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Is Chasing A Ghost Based On Real Money Real
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The business line rang in P. Dee Chambers’s condominium. It was a Sunday night, but Dee, a longtime consultant to family businesses, couldn’t resist answering. Despite her many years of experience, she never ceased to be amazed at the dilemmas confronting people who mix genes and business.

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“Dee, we need your help,” came the plea in a soft drawl. The voice was faintly familiar.

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“Okay, but who am I talking to?” she said.

“Mac. Mac Monroe. You remember me—I served on the Amalgamated board back when you wrote that report about the president we fired a few months later. You were dead-on about that guy.”

“Yes, I remember.” She pictured a nattily dressed big man well into his eighth decade. Huge hands, gentle handshake. Booming laugh. “Hi, Mac. Nice to hear from you. How are things?”

“Pretty good, in general. But Carolina, well, that’s another story.”

“Carolina?”

“Carolina Construction Supply. That’s the company Bea and I are helping our boys with. Problem is, it’s gotten expensive. My banker told me today that he needs an updated personal financial statement from me. Carolina has drawn over a million bucks on its line. Our whole problem is that we need more sales, Dee. Little Bit is doing a bang-up job, and so is Mike. Little Bit is a natural leader. They all look up to him. He’s just like Mac Four.”

“Mac Four?”

“Huh? Oh, my oldest boy—anyway, what do you think, Dee? Can you help us out?”

“Well, we can talk about it. Let’s have coffee Wednesday morning.”

“How about lunch tomorrow?”

Dee looked at her calendar. Yet another noonday workout she wouldn’t make. “Okay, fine. Let’s say 12:30. You can find my office, right?”

“You bet.”

Mac Monroe was prompt, even a little early. After ordering a bacon cheeseburger, well done, and black coffee, Mac launched in. Dee got an earful, with plenty of Monroe family history to go along with the saga of Carolina Construction’s business woes.

“I reckon if you’re going to help us, Dee, you need to know the full story, from the beginning, so here goes. Almost 50 years ago now, I started a company, Georgia Building Supplies, with a guy who used to be sort of a friend of mine, name of Morrie Jackson. We sold flooring, lumber, fixtures, you name it, wholesale to contractors. I did the sales, Morrie shuffled papers inside. The arrangement worked pretty good for many years—33 of them in fact. Morrie liked the details, and he was a tough SOB. People liked me. I was a Willy Loman kind of guy—you know, a smile and a shoe shine. The company did well—$170 million in sales by the end.

“Anyway, by 1980 or so, Morrie and I weren’t talking much. When he did talk to me, it was usually to accuse me in one way or another of not understanding how the business worked. Hell, that bean counter couldn’t sell water to a man in the Mojave. Finally, in 1985, I borrowed the money to buy him out. By then, Mac Four was done with business school and was ready to step into Morrie’s shoes.

“Five years later, Mac Four died, and I sold the business to International Lumber two years after that. Made $13 million doing it, too. Not bad. Some people said I could have made a lot more—said I hadn’t kept up with computers. Personally, I’ve always thought it was a lot safer to have things down on paper. A lot of companies spent too damned much on technology then—still do. Has productivity budged much in the last decade? I sure can’t see it. Truth is, it was global sourcing plus the loss of Mac Four that took the wind out of our sails those last two years.

“So that’s my business story. Now for the family. But first, I need a little something sweet.” He squinted at the waitress’s name badge and boomed, “Janie, bring me your best piece of pie, a big one, and more coffee. And for this lady here… ?”

“Just decaf,” Dee called out.

Mac was quiet for a minute, staring out the window. Still staring, he said in a low voice, “Yeah, it really took the wind out of our sails. Mac Four—as in Macintosh McKinley Monroe IV—had my personality. Everybody liked him. But he also had his mama’s toughness and smarts. He had great plans for the company. We had it all worked out… ”

Mac’s voice trailed off, and his eyes misted over. Dee looked away. She was glad when the pie and coffee arrived.

Mac cleared his throat loudly, twice, then continued with some vehemence. “We were never able to carry out those plans. He was on his way home from a sales trip one night. Driving over the top of a hill. Two-lane road. Coming straight at him, in both lanes, were two cars, drag racing. He never saw the drunken murderers. It was over in an instant. And we haven’t been the same since. Can’t be. Parents burying children is backwards.”

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He was driving over the top of a hill one night. Two-lane road. Coming straight at him, in both lanes, were two cars, drag racing. He never saw the drunken murderers. It was over in an instant. And we haven’t been the same since.

Dee nodded in sympathetic agreement; a minute passed. “Um, you have two other boys, do I have that right?”

“Absolutely, absolutely. Fine, fine men. Mike’s two years younger than Mac Four. Not as smart, but he made it through the same top-notch college. It just took him a little longer. Had some troubles with booze in those days. I had to get real friendly with a judge at one point after an accident involving his Corvette. But he always worked with me summers in the company. When he graduated, he went to work as a salesman for, if you can believe this, our biggest competitor. He really turned it around and got promoted a couple of times. The man can sell.

“And then there’s Little Bit, who graduated from college maybe four years ago. He was just 16 when Mac Four was killed.”

Dee broke in. “Little Bit?”

“Yeah, we’ve called him that ever since he was about two because he’d ask for more ice cream or cookies, and we’d say no, and he’d come back with ‘Little bit? Little bit?’ I suppose he’d be ‘John’ to you. Anyway, he’s a great kid, but he’s always hung out with his mama rather than with me. Unlike the other two boys, he never worked summers at Georgia Building. He spent his time at our beach house, swimming and gardening with his mama. After he finished high school—the same year we sold the business—Bea and I moved back home to South Carolina, and Little Bit tagged along and enrolled at the state U.

“Well, when Little Bit graduated with a business degree and didn’t land a job right away, Bea suggested that we set him up with his own company. ‘We can take care of him that way,’ she said. It sounded good to me, so we put it to Little Bit. He chewed on it and bargained hard for a good salary and paid overseas vacations and wha