Here's
an excerpt:
A moment later, he turned to Will. "Is the company’s
insurance in order?"
Will nodded. The airline and its investors were protected,
he knew, by a Lloyd’s of London syndicate that would make good on the liability
to victims’ families within rather high limits. A second syndicate insured the
aircraft itself: GUA would be repaid its share of the plane’s value, and the
members of the public who had financed the rest of the transport’s cost by
buying loan certificates and leasing the plane to the airline would be
similarly reimbursed.
The Old Man reflected aloud, "The stock market’s been
too skittish lately not to get terrified when something like this happens. The
average guy thinks we’re in the hole for thirty-five million dollars’ worth of
aircraft. Or else he’ll think passengers will stay away. Probably will, too,
for a week or so. The truth is, recovering the cash value of a jetliner can be
a damned blessing, although I’d rather have lost a 707—they’re older and a hell
of a lot less efficient. Damned stockholders and smart-ass analysts don’t think
that way. By noon tomorrow our stock should have dropped to eight or
below." Buck’s fist slammed against the desk. "That’s just the
opportunity that son of a bitch Girard has been waiting for!"
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