X - Chapter Ten "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution"

Chapter Ten 

      Ted Merritt sat at his desk. Both of his hands were face down on its surface, and between his hands was a thirty-three-page memo. The memo lay flat, revealing the cover page – “Hyper-Intervention,” by G. Gordon Hope. 

      Ted Merritt had just completed reading the memo, and he was stunned. He could not believe the memo’s creativity, originality and applicability, and he could not believe that G. Gordon Hope, “Gordy,” could have produced such a spectacular document.

      Merritt swiveled his chair around, and he checked the polish of his elevator shoes and the crease in his wool trousers. He looked up and took in the view through his massive blue-tinged windows – the southern view of the East River and its bridges and the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, the sights that usually gave him a feeling of power and control. 

      But this time it didn’t work; this afternoon, a blanket of mist covered the river and downtown, rendering the view dull and subdued. And Merritt asked himself: How could Gordy do this? He was so upset when I told him he’d be competing with a Mr. X. I told him I wanted just his ideas. I told everyone not to talk to him. And he produced this! How? And the questions nagged him: Did he cheat somehow? Did he intimidate that new kid, that word wizard Mike, to help him? Or did I underestimate him, after all these years? 

      The concept was so simple, so direct, so original, and so necessary for a management consulting firm that wants to win a new class of clients in the battle for greater income. 

      Of course, there were some ideas that were obvious, and not so outstanding, like the suggestion to establish a new “ecology” practice. Of course, everyone knows that. But the heart of it, responded to the needs of so many Fortune 500 companies that are wondering what to do in the new business world of tomorrow and beyond. 

      Merritt swung his chair back and looked at the memo again. Yes, thirty-three pages, but the key ideas require just a few words. Simple and clear, that’s always the case; the solution is always obvious once you know the answer. Hyper-Intervention: We come to help you in no time. Assistance at Cyber Speed: We’re as fast as the latest information technology. Rapid Deployment: Our team comes to your site. Panel of Experts: A group of our best, specialized consultants solve your issue.

      What more could a business enterprise want from Winshire, from any consultancy? 

      Then Ted Merritt asked himself a tougher question: What am I gonna do with Gordy?  

      His intercom buzzed, and he flipped the switch. He heard Dorothy’s voice: “Mr. Merritt, Steven Bucknell is here for your meeting.” 

      Merritt answered: “Thank you, Dorothy. Please ask Steve to wait three minutes and then come right in.” 

      Merritt grabbed the Hyper-Intervention memo, turned it over, and slid it into a pile of manila folders on the left side of his desk. Then he leaned back in his chair and took three deep breaths. 

      “Come on in, Steve, and take a seat.” Ted let his seat spring him back straight. “Good to see you. You know what I want right now? I want you to wow me.”

      “Well,” Bucknell said, smiling. “I’ll do the best I can with this stack of papers.” 

      “Not paper,” Merritt countered. “Not paper, ideas, I want brilliant ideas.”

      “You got it,” Bucknell said with a smile. “Just remember one thing: Thirty percent. That’s the most important thing. Just one number.”

      “I’m with you, thirty, thirty percent.” 

      Leaning across his boss’s wide desk, Bucknell held up page seven of the thick sheaf of pages. “Now, here you see the services we provide to our clients,” he said. “You can see, that over time we’ve added one new service after another.” 

      “In the beginning, in the old days, it was just written reports on business strategy,” he said. “Then we moved to actual help in implementation, personnel management, HR, that kind of thing, then we gave them technology, using it, algorithms, that stuff. Then, responding to our clients’ needs, it was marketing, and financial management, then the basics of bookkeeping, purchasing and payroll, then accounting. The only thing we don’t do now is tax filing, and – of course – legal. Our own legal staff is relatively small, and it’s only for our own needs.”

      Merritt felt himself getting just a bit annoyed. Of course, he knew all this; he was the person who made all of the decisions. He grew the firm, one practice at a time. He didn’t need a relative newcomer to teach him, even a newcomer with an MBA from Harvard. And Bucknell was tall and blond and a bit over-confident.

      “Got it,” was all Merritt said. 

      “So we do almost all of it,” Bucknell said, regaining his seat. “And, like you said at the beginning, what do we get? Not much, not enough, we all know that.” 

      Bucknell was silent for a few seconds. “What does that tell us? What are we missing? My God, we’re running those companies. But what are we missing?” 

      “You’re asking me? You tell me.”  

      “I’ll tell you,” Bucknell said, looking square at Merritt. “We can just take what we really earn. Since we control their books, how much can we skim off without them noticing, without them noticing or getting mad? That’s thirty percent. I believe we can take up to thirty percent without them noticing it. Just like that.” 

      Merritt stood up and leaned over his desk toward the younger man. “Holy shit! Is that legal?”

      “That depends, and there’s fine print, and how you say it,” Bucknell said in total calm. “And it avoids other problems. We don’t get involved in some of the other problems other firms got their hands slapped for, like consulting for a client while buying his shares, or pushing a client into bankruptcy, and then profiting from selling off assets.” 

      Still standing, but now shaking his head, Merritt raised his voice, just a bit, “I still see problems. Our partners, or consultants, all of our people, would they accept straight-out theft, stealing from our clients?”

      “Of course, we don’t call it that,” Bucknell answered, with a slight grin. “We put language in our contract; we call it some kind of vague fee. Look, a guy goes with a hooker or an escort. Does she say it was a business transaction? No, of course not. Of course money changes hands. But she pretends that’s just something she has to do. Right away, she changes the conversation. She says you were fantastic, the best. You’re gonna make an honest woman of me. Us, we call it a service fee, whatever.” 

      “You sure sound knowledgeable there,” Ted said, allowing himself a slight smile.  

      “Okay, same thing in a fine restaurant,” Bucknell went on. “It’s the class, it’s the quality, the atmosphere, whatever. The money’s just something that the server has to do, we don’t like it, but we have to deal with it. And of course, we’d have to open another practice, tax preparation and advice. Tax returns have to be perfect, certainly not raise any questions. We don’t need any audits or investigations. We don’t want the IRS on our ass.”

      Merritt put his hand out, and Bucknell handed him his memo. Merritt examined it; it was fifty pages long. “My God, you put a lot of work into this!”

      “You wouldn’t believe it,”Bucknell answered. “A lot of late nights, I’ll tell you that.”

      “Well, . . ,” Ted started. 

      “If I may,” the younger man interjected. “Did I wow you?”

      Ted stopped and looked like he was thinking deeply. “Yes, this is totally new and original and . . . unexpected. I’m gonna have to think very deeply about it, and maybe get some other opinions, like from our legal people. But the more I think about it, it opens up possibilities. Anyway, give me some time.” 

      Merritt circled his desk and, while shaking hands with Bucknell, banged him lightly on the shoulder like one ball player congratulating another. 

      Alone again, Merritt dialed a Manhattan telephone number. A woman answered. “Hi, honey,” Merritt said. “How’s your afternoon been?”

      Her voice had just the slightest edge. “Not bad, actually fine.”

      “Honey, I think I’ll be just a bit later than I thought. I promised a client a quick drink. I won’t be long. I promise.”

      After a while, the answer came. “Okay, but you remember, don’t you?” Gloria Merritt asked. “We have those people from the Art Alliance coming.” 

      “Of course, that’s at eight, isn’t it?”

      One word answer:  “Yes.” 

      “No problem,” Ted answered. “See you before then.” 

      “But remember, dear,” Gloria said. “Just remember, you’re talking to the next president of the Art Alliance. With our money, it’s sure.”  

-0-

      Ted Merritt felt at ease at his regular spot, perched on the last seat at the bar at The Grill. He took one more sip from his Vodka Martini, and he felt a wave of relaxation. Beautiful people, just the slightest murmur of polite conversation, sparkling interior design – glass, mirrors, polished marble. He used to enjoy The Four Seasons, but he admitted that this was so much more stylish and sophisticated.

      One more sip, and he thought about his dilemma – three competing forces, each one trying to get the maximum benefit from his proposal. Fundamentally, Ted saw himself as a juggler, with three balls in the air, and it was his goal to gain the maximum benefit – yes, for himself – from each one while continuing to control all three. 

      “Ready for another one, Mr. Merritt? It’s still early, you know.” Ginger had been his official barkeep at The Grill now for three years. Yes, she always served Ted and knew what he wanted. He considered her a friend. A bit round and a bit dowdy with her dirty-blond hair, she was not unpleasant to look at in her white, starched server’s jacket and black pants, and with her direct, sincere eyes. And even though she knew nothing about him, she always had a few kind words to say. 

      “Sure, thanks Ginger, that’s not a bad idea.” 

      “Comin’ right up. Just the way you like it.” 

      Ted swiveled to one side and took in the room. He saw well-dressed men and a sprinkling of attractive women, just a few who took his breath away. But he knew he had to think all of this though; he realized it was a defining moment for Winshire Associates. Yes, he repeated to himself, the most important thing is control. Now, Bucknell, if his proposal is doable at all, he doesn’t have the standing in the firm nor the backing from any leading partners. He can be controlled, maybe with a few crumbs. And that Arab kid, has no backing; he’s isolated, and very few partners even know him. And he doesn’t realize what he has.  

      But, Gordy, there’s the problem; his proposal is certainly the best and the most likely to be carried out. Sure, it would take work, promotion, but it’s so today, an answer to the fix a lot of CEOs are in. And, most important, it would give us cover to expand our role with clients and take that thirty percent. The problem is Gordy. And he could have the support of who knows how many other partners. So, how can he be controlled? 

      Ginger slid another Vodka Martini in front of Ted. “There you are, sir.” She smiled. “Enjoy.”   

      It was far from a pleasure, as Ted’s thoughts returned to Gordy. Gosh, I’m sure of it, he’s been showing his work to all kinds of other guys, the founding partners, and he’s probably telling them that it’s his idea and they gotta protect him. So, what can I use against him? 

      Ted took a few more sips, and his thoughts began to take some shape. Just think, all those babes, those escorts were his idea, and now I got all those photos of him with that fine little piece, that blonde. Like I got photos of a lot of other guys. But Gordy, he sure doesn’t want his wife to see that art work. So, she’d divorce him, and take a bundle. Maybe he doesn’t even care. He has that beautiful little blonde. How can I control him? Or take him out of the running. 

      It’s a pity. But wait a second. It’s really both. The proposals from Gordy and the one from that Arab kid could be the cover for that crazy idea from Bucknell. Just think, we pull them in with the promise to be faster than Superman, and show them the future besides, but in reality we’re gonna steal them blind with Bucknell’s ideas. Not bad, not bad at all. 

      But I still have to control Gordy somehow. He’ll want to be the leader, and we can’t have that. I control, of course. So we have to control him. 

      Merritt glanced at his Rolex and waved at Ginger. She turned toward him and moved swiftly down the bar. “Yes, sir.”

      “Ginger, sorry. The time has come,” and he started to reach for his wallet.

      Ginger held up one hand. “Don’t worry, Mr. Merritt. I’ll just put it on your tab. No bother.” 

      As he headed out into the warm evening, Ted Merritt felt confident and just a bit tipsy.