I wanted to ask Laurie these questions. But I knew that she—like my father—would never be able to give me the answers I sought. These were answers that I would have to find for myself.
Epilogue
I wasn't the only survivor, of course. No criminal charges were filed against Kurt Myers. His son—not Kurt himself—had gone to Donna’s house that day with killing on his mind.
In public Kurt played the doubly tragic role of the grieving father who was simultaneously grieving for the harm his dead son had brought to others. For a few weeks Kurt even flirted with a new identity as a public spokesperson for gun control and the cause of stopping gun-related violence.
This foray was launched by his speech at his son’s funeral, where he referred to Shawn’s death as “a tragedy that spawned other tragedies,” as if Shawn had died in a plane crash or a natural disaster. Through it all, Kurt proved himself to be the master of spin.
I watched the video of the funeral speech on the Channel 11 news, with Donna curled up against me, the two of us seated on her living room couch.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “That son-of-a-bitch is going to turn this into a—an opportunity!”
“That’s Kurt Myers,” I said. “Believe it already.”
But in truth, even I was a little surprised at the extent of the chameleon powers of the vice president of strategic planning. Opportunity, indeed.
I didn’t want to think about TP Automotive or UP&S, even though the memory of my weeks at the factory were never far from my mind. I was still thinking about Alan a lot. Alan and Lucy.
I had suspended active operations of Craig Walker Consulting for the time being. I was still in that extended stay hotel, the one where Alan surprised me with the gun on the last night of his life. My work in New Hastings was done, of course; but Donna was still here.
I had not heard the last of Kurt Myers; but as it turned out, he didn’t have long in the limelight. Almost as quickly as he cemented his image as the noble, grieving father, a fresh series of public rumors began, and reports in the Columbus Dispatch of a new investigation. The rumors were stoked—to at least some degree—by Janet Porter, who was still anxious to impugn the ethical standards of the TP Automotive management team. She didn’t wait long after Shawn’s funeral.
“What did Kurt Myers know?” read the lead editorial in the one of the leading automotive industry journals. “Did Kurt Myers know the sort of man his son was? And how far did he go to protect him?” The insinuations snowballed. The last I heard, Kurt had left TP Automotive under a pall of suspicion—and the $10 million that the severance clause of his contract had entitled him to.
Once Kurt left TP Automotive, Beth and Bernie were not long in following him. Neither of them was directly accused of malfeasance; but they must have known that sooner or later, Kurt’s sins would become their own.
TP Automotive’s name was now tainted within the industry that it served. The automotive sector is known for its conservatism. It wasn't long before purchasing managers at the big automakers began to seek out alternative sources for the components that TP Automotive provided. Industry rumors circulated about TP Automotive losing major contracts.
This much was apparently true; and this, too, had domino effects. Some of these lost contracts were for products manufactured at UP&S, so the viability of the little company in New Hastings was also questioned. With the lost contracts came layoffs. The employees of UP&S were back to square one.
One day I received an email from an address that I did not recognize: [email protected]. That could have been anyone—someone anonymous—but it was, in fact, someone I knew: Roy Jones, the welding machine operator who had worked with Helen Dufresne.
The body of the email meandered, with the gist being that Roy was among the workers who had received a pink slip following this renewed round of layoffs. Roy didn't threaten or abuse me; but he did ask me a question:
“Why’d you do that man? Huh? Why did you do that?”
I could see Roy’s face, and Helen’s, too. The way they liked to call me College Boy. If they met me now that moniker would no longer be a light-hearted joke.
So far, I had given everyone their chance to face me and accuse me—my parents, my sister, Donna, and even Kevin Lang. But I would not seek out face-to-face contact with Roy Jones. There are limits to the guilt that one man can accept.
I sent him a simple, and wholly inadequate reply: “I’m sorry for what happened. Good luck.” This was all I had to give him.
* * *
My life goes on, although not the same life that it was before. I'm walking with ghosts now––the ghosts of Alan and Lucy, the ghost of the satisfied, purposeful life that used to belong to Kevin Lang. The ghosts of Roy and Helen, no longer welding parts at their workstations in the once revitalized—but now faltering—UP&S.
And yes, even Claire is a ghost that haunts me now. I can't help wondering: How much guilt do I bear for her presence in that jail cell? How can I ever measure the debt that I owe for the death of Alan Ferguson? Of Lucy?
I gave some thought to what Donna said to me that afternoon, while we were sitting and talking in her living room. I can simply walk away. I can spend the rest of my life trying to pretend that all of this never happened. But that would be a cop-out.
And then there are the personal details: I'm 35 years old; and corporate consulting is what I do. It's what I'm good at. I need to make a living. And I also have my parents to think about. They would have no real life without me—without the money I bring in. I still have to think about Laurie, who is sitting in that wheelchair. She needs more rehabilitation services, more specialized treatments. More opportunities.
And all that will require money.
Craig Walker Consulting will therefore be reborn. But it won't be the same business model as before. Thus far, I've made my living by helping corporate managers drive out unhappy employees. Now I’m focused on another idea: How about a business model based on a different solution for handling disgruntled employees? During my undercover operations, I've observed every kind of discontent that exists in the corporate workplace. What if I could find clients who would be willing to pay me to help them build environments where those same employees will love their jobs? The employees would be happier, and their employers would reap the benefits of higher morale and productivity. Everyone would win—at least in theory.
Kevin Lang, Lucy Browning, and Alan Ferguson all possessed deep reserves of energy. They were passionate people––at least they were passionate once. Until men and women like Kurt Myers and Beth Fisk found the reasons and the means to crush them.
Maybe I can find corporate clients that would be interested in addressing these problems from a different angle.
I know this sounds idealistic, and maybe I'm setting myself up for disappointment and failure. I also know that I can't banish pettiness, politicking, and scheming from corporate organizations. I might be turning over a new leaf, but that doesn't mean that everyone else will jump on board with me. I'm still going to have to walk a fine line, between what has to be done and what should be done––between what is good for the common employee, and what must be done in order to assure that corporations can survive in a competitive marketplace.
Maybe I can do a better job of walking that line this time.
Maybe I can.
Afterward
Not everyone is interested in the experiences and insights that form the basis of a novel. (Hint: You can feel free to skip this part if you want to; my feelings won’t be hurt.) However, as a reader, I have always found that this sort of background information interests me; I therefore assume that it might be of interest to others as well. So here goes.
One axiom of novel writing is that autobiography makes for poor fiction; and Termination Man is in no way autobiographical. However, autobiography can usefully inform fiction. Prior to writing this novel, I spent the better part of twenty years working in various salaried positions within t
he automotive industry. My first “real” (i.e., post-college) job was in the purchasing department of an automotive components company that shares many superficial similarities with UP&S. The history, management, (and yes, conflicts) of that workplace were very different from the ones that appear in this novel. However, many details—like tedious inventory reports, blue-collar workers who call you College Boy, and high-pressure monthly meetings—come directly from my own experiences and observations.
For many years I had wanted to write a novel about that first job; but I lacked a central theme or conflict that could bring it to life. My own work experience was instructive, in minor ways; but I had no narrative that could begin to approach something like Michael Lewis’s Liar’s Poker. In real life, the average day in the automotive industry is about as exciting as a trip to the dentist—and often about as painful.
Nor did I want to write yet another book decrying the Soul-Crushing Force of the Toxic Workplace. Everyone knows that corporate environments are often inhabited by arbitrary bosses, backstabbing coworkers, and scheming management factions. I didn’t see these subjects as “novel worthy” in and of themselves.
Then one day I read a book that gave me the missing link that I needed. In an effort to improve my own abilities at corporate politicking (an endeavor that was never my strong suit, I’ll readily admit) I purchased a copy of Cynthia Shapiro’s book, Corporate Confidential: 50 Secrets Your Company Doesn't Want You to Know—and What to Do About Them.
As the name implies, Shapiro’s book is a politically incorrect, no-holds-barred manual of the cold realities that exist in many (if not most) workplaces. For example, Shapiro points out that “there is no right to free speech in the workplace,” and “age discrimination exists.” Over the years, I had read many “career advice” books; but most of them struck me as far too Pollyannaish regarding the factors that drive some people up the corporate ladder, and push others down. Shapiro, I could tell, was giving readers the straight truth—and some of that truth wasn’t pretty.
While Corporate Confidential was fascinating reading throughout, not all of its content was necessarily news to me. By the time I read this book, I was already well into my forties; and I was already aware that conformity is just as important as excellence if you want to land a corner office at the Fortune 500. For me, the real revelation was a practice that Shapiro refers to as “managing out.” This is a practice whereby companies use subtle (and not so subtle) means to deliberately and methodically speed the departures of employees who have fallen from grace. In essence, the companies convince unwanted employees that quitting is “in their best interest.”
At the time, I worked for one of the large automakers; and I recognized many HR practices in my own workplace that could fairly be called tactics of “managing out.” Suffice it to say that I had one of those “ah-hah” moments that you’ve heard about. My ah-hah moment led to a series of what-if questions; and these questions eventually led to this novel.
While the “managing out” that Shapiro describes generally stays within legal and ethical lines, what if some employers were willing to step outside those lines? And what if a consulting firm specialized in managing out employees, using a variety of undercover operations and entrapment? What if such a consulting firm was also willing to skirt the law, dangling sex, drugs, and easy money in front of its clients’ human targets?
Once I had this key idea, the main elements of the plot came together fairly quickly. I threw in (with substantial embellishments, of course) a few other misdeeds and scandals that I had witnessed during my years on the job. For example, what you’ve heard about nepotism in the Fortune 500 boardroom isn’t fiction. Shawn Myers’s undeserved boost up the corporate ladder of TP Automotive is loosely based on an actual case of blatant father-son nepotism that I saw at another point in my career (though neither the father nor the son were anything like their fictional counterparts). I must also report that embezzlement schemes like the one carried out by Nick King and Michael O’Rourke are not uncommon. Sad but true.
This is how a fundamentally dull day job becomes the plot for a novel that contains corporate conspiracies, illicit sex, and violence. I hope that you, Dear Reader, have enjoyed this altered journey through my resume. And remember: You should think twice before you divulge too many personal details to that new coworker who shows up one day in the adjacent cubicle. He (or she) might be more than meets the eye.
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