Sheriff mcnatt asked us not to take photos and we

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Unformatted text preview: debt, an offset press, and because we now ran the printing for six smaller weeklies, plus our own shoppers' guides, his client was very interested in buyingThe Ford County Times. "How interested?" I asked. "Extremely. If we could look at the books, we could value your company." He left and I made a few phone calls to verify his credibility. He checked out fine, and I collected my current financials. Three days later we met again, this time at night. I did not want Wiley or Baggy or Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, anyone else hanging around. News that theTimes was changing hands would be such hot gossip that they'd open the coffee shops at 3 A.M. instead of 5. McGrew crunched the numbers like a seasoned analyst. I waited, oddly nervous, as if the verdict might drastically change my life. "You're clearing a hundred grand after taxes, plus you're taking a salary of fifty grand. Depreciation is another twenty, no interest because you have no debt. That's one-seventy in cash flow, times the standard multiple of six, comes to one million twenty thousand." "And the building?" I asked. He glanced around as if the ceiling might collapse any moment. "These places typically don't sell for much." "A hundred thousand," I said. "Okay. And a hundred thousand for the offset press and other equipment. The total value is somewhere in the neighborhood of one-point-two million." "Is that an offer?" I asked, even more anxious. "It might be. I'll have to discuss it with my client." I had no intention of selling theTimes. I had stumbled into the business, gotten a few lucky breaks, worked hard writing stories and obituaries and selling pages of ads, and now, nine years later, my little company was worth over a million dollars. I was young, still single though I was tired of being lonely and living alone in a mansion with three leftover Hocutt cats that refused to die. I had a...
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