While Connor floundered with the feeling of a man lost at sea without a compass or life vest, his father pressed on.
“Step into my office for a moment. I have something I want to discuss,” his father said gruffly.
“Can’t it wait, Dad?” Connor asked. “I have something I need to do real quick.”
His father shook his head. “This is important, and I’m sure it’s something you’ll want to hear.”
The sudden seismic shift in Connor’s belief system left him feeling as though he were wide open. He wasn’t certain how to process what had just happened and felt unusually vulnerable. But he took a seat.
“I know you’re mad at me.” His father sat down behind his desk. “I promised you my job when I turned sixty. And one day, you’ll turn sixty and still feel the bite of ambition and goals left undone like I do. Perhaps then, you’ll understand why I made the choice I did.”
Usually, he knew how to respond to his father, but right now, his head was full of questions about his own ambitions and goals, so he remained silent.
“I don’t want you to leave,” his father said. “Cameron says you’ll wait, but I’m not so sure. You mentioned your career stalling. As a result, I’m creating a new C-level position. Chief Strategy and Marketing Officer. It will put you on the same level as Cameron. The head of Marketing will now report to you instead of me.”
The idea should have quelled Connor’s growing unrest, but it didn’t. If anything, it fueled it.
“I’m giving you a pay raise, starting immediately. One that would bridge the gap between what you get paid now and what you’ll get paid when you take this job. It will be an extra seventy-five thousand a year. And I’ve arranged for a retention bonus to be given to you. An additional one-hundred-thousand-dollar one-time, no-strings payment in the hope you’ll stay on.”
So many thoughts raced around Connor’s head. It was certainly a lot of money. A one-third increase in his salary. And the bonus would lower his mortgage. But the idea that Cameron was continuing to interfere with the way his father treated him and the business concerned him.
“Cameron doesn’t know shit, Dad. He’s a mediocre CFO who knows which side his bread is buttered because he knows you’ll never fire him.”
Donovan tapped his fingers on the table. “That’s your uncle and my brother who’s given me decades of great service without complaint—you’ll show him the respect he’s due.”
Connor coughed. “Due? He’s not due anything. You’ve paid him way beyond his market value for all that time.”
“You need to take care of him when I leave, Connor. You need to leave him in place.”
Connor’s anger rose, a burning tide in his gut. “Given that’s five years from now, we don’t need to worry about it. A lot can happen in five years.”
“Son,” Donovan warned. “Five years is the blink of an eye. Trust me. This will be yours then. I hadn’t realized it was such a fucking imposition on you for me to keep control of the business I built until then.”
Connor shook his head. “That isn’t the point and you know it.”
Silence settled on the room, a heavy mantle that Connor could feel on his shoulders.
“Anyway,” his father said, his tone now lighter, as if the words they’d exchanged no longer mattered. “I’ve given our conversation some thought. The one about the next five years. And the downturn you suggest will happen has me concerned.”
There were too many U-turns and zigzags for Connor to keep up with. “In what way?”
“I’m fully aware I’ve built a business on solidly drinkable mass-market liquor. That I’ve gone for volume consumption rather than highbrow lines. And you might be right. In the longer term, that won’t be enough.”
Connor studied his father carefully. “And?”
“And I want you to draw up a list of artisan producers with the capacity to increase production to midlevel volumes. Don’t bring me places that can make a thousand cases here and there. I want someone who can make it to at least half a million bottles within a year of us buying them.”
Connor’s pulse began to increase. Was his father giving him the go-ahead to start putting his long-range plans in place now? “You want me to look at acquisition targets?” he clarified.
“I do. Stick with white spirits only. Look at those which could possibly gear up to diversify. Bring me a vodka distiller who, with the right investment, could be tooled up to make tequila, you get the idea. And when we build this business, it can all report to you.”
Connor’s mind churned with everything his father told him. It must have been kismet that he’d realized the business wasn’t what he wanted. That a title change and a lot more money were never at the crux of his ambition. The challenge was. That was what he needed more than the other two. This was the universe giving him what he’d wanted to manifest. A pivot into something he cared deeply about.
“I’ll get my team on it,” he said. “We’d already made a start, kicked the tires on a number of firms. I’ll get that list of distilleries, clear out any non-white spirits, review the list against the criteria you laid out. I’ll add and subtract potential targets based on that.”
He mentally flicked through his presentation, recalling what had been included. “When did you want it by?”
Donovan stood. “I think you should make it a priority. Think a five-year plan, starting at somewhere in the region of twenty million for the first year, forty million in the next, and so on, going up in twenties over the five years, to a hundred million in year five.”
Three hundred million across five years in total…and to think that at the party he was convinced all hope was lost. “You won’t regret this,” he replied.
Donovan huffed. “Maybe. Maybe not. And listen. About Cameron…he’s not fully on board with the plan. I’ll talk
