Amid the Audubon prints, green plants, and fine Oriental rugs of its nineteenth-floor executive offices, the stunned members of the management group gathered. Rather than face the obvious folly of their earlier preparation, Cohen, Hill, and the others directed their anger toward Kravis. Everyone had a theory why Kravis had jumped the gun. Johnson stalked in and took a seat at the long table in Shearson’s boardroom. Dumbstruck, he demanded an explanation for Kravis’s ambush attack. Wasn’t Cohen supposed to meet with him? What on earth could have propelled Kravis into this course of action? “Something’s gone haywire here, Peter,” Johnson said, citing Cohen’s initial meeting with Kravis. “Somebody must have pissed off somebody. You don’t get from a meeting like that, franchise or no franchise, to a meeting scheduled on Monday unless somebody put their finger up somebody’s ass. I mean, there must have been something that happened at that meeting on Friday to make him do this.”
