(note: The story is beginning to absorb some elements from The Lost Experience ARG. Knowledge of these events are not necessary, although there's a very nice article on the topic at Lostpedia if interested. Relevant information will be woven into the story anyway as needed. As ever, thank you for reading!)
5.
The Hanso Foundation – Stock Pile – Hostile Takeover – Ben Drinks – Leadership Pays Off With Headaches
Copenhagen, Denmark
The Hanso Foundation evolved as its home city did. Starting in the mid twentieth century as the product of a sea-change in the heart of its founder, it first set down its roots in a stylish rococo building in the Frederiksstaden. As the goals of the organization changed in the wake of internal turmoil, so too did its facade. Alvar Hanso, reclaiming his role as CEO, abruptly moved them into the twenty-first century, into a fine new building in the Ørestad district; an aesthetic block of steel and fine glass overlooking the canal. He did not explain why, beyond claiming that the Foundation required a 'fresh start.' No details could be ferreted out, nor was there an explanation for the reorganization of the board of directors and other executive staff. It simply was. The past was over. What had happened, happened.
Despite Hanso's somewhat more active role at the start of the new millenia, the edicts he set down and the courses he changed did not settle well with everyone. Factions were made. Deals were struck. Men watched for tactical chances to cover themselves. Who knew when Hanso would make another grand change and upset their world? Businessmen, even those who work for humanitarian purposes, do not often enjoy abrupt change, though they will adapt for their own ends. Unless it was controlled.
Alvar Hanso was not controlled. He stood alone, and remained a private, often secretive man.
Sam Hicks was among those who adapted. Hired in during one of the periods of change in 2006, he was used to unsettling shifts in his environment. As an executive for the Foundation, he watched the internal memos. He observed the changes in command. He kept careful eye on their corporate allies. He managed his private finances very well. And most of all, he watched Alvar Hanso. He lived content, certain in the knowledge that Hanso did not watch him.
What had happened, happened. Hicks liked to learn from history. History had told him there were some interesting pieces of Foundation business that had gone untouched. Profitable business. He spent a certain amount of private time carefully unearthing it.
As he sat behind a finely made desk of oak and bronze – a treat he'd permitted himself the year before – his gaze flicked down to the fragile photocopies that lay atop it in a neat pile. The Daoist octagon marked each page, the logo of Dharma. The papers themselves described matters in cold financial language; long-term purchase orders for airlift delivery to remote locations, a list of receipt claims for some joint Tunisian research project with Widmore Corporation. Exotic veterinarian consultations for bears prior to some unexplained transport. Ursus maritimus, to be specific to the receipt listing. Odd stuff. But mundane enough on paper.
Polar bears, though. Hicks often thought about that. What the hell had Hanso been doing with polar bears?
He jerked his head up at the sharp rapping on his office door. On instinct, his hands pulled a bland manila folder atop the photocopies. A sleek blond head peeked in and smiled at him. "Bill wants to meet you for lunch down at that one park you boys like."
Sam gave his secretary a quick, meaningless grin. "That's fine, Janice. One?"
"What he suggested. I'll tell him."
"Thank you, darling."
She dropped a wink at him and disappeared. Sam took another look at his papers, then put them away in the lockable lower drawer along with the information about his other little business hobby. It was a little after noon. Plenty of time to do a little networking before going out. Maybe even call his lawyer in Los Angeles.
. . .
When Hicks arrived at the Kastellet, lunch in tow in a high-end freezer tote, he spotted his lunch companion right away. Bill Flood lounged against the wall of the King's Gate, flapping him a lazy wave with his free hand. The other held a brown bag. That was Bill; simplicity in all he did. It kept him out of the more complex schemes of the company, but at the same time, he saw everything and was impossible to lie to. Sam had admired him for it since being hired in around the same time, but he also liked to tell the other man as little as possible about his business. He didn't think Bill would approve.
He followed his coworker down to the paths and shady groves near the water, sitting comfortably together as they munched, not speaking much at first. Bill wiped his fingers off with a napkin, then glanced over to Hicks with a deceptively casual expression. "Sam, what are you up to with Widmore?"
Hicks paused in mid-chew, pesto mayonnaise threatening to drop. He put the sandwich down and gave the other man a bland look. "I don't know what-"
"Cut the shit. You're buying up their stock like kids looking for a golden ticket to Wonkaville. Couple of the big boys have been talking about it. You don't think nobody noticed their stock dropping into crap? Lot of people looked at Widmore's death as an opportunity. Lot of people looking for the one that moved fast on it." Bill put down the napkin and tore open a bag of potato chips, tone still mild. "You had some stock sheets on your desk last week. I saw them."
Hicks stayed still. For two seconds before I put them away. Jesus Christ, Bill. "How much can I do? I buy a little stock, when Hanso moves to do the squeeze-out and pick them up, I make a little extra coughing up to my superiors. No harm in that. I'm loyal, I'll be happy to do it."
Bill crunched on a chip. "So who pushed on the daughter? Cause corporate didn't do it. Kid was good for some major stock right there. Not enough for the full ninety percent, but I bet you're working on it."
"Bill-"
"I pay attention. Just because I don't move complex doesn't mean I can't think that way. I was hired in as a watchdog. I've been watching you. The fuck are you up to?"
A muscle in Sam Hicks' jaw began to twitch. "I'm feeding some curiosity."
"By fucking buying up a corporation? The hell with your curiosity, take your stock fund, go buy a winery or three, and watch your fingernails grow in early retirement."
Hicks swore under his breath. Bill shot him a look for it anyway. "What happened with the Dharma project in the eighties? Everything they were working on? The DeGroots haven't talked. Alvar's marked it as a dead topic. But I've got paperwork that says we've got physicists that died on that project. One of them just vanished. Nobody's interested in the topic."
"You're telling me about rain in the Andes when I asked about the baseball score." Bill crunched up the chip wrapper and shoved it into the brown bag.
"I'm not trying to buy out the company. I'm buying access. Enough stock and I can push my way in to get a look at their work." Sam shoved a hand through his hair. "You ever look at one of their minor market competitors? Mittelos?"
"I'm aware of them. Little firm in Oregon; came on big in the nineties with some new fertility and cancer research. Some new bandage ideas. Very private, not interested in pushing into the big leagues."
"It's all stuff Dharma was working on. I've got the progress reports."
That made Bill put down the bag and give him a long look. "Some guy invented the telephone same time as Bell."
"Bill."
"Some weeny little corp that didn't even exist twenty years ago went back in time to the eighties and, what? Made Dharma vanish and stole their ideas?"
Hearing his theory aloud made it sound more foolish than Sam was prepared for. He fell into a long silence.
"What's that got to do with Widmore, anyway?"
Sam closed his eyes, then opened them again. "They were digging into Mittelos. I haven't found much because I can't get to much from here. The 'weeny little corp' is like a fortress. I know Widmore tried to send in some information analyst they hired. Got almost nothing. What they did get, I don't know about. But they were trying hard. I can't find the analyst, either."
"Okay. This is starting to make some sense. But why do you care?"
Sam winced. "That's a few billion dollars worth of profit that Mittelos took from somebody."
"So you blow a few million of your own to..."
He stayed quiet.
Bill nodded. "To blackmail them and push Hanso into taking you seriously. That was really stupid, man. And expensive."
Hicks was still quiet.
"Thanks, though. You really saved some people some legwork." Bill pulled the small gun from the lunchbag and pressed it into Sam's chest, firing once. The pop, while muffled, still echoed across the water. Ducks wailed hoarsely in the distance, and Bill got up to nudge the corpse into the river, waiting for it to float out of sight.
. . .
"So if I'm getting you right, and I'm probably not, some business dude is getting nosy about stuff. But it's affecting Widmore's company, and I'm not getting what the issue is."
Ben hung his head for a moment, then refilled a small shotglass with another round of whiskey. He was moving slow on it, third shot in an hour in a half, and had succeeded in giving himself only a light buzzing sensation and an increased ability for patience. "Someone is collecting stock in Widmore's corporation. It's easy to do right now, because it's cheap on the market because he's dead. Bad news tends to bring prices down. So giving a fair deal to someone to buy them out is easier."
"Okay."
"So they hit two people in Charles' family, got a lot of stock. I don't know what the goal is. I don't have enough information. But Widmore kept a lot of attention off of us and at the same time kept a very close eye on us. Mittelos. A possible risk of a new set of eyes getting a look at Widmore's business is the discovery of that fact."
Hurley scratched the side of his nose with a finger, picturing it out. He leaned back in the chair of his kitchen. One of the new little homes they'd made. "Okay. It's like someone on Risk getting a look at one of the other guy's setup and plans. That'd be bad. Especially if the first guy is Australia."
Ben allowed himself a long, slow blink and took his fourth shot. "Something like that," he managed. "But business being what it is, there's no way to tell if that's all of it. Or any of it. Widmore is in a volatile state." He paused, considering whether to pick a different word. "It's quite fluid. Things could change fast. And that means all the companies they work with, Paik, GWC, Hanso, are also going to be fluid to react. I can't give you any advice you're gonna like because we don't know what's actually going on."
"So what's the advice I'm not going to like?"
"We go to ground for a while. A year, maybe two. Defensive position, it's the safest choice, tactically. Wait and see what they do, who the real threat is, and then move from there. Afterward, gather more information and prepare either more defense or other options."
Hurley tilted his head and looked at Ben. "You're right, I don't really dig that."
"I promise, I'm not suggesting it because I'm trying to prevent you building a waterslide on the island." Ben stared into the empty shotglass. "I signed up to advise, you have my word I'm on your side in this. If you wanted a waterslide, I would buy more whiskey and live with it."
"And complain a lot. With all that sarcasm stuff you do."
"But I'd live with it. Because if nothing else, you're not telling me this via short little notes." It came out more bitter than he'd expected and he shot a hand out to cap the bottle. Time to cut himself off.
Hurley didn't say anything to that. If Ben had looked up, he'd have spotted an uncomfortable look of sympathy. "Okay. I believe you." He squinted out the window over the sink. "We got a lotta time, don't we?"
"All the time in the world, if you want it."
"'Kay. A year or so. And afterward, we do stuff like you suggest, but I got some ideas about how it's done that I'd like at least considered. Who we get help from. Stuff like that."
"Right."
"Richard gonna be okay out there?" Ben didn't respond to the question. He kept his eyes on the bottle he'd brought along. "Ben?"
The response came slowly. "I'm advising leaving him out there, uncontacted, as bait. They very likely won't hurt him, whoever 'they' currently are. But the position he has may incidentally gain us information for later use."
"I really don't like that."
"I know."
"This leading thing sucks sometimes."
Ben looked up to see Hurley rubbing his forehead. "I know."