Walter entered his office with the fluidity of a robot. He put on a brave front as they shook hands, but he saw the fear in the other man’s eyes.
“Please. Take a seat.” James remained standing a few seconds longer, all the better to show who was in charge.
“I wanted to follow up. Did any issues arise when you termed Mike Mitchell?” He’d seen a security incident report, but only one for the marketing department.
The old man shifted in his chair. His jaw moved so much, James half expected a wad of gum to come flying out. Fortunately, nothing but bad breath came out through his curled lips. Walter rubbed one hand in another. At this rate, the train guy would arrive before Walter answered the question. James cleared his throat.
“Neither one of us was happy about it. His wife’s family owns O’Meara’s Tavern so don’t be surprised if you see your face on the dart board.”
“They offer a terrible selection of beer anyway.”
“For the record, again, I completely disagree with your decision. He was, I mean is, our photography genius and owns the drone. We need him.”
“No, we don’t. Adena will save money on his salary, but more importantly on his expenditures, which were double his salary. Adena does not need to waste money on quarterly photography. I’m sure you have more than enough photos stockpiled to show every building and substation in every season. We’ll save enough money to put one of the other artists through a weeklong seminar to learn Photoshop or better yet they can watch YouTube tutorials. If that proves insufficient, we can hire someone young, eager, fresh out of college, who’s up to date on the latest and greatest software.”
“You mean cheap!” Walter’s belligerent tone matched the red spreading across his face and neck.
“That too.” James shrugged, and leaned back. Walter’s nostrils flared. He looked like a cartoon character getting ready to have a burst of steam erupt from his ears.
“Have you given any more thought as to which admin your department will retain? Since you’ll be working closely with this person, you pick who you would like to keep on. However, since Margaret Bishop is close to retirement age, I am prepared to offer her early retirement. The broad details of which are included in this information packet Grace prepared, but I need your decision by Friday.” He slid a folder across the desk.
“There are times we have all three of our assistants so busy that we pay overtime to the two hourly workers. We can’t function with one.”
“I noticed that ridiculous line item as well. You will have one full time person, fire a second person and the third will be transferred to an in-house temp pool. Different departments have different busy seasons, so we will keep several employees as ‘floaters.’ During your busy season, you can request additional staff through H.R.”
“That’s actually a good idea. I’m surprised.”
James recognized a backhanded compliment when he heard it. For now, he ignored the insolence. He had other matters to attend to. He glanced at the wall clock.
“Third, and last agenda item today, we are formally rescinding the holiday train contract in about eight minutes.”
“But almost everything is in place for this year’s display. We have a contract. Set up starts in two weeks.”
“It will be cheaper to break the contract than to run the display.”
“But it’s a tradi—”
“An expensive tradition. The company loses money on it ever year. With the increased use of electricity and additional staffing required, the liability insurance, the catering—”
“This is our best PR opportunity all year. Families come in from miles around—”
“And we spend money hand over fist without any substantial benefit.”
“Corporate good will?”
“Research shows people care about the environment. Going ‘green’ creates buzz and improves people’s perceptions about a company. The trains are a waste of elec—”
“The trains are a beloved trad—” A thunderous noise filled his office as Walter pounded on his large wooden desk. He knew the man loved his trains based on the toys in his office, but this was ridiculous.
“By eliminating the train display we can save eleven jobs. Would you like to decide who to fire instead? Perhaps the older lady with the candy dish? Perhaps the young father? Perhaps you? Toy trains or eleven jobs. Which would you choose?”
Walter slid into his chair. The backbone he’d shown fighting for his toys ran away under the weight of facts, of the reality of his neighbors losing jobs. James tried not to gloat. Instead he offered the old man a glass of water from the pitcher he kept on the side bar. It was a little trick he learned. Give the receiver of bad news a chance to consider their options and send their emotional response packing.
Walter drank his water, both hands on the glass in quiet contemplation. Standing, he set the glass back on the desk and closed his eyes for a long blink. When he opened them, he stared back with a confrontational spark. “Fine. Have it your way, but you have to deal with CJ’s. Not me.”
Walter slammed the door against the wall as he left. He sank back in his chair. All in all, it could have been worse. Walter hadn’t tried to take a swing at him, and he’d ducked a few punches before.
Per the vintage Omega Seamaster wristwatch inherited from his grandfather, he had a few minutes until 11:30. His fingers itched to call Claire, but she indicated later was better. He moved the files from atop the desk into a nearly empty drawer until only the ones related to the display remained.
He took another swig of disturbingly light bottle of Mylanta. He hadn’t counted on breaking the contract with the toy shop personally and on his own. He had to admire Walter’s courage. Danny would have fired the man on the spot for challenging a directive,
