by Deacon Rie
Nevertheless, the economic slowdown during the next few years was unlike anything seen in generations. While they were getting along great as a couple, neither could do much to generate new business. Eventually, real estate development turned into a dry creek bed and the renovation business slowed down to a trickle. Several of the conglomerate companies took major hits from their multiple lines of business and conducted massive layoffs with several completely going out of business. The decline in work hit Stephen's appraisal business hard and it wasn't long before he ran out of work to pass along to his contract workers. For the minimal work he was getting, he had to do it himself in order to bring in enough money to meet their household needs. Even though they were not full-time employees of his, it pained him to turn away the people who trusted him to drive in new business. With an understanding of the world's chaos around them, they were much more gracious and forgiving of Stephen than he was of himself.
The heart had skipped a few beats when he got the call from James Rockwell, "Please come in so we can talk about the work you do for us." It was rare form for Mr. Rockwell himself to call. And if picking up the phone to talk with a contractor like Stephen was rare as a Sumatran rhino, asking him to come in and meet in person was the speckled unicorn.
Stephen stood alone in the confined lift watching the ascending numbers illuminate in sequence, 8… 9… 10… 11… The thoughtless elevator showed no compassion for the man whose anxious heart sunk further with the passing of each floor.
The refreshingly cold water bottle offered to him did little to ease the tension Stephen was feeling. A twinge of embarrassment hit as the bottle crackled under his unconsciously tight grip. Nevertheless, the pleasantness of the modest administrative assistant escorting Stephen through the hallway obligated him to generate a smile.
Only once before had he been to a conference room on Mr. Rockwell's floor. It had been about a year and a half prior when he met with one of the company's executives to discuss the potential of Stephen's company assisting with some of the firm's land acquisitions. The office was not overdone but it was professional. Artwork lining the perimeter walls provided a colorful diversity but just enough consistency to avoid being eclectic. The apparent quality in the frames let on that the pieces were not picked up at a local retailer but instead had the touch of a professional buyer.
The office showed class but it didn't brag. There was no glass-enclosed trophy shrine of public recognition like he had seen in so many other developer offices. Despite his massive success, James Rockwell did not have a reputation as a flashy man. It was well known that he believed ego and opulence at best added distraction and at worst served as a thin veil for undeserved confidence. Resumes braggers had a short shelf life at Rockwell Development as their chief executive wanted his people to be so good at the work they were doing, they didn't feel obligated or tempted to boast on prior accomplishments. The determination worked and his reputation for being a tough but fair businessman who could deliver solid and consistent performance was a siren call to customers and job seekers alike. Rockwell, ever the contrarian, had already built an incredibly high performing team but it was supplemented through aggressive hiring practices that went into effect whenever any of his competitors were known to be struggling. The recession kept his hiring team on their toes as they tenaciously pursued top talent that had no interest in being the last off a sinking ship.
It was Don Rockwell, James Rockwell's father, who started Rockwell Development Company and passed it down to his son. Though the manner of transition was very different than the typical legacy continuation strategy often sought by wealthy families. Don Rockwell was a man of extraordinary vision, superhuman people skills, and a moral compass that could have been used as a timepiece. A workaholic by inheritance, Don was himself, an absentee father who spent more days on the road building business than he ever did at home building a family. Unfortunately, while he labored hard, Don's dial for play was always set at a hundred percent. He had a well-earned reputation for being able to turn a three-day business trip into a weeklong gambling, drug-infused womanizing extravaganza. Known for his passionate love of fast cars and even faster women, it wasn't a surprise to anyone when the very public divorce from his third wife, who also happened to be his former secretary, caused Don to finally lose his controlling interest in the Rockwell Corporation. The ensuing financial fallout and questions about Don's character soiled longstanding relationships and thrust the company to the brink of bankruptcy. What Don took for a casual setback, the Rockwell board of directors identified as an irreconcilable liability. However, it wasn't until Don was engulfed in a pressure cooker of attorneys, board directors and investors that his nightmare truly began.
The eldest son from Don's first marriage, having shown early flashes of brilliance in the real estate business, took it upon himself to redeem the family name. Despite learning more about his father through the papers than in person, he was astute enough to leverage the family reputation to form a star-studded investor group that strategically closed in on Rockwell's largest customers and capital partners. Compounded by their President's personal problems, it was only a matter of time before Rockwell's board had the choice between an amicable buyout or face a hostile takeover by the rising powerhouse which had already pillaged customers, investors and employees. No one on the board had an appetite for a public takeover campaign that would undoubtedly reveal Don's misogynist antics and further damage the company's already depressed value.
Early eyes of skepticism were quickly replaced with sighs of relief when it was revealed that James, Don's first-born son, would emerge as the driving force and the final signatory required to execute the buyout documents. Despite what would have otherwise been difficult circumstances, negotiations cruised with relative smoothness thanks to an extremely agreeable Rockwell board of directors. The biggest point of contention came at the final execution meeting when James refused to let the deal close unless Rockwell's board allowed the company name to be released from usage restrictions and transferred in the sale. Distressed and already enraged by his board's betrayal, Don finally cracked and put his foot down. He unloaded for a solid twenty minutes while James stood on the opposing side of the conference room's fifteen foot solid mahogany table in silent defiance. James had nothing to say to the stranger who knew so little about him. The only response James wanted to give his father was typed in black ink upon the deal documents he now stood poised over. His firm stance and the placement of the pen directly parallel to the stack of papers made it abundantly clear that James had no intention of applying his final signature until Don relented. There were those in the room who considered it bad taste to launch such a personal eleventh-hour request. But they quickly recognized that the aging Rockwell was a train wreck of his former self while the younger model was as reserved and responsible as he was shrewd and brilliant. He was the antithesis of his father in every way except for his knowledge and understanding of the business.
Don's anger eventually gave way to exhaustion and he relented the floor to helplessly watch the turnover of his company. Immediately upon the execution of the sale, a hand-picked and newly installed board of directors of the combined company unanimously made James the chief executive officer of the new Rockwell Development Company. James' first act as CEO was to offer Don an executive role under the acknowledgement that the company culture would be changing dramatically and as such, Don would be barred from any customer or vendor contact. Don's black and blue ego was in no condition to have sand kicked in his face, and so he launched into another tirade of history about his building of the company.
Had Don truly thought for a moment, he may have realized that it was that very history that drove and motivated the man who now stood before him perfectly executing a plan which had formed in a young mind so many years beforehand. Whether the offer was generous or antagonistic was unknown but those in the room clearly saw James' disappointment when Don rejected the offer to take the role of an executive mute.
Some presumed James had more lessons in store for the man who had abandoned him and his young mother so early in life. Others thought he was holding out for a reconciliation of sort. Regardless, it was clear that Don's unhinged response had slammed closed the only window of redemption his son would grant him. When Don's outburst ended with a thinly veiled appeal to "Jimmy's sense of family loyalty," James made him aware that he hadn't gone by that name since he was eight years old and unceremoniously fired him on the spot.
With the insults and accusations behind them, the company changed hands and avoided the burden of having to recast a single marketing brochure, letterhead or logo. Customers, investors, bankers and employees who took the buyout with a patient optimism had their loyalty rewarded by Rockwell's complete turnaround in less than a year. Meanwhile, Don engaged in another short-lived marriage, a failed business venture and by the following year he had filed for personal bankruptcy. Somewhere among the long passing of empty days, Don Rockwell came to appreciate that a father can only miss so many birthday parties.
Mile 25
Anxiety washed over him as Stephen was reminded of how critical the appointment was to the future of his business and the future of his family. In a worst case scenario, which was catastrophic and also the most likely scenario according in Stephen's mind, James Rockwell was going to follow the industry trend and pull back on development. The strategic direction would subsequently eliminate the firm's need for Stephen's contract work. On the other end of the spectrum, Stephen held on to the hope that he could not only keep Rockwell's business, but possibly find a way to increase the work they were sending his way. As much as he wanted to treat the meeting like any other customer call, he was well aware that the practical reality was a make or break meeting. The family's cash flow was well beyond running tight and like him, it had been exhausted. Rockwell represented too much of his business and there simply wasn't another option.
For an instant his mind wandered and found a distant commonality with the character of Bud Fox from the movie Wall Street before his life changing meeting with the celebrated financier, Gordon Gekko. "Life all comes down to a few moments. This is one of them." The cinematic parallel did nothing to ease Stephen's emerging tension as he recalled that Bud Fox eventually went to jail.
"Have you met with Mr. Rockwell before?"
"No. I mean, not face to face. I haven't, I haven't had the pleasure." He mentally chastised himself for the abrupt response to the assistant's pleasant invitation at conversation. Paranoid his comments could be taken as rude, he did his best to steady the tone of his voice, fearing that the slightest quiver would reveal the avalanche of anxiety he frailly sustained by the toothpick of his nerves.
Overly focused on voice control Stephen followed up, "I really appreciate the work we've been able to do together and I'm looking forward to meeting him."
They arrived at the glass door to Rockwell's corner office. The assistant politely raised a hand for them to pause as she observed her boss finishing a phone call. "We'll wait here until he's finished. He doesn't like to have people in his office while he's on the phone. He thinks it’s rude to both parties. A quick tip if you're up for it."
"Absolutely."
"When you're in there, give him your full and undivided attention. Because regardless of what he looks like he's doing he's going to be entirely focused on you while you're in there."
"Thanks. I appreciate knowing that."
Stephen saw Rockwell complete his call and immediately rise from his leather high back chair. He opened the door with a pleasant but direct voice, "Stephen Lantz? I'm James Rockwell. Thank you for coming by today."
"Hello sir. Thanks for taking the time to see me." Stephen eased into the room without assumption.
"Not at all. I've heard about the work you've been doing for us and it's good to meet you in person." Rockwell motioned for Stephen to sit at one of the tufted upholstered armchairs on the far side of the office. Rockwell himself took a seat in the single Queen Anne chair opposite him. The office was not overdone with showmanship but instead, it breathed a sophisticated purpose as if every item in the office was there to tell a story.
Concerned the crinkly water bottle would expose his internal fears, Stephen took the initiative to pick the top coaster off a stack at the end of the glass table which expanded the divide between them. He took a final sip and gently rested the obnoxious noisemaker. Then, as if a vacuum had sucked out all the air in the room, Rockwell leaned back in his chair and began to silently examine Stephen. Ten horrifying seconds of pure silence took hours to pass as Rockwell stared directly at him. Beyond awkward, the silence became distressing. Stephen was at a loss for his next move but somehow knew that speaking was out of the question. Engaged by the retinal, he resisted the urge to let his eyes wander. In his peripheral he lent minor attention to a row of elegant bookshelves, hung plaques, a framed letter on the opposing wall; anything to distract from Rockwell's critically-invasive observance.
He was studying. He was learning. In the silence, James Rockwell was reading Stephen like a book. As if having just finished the last page with the satisfactory closure of the back cover, Rockwell took a breath and leaned into Stephen, purely confident and burning with intensity.
Clearly intending to act as if the excruciating void in time had not just occurred, Rockwell opened the conversation with a pleasant tone. "Stephen, it's out of appreciation for that good work that I've asked you to come by today."
"Thank you for the business." Stephen exhaled and was firmly conscience that he would not be in control of the conversation. There would be no pleasantries, no small talk, no in-depth rapport building. James Rockwell would drive their discussion and Stephen would do his best to hang on for the ride.
"I need to share something with you. Most of which, you are likely already aware of." As he spoke, Rockwell's eyes seemed to narrow and sharpen the point of each word he released. "Stephen, the industry is struggling. A lot of companies out there are still being negatively impacted by the rapid valuation declines we saw in the housing market three and four years ago. Several people, and a lot of Wall Street analysts, still expect the commercial market to be the next industry to fall. The banks have tied up their lenders and they're hoarding cash. I'm sure you recall that the banks received a massive cash infusion from the government a while back. Well, they never put it into the system as the Treasury Secretary had hoped they would. And since that government check came with no requirements or mandates, the banks used the cash to firm up their balance sheets and pay out bonuses to their most highly compensated employees."
"It's been a tough road. For everyone." Stephen chimed in, aware of exactly what Rockwell was talking about. He had seen his business go dry from the drastic cuts in bank funding and companies losing their cash flow in the middle of sizeable projects. Unable to complete the project and unable to sustain the costs of maintaining a partially built property, several firms had no choice but to go out of business.
"Yes, yes it has. And it's my belief that the markets are not going to recover in some rapid snap-back. It'll take time." Rockwell was habitually calculated in his words and leaned his elbows on the armrests with his hands interlocked. He seemed completely comfortable as he described the economic environment that threatened to tear apart his industry. Despite the grim storytelling, Stephen saw no sign of distress in the man.
"Stephen, the reality is that our company here is not immune to these difficult situations. Last year we had eight hundred thousand square footage in progress regionally. Our bank partners have since backed off and will only commit to finishing off our existing developments. They won't back us to fund new properties."
A cold wave flushed across Stephen's face. He knew where this conversation was going. New property developments were the very thing his company worked on. Without them, Rockwell would have no need to contract commercial appraisers like him. The loss of the Rockwell account would be a death stroke to their small business. Stephen could see
down the road of this conversation and every sign pointed to him going out of business. He immediately thought of Hailey and Sarah. His family and particularly his marriage had come so far from the bottom, having gone through the point of nearly drowning and yet they had struggled to break through the surface and recapture a breath, only for another wave to come crashing into them.
Taking a lesson from Rockwell himself, Stephen tried his hand at the direct tone, "So you need to scale back property acquisitions? I assume that will impact your need for commercial appraisers."
They had lost possessions before and as difficult as it was, the Lantz family made it through. This would be different. Stephen thought through the steps of telling his wife. Sarah would be supportive; her commitment to their family was unwavering now. The thought of her embrace calmed his nerves even though he didn't have the first clue as to how they could get through this apparent financial devastation.
Rockwell responded, "We're going to cancel the majority of our outsourced services. And, yes, that includes commercial appraisal companies like yours."
Jeez, this guy doesn't beat around the bush.
Stephen took the hit in stride and kept his composure despite the distraction of being taken aback. His fingers rubbed his clammy palms in an effort to hide his fidgeting.
"I realize this is tough for your business, Stephen. You've been through this sort of cutback before, right?"
"Yes. We've seen tough times before." Stephen's facade of professionalism began to slip as he saw the grip on opportunity slide through his fingers. "Have to say we haven't fully recovered from them yet."
"You used to work for George McDowell, right?" Rockwell emerged from his chair and walked over to the window in what seemed to be an uncharacteristic moment of distant thought.
The question hit Stephen from left field and scrambled his thoughts. Why would Rockwell bring up George McDowell, someone Stephen hadn't spoken to in years? "Yes. Um, yes. I was with him for about 10 years."