Southern Ocean Review, 42, January 2007
I’d heard Ash Forest was a businessman with interests in transport and contracting. The name Forest adorned the mud flaps of big trucks, all over the North Island. He’d been quoted in the local paper. Local business man applauds proposed legislation, the headlines read.
My mate Keith had worked for the man. “Ash’s got a flash office over in Tauranga and he knows all the right people too.”
It sounded like he was a man an aspiring entrepreneur might seek to emulate.
I wondered too. This Ash Forest sounded interesting, but our business paths hadn’t crossed. Then, I urgently needed some cast iron gratings and one of his firms was the only place I could find them. Visiting the company’s spacious offices to do a deal, I found myself negotiation with the man himself. Far from dynamic looking, he was short and fat, with thinning hair slicked down over a dome shaped crown. With heavy jowls, a big grinning mouth and popping eyes he looked like a frog.
He exuded confidence. “I can get those gratings for you,” he said. “But I’ll need the money, in full, up front.”
I didn’t like his payment terms, but needed the gratings badly. I sent a cheque around forthwith. In the days Ash said the gratings would take to come, I mentioned the deal to a couple of people.
“You’ll never see the gear, you can’t trust the bastard!” Chas said.
Others were less forthright. “I don’t know about that Ash fellah, he’s meant to be a right slippery bugger… I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dennis said.
As the delivery day drew near, my confidence waned and I thought about writing the whole thing off to experience. I’d look for the goods elsewhere. Then, to my relief, on the due date the gratings arrived.
My judgement vindicated, I saw Ash Forest in a new light and sought to know more about him.
“They live in a flash new house in Lynmore. She’s twenty years younger than him, but they’ve got two kids though,” Keith said. “She’s horsy, in the Hunt Club, stuck up I’d say.”
“What about before this wife?” I asked.
“There was another wife and family, but that’s a bit of a mystery…”
“And in business?”
“I’ve heard he’s been broke, but I don’t really know.
Soon after the gratings deal, I found myself working on a project with Ash’s contracting company. Then, through a strange quirk of fate, we began negotiations to participate jointly on another. Occasionally too, I found myself out at functions, which Ash attended, his trophy wife in tow.
“That Ash has a great business,” a guest said. “Knows his way around the menu too, orders all the courses.”
“Certainly knows his wines,” another said, “That’s a French Bordeaux they’re drinking.”
I could take or leave these events, but some saw them as an opportunity.
“Do you know Ash?” a bright eyed young executive asked, nodding in the man’s direction. “I was hoping he might give me some tips, or even an introduction.”
Hypnotised by dreams of commercial alchemy these disciples didn’t notice Ash waiting for everyone else to pay. Last at the cashier’s desk, he’d ask for a receipt, for the whole party. No doubt this document would be presented to the tax gatherer later, to justify some inflated expenses claim!
I couldn’t see how Ash’s high life could last and not long after I got to know him better, his façade began to crack. I discovered his head office had moved from a substantial building on the main road to a shabby workshop in an industrial zone. I attended an auction of Surplus Equipment with Keith.
“The gear’s crap,” Keith said. “And, the owners name’s been painted out.” He scratched with a coin at the side of a digger. “Look at this! It’s Ash’s gear.”
These early signs went unnoticed. Then, there was a headline in the local paper, Transport Group Reduces Services. Only a few weeks later, in the Public Notices, a meeting of creditors was called. Strange though, Ash himself wasn’t implicated in the fallout; it was others who bore the brunt. Finally the contracting business was on the market and discretely sold at a knock down price.
Appearing oblivious to his own decline, Ash branched into politics. He took an executive position with the Chamber of Commerce and, in no time, the office of President. Before you knew it Ash was leading a local trade mission to North Asia and brokering deals for the city with multinational companies. The national press sought him out, he’d become an oracle on matters commercial.
Wow, what a man!
Then, as if by magic, Ash Forest vanished. There were rumours. He’d moved overseas to pursue export opportunities, taken a job for the government promoting business in Taiwan and other high sounding possibilities. Few saw through this mirage to realise Ash had done a runner. Mind you, I couldn’t complain, he’d done me no harm, unless claiming my expenses as his own for the odd meal was harm. In fact, I had got my gratings at a good price and watching his decline and fall had been more fun than the circus.
