“Don’t call me stupid,” the man said.
“I called your idea stupid,” Big Deal said. “I haven’t decided about you just yet.”
“What can we do?” a banker asked.
Big Deal was quiet as those in the room threw ideas out, bouncing suggestions off colleagues and competitors. It went on for minutes, but no one seemed to have a good enough idea for the group to run with.
“Okay, listen up,” Big Deal said. “Here’s what we do. Everyone in this room is going to be responsible for putting togther one potential deal. That will give us a couple of hundred potential deals. Maybe we get ten percent of those that actually work out. It’s something.”
A banker with the Wall Street firm Grabbing More stood up and said, “I know this local school bus company, and I got a buddy who has a little craft brewer. I could probably convince them of the benefits of a merger between the two companies.”
“I like it,” a lawyer across the room said. “A built-in distribution system for the brew.”
“Yeah, uh, I don’t know about that one,” Big Deal said, “but that’s the type of thinking we need.”
“We got to get creative, real fast,” a banker yelled.
There was chattering as deals, all small and local, were discussed. It was becoming apparent to everyone that the situation was indeed dire.
Finally, one of the older bankers in the room rose, and tapped a fork to his glass to quiet the room.
“It is time,” he said. “To break them up.”
The idea sat there while everyone present tried to get their heads around it.
“He’s right,” a lawyer said. “We get fees when we put them together.”
“And when we take them apart,” Big Deal said.
The room erupted into laughter and backslapping again. Big Deal tapped the mic and said, “Come on, everyone, time for our song. All together now. We’re in the money…”