“Names?” asked one of the guards in a heavily accented voice.
Both guards regarded Adam, then me, with a steely, scrutinizing glare. I knew we were all in order, but my stomach still tightened with tension. The guns they were holding looked…mean—the kinds of rifles you’d see in action movies. I’d never seen one like that up close and personal before.
“I’m Adam Forde, CEO,” spoke Adam, his voice cool and calm. “And this is Isla Marten, my assistant.”
As nervous as I was, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of thrill at the idea of being referred to as Adam’s assistant.
“Identification,” spoke the guard.
Adam nodded to me as he reached into his leather bag and withdrew his passport. I got the message and took my own out of my purse and handed it to Adam, who passed them both along to the guard. He looked them over, his eyes flicking from the passports to our faces and back to the passports. When he was satisfied, he gave them back to us and stepped away.
The relief was instantaneous. I let all the air out of my lungs as Adam rolled up the window and the guards opened up the gate.
“You okay over there?” he asked.
“Fine. That was just…a lot, is all.”
“Agreed. They’re really not messing around here,” he said. “I wonder if they’ve ever had to use those guns?”
I didn’t even want to think about it.
The car moved on, and soon we were on the main factory grounds. Up ahead I saw a small team of men and women waiting for us, all dressed in sharp business attire. The car parked and the driver killed the engine.
“Okay,” said Adam. “You ready for this?”
“Sure am,” I said, meaning it.
“You’re here as backup,” he said. “Names, places, dates—any kind of info that sounds important I want you to keep track of. And I’m sure you can handle it. That’s why I picked you, after all.”
He flashed me a warm smile, and I gave him one right back. It felt good to have the confidence of the boss.
The driver opened the door and the two of us stepped out into the warm afternoon air. The first thing I noticed was the smell—the scent of fresh, humid forest blending with the industrial aromas of machinery. It was strange, disorienting.
Before I could spend too much time thinking it over, however, the team approached us. One of them—a tall, dark-haired man with a lean body and matching face—took the lead.
“Mr. Forde,” he said, extending his hand to Adam. “My name is Pedro Costa, I’m the—”
“You’re the manager,” said Adam, taking the man’s hand and giving it two solid pumps before letting go. “Been looking forward to meeting you.”
I could tell right away that Adam was in control of the situation. Despite Pedro being in charge of the factory, his tense body language suggested he knew why Adam was here. And Adam was just as easy and confident as ever. It was like nothing could bother him.
“That’s right,” said Pedro. “I’m pleased you’re here, and if you’d like to get started with the tour—”
He began to gesture toward the building, but Adam cut him off before he could finish.
“And this is my assistant for the tour,” he said. “Ms. Isla Marten.”
A brief worried expression flashed on Pedro’s face, as if he’d realized that he’d made a breach of etiquette.
“Ah,” he said. “My apologies.”
He stepped to me and offered his hand. I took it.
“A pleasure, Ms. Marten,” he said. “Forgive my lack of manners, but we’ve had a busy day getting the factory in order for you and Mr. Forde’s visit.”
“Not at all a problem,” I said. “A pleasure to meet you, too.”
I couldn’t help but glance in Adam’s direction, giving him a wordless thanks for not forgetting about me.
“Now,” said Pedro, gesturing to the factory again. “We’re eager to have you take a look around.”
“Likewise,” said Adam. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, we’ve been having…issues with productivity here. I’m eager to get to the bottom of things.”
“Naturally,” said Pedro.
And with that, the group led us through the front doors of the factory.
We entered into a large hallway, white-clad workers who looked like nurses zipping purposefully here and there. The space was sterile and unadorned, all concrete and harsh overhead lighting. Two seconds into being there and I already kind of wanted to leave—not that I didn’t want to do the work, but that it was just that the place was so uninviting. Off in the distance I could hear the humming and grinding of machines.
“Welcome to Corliss Rio,” said Pedro, stepping in front of the group and leading us like a tour director. “Every day we are responsible for producing thousands of the latest Corliss products, from hard drives to graphics cards to hospital supplies. What we make here accounts for nearly all of Corliss’s Latin American market.”
“But not nearly as much as you all could be,” said Adam.
The entire team turned to look at Adam. I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of admiration. The man said what was on his mind and didn’t care about the consequences.
“I…I suppose you’re correct,” said Pedro.
“I know I am,” Adam said as we continued on, our footsteps echoing through the vast hallway. “And as much as I appreciate the background, Mr. Costa, I am well-versed on your plant. What I want is to take a look around, figure out what possible weak points could be the cause of the impact to the bottom line.”
The manager appeared flummoxed. I could tell he was the kind of man who wasn’t used to people talking to him like this.
“Of course, Mr. Forde,” he said. “Where…where would you like to start? My factory is your factory.”
“I want to see the floor,” Adam said. “I want to start with seeing what kind of conditions you have your employees working in.”
“Certainly, Mr. Forde,” he said. “Right this way.”
For a moment I found myself wondering why that had been his top priority. But then I began paying attention to the faces of the employees around me. They all appeared tired, worn down, like each step was a struggle. I realized that there was a good chance that Adam had noticed before I did, and was already on the case.
We continued down the hall, eventually reaching a large punch-in station near another set of steel double doors.
“This will lead us to the overlook over the factory floor,” said Pedro. “Come with me.”
One of his assistants opened the doors, and we all filed through. On the other side was a set of stairs that led up. Our feet clanged on the steel as we rose, going up and up, my legs growing sore as we did. The sounds of the factory floor through the walls rose in volume, and I could almost smell the scent of something burning.
“Is it getting hotter?” I asked Adam, wiping away a sheen of sweat that had formed on my forehead. “Or am I just really out of shape?”
I glanced over at him and saw that he was in the same state, his face tinged with pink and a small shine of sweat on his own forehead. I knew right away that it couldn’t have been the “not in shape” part. Adam was clearly in killer form.
“No,” he said. “It’s hot. Very, very hot.”
We soon reached the top of the stairs, and between the exertion and the heat, I needed a break.
“Come on,” said Pedro. “Right this way.”
He opened another door, and we finally got a good look at the factory floor.
And it wasn’t pretty.
Chapter 8
Isla
It might not have been a sweatshop, but it was pretty darn close.
Down below on the factory floor, hundreds of workers toiled, all dressed in the same white uniform with cap and protective glasses, all focused on whatever task was in front of them. Most looked to be responsible for assembling one particular part of their assigned piece of electronics, attaching or soldering or fastening before handing it over to the wor
ker next to them without looking.
The air was thick with heat and humidity, so much so that it was more effort than I was used to simply to breath. The noise of the machines was enough to hurt my ears. It was a far cry from the comfortable offices of Corliss in San Francisco.
And on the wall overlooking the factory floor was a large clock, counting down the seconds of the workday. A single Christmas-tree-shaped decoration hung by it along with a small poster that said something in Portuguese that appeared to be a countdown until Christmas. It hardly looked celebratory. If anything, it looked more like a joke.
Adam stepped to the railing of the platform, spanning his arms out over it and saying nothing as he observed the scene. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pedro and the rest of the team exchange nervous glances, as if they already knew how the boss was going to feel about what he was seeing.
He watched for several minutes, saying nothing, to the point that even I was starting to get worried about what sort of verdict he was about to render.
Finally, he turned and faced the team.
“Is there a conference room where we can talk?” he asked, keeping his tone even but speaking loudly enough to be heard over the noise.
“Of course, Mr. Forde,” said Pedro.
Pedro nodded to his team, and they quickly assembled and were off. Adam cast me a glance, one that made it clear how he felt about everything. I formed up at his side and we left the factory floor—and not a moment too soon.
After a brief trip down a hallway up on the second floor, we arrived at a sunny, spacious, and most importantly, climate-controlled conference room. The large window looked out over the factory grounds and to the tree-lined hills beyond.
Pedro nodded once again to his team once the door was shut, and this time they all hurriedly took their seats. Pedro joined them at the long table as I grabbed a seat at the side of the room, ready to continue taking notes.
Adam, not in any sort of hurry, stepped to the head of the table, his back turned to the group and hands clasped behind his back. We all waited eagerly for what he was going to say, though I’m sure that the rest of the group knew as well as I did that he wasn’t going to have kind words.
Finally, he turned toward us.
“What the hell is going on in there?” he asked. “The noise, the temperature, the crowding…and on top of everything this is Christmas Eve! Why aren’t the workers home with their families?”
All eyes turned to Pedro. He seemed sheepish, ashamed. I couldn’t help but wonder what his defense was going to be.
“Mr. Forde…I’m sorry,” he said. “But the pressure from the main office in San Francisco has been…it’s been intense.”
“How do you mean?” asked Adam.
“The manager I report to,” said Pedro. “He hasn’t been happy with the level of production here. So, we’ve had to make some…adjustments to the way the factory is run.”
“Like keeping it ninety degrees on the factory floor with the workers packed in shoulder to shoulder?”
“Climate control is expensive,” said Pedro. “And the more workers we have, the better our output.”
“I see,” said Adam. “And more workers means more heat.”
Pedro nodded.
“We don’t have the budget for an expansion, as much as we need one,” said Pedro. “So we have to make do with what we have.”
“So,” said Adam, his voice still stern. “This is all coming from corporate?”
“Yes, Mr. Forde,” said Pedro. “I don’t mean any offense, but they don’t understand the realities of the situation here. You’re the first executive to bother visiting here since the end of last year. If anything, I’m a little relieved that you’re able to see the results of the policies.”
I’d been ready to get angry at Pedro, ready to mentally chew him out for being a whip-cracking taskmaster. But the more he spoke, the more I could see how badly he felt about the whole thing. He clearly knew that the situation was far from ideal, but if he’d been given his marching orders from corporate, what else was he supposed to do?
“And Christmas?” Adam asked. “Why is the plant even open today?”
I knew the answer, and I was sure Adam did, too.
“The bottom line, Mr. Forde,” said Pedro. “That’s all any of us have been able to think about for the last year. The workers are expected to stay on the line through the holiday, only taking Christmas Day off. If they want more time, they don’t get paid. We simply don’t have the budget to do otherwise.”
Adam shook his head in what appeared to be disbelief. I didn’t blame him one bit. This was a bad situation all around. The workers were in miserable conditions, the management’s hands were tied, and no one from the main offices seemed to know any better. I was curious to see how Adam would handle the situation.
He remained standing at the front of the room, his brow knitted in concentration. Finally, after several moments of thought, he spoke.
“Close the factory,” he said. “Shut it down for Christmas.”
Murmurs broke out among the team, shocked expressions on their faces.
“Mr. Forde,” said Pedro, worry tinging his voice. “If we close down now, it would drastically affect the bottom line. It simply can’t be done.”
“It can be done and it will be done,” said Adam, unwavering. “Don’t worry about this coming down on you all. I’ll make sure the board knows that this was my decision. None of you will have to answer for it.”
The relief on all of their faces was immediate.
“Shall I make the call now?” asked one of the members of the team.
Adam raised his palm, indicating that he wasn’t done.
“That’s not all,” he said. “I want all workers to have today, Christmas, and the two days after off. And they’ll all be receiving holiday bonuses for their hard work. Naturally, when we open back up, the temperature will be set to a more agreeable number, and I’ll speak to the board to see what we can do about the overcrowding.”
However eager the murmurs were before, this pushed them to the next level.
“Mr. Forde,” said Pedro. “This is…this is very generous of you. But won’t this need to be approved by the board first?”
He shook his head.
“One of the perks of being CEO,” he said. “I’ll see to it personally that the changes are made. Right now I’m concerned about the people here. I want them all to be home with their families as quickly as possible.”
He turned his attention to the member of the team who’d spoken up before.
“Now you may make the call,” he said.
The woman nodded, hopping out of her chair and dialing a number on her phone as she left the room.
“This is…not how I expected this meeting to go, to be honest,” said Pedro. “But if it means anything, I believe you’re making the right decision.”
Adam nodded.
“Everyone’s being pushed to their limit here,” he said. “From the workers on the factory floor to the top management. Consider this me opening up a release valve while we figure out a more long-term solution.”
He took a deep breath, as if processing everything that he’d seen.
“That will be all for today,” he said. “And I’ll make sure you that all of you are kept in the loop with whatever decisions we make.”
With that, the meeting broke up. Adam said his goodbyes, and before too long we were back in the car and headed in the direction of the hotel.
At first the drive was silent. I could tell by the expression on Adam’s face that he had plenty on his mind, and I didn’t want to bother him with any empty chatter.
“Terrible,” he said after some time. “No one should be working like that, especially not during Christmas.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe some of them would just be at home watching bad TV if they didn’t have work to do.”
I was joking around, referring to how me and him both didn’t have any bigge
r plans over the holidays than to work. For a brief moment, I was worried that he wouldn’t find my joke particularly funny.
But he flashed me a quick smile, letting me know he got it.
“Makes you appreciative of what we have, right?” he asked. “Even something as simple as air-conditioning.”
I thought back to the offices and how many times I’d mentally complained about how damn cold it always seemed to be in the building. But he was right—it sure beat the alternative.
Adam checked his watch before turning his attention to me.
“Well,” he said. “We ended up finishing earlier than I anticipated. You free this evening?”
He flashed me an ironic smile.
“I think I could make some room in my schedule,” I said, smiling back at him. “What’d you have in mind?”
“A little Christmas Eve night on the town,” he said. “My treat.”
I nodded, trying to keep it cool.
But man, was I excited. Happy holidays indeed.
Chapter 9
Adam
Regret hit me the moment I stepped into my suite.
I’d really done it. I’d asked Isla out to dinner.
My conversation with Edward played again in my mind at ultra-fast-forward speed. I knew I needed to hear those words.
I stepped into the center of the room and let my hands drop to my sides, doing my best to clear my mind and calm down. But it was so, so hard. All I could think about was her.
“Okay,” I said to myself as I stepped over to the eastward-facing window, the top-floor view allowing me to see all the way to the downtown skyscrapers of the city. “Maybe this is a bad idea. Going out on a date with a subordinate? Recipe for disaster.”
I checked my watch, seeing that it was about five in the evening. The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, its glow surrounded by gorgeous orange and cream. I had a lot on my mind for sure, but a lovely sunset like that went a long way toward clearing my thoughts.
“A date,” I said. “What if…it doesn’t have to be a date? Technically, sure. But that doesn’t mean there has to be any sort of romantic angle to it.”
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