Page 75 of The Last Love Song
The following morning, Helen entered Brad’s office. He was still in last night’s clothes, and hadn’t shaved.
She put the books on his desk and sat down.
‘Do you want the bad news or the bad news?’ Brad let his head drop onto his desk. ‘The company is over twenty thousand pounds in debt. Even if you collected every single penny that’s outstanding from your creditors next week, there would still be a five-thousand-pound shortfall.’
Brad nodded silently.
‘However, I did do a medium-term forecast for you last night, looking at a growth of sales of fifteen per cent a year, not even considering the large amounts The Trojans may well earn for Metropolitan if they take off in the States as you believe they will. As long as the company is run on a more prudent and sensible basis, the figures in the next couple of years start to look much healthier.’
‘That’s all well and good, but how do I get from here to there?’ sighed Brad.
‘Well, it’s only my opinion, and as I’ve said, you should seek the advice of a professional...but I think you have three alternatives.’
‘I’m all ears, Helen. Hit me with it.’
‘Number one, you petition for bankruptcy immediately and wash your hands of the company. That’ll get everyone off your back. Number two, you try and find a buyer for Metropolitan Records who will look at the medium-term forecast and at least cover your debts if not actually paying you much for the company. Or number three, you find a private investor to inject a considerable amount of cash into the business immediately.’
‘I see.’ Brad shook his head. ‘None of them sound very palatable. Any way you look at it, I lose control of my little empire. That’s why I left the big guys, to have some autonomy.’
Helen shrugged. ‘But you said last night you weren’t an accountant, Brad. If you’re going to run a company, at the very least you should have someone who is competent to look after the financial side of things.’
‘I know, I know. I’ve got it all wrong, Helen. Well, there’s no point in dragging it out any longer. I’ll have to declare myself bankrupt. After all, it’s unlikely anyone will want to buy a pile of debts.’
Helen took a deep breath.
‘Actually, Brad...I might.’
The idea had come to Helen in the early hours of the morning. Her brain was still working overtime, even though she’d closed the books, got into bed and switched off the light in a vain attempt to get some sleep.
If an injection of cash could be made, and as long as the company was run sensibly, Helen sensed there was a possibility of serious success. Metropolitan’s major attribute was Brad himself. In a very short time he’d sniffed out several bands who were headed for success and signed them up. The music business certainly respected him. All he needed was to makeone successful discovery every couple of years and the potential payoff was huge.
But how did one set about convincing a bank that this was the case? No reputable financial institution would take the chance. It had to be a private investor, someone who saw the potential and was prepared to take a risk.
Helen had sat bolt upright. The answer was staring her in the face.
She had switched on the light, retrieved the books and a large pad of paper, and begun to sketch out what kind of level of finance she’d be prepared to offer and, equally, what she’d expect from Metropolitan in return.
Helen knew Brad was desperate and also that he was hopeless with money. This put her in a strong position, but she didn’t want to abuse that. If she was to invest in Metropolitan Records and become a partner in the company, then things had to be fair from the start.
She’d be risking almost twenty-five thousand pounds just to keep the company afloat. Then she’d have to provide some liquidity to see the company through the next twelve months, until the cash started to flow in.
‘You?’ asked Brad, astonished.
‘Yes, me.’
‘Not being rude, Helen, but where would you get hold of the kind of money Metropolitan needs?’
‘My parents died when I was young and their money was invested for me. It’s grown into a very substantial amount. I inherited it all on my eighteenth birthday.’
‘Blimey, love, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’ said Brad. ‘And exactly why would you want to help?’
‘Because I want to do something with my money and I can see Metropolitan’s potential.’
The telephone rang on Brad’s desk. Helen answered it and passed it to Brad.
‘It’s Billy Friar, the manager of The Trojans, from the States.’
‘This’ll be a long one. They’ve been trashing hotel rooms again. Look, let’s meet up at one for lunch to discuss things further.’
