X - Chapter Fifteen "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution"

Chapter Fifteen 

      American Air’s Flight 2600 from Boston’s Logan International to San Francisco was delayed, and the agents at Gate 14 couldn’t say for how long past its 8 am scheduled departure time or the reason why. The departure lounge was packed, with all of the seats occupied and the overflow seated on the floor or standing where they could. Bill Voldman found his plans delayed. Rani Khanna tried to cheer him up, fetching coffees for both of them and pretending to be optimistic.  

      Bill appreciated her efforts, but they didn’t work. He wanted to push through the tasks he carried in his brief case and then clock maybe three hours or so catching up on his required quotient of sleep. He stood – polite yet grim – against a window near the skyway entrance to board. He looked out at the plane on the tarmac and noticed no activity, no technicians, no trucks, nothing. He didn’t move, except at one point making room for a young mother with a double stroller, occupied by two beautiful, blond children. 

      In his mind, he kept going over the list of the tasks he wanted to complete, tasks he had put off for several days. He made a special effort to stay positive, avoiding any troubling thoughts. So, he devoted himself to watching other passengers, some pretty, young women who raised his spirits just a bit, some people who glanced around furtively, rushed off, and then returned several minutes later with a cup of coffee and a bag of treats, and people engrossed in books, magazines, newspapers or electronic screens. 

      Then, suddenly, Bill saw the desk agent with a microphone, and he heard the announcement over the rumble from the waiting passengers: Flight 2600 was ready for boarding. With their frequent flier Gold status, Bill and Rani were among the very first to board. As soon as they found their seats, stowed their carry-ons and got settled, Bill pulled his MacAir and several file folders from his brief case. 

      He started with his report on Semper Fi Systems. It was easy to write because it was positive and he had been involved with the firm’s progress now for more than almost two years. Bill allowed himself to be disturbed only when the drink cart came down the aisle, and he ordered a Bloody Mary, surprising Rani. He decided that he could scan in some of the reports from Chuck Welch and attach them to the report. As head of the Technology Practice, Bill had the policy that all of his team would file periodic reports on clients, so all team members could learn from them and maybe even offer useful input. 

      After the few first sips of his Bloody Mary, Bill started to relax. His next task was to read a few reports he had grabbed at the office and couldn’t find the time or inclination to read. As he forced himself to read the pages of single-spaced text, he felt just a touch of guilt. At that point, he decided to pour the rest of the small bottle of vodka that hadn’t fit in his Bloody Mary into his glass, and he took a few more sips. Next came his expense report, and he decided to simply gather all his receipts together, secure them with a big paper clip, and call it a day. Bill did bring some industry publications with him. He had a habit of constantly reading, trying to keep up with the waves of mergers and acquisitions and plant expansions and technical advancements. But he admitted to himself, You could read about this stuff until they cart you away. There’s no end. He slipped the bundle back into his brief case. 

      Then, he turned to Rani, in the seat beside him: “Could I ask you to do me a favor? It’s a big responsibility, but I know you can handle it. I’m going to see if I can close my eyes for a few minutes. If I happen to be dozing when the lunch cart comes by, you make a decision: Would I like that for lunch or not. If the answer’s yes, please wake me up. If no, just let me keep sleeping.”

      Rani smiled and said, “Of course.”

      And Bill reclined his seat, covered himself with an AA blanket, and closed his eyes. Thanks to his Bloody Mary, he felt his mind going blank and sleep starting to capture him, until the thoughts that had remained somewhere on his mind since last night rose to his consciousness. He tried to ignore them, but they resisted, and then they won. 

      Oh shit! Bill thought. I’m a sentimental, old fool, an easy touch. Mike Stein, okay, he’s not that young, but for this crowd, all these tough, old bastards, he’s a kid, a very smart and talented kid, but still a kid. He’d get eaten up by all this, this fight for money and influence. Sure, we can say it’s just a game, and it goes on all the time. But someone can still get hurt. If I was that kid, I’d get out. Why fight it? He has no real investment in the firm. And he has real talent; he could go just about anywhere. 

      A memory came back to Bill, a memory from more than ten years ago, a memory from the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. There were eleven of them, eleven highly trained and knowledgeable management consultants. All of them had walked away from the leading firm, McKinsey & Co., because they believed they had no future with McKinsey; they didn’t have the one essential stamp of approval, a Harvard MBA. And the eleven of them started operating as their own firm, and they started succeeding. Yes, they did convince some of their clients to stick with them, to McKinsey’s consternation. The McKinsey big guys screamed and threatened to bring them before the Institute of Management Consultants’ board. But the rebels gave their lives over to their new enterprise, and got even more clients, and the clients were pleased. 

      But these eleven brilliant consultants had no management structure, they hadn’t filed for incorporation papers or business licenses, and they weren’t recognized as an operating firm by the Institute. They were not living up to the advice they would give to any one of their clients. So, they agreed to follow the suggestion of one of their number, Ted Merritt, to meet and to decide everything. Ted Merritt took it upon himself to reserve a suite of rooms at the Waldorf Astoria, and they all packed their suitcases and told their families they’d be meeting for two days. On the first day, they agreed on everything, everything including the name of the new firm, “Winshire Associates,” everything but their management structure. Merritt volunteered to become president and CEO for only a limited time, that was “on a temporary basis.” Most of the consultants – including Bill Voldman – wanted to get to work, so they agreed, as long as it was only temporary. But G. Gordon Hope wanted the leadership role. He said his experience was more extensive, in particular in corporate strategy and on-going operations.  

      Merritt had the experience of an in-fighter and the instincts of a killer. At the end of the second day, he assured the entire group that he was totally dedicated to working for the benefit of all, and that he would keep his word. But also, he told just three of the eleven consultants that he had dossiers on almost half of the group. Every one knew who those three were, but no one knew who the “almost half” were. Word spread like wildfire. The following morning, everyone except Gordon Hope agreed. Finally, every one signed on, including Gordy, who said he had no choice. Over the next few days, members of the group started to realize that “temporary” was never defined and the actual number of days was never spelled out. 

      Thinking back, Bill remembered what a determined fighter Ted Merritt was and no doubt remained now. If his tight reign could be ended, and Gordy saved from being pushed out, it would take a real war, perhaps a war damaging to the firm. And, Bill realized, I’d have to do a whole lot more than the cheap shit I’ve done so far. I’d have to really take on the cause. Shit! But one thing: I can’t let that kid, Mike, get hit in the cross fire. It’s not his fight!  

      During the rest of the flight, Bill never found the respite of even a short nap. He did counsel Rani, praising her abilities and telling her she’d succeed wherever she landed, at Winshire or elsewhere. And he did feel a little sad for Rani when he told her that Mike was married, apparently happily. Then, all he could do was reclaim his bundle of electronics publications from his briefcase and lose himself in the complex stories of electronics companies and technologies. 

-0-

      It was a beautiful Saturday morning on the peninsula south of San Francisco. The sky was a cloudless blue, and with the breeze coming in from the bay, the air was fresh and invigorating. Bill Voldman was standing in his backyard, taking stock of his garden, which climbed up the hill behind his home in Belmont. He was proud of his garden, a lush mixture of colors and forms, especially his succulents, his prized “blue angels” and his “saguaros,” which had increased in value past all reason, “Better than any equity stocks,” Bill always joked. 

      Bill looked around the back yard, where the Voldman family had spent so much time. No regrets, Bill told himself, it had been a wonderful home for his family for nearly twenty years. He remembered watching his two daughters play when they were young. Now, his older daughter was starting to appear as a vocalist at clubs in the city, and some of her original songs had gained her recognition as a talented composer. And his younger daughter was a lawyer in Tucson. The younger girl followed in her mom’s footsteps; their mother and Bill’s wife, Margaret, or Maggie to the family and their long-standing friends, was a lawyer with corporate clients in the city, in the financial district. Now, Bill and Maggie were the only human beings in the house. 

      Yes, Maggie, always loyal, always a doer for all of the things, like shopping and the family accounts, Bill didn’t have time for, always a good mother, always strong, and always a good wife. A late arrival was Félix, who at this moment was standing next to Bill, panting loudly, hoping it was time for his walk. Félix was a white bichon frisé, who was the undisputed most popular member of the family, and who could get anything he wanted by cocking his head to one side. 

      Never able to remain idle, the back yard was testament to Bill’s ingenuity and skill for one project after another. To one side of the yard was the basketball hoop, where the girls started out playing even when they could barely toss the ball. In the center of the yard was the long redwood table, where the family gathered with friends for sumptuous meals, often prepared on the barbecue Bill installed toward the back of the yard, just behind the fire pit and circle of comfortable chairs he had arranged.  

      No regrets, Bill told himself again. Yes, those days were passed now. Little by little over the years, Bill’s career as a management consultant took more and more time from the family. More and more time, especially since the establishment of Winshire Associates and Bill took the responsibility for the Technology Practice, mainly  because he had earned a degree from Stanford in computer sciences. And more and more time because of his travel schedule and the time he had to spend in New York. 

      But deep down, in reality, there was one regret, and it troubled Bill now, as he stood in this temple dedicated to his family. Dorothy, Dorothy Reynolds. Yes, she was there in New York, and they were honest with each other, but they needed each other. And it went on one year after another, and as Bill admitted, due to his own weakness. He knew it was disloyal to Maggie, and that was a pain he would always carry. Now, he realized something else: If he were to get drawn into a war, a truly savage war within Winshire, Dorothy should be protected. Bill knew she had strong feelings about honesty, but she should not get involved in any conflict. 

      One after another, Bill gathered some of his gardening tools, and slowly and methodically began weeding his garden, removing wilted branches, clipping overgrown areas and neatly assembling the refuse, taking his time, telling himself that all this was to clear his mind, keep him from thinking about the decisions he had to make and their impact on his life. 

      Toward noon, Bill took Félix for a walk, and the two of them walked up the hill past the stately homes of his neighbors, and he shouted the standard phrases – “Hey, how ya doin’?” and “Hi, great day, isn’t it!” – and walked on, until he and Félix reached the point where they could look past the view of the San Francisco Bay to the city beyond. And Bill could honestly say, Yes, it’s been good. No matter what happens in the future, so far it’s been good.

      Later, over lunch at a little Italian restaurant, Casa Roma, in the nearby town of San Carlos, Bill announced to Maggie that Winshire could be approaching one of its periodic internal conflicts. The pasta at Case Roma, was always excellent, and Maggie’s comments were always perceptive. 

      “Dear, I know you’ll do what you believe is right,” she looked at him and waited. Then: “But, please remember the last time. My God, it tore you apart, and finally, nothing changed.” 

      Maggie twirled her pasta around her fork and took a bite. “No, I’m wrong, something did change. Your hair turned gray,” She smiled. “I’m not complaining, you sure look distinguished, gray, that is. But you paid a price.”

      “I’m not gonna bore you with every detail,” Bill explained. “It’s Ted again, of course. We all know, he’s kinda . . .  well, obsessive. I don’t know who knows what’s going on, but he’s trying to do things that any reasonable person, any one with any values, well, they sure wouldn’t agree. I don’t know if I can take it.” 

      They ate in silence for a while. Then Bill said, “The trouble is, I love what I do. I’m helping some good, extremely talented people, and their companies might someday make real contributions.” 

      “Bill, you already made your contribution,” Maggie said. “Just think of all of the companies you helped, of every size, all kinds of them. Maybe you did your part. Maybe this is the time to pack it in. You don’t need Winshire any more; we don’t need them. Why keep fighting. Let’s enjoy ourselves; let’s go to Italy, or France. Let’s go somewhere, or do something we’ve never done.” 

      “Yeah, sure, but am I gonna quit under fire?”  

      No matter what happens, Bill told himself. No matter what, it’s been good. So, far it’s been good.