The Curious Rise of Alex Lazarus

by Adam Leigh

  “I am pretty disappointed by this and need to chat it through with Kate. We thought you were a good team together. Julian’s ballsy negotiating offsets your scatter-gun enthusiasm. What worries me is that you may not be such a strong organisation after the divorce.”

  “You should have more faith. The team is loyal to me and there’s a depth of talent now that means we are not only reliant on us. We have lawyers, agents and finance bods coming out of every filing cabinet. Anything Julian can do, they can do better.”

  “Well, that’s your version. We’ll have to see. Alex, you are my friend. You know how much I like you. Beneath all the banter, I even have a soupçon of respect for you. But I have entrusted you with my genius and I only did this because I believed in your start-up. If it unravels, we may have to think differently. Keep me informed and if you are going to execute your partner, do it cleanly.”

  The last sentence seemed straight out of a Sicilian self-help book and left me little other option but to assure him that my ruthlessness was well honed. It seems that severing a partnership unpleasantly is akin to assassination, given the recurrence of the analogy in all my discussions. Nigel that day inadvertently reminded me that our friendship and business relationship were separate, and the latter could be ended without affecting the former. I was going to need to show what I had always suspected: to be successful, you had to be uncompromising.

  ***

  The next day, my mother phoned. We hadn’t spoken for several weeks. I immediately felt guilty and vulnerable.

  “Why are you calling, Mum? Is everyone all right? I have a frantic day today, so I can’t really chat.”

  “Have you spoken to your sister?”

  “No, why, is she OK?”

  “Alex, please stop sounding so defensive. We have not reached the stage that we can only speak at some point of disaster.”

  “All right, point taken. So, what about Judith?”

  “She has some amazing news. I’m not sure why she hasn’t phoned. It’s confidential, which I know is an alien concept to you, but I want you to hear it immediately.”

  Judith was at that moment in a refugee camp on the Turkish border. She spent so much time out of the country, it was hard to find time to talk. My mother’s voice cracked with emotion.

  “She’s just been awarded an OBE for Services to Charity. It won’t be public until the next Honours list is published. How wonderful for her. Isn’t she special?”

  Bloody irritating, more like. My baby sister had shown me up again, and although I was too old to thump her, I had every intention of pulling her braid next time I saw her. I couldn’t have been happier.

  “That’s amazing, Mum. I’m unbelievably proud of her. She’s going to have to curtsy before The Queen. And she calls herself a republican!” Succumbing to sentimentality, my eyes moistened. Judith had been rightly recognised for her boundless commitment to improve the world.

  “She’s really done something special with her life, hasn’t she?” my mother asked with undisguised edge. A better son would have accepted this unconditional love for a child as free from implied criticism of the older, more commercially focused sibling. Sadly, my emotional balance was already askew in anticipation of imminent war with Julian.

  “Why would you put it like that, Mum?’

  “Like what?”

  “Always comparing us.”

  “Are you such a narcissist, Alex, that you think I’m telling you about Judith to belittle your achievements? Believe it or not, this call is about her, not you.”

  Retreating, and like a naughty child caught with a hand in the biscuit tin, I sheepishly replied: “Well, I wouldn’t put it past you. I know I’m not that popular with you both at the moment.”

  “And this is another reason why I’m calling. I wanted to tell you in person because you need to realise this is a wonderful chance to move on from your argument with your father. If we celebrate something special, maybe you’ll remember the value of the family that loves you.”

  I knew she was right. Judith’s unconditional goodness deserved to be celebrated. My father could get over his antipathy to PrimaParent and I would consider forgiving him his callousness in attacking me so publicly. Mum was wise and I was foolish. This was the opportunity to back myself out of the corner into which my anger had driven me.

  Unfortunately, at that moment I saw the lift doors open and Julian and Dimitri emerge into the vast open-plan office. They were laughing in complicity, suggesting they couldn’t be more relaxed with each other, or that they had just announced their engagement. I had never seen this before and would have characterised their previous interactions as frosty to the point of indifference. Julian looked over at me and smiled smugly. He started to walk to where I was sitting. My family news was, at that point, an unwelcome intrusion.

  “So sorry, Mum, I can’t deal with this now. I have to go. I’ll think about what you said.”

  I ended the call abruptly, all the time not averting my gaze from the rapidly approaching Julian. He stopped in front of me and contemptuously looked me up and down. I wasn’t sure if he was going to slap my face and challenge me to a duel.

  “Alex.”

  “Julian.”

  “I just want you to know I’ve called an Extraordinary Board Meeting for 9 a.m. tomorrow, which George is convening. You need to be there. It promises to be entertaining.”

  With that, he spun on his heels like a well-drilled soldier and skipped back to the lifts without a care in the world.

  22. Execution

  I left the office almost immediately and met my lawyer at Moshe’s hotel suite. Julian had stolen the initiative by calling the meeting and producing an agenda with one item on it – ‘CEO Vote of Confidence’. The board had been convened with a brief email from George suggesting the ‘urgent resolution of a seemingly intractable management conflict’.

  Rather than it being a coup in which I controlled the army, it was now a general election with only some vague opinion polls to guide us as to its outcome. I had to rely on my belief that my integrity would triumph over Julian’s superficial opportunism. The lawyers would only tell me the implications of success or defeat on our future share ownership. If I lost, I’d keep my shares but have no influence whatsoever on the day-to-day direction of the business.

  Inevitably, I didn’t sleep much that night. My mind twisted and pivoted as I tried to scenario-plan, but in the end I simply catastrophised. What if something went wrong? Had Dimitri turned against me? How biased would George be towards Julian? Would I be able to outstare my unflappable nemesis? I listened to the interminable silence of the night and grew progressively sadder that, despite a flourishing business, my life was underpinned by unpleasantness and dispute. Eventually I fell asleep at about 5.30 a.m. and was totally disoriented by my shrill alarm a few minutes later.

  Standing under the shower for an age trying to wake up, I rehearsed the script we’d drafted the day before. I dressed in a navy suit and open-necked white shirt and stared in the mirror, contemplating whether I looked like a leader or a follower. Sarah came up behind me and encircled my waist with a supportive hug.

  “Remember, Alex, you’re a killer,” she said unconvincingly.

  “Am I, though? I always saw myself more as a romantic poet.”

  “Your verse is not going to help you now. You may need to toughen up a bit, at least for the morning.”

  “You realise, in the event I lose, I’m out?”

  “If you agree to do the school run occasionally and sort out your comic collection, it’s a small price to pay.”

  “I’d better win then.”

  ***

  At 9 a.m. the meeting room filled with the board members, although I had arrived a few minutes early to compose myself. There was a strained and awkward silence as everyone poured themselves a coffee. Julian did not make eye contact but had a self-satisfied smirk that I found unsettling.

  Dimitri, Alice and Samantha had been invited as shareholders. A
lice tried to give me encouraging nods as she took her place, but Dimitri stared at me like I was a stranger sitting opposite him on the Tube. Brooke and Cole were next to one another, looking like the happiest couple in the world, their marital status decidedly confusing. Moshe, inevitably finishing a phone call, was talking angrily in Hebrew, his head shaking in frustration and his faced fixed in a scowl. The meeting was brought to order with a short introduction from George on the reason it was taking place. It sounded like a list of my faults and inadequacies.

  “I am afraid we have to resolve a delicate situation in order to protect all of us as shareholders. It has become increasingly apparent that the working relationship between the co-founders and CEOs has become untenable. Julian has discussed, with me and others, his belief that the business would be better served by the removal of Alex as co-CEO and I have convened this meeting to make an immediate decision in the interests of the business and its ongoing success. It gives me no pleasure as chairman to have to ensure that a resolution is achieved.”

  Actually, it felt like he was getting quite a lot of pleasure from my discomfort, and when he finished he looked towards Julian with paternal concern. My attempts to canvass support had been superseded by the reality that I was now on trial. This was further illustrated by Julian, laying out his case with the fervour of a prosecutor prowling in front of a jury. I was surprised he didn’t put on a wig and gown.

  I won’t replay his speech, which became a bit of a blur as I half-listened, simultaneously preparing my rebuttal. It was hard to hear and subsequently painful to recall, as his argument was disarmingly plausible. He told everyone I was a very decent hard-working person of good intent. He emphasised that the business had been built and driven by my vision and I was brimming with good ideas and positive energy. My chutzpah (which he always pronounced incorrectly as shoootzpar) had managed to secure the Clyde Pilestone deal, which had catapulted us to global success.

  The problem, he argued, was that I was not a good leader. He was certain I was not cut out for the scale and complexity of a multi-country business, and nor did I have the ruthlessness to do what was necessary for its success. He reminded them that when we had our first global get-together, I was laughed on to stage, and not in a good way. He made countless allegations that senior team members were always complaining to him that I did not make decisions quickly enough. He mentioned a couple of recent unsuccessful senior hires that I had overseen. I was evidently too soft a judge of character.

  Julian read out an email from Clark Templeton, our jargon-infested Harvard wunderkind in charge of new product development. Given the contempt Julian had shown him, I was amazed to hear that he was extremely concerned by my ‘profit-negative indecisiveness’ and ‘suboptimal excessive emotional engagement’ in reaching business decisions. There were several similar statements from senior individuals, all implying that our growing pains were the result of my weakness as a leader. He then progressed to the inexorable demise of our working marriage, resulting in a fractured and untenable relationship. He contended I was jealous of his commercial flair. As a consequence, I was secretive, obstructive and sarcastic to the point that conversations with me descended into a relentless attempt to prove my wittiness.

  His coup de grâce in this coup d’état was an email from Nigel, in which he made it clear to Julian that my dismissal would not affect our publishing money machine. He stated that despite his personal relationship with me, his commercial partnership was with the business and as long as his interests were being protected, we could bring in ‘Donald Duck or Donald Trump to run the business for all I care’. Naively, I expected the fond recollection of copying my chemistry homework aged fourteen would prevail and he would view my presence as non-negotiable. Clearly not.

  Julian spoke for what seemed an eternity, but, with a quick glance at the clock, I realised was only ten minutes. When he sat down, he looked at me directly and held up his hand to stop any interruption. He tilted his head as if he was a carer talking to a poorly patient.

  “Alex. You have to understand that this is not a reflection of what I feel for you. I know you are so ambitious for this business to be successful. You won’t believe me now, but this is the best way for you to achieve this.”

  I was quite proud of my reaction – an obdurate silence. I did not want to engage in a conversation, so I stared back at him, feeling the collective awkwardness deepen across the room. I then began my direct and abrasive defence, focusing on Julian’s untrustworthiness. Starting with the loan for his legal bill and then his rock-and-roll lifestyle expenses, I suggested that his attitude to the business was one of entitlement. Despite a global footprint, he saw it as his private fiefdom. He dipped in and out of his responsibilities as it pleased him and loved the thrill of commercial negotiation, running away from oversight of ongoing operations or the nurturing of our people. He was keener on a good personal profile in a glossy magazine than a positive corporate story in the business pages.

  I stressed that, contrary to Julian’s version, the management team looked to me for guidance and support. I knew that their loyalty was unwavering, citing recent conversations about their concern that Julian was obstructive to the daily operational needs of the business. Looking at Alice, Dimitri and Samantha, I restated their trust in me and their frequent misgivings about Julian’s unpleasant or indifferent behaviour. Dimitri stared fixedly at his shoes every time I mentioned his name. My final words were delivered with a pre-rehearsed flourish of sincerity to emphasise that my leadership was the only sensible way forward.

  “Julian has suggested I am not strong enough to match my hopes for the business with the mental toughness to make difficult decisions. It’s easy to make a glib comment like that if you are more interested in the trappings of success than the rigour and hard work needed to sustain its growth. I want to run this company properly. I need to be allowed to do so without fighting my partner. This is not a popularity contest. It is a vote of competence.”

  ‘Vote of competence’. I thought that was particularly clever when I dreamt it up a few days previously. Instead of spontaneous applause and perhaps some gentle singing from a celestial choir, there was only silence, punctured by the sound of Julian’s laughter. He clapped his hands together and said, “Hard luck, old boy. You’ll find that I’ve repaid the loan, and Samantha and I have just gone through all my expenses. Anything you might have deemed questionable, I’ve settled up. You’ll struggle to dismiss me for owing money and having unreasonable expense claims.”

  I glanced at Samantha as if to say what the hell? and she shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

  George outlined what would happen next. Julian and I had to leave the room and the board would discussion a solution. Since the motion was my dismissal, he was going to canvass the opinion of the room and ascertain who had the most equity favouring them. It was that brutal. As we left, there was an awkward moment when we realised that to return to our respective desks, we had to walk in the same direction. Since striding in silence down a long corridor would make a bad day worse, I gestured for him to go first and waited a few minutes before following.

  I flopped into a chair in a quiet corner of the vast open-plan space and saw a text from my mother, which simply read: Call me now to discuss trip to the Palace. I had judiciously avoided any contact since the phone call about Judith’s gong, and knew I couldn’t run away from my family for that much longer. However, I had done enough arguing that day and instead called Sarah to tell her about the morning’s activity. As it clicked through to voicemail, I realised that she was in a clinic. Like a child on the first day in a new big school, I suddenly felt apprehensive and alone. The meeting had been disarmingly short. It was feasible that I hadn’t won. In the far corner, I could see Julian with his feet on the desk, talking animatedly into his phone.

  After forty minutes, we were called back and had to enter the room awkwardly without speaking to one another. I contemplated tripping him up as he walked through the door
ahead of me, but reason prevailed. No one looked at me. If that felt bad, the presence of our corporate lawyer made me even more uncomfortable. George did not equivocate in delivering a judgement.

  “Alex. I am afraid you have lost this battle. You do not have enough support from the shareholders. We had a vote, based on our respective holdings. Brooke, Moshe, Alice and Samantha supported you. Cole, Jane, Dimitri and the others were for Julian, who also had my support. I am sure you can do the arithmetic. You were well short of a working majority. Therefore, we believe it is untenable for you to carry on in your role as CEO and we would ask for your resignation. You can have the conversation now with the lawyers or, as I suggest, you let the news sink in at home for a day or so, and then we sort out the detail. Either way, I am afraid that on behalf of us all, we have to thank you for your energy and enthusiasm in creating this wonderful business, and promise that you can rest assured of its continued successful stewardship after your departure.”

  He raised his hand towards me. I quickly realised that rather than a consoling handshake, he was gesticulating towards the door through which he expected me to leave immediately. Dazed, I hobbled lamely to the door, which Cole had leapt up enthusiastically to open. I didn’t really look round but, as I left, I caught momentary sight of a tearful Alice mouthing “I’m sorry.” Somehow, my scrambled brain told me to maintain dignity in my departure. Quite hard, when all you feel is pain.

  ***

  I don’t want to dwell too much on the state of my mind for the next few days. Leaving the meeting was humiliating. I tried some deep yoga breaths to calm me down as I walked out, but I didn’t know what I was doing other than hyperventilating. Sitting in a taxi having lost control of my company, my heart was racing, tears welled in my eyes and I was overcome with one rising and uncontrollable emotion. Fury.