Exposé

by Paul Ilett

  Twigg had had enough. Without waiting for permission from Sam he stood and walked towards the door but paused at the exit as Sam spoke to him one final time. “Leonard, you’re a newspaper man. You’ve covered dozens of stories like this, if not hundreds,” he said. “You know that when a big organisation or company is in the shit, the first thing the Daily Ear does is demand the man at the top is sacked.”

  Twigg stood still, patiently waiting for the noise from Sam’s mouth to cease.

  “On this occasion,” Sam continued, “you are that man at the top. You might want to bear that in mind.”

  Twigg didn’t look back. He lifted his head high and left the top floor. He returned to his office and immediately called Howard on all the numbers he had for him, but every single call was re-routed to a new answering service. With a grinding sense of injustice, Twigg realised he had been cut off. He did not like this, being made to feel less than essential. He had played a major part in building Howard’s empire but suddenly the Harvey family had closed ranks and he was left feeling little more than a minor employee who was ultimately expendable. Clearly the emphasis was now on Sam, the Harvey heir, and Howard was supporting his son at Twigg’s expense. It was not a situation Twigg was going to accept lightly.

  Audrey’s Amazing People Awards had started in the early eighties as little more than a dinner and dance to honour her charitable friends, but the Daily Ear had played a major role in turning it into an annual TV event. At the time, Leonard Twigg had grown increasingly unhappy that all the other tabloids had their own annual awards and so had asked Audrey if the Daily Ear could sponsor hers. With a national newspaper on board everything changed and the event blossomed into a celebrity-filled ceremony watched by millions across the country.

  But not everything had survived the previous few weeks and Project Ear. As Audrey stood alone in the middle of a huge television studio in Waterloo, she watched with a twinge of sorrow as an enormous back drop was lifted into place with the Daily Ear logo discreetly removed. All around her, lighting technicians, set builders, camera operators and sound engineers were working to create the Amazing People Awards. A frenetic noise of hammering, sawing and muffled backstage shouts filled the air, complemented by the occasional music stab or flash of lights from the gallery overhead. Audrey knew she wasn’t really needed during the set-up but after the previous few weeks of doubt and complications she wanted to be there, to actually see it all coming together again. But this year had been different and after endless debate and pressure from the other sponsors involved she had finally caved in and agreed to drop the Daily Ear brand entirely. Even though both Howard and Sam had completely supported the decision, she felt like she had betrayed them both and her heart still sank when she saw the backdrop for the first time.

  Her attention was drawn towards one of the exits, as she noticed a familiar-looking girl being escorted towards her by a technician. Pretty girl, black. Audrey recognised her from a number of meetings she’d had at the Daily Ear offices. She was a trainee or an intern or something. Audrey had been struck by how well spoken and polite the girl had been, and how she had gone out of her way to be helpful. But Audrey couldn’t remember her name, and so was relieved when the girl introduced herself.

  “It’s Felicity. Your son Sam sent me,” she said, with a beaming smile.

  “Yes of course, dear, I remember you. Of course I remember you. How could I forget such a sweet face?”. Audrey nodded to the technician who then walked away. “And what brings you here?”

  “Oh,” Felicity replied, looking a little startled. “Did Sam not tell you I was coming?”

  Audrey looked puzzled and shook her head. “No, no. I don’t recall him mentioning it.”

  “Well, basically, I’m yours for the next seven days. He said the week before your live show can get very busy and thought you could do with a personal assistant to help out. So whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, how marvellous,” Audrey said, thrilled that her son was still thinking of her even when he had so much to worry about himself. “But I hope I’m not dragging you away from anything important.”

  “Oh no, no,” Felicity replied. “This will be amazing experience for me too. I hope that’s OK.”

  Audrey gently patted Felicity on the shoulder. “Well, that’s just lovely,” she replied warmly. “I could certainly do with some help. And I’m glad he’s keeping a nice young lady like you out of that snake pit for the time being.”

  Felicity didn’t know how to respond. She wouldn’t want Audrey to know that she had quite enjoyed being a fly-on-the-wall whilst Project Ear was in full swing and so she simply smiled and nodded as though she agreed. “It’s an amazing studio,” she said, swiftly changing the subject.

  “Yes, and I know the team here really well,” Audrey replied. “They always do a good job. They tell me it’s their favourite show of the year. Especially when we honour a disabled child, or a soldier.”

  “It all looks like it’s running to schedule.”

  Audrey sighed and took Felicity’s arm. “Oh, my dear. It’s been a very trying few days. Have you heard of something called Twitter?”

  Felicity smiled.

  “Oh, of course you have,” Audrey said. “Well, we’ve had something of a hate campaign against the awards on Twitter.”

  “Why would anyone start a campaign against these awards?” Felicity asked.

  Audrey shook her head sadly. “It’s not really about us; it’s about the Daily Ear and all this nasty business with Adam Jaymes. But some people went onto Twitter and starting harassing the celebrities who are presenting the awards. They started to get quite nasty, in fact, and unfortunately some of the celebs found the messages troubling and phoned me to say they wanted to withdraw from the event. But I couldn’t afford to lose half my famous people so late in the day. Those awards aren’t going to present themselves. So I had to personally visit every celebrity who was having second thoughts.”

  “And they’re all back on board?” Felicity asked, not doubting for a moment that Audrey’s gentle, elegant and persuasive manner would have won them all over.

  “Just about,” Audrey replied. “I was completely honest with them and told them I understood their concerns but they all agreed to put their doubts aside for one more year. And so here we are, back on track.”

  “It really is an exciting event. I always watch it with my mum and dad.”

  “Not this year, you won’t,” Audrey said. “You’ll have to be here on the night, of course. You can sit at our table. I have a spare seat now Derek’s not joining us.”

  Felicity grinned with excitement. “Oh, well, yes. Yes, of course. I’d love to,” she gushed. “I hadn’t really thought of that, but I’d love to.”

  Audrey became aware of Felicity’s sombre attire and looked her up and down. They had met a number of times and she recalled that the girl had always looked somewhat plain, as if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. “The event is black tie. Do you have an evening gown?”

  Felicity suddenly felt very awkward. No, she didn’t own anything that could even remotely be called an evening gown. Why would she?

  “Can you afford one?” Audrey asked, well aware that not everyone could pluck a few hundred pounds out of thin air.

  Felicity didn’t want to look as though she were angling for free clothes and so smiled and said, “I’m sure I’ll be able to find something.”

  Audrey felt a pang of guilt. She had offered this nice young girl a glamorous night out which, in reality, she simply couldn’t afford. “Nonsense,” Audrey said. “This is a work event, so we’ll need to buy you something new on the company account. Millions of people will be watching and you’re going to be at the top table, representing the Harvey News Group and the Daily Ear.” There was a chuckle to Audrey’s voice as she took Felicity by the arm and started to lead her to the exit again. “Look, I was about to go to lunch anyway. We’ll go to The Ivy. Does that sound good?”
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br />   “Oh. Oh yes,” Felicity replied, getting a little wide-eyed with everything that was suddenly being offered to her.

  “And on the way we’ll stop at Vivienne’s showroom near Hanover Square. Pick you up something to wear on the night. She’s never been my cup of tea, to be honest, but perfect for a pretty young girl like you. I’m told her red carpet collection is exquisite.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The PowerPoint presentation took only 10 minutes but, like all PowerPoints, it felt much longer. The boardroom was filled with Harvey News Group’s great and good and none understood why they had been called in for an emergency meeting, or why they were being given a guided tour of the company’s finances. In particular, they couldn’t understand why Sam had seconded a faceless junior accountant like Vincent Nash to do the research and front the numbers part of the presentation. Thirteen tired, distracted executives had been forced to sit through slide after slide of figures and line graphs, presented by a gangly, awkward young man with spiky hair and a Burton’s suit that was too big for him. Vincent had been Oonagh’s recommendation. He was newly qualified but exceptionally diligent and had been meticulous in his crawl through the bowels of the company’s assets and expenses. Vincent also had an incredible capacity for idiot-proofing the most complex information, and had skilfully walked Sam through a seemingly endless collection of balance sheets and bank statements. No rock had remained unturned and his final conclusions were, at best, bleak. Harvey News Group was sinking but rather than trying to bail it out, the top team had been desperately grabbing for the silver.

  None of the executives had really paid much attention to the presentation, assuming the whole meeting was simply an attempt by their new chief executive to impose his authority and air-grab for ideas. But these were not people who were used to being called on for answers. They were used to easy success during the decades when money poured in and there was little by way of personal consequence. They were aware the financial climate had changed outside but in their ivory towers they had hoped to sit out the double-dip recession and continue as if nothing was different. But things were different. As Sam stood to recap on Vincent’s presentation, the final slide remained illuminated on the wall behind him: a line graph which started at a high top-left, and tumbled to a dramatic low bottom-right. “Thank you, Vincent,” he said. “You’ve done a great job,” and patted the young man on the back. It was a signal for Vincent to leave the boardroom. What was to follow was not for a junior member of staff to witness. And so the young accountant dutifully collected his papers and left, crossing with Oonagh as she entered the room. She smiled sweetly at him, thanked him and told him he could go. She then closed the door behind him and walked around the board table, carrying a small folder, and sat at Sam’s side.

  “When my father asked me to come to London to replace Gayesh, I had a look at some of our figures and I thought Harvey News Group was bucking the trend and actually doing OK,” Sam started. “This isn’t a good time for newspapers, particularly for a company like this which owns a big chunk of the regional press. But from the figures I was sent, it looked as though we were fine. We were riding out the storm and surviving where a lot of our competitors were failing. And, of course, it was made clear to me that this success was the result of having an executive team who had plenty of new and innovative ways of generating income and increasing sales.”

  A little bit of praise was all it took for the men around the board table to sit up and actually acknowledge what was being said. They were more than happy to take credit when things were going right. “But then Vincent – young, recently qualified Vincent - ran me off these new figures,” Sam continued, glancing at the graph behind him. “And these were very, very different to those which had been provided by our director of finance.” He gestured to the portly, grey-haired man who was glaring at him from the end of the table: Uncle Tony. “So, I looked at how we’d managed to keep our head above water. I looked for these great ideas, these amazing innovations that such a coveted team of executives had generated. Was it a better use of digital, I asked myself. Were we building our web presence across our local papers and radio stations in the same way Oonagh has built the Daily Ear’s website into the success it is today?”

  Oonagh smiled at Sam, happy to accept his only genuine praise.

  “But what I found was nothing special at all. Just an over-reliance on cost cutting that has shaved this company to the bone.” For effect, he banged his fist on the table. Although it seemed a little premeditated, it unsettled the assembled executives and made them begin to take note of what was happening. “So, you started with the small things,” Sam said. “You told our staff across the whole of the UK that they were going to have to pay for their own tea and coffee. And we saved several thousand pounds a year doing that. So, come on, own up. Who came up with that amazing initiative?”

  After an embarrassed pause, a hand went up in the corner of the room.

  “Wow,” Sam said. “No wonder you’re paid a six-figure salary.” He was trying to keep himself from sounding too smug but, just for once, was allowing himself the luxury of thinking he was actually smarter than the group of executives who had gathered in front of him. “And then you capped mileage claims. And then you brought in a non-replacement policy. But then you went hard-core and you closed offices, reduced print runs or shut papers entirely and made hundreds of staff redundant. You saved something in the region of seven million pounds. Well done all of you,” he said. “But then you paid yourselves more than eight million in bonuses.”

  “Our bonuses are performance-related,” Uncle Tony stated. “They are triggered automatically. We have no say over them.”

  “And I assume Gayesh set those targets?” Sam asked, rhetorically. “Or did you set your own targets and just ask Gayesh to sign them off?” Gayesh’s name was forever soiled, intrinsically linked with greed, laziness and incompetence. If any decision could be traced back to Gayesh, it was automatically considered flawed. “Gentlemen, you failed to notice that this country is in the midst of a double dip recession, the likes of which we have never seen before. And whilst our competitors have developed new ways to generate income, you have relied on short-term measures such as cuts and closures. You have overseen the failure of a company whilst rewarding yourselves as though it had been a success.”

  Sam knew all of the men sitting in front of him. A few, like Uncle Tony, he had known since he was a boy. But it made no difference in the here and now. During the previous couple of days Vincent had shown him, in startling detail, just how much those 13 men cost Harvey News Group. He had shown the disproportionate amount of money that had been siphoned into their pension scheme, expense claims and salaries. And he had been shown all the little tricks they had used to create the impression of a company that was flourishing in order to trigger those pesky automatic bonuses. The end result was a deafening realisation that the top floor was filled to the brim with cheats and idiots and Sam had had enough. “Gentlemen, of course, you’re all fired,” he said, as though stating something obvious. “You have 10 minutes to say your goodbyes, and then you are to be out of the building.”

  Suddenly the room was alight with passion and anger and dispute as 13 heavy, middle-aged men started waving their fists and shouting at the unfairness of it all. Amidst the noise and protests, Sam continued to speak calmly. “The Harvey family would like to thank you for your service and wishes you all the best for the future.” He then gestured towards the door.

  “By God, Samuel, you’ve got a lot of nerve!” Uncle Tony shouted. “Where’s your loyalty, boy?”

  The room quietened down as everyone waited for Sam to respond. Only Sam was not prepared to be drawn into a debate about loyalty from a man he’d almost considered family, but who had been feathering his nest at the expense of the family business. “You are all to be out of the building within the next 10 minutes,” Sam repeated. “I will issue a statement explaining this is due to a restructure within Harvey Media Inte
rnational. I’ve already prepared a fair severance package for each of you.”

  He gestured towards Oonagh who walked around the board table and handed each of the men an envelope. “We should explain,” she said, as she made her way from one red-faced executive to the next, “that through the work Vincent did for us we found a large number of financial anomalies across each of your service areas and, indeed, in your own expense claims.” She handed out the final envelope and returned to Sam’s side. “I use the word ‘anomalies’ but there are other words I could use. Discrepancies. Irregularities. Transgressions. Crimes.”

  “But as an act of good will,” Sam continued, seamlessly, “we won’t be pressing charges. Instead, I have organised a generous severance package for each of you, the details of which you are holding in your hands now. It goes without saying, I am sure, that this package includes a confidentiality clause.”

  Uncle Tony had already slit open his envelope and was looking in horror at the company cheque he was holding in his hand. “One pound?” he said, barely able to gather enough breath to utter the words. “One fucking pound?” His colleagues immediately opened their envelopes and discovered the same.

  “And coupled with our agreement not to press charges, a very fair severance package indeed,” Oonagh said, smiling sweetly.

  “Let me make it clear,” Sam said, a finality in his tone that sent a clear signal the meeting was over. “This deal is all or nothing. If any one of you fails to accept this package, the deal’s off the table for all of you. And I will have no choice but to report these matters to the police. Now, gentlemen, you have 10 minutes.”