X - Chapter Twenty Two "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution"

Chapter Twenty Two - Mike Stein 

      It was a Sunday afternoon, and we could feel the summer approaching. A warm breeze was teasing the leaves of the trees circling our back yard, and we could hear their rustling as a caressing balm in our little world apart in Hastings. Wendy and I were sitting on our deck, drinks in hand. For Wendy, it was a Diet Coke, and for me it was a Stella Artois. Shocking, right? 

      As proud parents, we were admiring our progeny. They were playing at our feet. Josh was involved in building a Lego structure of his own creation. It looked ambitious, and we could hardly wait to see it completed. Isaac had decided to take his own route, rather than copying his brother. He pulled out a collection of Matchbox cars that we’d given him months ago, and was satisfied to push them around, with motorized sound effects. We thanked our lucky stars that the boys were able to amuse themselves, at least once in a while. 

      Every time I glanced over at Wendy, I realized time and again what a lucky guy I was. Like Wendy said, “We’re a family.” When she caught my glance, she smiled back at me, and I saw in her hazel eyes the importance of a positive soul mate. She was wearing jean shorts and a t-shirt, and she looked wonderful.  

      I felt guilty. I was so fortunate, while some other lives were lying in ruin.

      Sitting here on my deck, surrounded by my family, I thought about my situation with the events at Winshire. Yes, there was the shock, and that was diminishing. Besides that, in one way, certainly, nothing was about me; I had no personal stake in the events whirling around me. I was not really an actor in it all. But in another way, I was in the center of it. I was connected to some of the main actors, and I learned facts that could turn out to be important. 

      It was just chance. Gordy Hope just happened to see some of my articles, and he took it upon himself to hire me. I just happened to begin working with some of the consultants, like Bill Voldman. I just happened to begin working with Ted Merritt, just days before he was killed. I just happened to be in his office when he was talking on the phone promised to meet someone for dinner, the night he was killed. 

      Now, I started to realize that I had to choose my role. Did I want to get pushed back and forth, reacting to situations as they occurred? Or did I want to try to exert a positive influence, if I could? If I could was a question. Or should I just give up and run? 

-0- 

      Monday morning, and I arrived at the office early. Scott Li got there earlier, and he immediately invited me to his office. I took my place in the seat across from him. 

“Mike, I’m so glad you came in early,” he started out. “I have something to tell you, but first, are you working on anything urgent?” 

      “Not right now, only the urgent thing you’re going to tell me about right now, and my answer is I’d be happy to. But first, I want to tell you about the FBI. You remember I called you, and said I was going to be interviewed by the FBI agent, DuBois.” 

      Scott cut me off. “By the way, me too. It wasn’t bad, frankly, a regular guy. But go ahead.” 

      “Anyway, I asked him what it was all about. He told me he couldn’t tell me much, but he said it had to do with possible financial irregularities.”

     “Mike, thanks. And I’m relieved for two reasons,” Scott said. “First, finances are above my pay grade, and second, I’m getting more proof that you’re a stand-up guy.” Scott was quiet for a few seconds. “What I want to tell you kinda fits in with what you said. We  . .  In fact, me. I’m needing you more and more. You’re experience is paying off, honestly. And with the way things are, there’s no way I could keep up with everything. Second, I’d greatly appreciate it if you could get Fabio, the reporter from The Times, off my back.”

      I said, “No problem. I been thinking about something. We really should announce Bill Voldman’s election as president-CEO, and how we’re honoring Ted’s legacy, that kind of message. We gotta tell the world we’re not missing a beat. And as far as the investigation is concerned, the media’s gotta know to go to the proper authorities, not us.” 

      “Great, I agree,” Scott said. “Why don’t you see if you can catch Bill? I saw him not ten minutes ago. You can guess that he has plenty to do.”

      “Just one more thing,” I said. “I’m sure Fabio and other reporters are going to ask to interview Bill. I’ll bet Bill’s a good interview, so all right if I bounce that off him?”

      “Absolutely,” Scott shot back.

       I found Bill staring at stacks of paper covering the surface of the small desk in the little office near Ted’s office, which he appeared in no hurry to move into. He looked up at me. His eyes told me he was tired and overwhelmed, but tough. He kind of nodded, which I took as a signal to take a seat. 

      “How you doing? Looks like you’re  . . . busy would be an understatement.” I started out. I felt just a little bit different toward him; we had established a good understanding during our visit to Semper Fi, but now Bill’s role changed. I didn’t know if that would change our relationship.

      Right away, I got my answer. “Yeah, you could say that I have my hands full. You gotta know there was no way I wanted to be top dog around here. You know what I love about my job; we talked about it. But there was no way I could turn my back on all this, this firm. But Mike, I just wanna mention something that we started talking about. You remember our chat at the bar at the Holiday Inn?”

      “I remember it really well,” I said.   “And this is honest, really; I’m honored you were so open with me.”

      “Well, you been here, how long, maybe a month, right?”

      “I think that’s about right.”

      “You know, a lot of us have been here, or with the firm, for more than ten years, since the very beginning. It goes without saying, you’re not as invested as we are. Like I said before, you have talent, you’re really good at what you do. You could leave here tomorrow, and there’s no doubt that you’d land on your feet. What I’m saying, if you chose to move on, I’d understand. With Ted’s . . .  Let’s be realistic. With Ted’s murder, it’s gonna get hairy around here, I’d understand.” Bill looked at me and waited.

      I didn’t wait. “I’m gonna stick around, if I can. With Merritt’s murder, there’s all the more reason for me to stay. I wanna do my little bit to see this through. Maybe I can help a few decent folks around here to get through this.” 

      “As long as you’re sure,” he said. “If you ever change your mind, just tell me. No problem. And don’t worry, Scott told me you called about your little talk with the FBI. And I’m sure you said what you had to say.” 

      Bill pushed several piles of paperwork to one side of his desk, and looked at me. “Since you’re taking on a good measure of responsibility, I wanna explain something to you, and the FBI knows all about it, what I’m gonna tell you. And honestly, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you before. I want you to know this stuff, but I don’t want you to repeat it.” 

      I waited for Bill to ask me to promise to keep my lips sealed, but he didn’t. I felt he trusted me.

      And he just went on. “You know, the old-timers around here do a lot of talking. I guess we’re looking out for each other, trying to protect ourselves. And too, we want to make sure Winshire stays the kinda place we can be proud of. A while ago, one of those old-timers called me. He said Ted wanted to launch a crazy program. Basically, it was to take over more and more of our clients’ work, by making it sound great for them. But really, the plan was to skim more and more money off their books. We’d be pretending to help them, while we’d be stealing from them. No other way to say it. But Ted wanted to be a nice guy; we could only steal up to thirty percent.”

      Bill stopped for a few seconds, took a few breaths, and went on. “Well, that crazy program would be the worst thing, and it pisses me off, royally! I couldn’t work for a place that did that. I kept stewing about it. Something like that goes against  . .  .  well, everything I believe in. Stupidly, a while ago I agreed to have drinks with an old friend, a real old friend. I had a few too many cocktails, and I spilled the beans. I guess I just had to get it off my chest. Stupidly, that friend happens to be in a branch of law enforcement, and a good measure of hell broke loose. And I’m sure a bunch of messages were going up and down someone’s chain of command. That’s why you were a guest of the FBI for a while.

      “Now, we’re all wondering if that had anything to do with Ted’s demise, and I have to say I just don’t know. But, Mike, it troubles me so much, no shit. Not because Ted was a wonderful person. The reason? Because Ted was a human being, and I feel terrible that I could’ve done or said something that contributed to his or anyone’s death. And, Ted did grow Winshire into a major player.

      “I’m sure you didn’t expect all that,” Bill said. He looked relieved. “Okay, Mike, sorry, but tell me what you wanted to talk about. Please.” 

      It was hard to change gears. “Sure, I’ll just catch my breath for a second. There’s maybe something we should do. Scott, anyway, thinks it might be a good idea.” I waited, and Bill nodded. “From a PR point of view, Winshire should be telling the world that we’re still working for our clients, and we surely ought to announce your promotion. If you think it’s okay, why don’t I do a media release, a draft, and see what you and Scott think about it? But also, I wanna warn you, some reporters might want to interview you, maybe even The New York Times. Of course, we’ll make it clear that it’s up law enforcement to talk about the crime side; we’ll stay away from that. But you could stress our work for our clients.” 

      Bill agreed, and it looked like I had another assignment. I went to my office, opened my Mac, and let a few ideas flow into my head. The words came, and with every click of my keyboard, they appeared on the screen in front of me. 

      The media release turned out very straight-forward. It announced the decision by Winshire’s board to name William Voldman president and CEO, succeeding Theodore Merrit, deceased. Voldman noted the legacy of Merritt, who championed the firm in becoming a worldwide leader in management consulting in most major industrial sectors. Voldman pledged that Winshire will continue in assisting its clients by anticipating the future changes in the industrial environment to maintain their leadership.  

      I added a few quotes for Bill, and listed myself as media contact, and added a note that additional material could be supplied on demand. 

      I e-mailed the draft to Bill and Scott, and predictably Bill made a few adjustments, and Scott sent the media release out on the PR newswires. 

-0- 

      My friend from The New York Times, Fabio DiAndrea, called me around four in the afternoon. He told me he had seen our release around noon, but he had to finish another story. Since our offices were conveniently close, he asked if he could walk over to my building and offer me a coffee at my Starbucks. Besides, he said he needed a little fresh air to clear his head. Of course, I said yes. 

      Somehow, I knew who Fabio DiAndrea was even before he spotted me at a Starbucks table in a corner away from my building’s entrance. He was tall with dark hair, and he had the sharp features you’d expect with someone with Italian roots. He carried several newspapers and a yellow legal pad under his arm, and he had a certain nervous energy as he looked around until he found me.  

      Still standing, he asked me what I’d like. When I said a Coke, he raised his eyebrows, and I assumed his gesture was a joke. When he returned with our drinks, his was black coffee. He took a seat and explained to me what he wanted. 

      “You see, Mike, when I got the release about your president’s death, I knew it wasn’t really the kind of story I wanted to write. Yes, you announced his death, but that’s all it was. I turned the item, with the text you sent me, and thanks, over to Obits. Not your fault, but that’s what it was, an obituary.

      “That’s not the kind of story I want to write, and it’s not the best story for The Times.” Fabio gestured with his hands as he spoke. “I’d like to say more. So, whether it’s in the next few days, or in the next few weeks, I’d like to be able to say something about management consultancies. It’s a fascinating area, and I don’t think we’ve done something . . .  It doesn’t have to be a block buster, but something that explains the context.” 

      “When the right moment comes, just let me know,” I said. “I’d like to help you. Or, that is, I’ll do what I can to help you.” 

      “Now, this release about your new president, I don’t know if that’s enough of a news peg. And, frankly, I’m not ready for it. I’d have to do some research, and reach out to some other people.”

      “You just let me know,” I said. “You know, I’ve been there. I think I told you, I’m from the journalistic world, maybe like half the PR people you deal with.”

      Fabio kind of raised his eyebrows, and said, “No kidding, really? Who’d you work for?”

      I said, “A little bit of everything. Police reporter up in Northern California, then the AP in Reno and LA, and then, just a few blocks from here, I was the management editor of Chemical Week, and I did big feature stories about, guess what, management. Anyway, I did just what you’re doing – looking for good stories, dealing with different kinds of sources, interviewing big wigs, the whole ball of wax.” 

      Fabio took another sip of his coffee, and then he just waited.

      So, I asked him, “Where’d you start out?”

      “It was a little different,” he said. “Out of school, I started taking these workshops The Times runs. Then I met some of the editors and reporters, and one of the editors asked me for a copy of my resume, and I was offered an internship. Of course, I jumped. After a year, I was offered a job for the Metro section, and I jumped even higher. That was years ago, maybe fifteen or sixteen. And here I am.”

      He waited a while, then he said, “Only one problem: Sometimes I don’t control my hours. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work, and I love the people I work with. But I got a home life, a wife and two kids. And real often, I feel pulled in a few directions.”

      I couldn’t stop myself. “Guess what? Like a lot of reporters, and maybe even PR folk, I could tell the same story. For now, I can’t wait for our two sons to grow up a bit, so I can tell them some of my favorite stories.”

      Fabio and I agreed that we both had a stock of stories to tell, but for now we’d make sure to keep in touch. It was getting late, and maybe we ought to get back to our families.  We shook hands, and then I went back to my office to pick up my briefcase, and I took off for Grand Central.