Executive

by Leslie Wolfe

  "Yes, very sad," Alex said.

  "Back to our 4 percent of sociopaths at large. How many employees does NanoLance have?"

  "Almost 950," Alex replied.

  "Let's say 1,000. Shrinks aren't that great with numbers, you know," Steve said, smiling. "So, what's 4 percent of 1,000?"

  "Forty," Alex replied, eyes wide in surprise.

  "Correct. Chances are there are forty sociopaths among the ranks of NanoLance staff. Because of the earlier mentioned correlation, they are more likely to be found among management, than in any other job category within the organization."

  "Wow," Alex said, "I never thought of that."

  "There might be more, there might be less, this isn't an exact science. But it seems to me you have already identified at least four or five."

  "I thought I only had two, Sheppard and Walker. Who are the others?"

  "The enablers. I am biased this way, you see. Although this might well be a defense mechanism, I still think that at least a part of them has to agree with the bully's attitude."

  "How come? Why do you think that?" Alex asked.

  "Give me an example of an enabler you have seen supporting one of the abusers."

  "Um . . . Robin Maxwell, from human resources," Alex replied.

  "Excellent example. The role of an HR leader is to ensure that abuse does not happen. If she sits in meetings, such as the one you described, and nods her head in approval, she not only enables the aggressor, but also doesn't do her job, and she is well aware of it. Does she show remorse or empathy? Does she seem rattled and upset after the meetings? No? Then that's a good candidate for the count of sociopaths. She has no conscience." Steve ended his demonstration by putting his cigar out.

  "But you said it's a defense mechanism," Alex continued to probe, sounding confused.

  "It is. But let me ask you this: Would you have enabled this individual by nodding your head in approval, while he stepped all over the fellow from manufacturing?"

  "No, definitely not."

  "You already told me what you would have done," Steve added, "you said, and I quote, 'I would have run away screaming,' right?"

  Alex nodded silently.

  "They do have options, these enablers; they could always quit their jobs, if their consciences were present to dictate that. They are not hostages, you know, at least not all of them."

  "Some of them are?"

  "Yes, those limited in their options by lack of financial stability or by lack of a good background. Maybe they declared bankruptcy in the past couple of years, and no one would hire them as leaders of anything with that showing on their records. Maybe they were caught driving under the influence, and now they have a criminal record. Those are true hostages, and if they have consciences and are forced to work for sociopaths, such as Walker, I pity them."

  "So, we do have a plan for tomorrow, right?" Tom asked, standing up. "Let's meet with the client in the morning. I'll set it up and communicate with you."

  ...38

  ...Thursday, June 24, 6:49AM

  ...The Agency HQ—Corporate Park Building—Third Floor

  ...Irvine, California

  Storming through the office-building door at The Agency, Alex was hoping she'd find a freshly brewed pot of coffee upstairs. The phone call that woke her at five in the morning was to let her know the client was coming in early. That wasn't entirely bad, despite the few hours of sleep she had managed. If the client meeting didn't last long, she could still hope to make it to the office before 8:30AM or so.

  "Good morning, everyone," she said cheerfully, as she entered the conference room. Dr. Barnaby had already arrived. He looked a little bit better than he had at their last encounter.

  "Let's proceed." Tom said, "Alex, feel free to get some coffee from over there." He pointed in the direction of the service table next to the wall.

  "Thank you," she said gratefully.

  "The reason why we asked you here today, Dr. Barnaby, is that we have to establish a strategy to address the stock price issue that you have brought to our attention. As you mentioned in the beginning, there is no data or evidence to substantiate a potential connection between your intentions to sell your stock and the articles or rumors that appear after the announcements are made, thus dragging your stock price down."

  "Yes, that's correct, I'm afraid," Dr. Barnaby confirmed.

  "In such situations the only possible approach is to stage another such event, in the hope of triggering a similar response. We can hope that this time, because we're expecting it and are ready for it, we would be able to figure out who the aggressor is."

  "What would you like me to do?" Dr. Barnaby asked.

  "We will work together to set up a communication strategy with your executive team. You would be letting them know that, regardless of what happens, for personal reasons, you will have to sell your stock at the end of the next quarter. Then we watch all of them, and see what happens. So far, the preferred method of aggression was through press leaks and rumors. We'll be prepared to counteract. We'll have the best public relations agency working for us, along with a strong legal team on our side to force retractions, send cease-and-desist letters, or apply whatever forms of pressure within our means to contain this. The PR team can issue statements that reinforce the public's confidence in NanoLance."

  "I can't help thinking how risky this is," Dr. Barnaby said, rubbing his forehead in concern.

  "It is risky," Tom confirmed, undeterred, "but it's something that would have to happen anyway, if you are ever to sell your stock. If we handle this in a controlled manner, when we're ready for it, we reduce your exposure. And we're ready to intercept communication and action meant to undermine the stock price."

  "How confident are you that you will be able to identify who is doing this to me?"

  "Almost 100 percent," Tom replied.

  "Almost? Not entirely?"

  "We do run the small risk that, despite our best efforts in monitoring and surveillance, the person responsible for the attacks will use some already established back channel that we don't know about, or that we wouldn't be able to identify in time. But, nevertheless, it would still be helpful to you to have us control such aftermath, and help restore the stock price in time for you to be able to sell at a good value."

  Tom finished arguing the issue and stopped, giving Dr. Barnaby time to decide.

  Dr. Barnaby turned his attention toward Alex.

  "Have you identified any potential issues? Do you have any preliminary findings?"

  Alex looked briefly at Tom for support and approval. He nodded slightly, encouraging her to speak.

  "I have seen some measure of dysfunction that could be the early indication that we are on the right track to identify the person or persons who are behind this. From my initial findings, I can say that we're looking at a complex root cause, not just a simple one, as in one person pulling all the strings or pushing all the buttons. I would like, however, to continue my work and come to more definitive answers before I start naming names."

  "So, you're thinking it could be a conspiracy of sorts?" Dr. Barnaby pressed on.

  "Potentially. I need more time to make sure we identify all parties involved, and uncover all the aspects of this dysfunction."

  "You're kind to call it a dysfunction," Dr. Barnaby said. "I'm sure you'll find it's more than just dysfunction."

  "For now, I'm keeping an open mind, Dr. Barnaby. Please let me assure you that we are making significant progress, and that we'll be able to prepare a comprehensive report soon."

  "Young lady, I have every confidence in you. I know you'll be successful. Since we've talked last time, I have been able to fall asleep at night, now that I know you all are looking into this for me. I haven't been getting much sleep since it started, but you've restored that for me, and you'll restore everything else, I am sure. My entire life and my legacy are in your capable hands, and I thank you."

  "I will not let you down, sir, I promise," Alex said, blushin
g.

  "Before we adjourn, we have a question and a request for assistance, if I may," Tom interjected.

  "Sure, please go ahead."

  "We would need your assistance in making sure that no executives or even senior managers are hired or terminated without your knowledge and preapproval. We need to make sure that Alex will continue to keep her job, for as long as she needs, to finish her investigation, and that no key players are removed from the organization before we are done."

  "You got it, consider it done."

  "As for the question, Dr. Barnaby, are there financial difficulties that the company is facing right now? Maybe cash-flow issues?"

  "No, there aren't any. The company is extremely profitable and has had constant growth in the double digits every year since we started. We are doing just fine. Why do you ask?"

  "Some of your executives seem quite focused on cost cutting. Aggressive cost-cutting measures are being put into place," Tom clarified.

  "That can't be right. Who's doing that? I haven't tasked any of my executives to reduce costs. We have always been a growth-oriented company. They are all supposed to focus on growth and development, through innovation and research. Can you tell me who's doing this?"

  "I'm afraid I can't, not at this time. You will find all these details outlined in our report, but until then we have to ensure that the status quo stays unchallenged and no appearance is different. Even a goal realignment memo clarifying the issue of cost cutting could potentially be hazardous to our plans. These are people who have their antennas out there, assessing carefully every single change, no matter how small."

  "I see," Dr. Barnaby conceded, "maybe you're right. It's hard for me to wait, you know."

  "I understand, sir, and we promise you the wait won't be long."

  "So, what's next?"

  "We will work with you to announce the sale of your stock and watch what happens."

  ...39

  ...Friday, June 25, 8:53AM

  ...Somewhere on Highway 98

  ...Okaloosa County, Florida

  "How much longer, Daddy?" An impatient six-year-old boy, dressed in cargo shorts and an angler's T-shirt, was banging his feet against the seat in front of him.

  "Shh . . . stop that," his father said, and gently put his hand on the boy's knees, getting him to stop kicking. "We're almost there."

  "But why did we take the bus?"

  "Well, how many times have you traveled on a tour bus before?"

  "Never," the boy answered in a firm voice.

  "And how many times have you traveled in Dad's car before?"

  "Um . . ." the boy attempted to count from memory, using his fingers as a guide. "Every day," he concluded, giving up on the actual count.

  "See? Now you get to experience something new today," the dad continued, arranging his son's baseball cap. "What else are we going to be experiencing today?"

  "Fishing?"

  "Yes, Teddy, fishing. We're going to rent a boat, a large one, a pontoon, and we're going to take that boat out to sea and catch us some fish."

  "Why didn't Mommy come with us?" The boy was no longer smiling.

  "You know how mommies are, they sometimes want to spend time lying in the sun, just sitting there, idle, on the beach. And what happens when that happens?"

  "We get bored!"

  "Exactly, Ted. Because this lovely day can't go to waste, we'll have some serious fun today, son, that's a promise. All those fish will be in serious trouble."

  "How are we going to catch them?"

  "Well, we don't have fishing rods, but what else do we have?"

  "Dynamite?"

  The man seated in the row of seats to their left chuckled.

  "Dynamite? Why would you think that?"

  "'Cause I've seen it on TV. Merlin the cat used to go fishing and couldn't catch any. He got hungry, and he stole dynamite, and he caught many fishes."

  "Oh, I see, but Merlin is a cartoon character, and we are real, so we can't do that."

  "Then what?"

  "We are going bow fishing, Teddy, and that's going to be really fun, 'cause you see the fish from the boat and you shoot it with your bow and arrow, but only if you like it."

  "What if I miss?"

  "Well, if you miss, you get your arrow back and you try again. Remember how you used to train with Daddy, shooting at the target in the backyard?"

  "Yes," Teddy nodded vigorously.

  "It's just like that, only this time we train with fish. The better we are, the more fish we're going to get."

  "Will they let us bring the fishes on the bus to take home to Mommy?"

  "We'll rent a car for the trip home, son, so we can take all the fish with us."

  "Bow fishing?" The stranger at their left intervened. "That's a new one for me. Where are you planning to go for that?"

  "Near Destin, in the bay, maybe near Crab Island. Fish are everywhere, jumping out of the water. You can see it coming, you have time to take aim and shoot."

  "I have to try that sometime. By the way, I'm Stan," the man extended his hand.

  "I'm Zack—Zack Cooper, and this is Teddy."

  "Very smart kid you have there, Zack, he's a pleasure to be around."

  "Look, Daddy, a plane!" The boy's finger was pointing at something over the ocean.

  "That's too low to be a plane," Zack said.

  "That's not a plane, it's too small," Stan added.

  "What is it, Daddy?"

  "Looks like one of those military drones," Zack said, squinting to see against the sun.

  "Daddy, what's a drone?"

  "It's sort of a plane but without a pilot."

  "The real question is why is it flying so low?" Stan's question reflected Zack's worry. The other passengers were also commenting on it, speculating about the potential reasons why a drone would be flying in this area.

  "There's a military air base not far from here, I bet that's where it's going," one of the other passengers said.

  "Yeah, but it's flying way too low and coming straight at us." In an instinctive gesture, Zack put his arm around Teddy's shoulders. The boy fidgeted to get away.

  "Oh, my God," someone said in a high pitch, "it is coming straight at us!" The man got off his seat, panicked. "Hey! Hey!" He yelled trying to get the driver's attention. "Hey! Do something, for Christ sake; the goddamn thing is coming for us! Call somebody!"

  "Can't be, we're on American soil," someone else said, sounding unconvinced.

  "Oh, my God," Zack whispered, eyes fixated on the fast-approaching drone. "This can't be happening." He grabbed Teddy in his arms in a desperate attempt to shield him. "Oh, God, oh, God, please, no," he whispered, amid the escalating screams of the passengers.

  ...40

  ...Friday, June 25, 8:42AM

  ...NanoLance HQ—Information Technology Floor

  ...San Diego, California

  A young technician waited for Alex to come in. As she approached her office, the technician came forward and touched Alex on her arm to get her attention.

  "Hi," she said shyly, "I wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you did for me yesterday."

  "Ah, it's all right, Melanie, you're welcome," Alex said, "Did it go well?"

  "Not sure yet, it might have though, I still have hope for us."

  "Good, that's good to hear, I am sure things will work out just fine," Alex said.

  "May I see you in my office, Miss Hoffmann?" Sheppard's unexpected request startled her. She turned to follow Sheppard, while the technician disappeared in a hurry.

  "What was that all about?" Sheppard asked, sitting down behind his desk. His voice was the usual hissing whisper, only somehow it sounded even more threatening.

  "Oh, that? Melanie needed to leave early yesterday to go to a marriage counseling session. She and her spouse have some problems, and she's desperately trying to save her marriage."

  "Marriage counseling," he repeated, punctuating every syllable with an almost imperceptible pause. Wo
rds dropped like stones. "What is this country's divorce rate, do you know?"

  "I am not sure," Alex replied, bracing herself for what was to come.

  "It's about 50 percent. Your employee's marriage is nothing else but just that—a marriage. They fail anyway."

  Alex was not about to interrupt him and argue in her defense. She hoped this would soon be over and forgotten.

  "So, why should we care, exactly? I don't care about anyone's marriage, family, or issues," he continued in the same threatening, yet calm, tone of voice. "I do not have to care. What I do care about is that you don't even have the basic leadership skills required for this job."

  Oh, boy, she thought, this is going to get much uglier than I expected.

  "What do you want from your employees? Do you know?"

  Not sure if he really expected an answer, Alex hesitated. The silence persisted. "I expect them to work hard, be dedicated, loyal, focused, and creative," Alex replied eventually.

  "If you want your employees focused on work, then aren't they better off without a spouse? Huh?"

  Shocked, Alex was speechless.

  "You aren't very smart, I'm afraid. We have no interest whatsoever to make even the tiniest of efforts to preserve our employees' marriages. It is illegal for us to favor singles for employment or to actively pursue actions to get married employees divorced. But I sure as hell don't want to do anything to keep an employee married. If she were single, she would spend more hours in the office."

  Alex swallowed with difficulty. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The viciousness in Sheppard's voice added to the cruel callousness of his words.

  "I am urging you to spend time thinking what you want, and make up your mind about how you're going to do your job. If you're not ready to be the executive I hired you to be, please be reminded there is a door you could be exiting through. Don't hesitate to use that door if you are not ready, with every bone in your body, to give me what I expect." He paused, apparently thinking what to do with her. "You are not very smart, are you? I'm afraid I might have been mistaken about you. This job is probably too much for you to handle. From now on, please run all such decisions by me. You seem to lack every single useful leadership skill, even the basic ones. Dismissed."