Chapter 1: A Dead End

“So, as you can easily see, we can turn the Palmer Street plant into a profitable operation. The required investments into equipment upgrades are tolerable compared with the productivity enhancements and the projected savings in personnel costs.”

Tom Verkade took a deep breath after ending his presentation. He looked around at the senior management sitting around the table in the meeting room and he had a sinking feeling. His own boss, Hiram Gunderson, was openly winking at the VP Finance, Walter Moran, while Iris Verkade, Tom’s wife and the president of Villier Pharmceuticals Inc. was nervously twiddling with a paper napkin. It was Moran who finally dropped the other shoe.

“You obviously put in a lot of effort into this strategy paper, Tom. I think we can all agree that this should be included into the paperwork that we will hand over to the investor group. We can probably realize a better offer for the plant. So again, thanks, Tom! I move that we include Tom in the team that will make our final sales pitch.”

Buyers? Tom felt dazed. Just yesterday evening at supper, Iris had encouraged him to make his pitch. He looked at her and her face flushed guiltily. He straightened himself.

“I was under the impression that we planned to use the plant ourselves?”

“Sorry, Tom. This is a new development. We’ve only started the negotiations last week,” Moran answered smugly. “As I said, your effort is appreciated.”

“And what is the opinion of the President?” Tom asked, again staring hard at Iris.

“I...” she cleared her throat. “I concur with Walter. This is obviously too good an opportunity to divest ourselves of a cash drain.”

“You know, you could have told me,” Tom said shaking his head. “I’ll be in my office.”

“Hold yourself ready to give the buyers a tour next week, Tom,” Hiram Gunderson sneered at him. “Don’t muck this up! A lot of cash is riding on this.”

Tom was angry enough to let his countenance slip. “Asshole!” he fake-sneezed. “Sorry, pollen are flying.”

“Tom, that kind of behavior is unacceptable!” Iris rebuked him sharply.

Tom gave her one long look, again shaking his head. He was about to answer when Peter Salieri spoke up. He was the VP for Sales, a relatively recent hire and in Tom’s mind a smart man.

“I think Tom raised a few interesting points that should be discussed in more detail. Selling off the plant will rob us of almost half our production capacity. How am I supposed to increase market share with the constant production delays? Palmer Street could be flexible enough to handle all the small volume stuff while Hiram’s people could continue with the high volume products.”

Tom was impressed. Peter was sticking out his neck while batting for Tom, and he had an excellent point.

“We may invest part of the proceeds from the sales in new equipment for the main production lines. That should takes care of your concerns. This is about the bottom line. Palmer Street has been in the red for three years.”

“That’s only because Hiram lets them only do the low margin products,” Tom answered sharply, encouraged by Peter Salieri’s support. He should have known better.

“Why don’t you mind your own business, Tom?” Hiram Gunderson shot at him. “Being the prince consort doesn’t give you any business competence.”

“Playing golf with the board members doesn’t either!” Tom returned recklessly. “I have degrees in chemical engineering and business management, remember?”

“Tom, Hiram, please!” Iris interceded half-heartedly. “We’re on the same team here.”

“Yeah, right! I’m not so sure about this,” Tom returned bitterly. “Okay, you guys are set on making a quick buck for the next quarterlies, and rather than looking at strategies to improve the outlook you just go for the good old cost-cutting.”

“Cost reduction is imperative in our current earnings situation. According to standard models our overhead is simply too high,” Walter Moran answered silkily.

“You know something, Excel-Boy? Your spreadsheets don’t mean anything when the product quality sucks and we’re losing customers.”

Walter Moran blushed deeply at the Excel-Boy taunt. It was Tom’s nickname for him, and he did not like it one bit.

“May I remind you that I have a degree from the London School of Economics? A conservative financial management is essential for a company’s survival in times like this.”

“Conservative means preserving, Excel-Boy. Didn’t they teach you that in London?”

“Tom, that’s enough now. Accept that we must see the full picture,” Iris interrupted them. “Why don’t you return to your office. Walter will send you the information you’ll need. The buyers will view the plant starting next Tuesday. I think I can authorize a little bonus for you if this plays out well.”

Tom did not even answer. He flipped his laptop shut and left the meeting room without another word. Peter Salieri stood as well.

“I had better get back to work.”

“Peter, we’re not finished,” Iris protested.

“Just forward me the memo with Walter’s ideas, and I’ll assume they’ll be your policies.”

“Peter,...”

“Mrs. Verkade, I am wasting my time and breath. You go and cut costs with Walter, and I’ll go and cut my losses. This company will go tits up in five years, and I don’t want to be anywhere near this train wreck when it’ll happen. You’ll have my resignation by the end of the week.”

Clearly alarmed, Iris stood and walked around the table. “Peter, we need you on the team. You are an excellent sales manager.”

“Am I? Then why the fuck doesn’t anybody listen to me or to reason? You want my honest opinion? The best way of cost cutting will be to eliminate the position of president. Nobody will notice if we receive the directives directly from Walter!”

He left the room without waiting for an answer, catching up with Tom in the hallway.

“Tom, wait! Do you have a minute?”

Tom turned. “Sure,” he nodded. “Listen, Peter. I appreciate your support, but you don’t have to quit over this. Maybe I’ll quit, but you really shouldn’t.”

Peter Salieri smiled at him. “Okay, that’s half of what I wanted to know. Are you considering this, I mean quitting here?”

Tom stopped for a few moments thinking furiously. Then he nodded to himself. Yes. There was no future for him at Villier. Not with the Palmer Street Plant sold. It was the one area of production where he could shine with his background, and now it would be gone. He had hoped for the chance to rebuild it, a chance to prove himself, and Iris had all but promised him that opportunity. Now, Excel-Boy had schemed against the plans and Iris had caved in as usual. Gunderson was behind this, too, Tom suspected. He wouldn’t want Tom in an independent role where Tom could prove himself. Looking at Peter Salieri, Tom nodded with emphasis.

“Yes, I’m fed up with this shit.”

His diction was a little colored by movie language. That was how he had learned English, back in his native Netherlands where he had grown up as the second son of an invalid former railroad worker

Peter Salieri grinned at him. “How about we have lunch? Outside I mean. Maybe I have a proposition for you.”

“You’re serious about leaving?”

“As a heart attack. Why don’t we go right away. Branzino’s? My treat, of course.”

Tom did not know Branzino’s. It was an upscale Italian restaurant. Iris might know it of course, but they rarely ever had dinner together. They lived separate lives these days, with Iris spending the entire days with upper management and Tom working regular hours before returning home to take care of their son Cornelius.

He nodded acceptance. Both men dropped off some documents at their offices and met in the parking lot. They drove separately because Tom needed to be home early. It was Cor’s eighth birthday, and they would host a party for his friends in the garden starting at 3 o’clock. He was curious what Peter Salieri had in mind, but he admitted to himself that he was desperate to leave Villier.