Nicolas took a note.
‘They will contact you, no doubt,’ said Spencer. ‘So, what are the options?’
Nicolas rifled through his papers. ‘We have worked out several plans. One is that we put the company in receivership and hopefully sell it. We could get enough to sell it to a larger company, pay back the debtors and the banks, and you would still have something at the end for the girls and Birdie.’
‘What else have you got?’ asked Spencer, looking at the horror on Violetta's face.
‘Well, we could try and turn it around and trade out of the trouble but I doubt this is a good option, given the current state of the market and the industry. Fashion is not as profitable as it used to be.’
‘What would we have to do to make this option happen?’ asked Violetta, her mind ticking over.
‘We would need to convince the banks that Pajaro can be saved. That there is leadership and a good plan.’
Spencer spoke. ‘You cannot sell without both of the owners’ signatures. Since Leon is missing and Birdie is unable to undertake this at this time, then the girls have power of attorney until Birdie is well again. Birdie is still a major shareholder, don’t forget, so the girls have to make the decisions.’
Violetta looked at Spencer gratefully; it felt good to have him on their side.
‘I am sorry, I do not mean to be disrespectful but what do these women know about running a company, particularly one the size of Pajaro?’
‘Nothing. We know nothing,’ said Violetta forcefully. ‘But we can learn.’
‘Learn everything in 12 months?” asked Nicolas incredulously. ‘The company needs immediate solutions. You won’t have time to learn what needs to be done to be able to fix this.’
‘Well, that’s what you are all for,’ said Violetta. ‘What did you do when Leon was in charge? I assume you have tasks, job descriptions.’ She stood up from her chair.
‘Of course, Ms de Santoval. We all have job descriptions, as you put it. It’s just that your father was a part of everything, and there were no decisions made without his consent. It has been impossible to be able to get anything done over the past 18 months. He was never here to sign off but then he would ball out anyone who made decisions without his approval.’
‘If we were to step in,’ said Violetta, ‘we would need your absolute support in every area.’
The room was silent, the men around the table looking at her, some with interest, some disdainfully. Violetta’s reputation preceded her, and there was not a person in the room who thought she had a chance of committing to Pajaro and giving it the attention it required.
Violetta was filled with a desire like she had never felt before – she knew she wanted to take this on, not for Leon but for Birdie. There was no way her father was going to have the satisfaction of watching Pajaro disappear into financial oblivion from wherever he and his trashy mistress were now, living off the money he had stolen from the company.
Nicolas opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but Carlotta stepped in and spoke first. ‘Of course, Violetta has mine and Grace’s support, and Spencer’s.’
She looked at him for his agreement. Whatever Violetta planned, she knew they had to stand by her, even if that meant losing everything.
‘Naturally,’ said Spencer. ‘I will relocate here until I am no longer required.’
He spoke graciously and warmly and Violetta felt her eyes prick with tears. She blinked them away and saw her sisters smiling at her.
‘We would need a plan,’ said Nicolas, thinking. ‘I could buy some time with the banks and investment firms until you can present to us. How soon do you think that could happen?’
‘How much time have we got?’ asked Carlotta, used to riding against the clock. Timing was something she understood; training and preparation came naturally to her.
‘I could get us two weeks, maybe three at a stretch,’ said Nicolas.
‘Done,’ said Violetta, with more conviction than she felt. Sitting down again, she took a notepad with the Pajaro logo on the top and a pencil that was in the glass holder.
Carlotta did the same. ‘Where are the main concerns within Pajaro at the moment?’ Analysing problems in horses and ironing them out was her specialty. Her riding had taught her to learn the horse and then recognise the weaknesses and try to override them.
Another man spoke up, looking through a large folder in front of him. ‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘And you are?’ asked Carlotta asked imperiously.
‘Chris Koch, General Manager of Retailing,’ the man answered.
Carlotta looked him over. He was maybe 38 years old, perhaps even 40. Small, wiry, hirsute with a large nose, he was ugly, thought Carlotta, reminding her of a donkey. The cut of his clothes though was exceptional. Whatever he lacked in looks, he made up for in style. His navy suit was obviously made for him, she had seen Leon in similar suits. But Chris wore his with a panache not seen in New York men: a white cotton shirt, with French cuffs and a pocket square poking out of the breast pocket of the suit jacket. He was elegant but ugly and it annoyed Carlotta.
