by Leslie Wolfe
"Lower cost? How come?" Alex was knowledgeable enough about the business world to be sure that The Agency's services could not come cheap.
"A company eaten alive from within can lose money at an unimaginable rate. These losses can happen overnight. Our former clients have become knowledgeable about how to recognize the early signs of trouble in their companies, and they call us right away. For us, it's obviously much easier to reacquire a client, than to acquire a new one."
"What are these early signs?"
"The main sign is unprovoked, inexplicable change." Tom paused, waiting for Alex to ask for more details. She did not wait long before asking.
"Change? What kind of change?"
"Have you ever heard the phrase: 'Numbers are a businessman's best friend'? I'm sure you have."
Alex nodded her agreement.
"So, unprovoked, inexplicable changes in numbers, in sales numbers, in staff attrition numbers, in sick days per employee numbers, and so on. Depends, case by case, on the type of business and the problems it is having. Makes a lot of sense when you think about it, right? For instance, let's say you have a customer support team whose members suddenly start being sick all the time, especially on Mondays. What would that lead you to believe?"
"Bad working conditions, maybe bad management, something like that," Alex said.
"Yes, but which? How can you know for sure?"
"Well, if they recently hired a new team manager and people started calling in sick, then—"
"That's not unprovoked change, my dear, in this case it becomes obvious why the change in numbers occurred," Tom interrupted.
"Oops," Alex said softly, looking down.
"You can do better than that, I'm sure of it," Tom said, smiling encouragingly.
She found the courage to try again. "Well, let's assume then that the existing manager is having a rough time at home and started taking it out on the staff, not caring any more, not making sure the staff members have support, leadership, and procedures. That builds up over time into a noticeable change in sick-day patterns."
"I told you," Tom said, stretching his arms and legs with a satisfied grin, "you can do it. Perfect scenario, plausible, and quite often encountered in one form or another. Now think some more, and give me one or two other possible scenarios."
"OK, how about this? An existing product supplier has slowly, but constantly, dropped the quality of the product, leading to an unprecedented increase in angry customer calls, therefore causing an unusual rate of burnout in the support team."
Tom nodded slowly, lifting his right hand in a fist with his thumb up. "That's another perfect example. Sometimes, the change in numbers is caused by some other change, like a procedure change, a system or equipment change, a staff change, something that wasn't even noticed initially, or wasn't considered as a possible cause; an initially planned change that led to some bad consequences. You have to look for this initial change. However, we're veering off track. We were discussing client acquisition, or at least we were supposed to be, weren't we?"
"Yes."
"Maybe this will help us stay focused." Tom turned on the multimedia projector and projected on the screen a bulleted list under the title "New Client Acquisition Steps." He started reading them aloud, one by one. "Step one, the call. We receive a call from the future client. Step two, if there is more than one shareholder, the extended NDA. They sign that, they vote, they sign a contract, they are onboard as clients. From this point forward, we refer to the business owner or to the group of business owners as the client—not the CEO, not the president, but the client. Step three, training on expectations for both sides. We explain what they should expect, how long it could take, what it could mean, possible outcomes, and so on. We also explain what we expect from them. What kind of support we should receive from the inception of our work. Step four, we listen to their grievances in detail. We ask questions, we try to fully understand the core of their problems. This is the first step involving anyone else but me. At this point, I would have already decided which one of my team would join our client's company. The respective would be present at that time. All clear so far?"
"Yes."
"Step five, is the hiring process. From this point forward, your fieldwork starts. The hiring has to happen as naturally as possible. The new position has to be created discreetly, and the human resources department has to select your résumé out of a pile of other résumés. They have to call you for an interview on their own, without pressure from the client."
"What if it doesn't work? What if they simply don't see my résumé?"
"Well, they will. It will be the best résumé ever written, with the exact experience they'll be looking for. Worst-case scenario, the client can push a bit, but it would be better if he or she doesn't have to. From there forward, you will pass two or three interviews: one with human resources, maybe another one that is more technical, and the final one with the client. You will have to pass those interviews, so you will be prepared. The interviews are the least of my concerns; I have seen you in action."
"Thank you." Alex smiled gratefully.
"Welcome, and well deserved. Step six, starts with your first day at work. Getting to know the company, the people, the atmosphere, looking at everything, while keeping in mind the client's concern, and asking yourself what caused it. Not disregarding any possibility; not discarding any theory, no matter how far-fetched; looking for causes and their effects; and analyzing what you see, hear, and learn. Step seven, is the diagnosis. You found it; you first bring it to the team at The Agency. You cannot discuss this with the client without running it by us beforehand. The clients will be instructed not to ask you, but some of them will still try. Once you have a diagnosis, we all sit together and brainstorm about the best way to fix the problem. Sometimes the fix is an obvious, simple answer. Other times, it's more complicated, or we have to get the authorities involved. Once we have a solution, we'll all present it together to the client. Finally, step eight is the fix. You apply the fix, or assist the client in applying it, and then leave the company. Case closed."
"Wow," Alex said, "this is amazing. This is impressive. It's a whole new world, I had no idea existed."
"Most people don't. Do you still want to be a part of it?" Tom asked. He sat up, shut down the projector and the laptop, getting ready to leave the room.
Alex answered promptly and enthusiastically. "Absolutely."
"Great. Then let's discuss this some more over dinner, at my place, 7:00PM tonight." He handed her a Post-it note with an address in Laguna Beach.
"Yeah. Sure, I'll be there," Alex said. Not many people would have sensed the hesitation in her voice, but Tom did.
...20
...Friday, April 30, 5:48PM
...Ridgeview Apartments
...San Diego, California
"What the hell should I wear?"
Pacing the room in her underwear and stepping on scattered clothes discarded on the floor, Alex had trouble reaching a decision. She also had trouble keeping calm. She stopped her pacing in front of the mirrored closet door and admired herself, slowly turning around. The dark lingerie, making her sun-tanned skin appear luminescent, complemented her tall, slim figure. Her lean muscles, maintained by daily exercise and swimming, were not showing any visible sign of her sedentary activity in front of a computer screen. She was working hard to compensate for all the hours spent sitting at her desk, and she would have normally felt quite happy with the image reflected in the mirror, but today that image was causing her unrest. She went back to the closet, ready to attempt another search for the perfect outfit.
"Too sexy, too short, too colorful, too cheap." One by one, she pushed the disqualified clothes hangers to the left, focusing on the next in line, with her patience running short, and her voice rising in anger. Damn it to hell. And back. A hanger supporting the fine shoulder straps of a generously revealing black dress hit the floor. She sat down on the bed, head in her hands, thinking.
&nb
sp; The dinner invitation at her boss's home had thrown her off, making her not sure what to believe. Was this a test? If so, what kind of test? She was afraid Tom would make a pass at her, to test her most likely, because he did not seem to be the type to romance his employees. He was too courteous, too reserved and professional at all times. Still, an invitation to his home could prove to be a tricky situation to handle.
She wanted her attire to make a statement of self-assurance, of casual confidence, but also to discourage any possible advances. She did not want to wear her designer business suit because she feared it would seem like she was desperate to make a good impression. She was desperate to make a good impression, but she was trying to hide it just as desperately.
Furthermore, the dinner invitation sounded casual, not formal, and she wanted her attire to demonstrate that she was able to dress appropriately for such an occasion. Well, she did have another reason for not wearing her formal business suit. That was because she only had that one, and she had worn it at her job interview. Tom would obviously remember. Damn.
With a resigned sigh, she picked out a pair of worn-out jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a charcoal turtleneck sweater. The sweater was at least three sizes too large for her. Too damn hot for sweaters, but I will be able to endure. She looked up at the clock on the wall. I will also be late. She picked up her keys and wallet, and stormed out the door. Twenty seconds later, she stormed back in, picked up the bottle of wine she had bought for Tom, and ran out again, slamming the door behind her.
...21
...Friday, April 30, 7:26PM
...Tom Isaac's Residence
...Laguna Beach, California
She drove up Cliff Drive looking at the house numbers. Tom lived in a huge ranch-style home, with large windows and a neatly landscaped lawn, overlooking the breathtaking Pacific coast. She pulled into the driveway, in front of the double-car garage. Keeping her foot on the brake pedal, she quickly tied up her hair in a ponytail. She was postponing the moment she had to turn off the engine off, which would cut the lifesaving flow of freezing conditioned air.
She tried to see if Tom was watching from behind the white tulle curtains hanging at the immense windows overseeing the driveway. It was impossible to see anything behind those curtains. Damn. Of course, he likes his privacy . . .
She got out of her car and walked straight to the door. She rang the bell and heard Tom's footsteps approaching. He opened the door with a welcoming smile and showed her in. "Welcome, come on in. Make yourself comfortable, take your pick."
His living room was huge, tastefully decorated with sparse furniture. There was a lot of open space, gleaming hardwood floors, with area rugs in harmonious, warm colors. In the center of the room were a sectional leather sofa, designed in a classy, contemporary style; a coffee table; and three matching armchairs; arranged in a quarter-circle in front of the sofa. A Siamese cat, sleeping serenely, undisturbed by her arrival, occupied one of the armchairs.
She started toward an armchair, relieved he did not invite her to sit on the sofa. She stopped midway, then turned and offered him the gift-wrapped bottle of wine.
Tom accepted it with a smile. "Thank you. You know, for a moment there I was worried you were not going to give that to me after all."
"I am sorry, I almost forgot." One look at Tom's expression and she started laughing. She sat down, feeling more relaxed, but really hot. How many degrees is it in here? Damn sweater.
Tom sat on the sofa and said nothing.
Alex felt compelled to say something, to break the awkward silence. "So, what's her name?" she asked, pointing at the cat.
"Tom. His name is Tom. He is a tomcat, so it makes sense." Tom chuckled.
"Oh," she said, biting her lip. I am so not going to ask any more questions tonight. That's it.
"Dinner is almost ready. You will find that we are used to having late meals because of the specifics of our business."
The sound of dishes clattering came from the kitchen. Alex relaxed a little hearing those sounds. Tom smiled, turning his face away, so his smile could go unnoticed.
A middle-aged woman entered the living room, carrying a vase of flowers.
"Alex, please meet my wife, Claire." Tom took the vase from his wife and set it on the coffee table.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Claire." Alex shook the warm and friendly hand extended by Claire and relaxed another notch. She looked at Claire and wondered why her face seemed so familiar.
"Alex, I think you have briefly met Claire. She sometimes helps us at The Agency," Tom said.
"The receptionist," Claire said, seeing how confused Alex looked.
"Yes, now I remember," Alex said.
"Tom, dear, please go uncork that bottle of wine in the kitchen. Alex and I have something to discuss in private." Claire gave Alex a friendly wink. "Just some girl talk."
Tom started for the kitchen, taking the gift-wrapped bottle of wine with him. He was only 10 feet away, when the cat suddenly woke up, got off the armchair, and silently followed Tom, without paying attention to anything else.
"They are inseparable. Little Tom follows Tom everywhere, wouldn't leave him out of his sight for a minute," Claire said. "He even goes with him into the bathroom, waiting for him to take his shower. If Tom is taking too much time in the shower, and the cat wants to go to sleep, he meows so loud that Tom simply has to come out."
"I was wondering how you tell them apart when you need to call them," Alex said with a quiet chuckle, "so, it's Little Tom and Big Tom?"
"No, it's Little Tom and Tom, or just Tom for both of them, but they both know whom I am calling, by the inflexions in my voice. They never read it wrong, either of them."
A bit nervous, Alex asked, "So, what did you want to discuss in private, Claire? Tom won't take forever to uncork a bottle."
"Well, I wanted to ask you a personal question," Claire said, dropping her voice to a whisper.
"Go ahead," Alex encouraged her, also whispering.
"Aren't you feeling a bit warm in that heavy sweater?" Claire's smile was sincere and encouraging. In her eyes, Alex saw she completely understood her doubts and fears with respect to this dinner invitation. "You know, you could take that off and I could give you a T-shirt of mine," Claire continued.
"That won't be necessary, Claire," Alex said, taking a step back. She pulled the sweater over her head with one move, revealing the gray T-shirt she was wearing underneath. "I have my own." Alex hung the sweater on the back of her armchair and leaned back, letting out a long sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"Now you can come back, Tom," Claire called.
Tom entered the room, holding the bottle and three wine glasses. He sat on the sofa and started pouring the wine. "So, now tell me a little bit about yourself, off the record and completely casual," he said, handing Alex a glass of wine.
"Well, to start with, I am praying I chose a good wine," Alex said. "I am clueless on the topic of wines."
"So, how did you select this one?" Tom asked. "Did you ask a store clerk for help?"
"Initially, yes. However, he didn't seem to know what he was talking about. So I selected the wine based on pricing and the label."
"OK," Tom said, raising his glass. "Let's see how much wine for the buck." He took a sip, and then asked. "Alex, what do you normally like to drink?"
"Martini. And a beer sometimes."
"Then why not bring a bottle of Martini, or a six pack of your favorite beer?"
"Well, I didn't think of what I would like to drink; I thought more in terms of what's appropriate for such an occasion," Alex explained, blushing slightly.
Tom started toward the kitchen, followed closely by his cat. He turned and asked, "How do you take your Martini?"
"Half a glass on three or four ice cubes, slice of lemon, just the vermouth, nothing else. My Martinis have actual Martini vermouth in them, not vodka."
After a few moments, Tom returned and handed Alex a glass filled with Martini Rosso on ice, with half
a slice of lemon on the side. He handed Claire a tall glass, filled with a clear drink, some herbs, and lots of small ice cubes.
"Was my wine that bad?" Alex asked in a sad voice.
"Oh, yes," Tom said decisively, and they all started laughing.
A rapid tap on the front door and Steve came in, followed closely by Brian and a third man.
"You're late," Tom said.
"Traffic. Only traffic could ever come between me and your steaks, you know that," Brian said, with a serious face. He gave Claire a hug, then headed straight for the table.
The third man approached the armchair where the Siamese cat was sleeping, grabbed him and put him on the back of his neck, like a scarf. The cat started to purr and stretch his legs, with his eyes half-closed.
"Alex, meet Richard Ferguson, our colleague," Tom said. Alex shook the hand he extended. The carefully manicured hand belonged to a handsome man in his late thirties, with a pleasant demeanor and an impeccable taste in clothing.
"Richard is currently working on assignment with a client, that's why you two haven't met until now," Tom explained.
"I am actually surprised that you allow the team members to stay in touch with The Agency while we're on assignment," Alex said. "Aren't we at risk of, um . . . blowing our cover?"
"Minimally," Tom said. "If anyone should run a background check on me and Claire, they will only find that we are semi-retired, living off our personal wealth, and occasionally engaged in brokering real estate deals. The Agency is listed in many places as a real estate agency, so whenever you come to visit, you won't raise any red flags . . . You're just searching for your new house and meeting with your Realtor."
"Interesting," she smiled. "How about them?" Alex said, waving toward Richard and Steve.
"Friends of the family, and relatives, such as Steve. We've sort of adopted Steve," Tom said. "Richard, on the other hand, since he's so busy with his client these days, he can only take you shopping tomorrow."
"Shopping?" Alex asked in surprise.