Джозеф Файндер - Company Man

“How’s the brewery?” Nick asked him.

“Couldn’t be better,” Finegold said. “On the brewing end, at least. Micro’s a crowded category right now.”

Nick dropped his voice confidingly. “Truth is, Rolling Rock’s more my speed. I like a beer I can see through.” He scanned the room until he saw Scott McNally, huddled in a corner with Davis Eilers. Nick didn’t need to hear them talk to work out that Eilers was trying to get the lowdown from Scott. Scott’s response was evident from a series of nervous shrugs and headshakes.

Now Todd took Nick by the elbow, and spoke to him in a low, tense voice. “Pretty short notice, don’t you think?”

“The chairman of the board has the power to convene an extraordinary session of the board,” Nick said blandly.

“But what’s the goddamned agenda? ”

Nick grinned, didn’t answer. “Funny, I was remembering what you said about turtles and turtle soup.”

Todd shrugged. “Dan and I didn’t mind canceling our other appointments, but, hey, there’s a Yankees — Red Sox game tonight. We both had to give away our tickets. So I hope it’s going to be worth our while, huh?”

“Definitely. Count on it. We weren’t able to rustle up that good coffee, though. You’ll have to overlook a few things.”

“We’re getting used to that,” said Todd with a grin that snapped shut an instant later. “Just hope you know what you’re doing.” He craned his head and exchanged a long glance with Scott.

Nick noticed Dorothy Devries making her entrance. She was wearing a royal blue skirt suit, with big clown-suit buttons. Her mouth was pursed and she was fingering her silver brooch with a clawlike hand. Nick waved to her from across the room, a big hearty gesture that she returned with a refrigerator smile.

Nick continued to shake hands, and make welcoming noises, until he noticed that Eddie Rinaldi had entered the room. Eddie sidled up to him with a look of impatience. “Guess what? Your fucking alarm went off again.”

Nick groaned. “I can’t — can you handle it?”

Eddie nodded. “Gas leak.”

“ Gas leak?”

“Alarm company called, then they called back, said a ‘Mrs. Conover’ told them she’s handling it, but I think I should check it out. Unless you got married without telling me.”

Nick, distracted, shook his head. “And Marta’s out of the country.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“She’s not there. The kids should be home by now, though.”

Eddie put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “I’ll head over there. You don’t fuck around with a gas leak.” He took an amused look around the room before sidling off.

“Well, why don’t we go sit down?” Nick said. His words were addressed to Todd but were loud enough to count as instructions to the room.

A couple of minutes later, everyone had taken a seat around the oversized mahogany table in the boardroom. Scott was playing with his plasma screen, raising it and lowering it nervously, like a kid with a Transformer Action Figure.

Nick didn’t sit at his usual spot at the head of the table. He left that chair empty and took the seat next to it. He nodded at Stephanie Alstrom, who wore her usual look of arid unease. She rested her hands on a thick file folder.

“I want to start with some very good news,” Nick said. “Atlas McKenzie is in. They signed this morning.”

“Why, that’s tremendous, Nick,” Todd said. “Good going! You talk them off the ledge yourself?”

“Wish I could take the credit,” Nick said. “Willard Osgood had to get on the horn himself.”

“Really,” Todd said, coolly. “That’s an unusual tactic.”

“He volunteered,” Nick said. “I didn’t twist his arm.”

“Did he? I guess he likes to show that he can land a big one from time to time.” Todd’s expression hovered between amusement and condescension. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

“I’ll say.” Nick pressed an intercom button and spoke to Marjorie. “Marjorie, I think we’re all ready here. Could you let our visitor know?” Looking up, he went on, “Now, I didn’t convene this extraordinary session to crow about good news. There are some serious issues we’ve got in front of us, which have to do with the future of this company.” He paused for a moment. “A number of you have urged me to take a hard look at manufacturing costs. I’ve been resistant, and maybe I’ve been too resistant. Looking forward, now, we have decided to start diversifying our manufacturing base. Stratton is going to contract out the manufacturing for our low-cost Stratton/Basics lines. We’re currently in negotiation with a number of overseas manufacturers, including some strong candidates in China. It’s a move that will ensure we’ll continue to be competitive in the most price-sensitive part of our market.”

Dorothy Devries’s expression was almost a smirk. Todd and Scott both looked confused, as if they were on a train that had gone one stop past their destination.

“We’ve reached a different decision about the higher-end lines, which are at the core of our brand identity,” Nick went on. “These we’ll continue to manufacture right here in Fenwick.”

“I’m sorry to step in,” Todd said, clearing his throat. “But you’re referring to ‘we,’ and I don’t know who you mean by that. Are you talking about your full management team? Because a lot of us are inclined to think that it’s too late in the day for half measures.”

“I’m aware of this.” In a louder voice, he said, “As some of you here know and some of you don’t know — and until recently, I was among those who didn’t know — certain parties representing Fairfield have been negotiating to sell the Stratton brand to a consortium called Pacific Rim Investors, which controls a large Shenzhen-based manufacturer of office furniture, Shenyang Industries.”

Nick didn’t know whether he had been expecting gasps or cries of astonishment, but there weren’t any. Just the sound of shuffling papers and cleared throats.

Todd looked smug. “May I say a few words?”

“Absolutely,” Nick said.

Todd turned slightly, addressing the other members of the board. “First, I want to apologize to the CEO of this company for keeping him out of the loop on the deal. We at Fairfield have been taking a long, hard look at the numbers, and, frankly, we see an opportunity here, one we cannot afford to pass up. Stratton has entered into a crisis phase. Nick Conover — and I want to commend him for his candor — has made it very clear, every step of the way, that there are certain options he just can’t accept. Well, we respect his views. And we certainly respect his excellent work on behalf of the company. But this is a case where management cannot be given the final word.” A beat. “The greatest praise I can give any manager is to say that he does his work with passion.” He turned to face Nick. “That’s certainly true of you, Nick. But when a firm reaches a critical inflection point, there are hard choices to be made — and they need to be made with dis passion.”

He leaned back in his black Stratton chair, looking sleeker by the moment. “That’s the thing about being in a crisis zone,” he said, hardly bothering to conceal his self-satisfaction. “It’s what everyone at McKinsey gets drummed into their heads from day one. The Chinese word for ‘crisis’ combines the characters for ‘danger’ and ‘opportunity.’”

“No doubt,” Nick said breezily. “And the Chinese word for ‘outsourcing’ combines the characters for ‘lost’ and ‘jobs.’”

“We owe you a lot,” Todd said in a lordly tone. “Don’t think we’re not grateful. I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say that we appreciate all you’ve given to Stratton. It’s just that the time has come to move on.”