Takeover (12 page)

“Are you all right? You seem upset.”

“Someone let the air out of my tires and left a note calling me a murderer on my car. My fiancé was able to come and help me re-inflate them, but everyone in this building—everyone other than you—seems to think that I actually killed Mr. McDaniel. I don’t know if I can do this,” I say, not fighting the tears as they come to my eyes.

“Rose,” Mr. Waite starts. “I am so sorry that happened. Do you know who did that?”

“No,” I say, “and it doesn’t really matter. Everyone here thinks I’m some kind of monster.”

“I don’t,” he says. “I think you’re a perfectly wonderful woman who got blamed for a terrible thing. That’s not your fault,” he says, his voice is soft and comforting as a goose down duvet. “You haven’t done anything wrong.” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you, but I really hope that you’ll stay. I mean,” he chuckles, “you’ve only been working for me for a few hours, but I already have more free time than I did before I became the CEO.”

“Yeah,” I say, disconnected.

“You are an asset to this company, and you’re an asset to me. I will fire everyone on this floor before I willingly let you go.”

He can’t be serious.

“Seriously,” he says. “My respect for people ends when they become unwilling to respect one another, and you are important to me, Rose. I don’t want to lose you.” He puts his hand on mine. If Mr. McDaniel had ever done this, I would have taken it as a prelude to groping, but Sam seems genuine. He actually seems to care about me.

“I don’t want to quit,” I say. “I really don’t, but I don’t want to have to come here every day and face a skyscraper full of people who think that I’m a murderer.”

“I understand that,” Mr. Waite says. “I really do. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you work in here until our meeting and after the meeting’s over, you can head on home.”

I chuckle. “Last time my boss told me to go home early, it didn’t work out so well for me.”

Mr. Waite smiles, “Well,” he says, “I promise not to get myself killed when you leave.” We both laugh.

Benson, Quaid & McFadden

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T
he time in Mr. Waite’s office passes quickly enough as he fills me in on what the meeting is going to be about. While we’re there, I get another non-disclosure form signed. Apparently, my brother’s company decided to try for a hostile takeover of their own. The subsidiary company that Mark had told me about had failed in its bid, but Benson, Quaid & McFadden, the company my brother works for, thinks they have a better shot at it.

The only thing that’s really necessary for such a measure to go through in a publicly traded company is for the predator company to acquire a majority share. I’m not sure what it was that Mr. McDaniel had done to avoid this in the past, but Mr. Waite doesn’t seem the least bit stressed.

The time comes and we walk together to the board room. The members of the board are all there, along with a few people that I don’t recognize; no doubt Benson, Quaid & McFadden or their duly appointed representatives.

“Glad you could make it,” one of the strangers says, tapping his pen against a blank sheet of paper. “We were starting to wonder if your legendary punctuality was just a myth.”

Sam just smiles and walks over to the man. He offers his hand, saying, “It’s almost a pleasure to see you, Bill.”

The two shake and Mr. Waite greets the others in a similar manner. I’m still standing by the door, not quite sure where I’m supposed to go or what I’m supposed to do. Mr. McDaniel never trusted me to accompany him to a meeting. This is new territory.

“Miss Pearson,” Mr. Waite says, “why don’t you take a seat over here between myself and Mr. Fyurek?”

Ah, lovely direction. I quickly take my seat and things get started.

“Sam,” the man who Mr. Waite referred to as Bill starts, “I think we all know why we’re here. Opulence is still a viable company, but I’m afraid that without an infusion of our funds, and our leadership, you’re going to be lost at sea before you know it.”

“I completely disagree,” Mr. Waite retorts. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be writing down, so I just try to get the main ideas. “I think that what this company needs—what both of our companies need—is to rid itself of the monopolization mentality that’s infected every CEO since Reagan was in office. What Opulence needs is its own identity in this business, and I certainly don’t think that your firm is going to have very much to do with that.”

“It’s already in progress,” Bill Whoever says. “As we speak, we are purchasing what we can of your firm. The only thing that’s left is for you and your board to sign over your shares, and we can make things nice and simple.”

“Not going to happen,” Mr. Waite says. “I don’t know if you know this or not, Bill, but I had a very lucrative job before I came to work for this company.”

I didn’t know that, but apparently Bill did.

“During that time, I learned quite a bit about how this business works. I’ve seen great companies be born and then poached by vultures more times than I care to count, and I’ve seen artifacts of a greed-ridden past grow stronger for their malfeasance. I’m not going to let that happen here.”

“We don’t need
you
to let it happen,” Bill Whoever says. “I’ve already had a chance to speak to your board, and they’re leaning in favor of selling. You would all, of course, maintain positions within this company to help with the transition, but you can’t fight this thing, Sam.”

A look comes over Mr. Waite’s face that I wasn’t expecting. It’s malicious pride. I used to see that look on Mr. McDaniel’s face every single day.

“I don’t plan to fight it,” he says. “I plan to kill it.”

“What do you mean by that?” one of the members of the board chimes in.

“Well,” Mr. Waite continues, “as you may know, during my time with other companies, before I was given the position of COO and now CEO of Opulence International, I acquired quite a bit of personal wealth.”

“So?” Bill chuckles. “We all have, what’s your point.”

“You see, where you all went out and bought expensive houses and cars, along with donating money to whichever political candidate would let you continue to rob the cookie jar, I was setting my money aside, investing it in the future.”

“I know all about your assets, Sam,” Bill says, “but you can’t stop the board from voting to give up the company.”

“That’s not quite accurate,” Mr. Waite says. “Granted, I may not be able to override their decision. However, I can render it null and void.”

I take a break from writing and look at my boss. I have no idea what he’s planning, but I have to hear this.

“You can’t—” one of the board members objects, but Mr. Waite interrupts.

“As of three o’clock this afternoon, I will hold a majority share in your company, Bill.”

“That’s impossible,” the man says, laughing loudly. “
I
hold majority, and there’s no way that you’re going to get my board to flip like yours did.”

“Consider this your notice,” Mr. Waite says. “I’ve been in touch with your board from the moment I heard of this dumbass move. They seem to think that a merger is, indeed, in the best interest of both companies, but they don’t believe that you are the one to lead it.”

Bill Whoever looks at the people to his left and right, both assumedly board members. “What are you—”

“I asked them if I could deliver the news personally for two reasons: One, I will not have Opulence fall under the control of another corporation, not while I’m around. Two, I don’t like you, Bill.”

Oh shit.

Mr. Waite continues. “You represent everything about corporate America that is driving this country and its people bankrupt both morally and financially just so you can pad your pocket with other citizens’ salaries, and I will do everything legally within my power to put an end to this travesty that you seem intent on perpetuating.”

The ex-CEO, Bill Whoever, is silent.

“Now, my board has every right to depose me as CEO of this corporation, but I would like to remind them that I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep this company running,” Sam Waite, CEO of Opulence and, apparently soon-to-be CEO of Benson, Quaid & McFadden runs his hand through his hair. “Yes, we are in acquisitions. We buy companies, we sell companies, we control companies, but that doesn’t mean that we have to gut the people who work
for
those companies to do it. As far as I’m concerned, our role in this world is to provide assistance to those companies which can and do move our economy and our country forward in positive ways. You, Bill, your role in the world up until now has been to fatten your wallet. How many people are out of a job because of you? How many people’s salaries are half or a quarter of what they should be because of you? This is not how we do business in a civilized world.”

Bill Whoever’s face is a deep shade of red. “I don’t know what world you think you’re living in, Waite, but you’re not going to last long in business. This
is
the business world, Sam, and it sure as hell has nothing to do with civilization! The earmark of capital is doing what you have to do to make sure that you’re the one on top. This isn’t a goddamned church group. This is business,” the old man slams his fist on the table. “You’re going to bankrupt both companies if our two boards don’t see through your idealistic bullshit and put you on the street where you belong.”

“No Bill,” Mr. Waite says, “I’m going to bankrupt you.” As if he had planned it, Mr. Waite’s cellphone starts to ring. He answers it, but hardly says a word. He hangs up, and I can’t help but wonder if he got a flip phone just for emphasis, because when the phone closes, the room is beyond silent. “It’s done,” he says and stands. “Bill, you can go ahead and show yourself out. My board and I have a few things to discuss, and I don’t think it’s appropriate to have someone who’s not involved in either corporation present.”

“You can’t do this,” Bill Whoever starts, but the board member to his left, a beautiful black woman in a pantsuit puts her hand on his. He looks at her for some kind of hope, but she has none to offer him, and I’m positive that I’m witnessing a miracle. The old man gets up and storms out of the room.

“As my first duty as CEO of Benson, Quaid & McFadden—I would like to name Mrs. Irene Jones as my successor, effective immediately; pending final board approval, of course.” He leans toward the woman, Irene Jones, and says, “That call was them,” he says. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Sam,” she says, beaming. “I would just like to say right here that I support your vision, and when board approval goes through, I will be glad to count myself as part of this new movement.” With that, she and her colleague get up and leave the room, their business at Opulence International being fulfilled.

I’ve got to be dreaming. Not one, but two CEOs are actually going out of their way to make corporate America better, not for old money or the fat-and-useless CEOs, but for everyone. I think I may have just found religion, and its prophet’s name is Sam.

“Now,” Mr. Waite says, turning to his own board. “I understand that most of you were in favor of being absorbed by Benson, Quaid & McFadden, and I’ve no doubt made a good share of you rather upset by doing what I did, especially without your approval. Even though I performed the acquisition of our worthy competitor myself, and not in the name of Opulence International, I expect that you’re all feeling a bit undercut. I apologize for this, but it was the best way that I could satisfy my conscience in the matter. Therefore, I would like to know whether you wish me to continue as CEO of Opulence International, or if I should start packing my things.”

The room is still, quiet. I’ve never even
heard
of something like this happening. The man’s job is in the hands of a room full of people who wanted something a lot different than what he just did, and he couldn’t look more at peace with that decision.

“Would you give us the room for a few minutes, Sam? This is a lot to digest,” Mr. Fyurek says.

“I understand,” he says. He taps my shoulder, “Come on, Rose.”

I stand and I follow him out. I hardly know what to say to the man as we stand here in the hallway, waiting for the board of directors to decide whether he has a job or not. If he leaves, I’m leaving. I would inform the board of this, but I seriously doubt it would make any sort of a difference to them.

“I hope you know,” he says, “that if they do decide to fire me, you’ll be taken care of. I’ve already put aside a full year’s salary for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

“Well, it hardly seems fair to invite you back the same day that your job becomes obsolete. Especially—”

“No,” I interrupt. “I mean you didn’t have to do any of that. Don’t get me wrong, I love what you did, but are you insane? You’re really willing to give up your spot as CEO just to protect this company from a hostile takeover?”

He smiles. “Absolutely,” he says. “Listen, Rose. I think we both know—hell, I think the whole world knows that what is happening in corporations here is draining the lifeblood from everyone. People are forced to work in inhumane circumstances for pennies just so we can have a t-shirt with our favorite brand name on it. Corporate America has literally enslaved the world. Who am I if I can’t do my own part to be its liberator?”

Either the guy is really certifiable, or he’s the most inspiring person I’ve ever met. “If you do, you know, get fired,” I start.

“Yeah?” he says, still smiling.

“Wherever you go next, do you think you might need an assistant?”

He laughs. “You know, I think I—”

The door opens. One of the members of the board says, “We’re ready for you, Sam.”

“Here we go,” he says and we walk back into the room. No matter what happens, I think that Mr. Waite and I are going to be working as a team for a long time to come.

An Extension of the Hand

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I
t’s almost the end of the week and I haven’t been yelled at once. Most of the people on my floor are still too afraid to make eye contact but, to be honest, I can’t say that I’m too upset about that.