They spent the rest of the afternoon going over Wilson’s plans for infiltrating the secret partnership, as well as details about each of the people Hap Greene and his associates would be protecting. Having Hap on board was a relief.
26
Wilson — Boston, MA
Wilson was shocked by the hearty welcome he received when he stepped out of the elevator on the tenth floor of the Fielder Building on Friday. He slowly worked his way through the busy corridors shaking hands and meeting people until arriving at his father’s office, with its impressive vista of the Charles River and MIT campus. Even though his perspective had changed dramatically since the last time he’d been in the office, the actual act of officially occupying his father’s workspace, with the intent to assume his father’s previous mantle of authority, felt weightier than he’d anticipated. Can I pull it off?
Just as he’d requested, Wilson spent the afternoon interviewing each of the firm’s six vice presidents. He’d met them all before, but things were different now that he was their boss, and his life literally depended on knowing them. His first meeting was with John Malouf, the most senior of the vice presidents and head of the corporate restructuring practice. He was an extreme version of his father, both in stature and demeanor, less talkative and more prone to glare, which proved unsettling for Wilson. Malouf seemed perfectly content with his arrogance and enigma. They sat down at the stone table.
“Do people ever mistake you for my father?” Wilson said.
“Sometimes,” Malouf said, deadpan.
“Are you as good as he is?” Wilson asked, deciding to be equally direct and to the point with this man who was still glaring at him.
“Yes and no,” he said without blinking an eyelash.
“Tell me about the no part,” Wilson said.
“Like every good student, there are some things you learn to do better than your teacher and other things you don’t. I still haven’t acquired his social adeptness or consciousness,” Malouf said.
They stared at each other for several moments until Wilson asked him to describe the corporate restructuring practice at Fielder amp; Company, which Malouf did for the next twenty minutes in a rather cryptic, matter-of-fact fashion. When Malouf was finished, Wilson said, “I look forward to getting to know you, John.”
Malouf shook Wilson’s hand without another word. As he left the office, Wilson asked him to send in Leigh Tennyson, the firm’s newest vice president. She directed the strategic change practice. She reminded him of a former professor-tall, brunette hair pulled back in a French roll, uneven facial features with a piercing look of confidence in her hazel eyes. Reportedly she had the highest IQ of the six vice presidents. Wilson liked her style, and it didn’t hurt that she was a Harvard Business School alum.
When she was comfortably seated on one of the French sofas at the less formal end of the office, Wilson asked her if she enjoyed working at the firm.
“I was, until your father’s coma. He was the reason I left the Boston Consulting Group,” she said. Then she took the next several minutes to tell Wilson what she’d been doing to strengthen the firm’s strategic change practice.
When she finished, Wilson asked her what the firm had been like in his father’s absence.
“Tense. Confused. Lots of positioning for power, especially from Malouf.”
“Do you have a problem with Malouf?”
“Yes I do. Not only is he secretive and arrogant, he doesn’t want to be a team player.”
“You don’t hold anything back, do you?”
“Only when it’s productive to do so,” she said without changing the serious look that defined her face.
As they stood up and shook hands, Wilson realized that as much as he liked her, she was as enigmatic as Malouf, only less cagey. He followed her out of the office and asked Anne to send in Frank O’Connor. Wilson then stepped into the concealed bathroom and dressing room, thinking about what Tennyson had said about Malouf. When he returned, Frank was sitting on one of the French sofas. He was a Ph.D. psychologist who managed the firm’s organizational effectiveness practice. O’Connor instantly made Wilson feel as though he were talking to a personal therapist. There was something about his warm, inviting eyes and bald head that caused Wilson to feel comfortable enough to be open and candid.
“How are you feeling about taking over your father’s firm?” O’Connor asked.
“Anxious and apprehensive.”
“Perfectly normal for someone in your situation. Are you disappointed that KaneWeller backed out?”
“Part of me is. But the rest of me has accepted it. Sometimes I even feel grateful.”
“Good sign. Your father would appreciate that response,” he said. “I like it, too. You’re going to do just fine here, Wilson.”
“I hope so.”
Just as Wilson was feeling as though he’d found a confidant among the vice presidents, O’Connor said, “This is no ordinary firm, you know. There are a lot of things going on beneath the surface.”
“Such as?”
“Hidden agendas, special services for preferred clients, affiliations with other firms, and lots of turf issues,” O’Connor said, raising his eyebrows and causing his forehead to wrinkle up to where his hairline used to be. “Your father pretty much gave us a free hand, and we each did what we wanted with it.”
Wilson wanted to probe further, but he couldn’t, not until he knew more about O’Connor and the rest of the vice presidents. As he did every day, Wilson reminded himself that his first moves to crack the partnership had to be the right moves. Instead, Wilson asked O’Connor to tell him more about his own practice area, which he did for the next half hour.
When Wilson escorted O’Connor to the door, Corbin Ashford was standing outside talking to Anne.
The firm’s VP of finance and administration walked into the office and immediately began extolling the virtues of Wilson’s father. Ashford was handsome, smooth, and articulate. He recited the firm’s impressive growth record before taking a seat. As he continued telling Wilson everything he must have assumed Wilson wanted to know about the firm and its financial situation, Wilson grew more and more uncomfortable with Ashford’s blatant egotism.
“How’s the firm’s cash flow?” Wilson asked, interrupting him.
“We haven’t missed a beat. The firm’s cash flow is stronger than ever,” Ashford said as he stood up again and walked toward the wall of windows overlooking the Charles River.
“No setbacks?”
“None. And I don’t expect any,” he said, arrogantly.
“What problems do we face?” Wilson asked.
“To tell you the truth, everything’s running smoothly. We’re ahead of our profit projections-revenues are up and operating expenses are down.”
Wilson wouldn’t hear about any problems from Ashford. Never tell the boss bad news. Just what I need from a CFO, Wilson said to himself sarcastically. He wondered how his father had handled Ashford.
Before Ashford left, he returned to extolling the virtues of Wilson’s father and his financial genius. “The world actually knows very little about your father’s contributions to creating wealth and humanizing capitalism. Thanks to him, billions of people will someday be accessing capital, investing in themselves, building businesses, and spreading the wealth more than ever before.”
Wilson was quietly stunned as he listened to Ashford espouse his father’s philosophy. He couldn’t decide whether Ashford was trying to impress him or opening a door into the secret partnership. Either way, Wilson wasn’t ready to commit himself. He quickly thanked Ashford for the information and said he’d have more questions later. He asked him to send in Joel Spivey, vice president of human resources.
Spivey was a cynical and witty ex-marine sergeant and Stanford MBA who looked like Spike Lee and was by far the most decidedly extroverted of the vice presidents.
“It’s great to have you here, Wilson,” Spivey said as he walked into the office with an air of cool.