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.”