by Con Riley
My table.
Jon almost stands to attention. Of course this is Stanley Hallquist, owner of one of the biggest property development companies in the Pacific Northwest.
“It’s good to finally meet you face-to-face, Mr. Hallquist. Thanks for the opportunity here.”
“Stan, please.” He tilts his head after Jon grabs his hand to shake it again. “Thank you for crossing the country to take it. I like to keep things simple, Jonathan. I need a fresh set of eyes on the whole business. I don’t care if it takes two months or three. I want answers and a pathway forward from someone who doesn’t have a history with any of my team. It’s….” His hesitation is momentary, but Jon carefully notes it. “It’s not that I can’t solve my own problems.” Jon’s only seen this reaction firsthand once before, but the way Stan Hallquist seems compelled to excuse calling in help is textbook. He changes the subject before Jon can acknowledge his concern. “I called in an hour ago.” He raises a hand to his forehead. “Did you know you got a little something…?”
Crap.
Jon rubs at his brow. His fingertips come away smudged with dry dirt. Now that he pays attention, his nails are dirty also. His first day here, and not only has the boss of the whole operation noticed his lateness, but his appearance will take some explaining.
Stan Hallquist offers an easy way out. “I always admire a hands-on approach, Jonathan. You already read the report I sent?”
Jon nods while shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
“So you know that I think the main problem is in the land acquisition department?”
“Yes. Your report mentioned there were two separate teams performing the same function.” Losing one was a simple rationalization he’d already penciled in as a recommendation.
Stan’s gaze rises to Jon’s forehead again. “So I guess you’re late because you couldn’t resist looking for development sites my teams overlooked acquiring?”
“Exactly.” The excuse is a life raft to cling to. It’s not a lie exactly—the neighborhood he just left is tired and faded, the potential of those huge plots completely wasted on single dwellings. “No harm in getting to know the area firsthand.”
“Good man.” Stan’s smile is warm with pleasure. “Exactly what I would’ve done if I were you. You plan on challenging my guys to find somewhere even better? See how they respond to some competition before telling me which team I should fire?”
“That’s the idea.” It’s not a bad one, to be honest. While every spreadsheet Jon already analyzed suggests Hallquist Holdings is doing okay, it could absolutely stand to be a whole lot leaner. Yesterday, he’d even wondered mid-flight why an outside analyst was needed at all. A decent accountant could prove the same point and take much less than a few months to do so. Whatever Stan Hallquist’s reasons, Jon isn’t about to argue, especially as being here offers a second chance to show exactly what he’s made of.
Stan crosses to the doorway again and looks at his watch. “I imagine you’ll want to meet both teams sometime today. Think I could sit in on your first meeting?”
It almost sounds like a question, but Jon’s sure it isn’t.
“Sure thing, Stan. Looking forward to it.”
He chuckles like Jon’s said something funny. “And you’ll tell the teams all about the site you found while they were still in bed this morning?”
It’s another jocular-sounding demand that Jon can only agree to. “I’ll be sure to.”
“Good!” Stan smiles like Jon’s doing him a favor. “Looking forward to hearing what you make of my people,” he says at the doorway. “Because something has to change around here, Jonathan,” he admits, his voice low and his stare steady until he looks quickly away.
The door closes between Jon and Stan’s final sentence.
“Something or somebody.”
Chapter 5
JON’S FIRST meeting isn’t easy.
Three distinct groups wait in a glass-walled conference room along with Stan Hallquist. Their expressions reflect the sky outside—patched with cloud as well as with spots of sunshine. Faces heavy with worry are to be expected. He’s a new broom, after all, called in to sweep out this company’s cobwebs. Cloudy is what he expects from managers who have good reason to worry. Bright, on the other hand, is a state of mind he can work with. It shines from a guy in his late thirties surrounded by young executives, so after a quick nod to Stan, Jon crosses the room to greet him first before acknowledging the others.
It’s admirable how this guy shows no fear by looking at his watch before arching his eyebrows at Jon. His nonverbal “What the hell time do you call this?” could be taken for a challenge, but genuine welcome is evident when he says, “Hey. It’s good to meet you.” His next few words are also sincere. “Anthony Nelson. You’re not likely to find a problem with my team, but I’m open to listening once you get done.”
Another much older man frowns at some notes rather than greet him. His sideways glance Jon’s way is baleful, and even when he finally shakes Jon’s outstretched hand, he remains firmly seated. It’s a show of passive-aggression that makes him pay attention.
Another person steps between them. “Hey, Mr. Fournier? Eric Reuss.” It’s a much younger guy who grins and pumps Jon’s hand with vigor. “I’m heading the intern program this year. Hope you don’t mind us gatecrashing your first meeting, but it’ll be good for the kids to see why an MBA’s important. Chances are they’ll never meet anyone else who made it onto Bettman’s post-graduate program.” He adds a sotto voce whisper, “You must be some kinda business rock star!”
Jon smiles at praise he truly doesn’t deserve. No doubt Eric’s enthusiasm would fade if he knew it was pity that scored him his place, let alone how close he’d come to getting canned after his very first solo project. There’s nothing very rock star about why he’d taken the job in the first place.
He presses his lips together, surrounded by people who either admire him for something he’s not or who wish he’d never arrived. The coffee he sips tastes almost as bitter as the seated guy’s expression.
Eric’s chatter distracts him. He’s younger than Jon by a few years and so enthusiastic it hurts. Behind him, the older manager’s expression flickers like he’s holding back a smile that borders on paternal. Jon tucks that information away as well and then collects more useful nuggets as Eric fills him in on corporate gossip. Turns out that Anthony Nelson is a relatively new hire managing a team whose results improved the day he started. The older manager is Carl Snyder, who has less than stellar results. Jon casually surveys the room until he spots Carl’s team. They don’t hang close like the group surrounding Anthony. They don’t even sit next to each other. Instead, they huddle over notebooks like someone might spring a pop test on them, or they hang on Anthony Nelson’s words like he’s their boss instead of their competition.
The third group in the room is a whole lot younger. “Those your guys, Eric?” Jon guesses.
“The interns?” Eric nods. “Yup.” There’s that enthusiasm again, bright enough to light up the whole room. “They’re all mine for the next couple of months, on undergraduate internships, just like how I started.” He pinches his own forearm and laughs. “Still can’t believe I get to work here for real.” His beaming smile is hard not to mirror. “Getting to steer newbies through every section of the business is so cool.” His chest puffs in a charming show of pride. “It’s even cooler that their rotation through Land Acquisitions starts the same day you got in. Everyone’s been talking about you. It’s great they’ll get to see a real pro in action.”
Behind them, Carl Snyder sets his pen down with a loud click. He’s the longest-serving manager, Jon remembers from his research. The way his fingertips drum the conference tabletop signals that he’s a whole lot less delighted to have Jon scrutinize his output.
Jon’s not the only one paying attention. Stan Hallquist tilts his head and watches Carl’s reaction as well. When his gaze returns to Jon, it’s speculative, like he’ll
measure Jon’s worth by his reaction. It’s yet another challenge—the third issued by his new boss that morning—that he yields to with a slight nod.
Okay.
Time to show them what he’s got, even if he’s faking it.
“Will anyone else need this room while I’m here?” Jon knows his tone is curt, signaling that the meet-and-greet portion of this meeting is over. He doesn’t attempt to soften its abruptness. It cuts cleanly through conversation, and everyone turns to face him.
Stan’s answer is instant. “This room? It’s all yours. You can have it for the whole summer if that’s what you need.”
Jon inhales sharply as adrenaline kicks in. It’s a million miles away from the slow, peaceful inhales he drew in Peggy’s backyard. “Okay. Listen up.”
Carl stares at his pen and paper until Jon orders, “All eyes on me, now, because none of us have time to waste here.”
So what if the glare Carl casts Jon’s way is sullen? His happiness isn’t Jon’s concern. Stan’s instructions are his bottom line, and he needs to prove from day one he’s going to do better this time. He grabs a dry-erase marker but ignores the nearby whiteboard. Instead, he draws directly on the glass dividing the meeting room from the hallway. Beyond it, heads bob again above cubicles as he sketches, until someone flips a privacy switch that renders the glass opaque. In a few stark strokes of his pen, the high-rise they currently stand in takes shape, level with Jon’s shoulder. Below it, he draws the highway he noticed earlier slicing through the city. He adds a few overpasses that he knows without checking are in exactly the right location. The snapshot memory others envied him for in college has him sketching Lake Union and the Space Needle before he continues speaking.
“Yesterday, I found out that Hallquist Holdings began with a single renovation project back in the late 80s.”
Stan Hallquist’s nod is slight, but Jon takes that and his small smile as a green light to start from the beginning. He moves along the wall of glass and draws a single dollar sign over a small house as far from the skyscraper as he can.
“The company made enough from flipping that first house to renovate two more, then it repeated that process, doubling its holdings each time.”
Another subtle nod, and Stan’s smile widens when the single dollar sign above that first house multiplies into a small flock.
“The growth of the company was exponential, switching direction in the early 90s from flipping houses to building brand new developments from the ground up.” The houses Jon draws next are cookie cutter, like a kindergartener might labor over. “Hallquist Holdings saw the way the market was headed before most of the other players and switched from residential development to commercial at exactly the right time.” This time, Jon points his pen at Eric. “What happened next?”
“Other developers said it was a dumb move. Then they went bust when the economy tanked, and Hallquist Holdings cleaned up by purchasing their debt for pennies.” He excitedly adds, “I wrote a paper on it!”
“Good to know.” Jon drops his businesslike mask for a second and winks. Then he points at one of Eric’s interns. “What did that process give the business?”
“Power.” That one-word answer seems to surprise the intern who voiced it. Her hand covers her mouth, only lowering when Stan Hallquist, Eric, and Jon all nod at her in triplicate. “I charted the stats for a college project,” she says. “Then I programmed a computer model to replicate them.” Her throat stains a patchy pink when she directs an impulsive comment directly at Stan. “It’s wild how you did so well without ever going to college. You made out like a bandit.” That slight flush blooms bright scarlet when he warmly chuckles. He’s less intense when he smiles, Jon sees for the first time. That almost too-wide mouth makes for a huge grin he couldn’t have imagined, making him look a whole lot kinder.
Jon gets back to business. Eric and his interns have a passable grasp of econometrics. Jon can use this to his advantage. He sketches in the space between the skyscraper and that very first flipped house. This time he outlines a strip mall, unit by rundown unit. He doesn’t turn around as he speaks but continues doodling overgrown bushes between houses across the street from a pizzeria. “Carl. Tell me, what’s the next step to grow this business?”
The silence stretches, but Jon doesn’t turn away from the tired apartment over a garage that he carefully reproduces. He writes worthless in neat cursive across its doors while asking a second question. “How would you increase its profits, Carl?” Rickety exterior stairs takes shape on the glass as that question goes unanswered. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon spies Anthony to his left, leaning forward along with his whole team, focused on Carl like a pack of wolves scenting weakness.
To his right, Carl’s team keeps their heads down. It’s telling how they all maintain their distance while their boss is under pressure. The silence from their manager is tangible in comparison to the interns, who barely restrain their whispered answers.
“I said,” Jon repeats, “what’s next for Hall—”
“I heard what you said,” Carl barks. “I don’t need a history lesson. I’ve been here from the beginning.” He gestures angrily at the glass wall now covered in ink. “I was the one who replaced every shingle on that first house. I was the one who worked all those months for next-to-nothing before the bank finally got behind our business.”
Our.
It’s an interesting choice of possessive pronoun.
Carl turns to Stan for the first time since the meeting started, and his voice drops so low that Jon strains to hear him. “Who gave you somewhere to stay when your wife got sick of bringing up your kid alone? We were renovating morning noon and night when she finally skipped town, but I stayed.” The breath he drags in shudders. “I stayed because I believed in this business, didn’t I?”
It’s a question Stan Hallquist doesn’t answer.
“It was me,” Carl insists, his voice rising again. “Me, who’s been with you since the start, which—” He flashes a sharp glance in Anthony’s direction. “—is a whole lot more than I can say for other people.”
It’s a personal rant that has no place in a business setting, mortifying and emotion-driven in equal measure, that only ends when Carl Snyder slams the meeting room door behind him on the way out.
AFTER THE meeting Jon surveys facts and figures. Then he walks the floor to see firsthand where problems are sited. He focuses on the acquisition teams first like Stan suggested. A similar divide between camps to the one he already witnessed is evident in the cubicle farm they share. Some sections are hive-like, buzzing with collaboration, while others house lone workers who already look stung.
Jon heads back to the conference room Stan said could be his and doodles some more as he thinks. He could determine from noise level alone which cubicle relates to each boss. The lack of cohesion is so obvious that he can’t figure out how it’s been allowed to persist. Stan Hallquist has to know there’s a simple solution. He has to. Fixing the anomaly in the figures that Jon already analyzed on the flight out is so simple that it feels like a trap—Stan should reassign Carl Snyder’s people to Anthony Nelson and then let Carl go. With the right person managing their performance, the department could flourish.
He didn’t need to hire a New York consultant firm to point out the obvious.
If the solution to his business issue is as simple as canning one person, he could’ve done it himself. Nothing that Jon’s read about the man suggests he’d be slow to face his problems. Hell, this is a man who started a multimillion-dollar operation by tearing down his home around his own family. He’s business-driven to the bone. No way would he shy away from making one cut if it improved his business.
There has to be more to it than this.
There has to be, and he sure as hell better find out what it is before his head office gets to hear he let down another client.
It’s strange how the glass walls all start to close in despite being transparent.
He backs up
, bumping into a chair, and his stomach clenches sickly.
He has to report back to Sharon Weiss at the end of the week, and what the hell will he tell her? That he’s made an obvious recommendation without digging any deeper? That he finished up in less than a day when the firm expects him to take months auditing the business from top to bottom? It’s the opposite of the ruthless rigor Bettman consultants are famed for. His heart skips a couple of beats and then picks up the same pace he last felt standing outside Peggy’s garage.
He has to be more thorough.
He has to—
Eric interrupts his silent freak-out. He waves from the other side of the glass with one of his interns beside him. Jon can’t hear what he says while his heart beats so loud, but he lip-reads some words.
“You want something to eat?” Eric points at his watch. “We’re going out for a sandwich. You want us to pick one up for you?”
He shakes his head, mute right at that moment, and then reconsiders as they walk away. The idea of getting out of here right this very minute is appealing. He pulls the keys for his rental from his pocket before yanking open the door and calling after them. “Hey!” His voice comes out much more abrupt than he intended, and many heads turn in his direction. Jon hopes he sounded more forceful than desperate.
“I’ll be fact-finding for the rest of the day,” he says, this time keeping his voice deliberately loud. “If you two can be spared, you should come with me. Show me the latest projects so I can see firsthand what kind of sites the acquisition teams have found lately.” It’s easier to sound confident when Eric whoops, and his intern’s grin about splits her face.
“Sure thing, Mr. Fournier!” Eric jogs back to the doorway. “Does that mean I get to ask you about how you got a place on the Bettman & Company fast track?” He ushers his intern closer. “You need to pay attention, Heather. It’s one of the toughest postgrad programs to get into on the East Coast.”