| |
––––––––
I OFTEN ARRIVED IN the office early, but that Monday, I made an effort to get there before the rest of the staff. It was important to have time to center myself, to get coffee and read emails before the big meeting. There was something that I wanted to discuss with my financial advisor, my lawyer, my investors, and my accountants, and I’d called them all into a nine a.m. meeting to deliver the news.
No one thought it was going to be an easy meeting. I could tell from the few folks I had live conversations with that they were eager to get to the bottom of what was going on. I put them off, promising to reveal everything at the meeting. So I gave myself a few hours alone in the office to prepare.
Less than a year ago, when I bought Retro, it was almost an impulsive decision. I learned to trust my gut, and it was telling me that getting into design and technology was a good move. I still appreciated the logic behind the decision, but things hadn’t exactly gone according to plan.
For starters, I had been lied to during the sale. Nick Pierce had inflated the value of the company, and I had only recently discovered the extent to which Retro was operating in the red. For the first few months I had control, I'd chalked it up to a change of management. Every company undergoes some growing pains when a new owner takes charge. It’s only natural for profits to dip. But usually, with the right amount of restructuring and a focus on customer service, those profits can be recouped. That hadn’t happened with Retro, and now I knew why.
The hole I was trying to dig out of went much deeper than I had been led to believe. There were problems going back several years that had never been addressed. Pierce had used Band-Aid solutions while he was governing, and then painted a pretty picture overtop of it all to encourage me to buy at what I thought was a fair market value.
I took the next natural step and shook up the staff pool. That meant letting go of hundreds of people, but I promised them all severance checks that should have lasted them for months. Unbeknownst to me, Pierce pocketed that money before turning over the reins, then left to continue his shady dealings elsewhere.
I put two and two together a bit late. My girlfriend, Teddy, was caught breaking into the corporate offices to try to prove that I was culpable in the crime. I never should have withheld my suspicions from her. If I had just let her in on the fact that I was beginning to suspect Pierce of embezzlement, she wouldn’t have had any reason to go behind my back in the first place.
Then to be sued by the woman I fired was like some kind of cosmic karma, only it wasn’t just me who was suffering. Teddy was wracked with guilt, and despite my best efforts, she refused to let go of it. We hadn’t spoken to each other in weeks, ever since the night before Teddy’s case was scheduled to be heard.
I’d gone to the courthouse to show support, but I was stopped on the way in by none other than Pierce himself. He tried to blackmail me. He said if I dropped my investigation into him, he would make Nikki’s lawsuit go away. I wasn’t sure how he was connected to Nikki or whether the whole thing had been orchestrated from the beginning. Not that it mattered. I lost the one thing that meant the most to me: Teddy’s love.
What I was left with was the carcass of a company that I thought was going to galvanize my fortune. Instead, it was like an albatross around my neck, and I was ready to be rid of it once and for all.
It wasn’t a purely selfish decision. I still believed in the potential of the company to do good things. We had amassed a decent collection of artwork and were poised to provide new artists with a platform that would allow them increased visibility. We had several hundred loyal customers and were working on an enhanced database that would allow everyone to search for art that resonated with them. Some of those things I’d had a hand in building. I felt like even if I handed the company off to a new owner, I was leaving it better than I found it. That was something.
I wasn’t looking forward to explaining all this to my stakeholders. Some of them would understand, but some would be up in arms. I prepared a few answers in advance to some of the questions that I thought would arise.
Two hours passed fairly quickly, and suddenly, it was time for the show. My new assistant, Clara, came in to inform me that all the players had assembled in the board room. I thanked her, standing up and straightening my tie.
It was ridiculous to be so nervous. I knew exactly what I wanted to say and why it was so important. Still, the opinions of all these people mattered, and I didn’t want the meeting to devolve into something adversarial. I hoped that wouldn’t happen, but with emotions in play, you could never tell.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” I said as I swung into the room.
Two dozen pairs of eyes turned to me. Most of the attendees smiled, though some held back in reserve. They each had been asked to join us without knowing exactly what the meeting was about. I moved to the head of the table and set down a stack of folders.
“Thank you for coming in so early,” I said. “I won’t waste any of your time.”
Everyone took their seat, watching me expectantly.
“I’ve decided to sell,” I said, getting the worst of the announcement out of the way immediately. “I didn’t think I would be in this position until at least a year from now, but there have been some snags, and I think that handing the company off is the best choice of action.”
One man near the head of the table raised his hand. He was a banker and used to being one of the most important people in the room. “Why now?” he asked.
“The previous owner, Mr. Nick Pierce, and I are heading toward some legal difficulties,” I disclosed. “I don’t want Retro caught in the crossfire.”
Everyone seemed to appreciate that logic. I began to hand out the folders that Clara had assembled, one to each stakeholder. After a minute, each person had their own set of data to look at, and the room quieted down considerably.
“There’s another, related problem,” I began, launching into the heart of my battle with Pierce. “When I first took over, I let go more than half of the staff. This was necessary to trim the fat and right the ship. However”—I paused for effect, knowing that I had everyone’s attention—“I promised severance checks for all the dismissed employees, and I am investigating the possibility that the money was stolen.”
The accountants, lawyers, and bankers glanced around, each one wondering the same thing. “Who stole it?” someone asked.
“I’d rather not put my suspicions into words at this moment.” I declined to name Pierce, though I thought it was rather obvious who my prime suspect was. “There may be legal action eventually, but until then, it’s best if I don’t make accusations. The point is that the money disappeared, and I am actively searching for the responsible party. I would also like to find a way to repay those folks who lost out, and I think a sale of the company would accomplish that. Any overhead that remains would first go to repay this debt.”
The attendees were quiet as they flipped through the documents I had provided. After a long pause, one of the bankers at the far end of the room spoke up. “That seems reasonable,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Now I would like to sew this up as quickly as possible. I am only going to entertain serious inquiries, and I would not like to go public with the sale. Reach out to anyone you think might be interested, but I’m not going to publish any information. I’d like this handled quickly and quietly.”
There was a sense of discomfort that I could feel from my position. I hoped that I had given them enough information to connect the dots without making me liable for slander in case I wasn’t able to find evidence to support my claim.
“This is a real shame,” I said to try to ease some of the tension. “Retro is a great company. We’ve made strides toward being the authority in the art market. I think with the right leadership, Retro could secure its place and do some real good.”
That seemed to appease them. People relaxed, knowing that I cared about the company. It seemed like so long ago that I was planning to buy it. Usually with my acquisitions, I maintained distance. I allowed someone else to run them and was only involved enough to listen to quarterly reports. But in Retro’s case, it was different. I was interested in the industry and fascinated by what the company did. I’d made the decision to run the ship myself, and in doing so, opened it up to scrutiny.
It was the wrong move, and I knew it. But the sale had multiple problems even without my interference. It was time to get out from under it, to transfer the company and all its current employees into safer hands. Selling was the only option, and I had just scored a big win with all the decision-makers in the room. Going forward, I would have help. I was sure one of them would make the connection and secure a buyer.
It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Despite the charms of the art world, I would be thrilled to get out from under Retro. The responsibility was enormous, and the intrigue was uncalled for.
The meeting over, I held the door open for everyone to leave. As each person walked out, I spoke with them briefly. Some congratulated me on making the right decision. A few said they had contacts that they would reach out to. I thanked them all and stayed until the very last person left.
Glancing across the hall, I saw Teddy’s old office. Clara was busy typing something up, not even pausing to watch the train of influential people filing out. She was a good worker, but I missed Teddy. It wasn’t just the sex, although that was amazing. Teddy really understood me. She didn’t have to ask questions about design or business because she knew both subjects like the back of her hand.
I missed her. Things had ended badly, and at the time I wasn’t sure how to fix them. Looking back at it, I realized I should have accepted her reluctance to push the case against Nikki. She was scared, and instead of having her back, I’d focused on trying to get her to see things my way. It was a losing proposition, and I was the biggest loser of them all.
Clara looked up to see me watching her. I gave her a tight smile before walking back into my own office. There was no use crying over spilled milk. Teddy and I were over, and there was nothing I could do about it. At least the sale of Retro was moving forward. If I could hand the company to someone else, I could start over and move on. It was the best thing for everyone involved. I just wished I had seen it sooner.
