Chapter 6

PRESTON STOOD ON A HILL, looking down toward the lake. It was almost like being transferred into the terrain map in his office. He knew where every land feature was and how to navigate among them. He couldn’t talk to people, but he could talk to the land—and it answered.

His grandfather said Preston had a gift for spatial analysis. He could call it whatever he wanted. The way Preston’s mind worked, he could visualize a completed project before the first shovel of dirt was turned. He’d come to this piece of land on a fishing trip when he was barely in his teens. From his boat on the water, he looked up at the gently rising slopes and saw the entire Cloudhaven community in his mind’s eye. He’d talked his grandfather into acquiring a little cabin on the lake and Preston had spent many hours in the seclusion it offered, sketching and drawing his vision. Over the years, he’d maneuvered to have the family acquire more than a thousand acres of shoreland in the name of Interlake Holding Company.

He’d had soil tests done, environmental studies, and surveys. He held his plat map in hand as he looked out over the terrain. He would have the surveyors out first thing after the New Year to lay out the streets. He was not happy about the holdout on a single parcel of land, but he could work around it if he had to.

Preston had done several fly-overs of the property with his grandfather, taking hundreds of photographs, from which they’d created the terrain map. But the next steps would require the board of directors to approve the project. Of late, the board had been tightening the belt on speculative projects—partly as a result of the pandemic. People were slow to get back on board with development. Preston’s research, however, showed people with money were much more interested in developing unique community concepts than in office buildings like the Mackenzie project. That project had definitely gone sideways this week.

Preston would depend on Royce’s ability to sell the Cloudhaven concept to the board. He wished he could do it himself, but it would be bad enough to attend the board meeting. He’d rap the gavel and call the meeting to order, then turn it over to Royce. He would sit at the head of the table in a suit and tie and his mask, listening to everything that was said, and would dismiss the meeting. The week before a board meeting, he would meet with Royce for hours every day, making sure he understood exactly what needed to be sold. Royce would take care of convincing people. That’s what the chief operating officer was there for.

Preston stepped up on a stump.

“This is where the front desk of the hotel will be,” he said. His grandfather looked up at him.

“I want to get a GPS reading on that location,” the spry old man laughed. “I’ll check it against the actual location when the hotel is built.”

“I’m going to have a house just down the street—not as massive as Jerico House, but it will still be impressive. Right up behind the cabin. Cathedral ceiling and floor to ceiling windows looking down over the lake. I’ll see the sunrise over the water every morning.”

“It’s a seventy-mile commute to the office in Jerico City,” Lawrence said.

“We won’t need to worry about it,” Preston said. “I don’t see anyone at the office anyway. I can just as well telecommute.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. You should be seen more often in the office. I believe people are beginning to think you are a ghost. I don’t mean you need to stop and talk to people, but come down floor by floor and just walk through the office like you own it. You do. You might find out some interesting things about your employees,” Lawrence said.

“I suppose.”

“You said ‘we won’t need to worry about it,’ a minute ago. Who is the ‘we?’”

“Oh, me and my mythical wife and children. I’m thinking I’ll just have to wait in a duck blind out here until I see a woman I like and rush out to capture her. I’ll show her the house and invite her to stay. That will be all the conversation we’ll have.”

“You know you’ll never be happy with that. Take a look around the office. I know there are single women there.”

“I don’t think I should date in the office pool. They’re going to hate me when the pink slips come out anyway,” Preston sighed. “Mackenzie is defaulting. I’ll have to let fifty people go. The first thing Royce needs to get done in January is complete our investor portfolio. We need $100 million in guaranteed funding in order to break ground in April. It’s going to be tight.”

“Take care of your housekeeping. We’ve been planning this community for fifteen years. If we need to plan another year, it won’t hurt a thing.”

“It’s getting cold. We should head back. I don’t want my G-Pop to get too cold.”

“Let’s get a cup of coffee in Willington on the way.”

“The humane thing is to execute the layoffs immediately,” Royce said. “We know who is going to be cut. We should give them a nice Christmas gift this afternoon and their pink slips. They’ll be ready to start their job searches on New Year’s Day.”

“No. No layoffs before the holiday. It’s bad enough to do it at this time of year at all. Are you sure we need to lay off so many?” Preston insisted.

“You’ve already cut it from fifty, which was the recommendation from finance, to thirty. With Mackenzie defaulting, we need to act as soon as possible. Two more weeks on the payroll means five more people cut.”

“We can handle this with the severance package I’ve put together. We’ll have some volunteers. None of our workers deserve this,” Preston insisted. “I’ll finalize it and have it back to you this weekend. We’ll make the cuts on January second.”

“You’re soft, Preston. It isn’t about what people deserve.”

Preston went through the list again, trying to decide if there were any exceptions he should make to the staff cuts proposed by HR. In general, they followed standard rules. Most were simply listed by department, position, and last name. There were no notations concerning age, salary, seniority, or other characteristics. It was supposed to be fairer that way. Of course, Preston knew how to look each of his employees up on the network and had access to their employment records.

As he looked through the five hundred employees and contractors in their database, he finally paused when he saw a familiar face. Not far down the list of that department’s employees was another image he recognized. He looked through the cuts designated for that department and gave two borderline employees a reprieve. In their stead, he entered the names of the two men who had given his waitress such a hard time in the diner a few weeks ago. His company didn’t need people like that.

There were many things Preston didn’t like about controlling his family’s company. Decisions like letting thirty people go were among them. But there was also the sham of trying to keep the appearance of corporate health, when he himself couldn’t stand in front of the employees and wish them a Merry Christmas without hyperventilating. Royce handled that.

Royce had already made the presentation to the board of directors, justifying the cutbacks, and describing the severance package that would be granted to the laid off employees. The board congratulated him on the humane treatment of the severed workers.

As if Royce had anything to do with it. Preston had met with his HR director and CFO and worked out the details in an hours-long meeting. He didn’t want to dismiss anyone and did so with great care for their well-being. Royce would have simply scattered pink slips randomly through the office on Christmas Eve.

The thing was, with Royce’s flair and charisma, he probably could have done it without offending anyone. They wouldn’t know they’d been screwed until sometime next year. All the contractors working on the Mackenzie project had already been notified that the project was halted.

Soft-hearted and overwhelmed by anxiety in the presence of others, Preston had to content himself with sitting alone in his penthouse office and let others carry out the mission he set before them.

Preston had an obligation to his mother. Personally, he thought a date on Christmas weekend was a disaster to start. His mother had assured him that a suitable venue was available. The Jerico Madrigal Singers put on a production before Christmas. That was fine by Preston. He enjoyed music and going to a performance freed him from most interaction with the woman he was accompanying.

He pulled his six-year-old sedan out of the office parking ramp. This had been his mother’s idea, too. Left to Preston, he’d only drive the pickup truck, but his mother insisted it wasn’t appropriate to take on a date. He drove to the address his mother had given him. It was an older home on the northwest side of town. He parked, took a deep breath, and went to the door.

“Who’s here?” a deep voice sounded. The door opened and a small mountain of a man filled the frame. “Yes?”

At six-two, Preston wasn’t a small man, but this guy had him by at least two inches and seventy pounds. Intimidating.

“Uh ... uh ... I ... I’m Preston. I’m ... I’m here to pick up J-J-Janice,” he managed to get out. The mountain looked him up and down.