by Beck Rowland
“You know me too well,” Zenaida laughed. “I made a decision which was either the smartest thing I’ve ever done, or the dumbest. The wait to find out which is killing me.”
“The best thing to do is get your mind off it. Hit the ring, wear yourself out. Always works for me,” Murph said sagely.
“That sounds good. How’s business these days?”
“Can’t complain. Some new action movie got all the kids wanting to learn kick boxing, so we were jam-packed today. It’s a good thing too... I could use the extra cash,” Murph said.
“Why’s that? Is everything alright?” Zenaida asked.
“It’s just my son, Mike. He’s getting out of prison this weekend. I’m having him stay with me until he can get back on his feet,” Murph said. Zenaida paused, not wanting to ask the question on her mind.
“He didn’t hurt anybody, nothing like that. Mike was a Business Consultant for some fancy BioTech firm. They were selling opiate-based painkillers, really hard stuff that got a lot of people hooked. Mike found documents proving the company executives knew about the drug’s addictive potential. The execs found it increased profitability, so they suppressed the evidence. Mike leaked to the press.”
“That got your son sent to prison?” Zenaida exclaimed.
“Felony charges for stealing proprietary information and trade secrets. They sentenced him to five years. He’s getting out early for good behavior,” Murph said sadly.
“You’re retired FBI, right? You couldn’t call in a favor?” Zenaida asked.
“I still have friends at the Bureau, sure, but they can’t just ignore a federal crime. They had a job to do, and they did it,” Murph said.
“And the executives? What happened to them?” Zenaida asked.
“They didn’t break any laws. Nothing happened to them. Pah!” Murph said. He mimed spitting on the ground. “Mike will have trouble finding work as an ex-con, but at least his conscience is clean.”
“I really wish I could do something to help, Murph,” Zenaida said.
“Nonsense, this is none of your concern. Get in the ring and have a good workout. Give me a shout if you need anything,” Murph said. He squeezed Zenaida’s shoulder then shuffled back to his office, a sports magazine curled up under one arm.
Zenaida kept a spare pair of sweatpants tucked on a shelf in the broom closet. She changed quickly, then did a few basic stretches. As she climbed into the ring, she tried to force her worries aside. A battered punching bag hung from the ceiling, and Zenaida aimed a few blows directly at its center of mass. The thoughts kept rising, and she kicked them away.
Don’t think about ZhongRevo. ...Kick!
Don’t think about Karen. …Punch!
Don’t think about money. Kick!
Don’t think about jobs. Punch!
Just don’t think at all! Kick!
By the time she finished, Zenaida was gasping for breath and her hair was plastered to her forehead. The nervous thoughts had finally been stilled though, and the jittery anxiety was gone.
If ZhongRevo didn’t make another offer, she was no worse off than she’d been a few days ago. It was all a matter of perspective, she told herself as she jumped in the shower. Just keep positive, and good things will come, Zenaida thought.
When she got to work on Monday morning, Zenaida learned she was fired.
She had woken up early and walked to the bus stop in a chilly downpour. It was the type of rain that lashed down at an angle, as if it were aimed at people trying to find shelter in overhangs and bus stops. Zenaida didn’t have an umbrella, but her old jacket still had some of its waterproof coating. She pulled the hood over her head and tightened the drawstring, blocking as much of the rain as she could. Her head and torso were protected, but it only took a few minutes of walking for her work slacks to be completely soaked. Her shoes were no better. Zenaida didn’t look forward to spending the day in damp shoes and socks.
The bus was full of commuters, most as damp as she was, and the engine’s rumble was joined by a chorus of sneezes and sniffles. An elderly man a few rows over, either senile or perverted, leered at Zenaida. She stared out the window until her stop.
Zenaida had been written up for tardiness twice before, so now she made sure to arrive at work at least thirty minutes before the start of her shift. When she finally reached the office, she rushed to the bathroom. Zenaida was able to wring most of the moisture from her socks, then spent several minutes awkwardly positioned beneath the blow drier.
When she finished, her clothes were warm and only mildly damp. She knew her shirt and slacks were wrinkled and frumpy, but there was nothing to be done about that. Zenaida sat down at her desk and put on her headset, already dreading the first call of the day.
Zenaida had just switched on her computer when Mr. Clarkson walked to her desk. He peered down at her, then motioned for her to remove her headset.
“Zenaida, good morning. Would you please come with me to the meeting room?” he asked. Clarkson was a tall, slender man with a handlebar mustache that seemed vaguely out of place in the mundane, corporate environment. He looked like a character from an Old Western who suddenly found himself surrounded by desk cubicles and Dells.
“Oh, sure. Are... are we having some kind of training?” Zenaida asked. She popped off her headset and followed Clarkson, who was already briskly walking towards the conference room. Zenaida could sense her coworkers watching as she followed him inside. Zenaida felt a sudden, absurd burst of hope. Perhaps she would finally be offered the promotion?
The Division Manager, Human Resources chief, and a day-shift security guard were seated along one side of the table. Clarkson gestured Zenaida towards her seat on the opposite side, then closed the door behind him. Zenaida sat at the table, trying to strike an air of calm, professional competence. Inside, a wave of excitement was starting to form. Human Resources being present was a positive sign. Why schedule a meeting with HR if she wasn’t getting promoted?
Zenaida wanted to smile, but it felt somehow cocky, as if the promotion was something she’d been expecting. Better to act as if it were a pleasant surprise. Zenaida decided to keep her face neutral. She crossed her hands on the conference table in front of her.
“Ms. Ruiz, there’s no easy way to say this so I’ll be direct: your services at our company are no longer required,” the Division Manager said. He was a stern-faced man with jowls and thick rimmed glasses. Zenaida had seen him before, but never spoken with him before. She watched his mouth form the words, stared at his face, then tried to digest what he had said.
“I.. I’m being fired?” Zenaida asked. That couldn’t be right. Her gaze jumped from one face to the next as she struggled to understand.
“Security will escort you to the exit. Later, I will mail any possessions you may have stored in your desk to the residential address we have on file,” Human Resources said.
The Human Resources lady’s name was Jen, and Zenaida remembered that she was obsessed with turtles. Zenaida had admired Jen’s collection of turtle knick-knacks when she first in-processed the company. A few months ago, Zenaida had come across a little turtle key chain at some mall shop’s promo event. She had given it to Jen, who had been delighted. Now Jen was back to being blank-faced ‘Human Resources’. Her expression wasn’t pitying, or angry, or upset. It was cold, professional indifference. She may as well have been firing a complete stranger.
An angry rush of adrenaline rushed through Zenaida. The AC was on full blast in the meeting room and her clothes were still a little damp, but suddenly she felt hot and flushed.
“Wait just a minute,” Zenaida stammered. “You can’t just... why would...? ...What did I even do?”
Clarkson glared at her and shook his head. “You should know that we take customer complaints very seriously. I don’t know if last Friday was your first time using such language towards our customers, or if it’s just the first time the complaints have reached my desk, but w
e have zero tolerance for that type of behavior,” he glowered. Clarkson seemed personally affronted, and Zenaida realized he was probably in the hot seat for having hired her in the first place.
“How long will it take to get her off the books?” the Division Manager whispered to Human Resources. “Better for our insurance cost projections if we can process everything before end of the quarter.”
“We kept her below full time hours, so luckily there aren’t many benefits to worry about. We can have the termination processed before lunch,” Human Resources whispered back. Zenaida realized they were already discussing her as a past event— in their minds, she had already made the transition to ‘the girl we had to fire’. Both seemed utterly unconcerned about the fact that Zenaida could hear them.
“You can leave now, Miss Ruiz. Security will see you to the door,” Clarkson said. He pointed with his chin towards the exit, his arms folded across his chest.
Zenaida struggled to find the right words. It was obviously some kind of misunderstanding, there had to be a way to make them see. She had put up with countless hours of impatient customers, obnoxious customers, perverted and insulting customers, without so much as raising her voice. She had performed countless miracles of patience and endurance for this company. Surely they had to recognize that.
“Sir-- you guys-- I don’t know what you might have heard, but I’ve always been entirely professional with our customers. Every single one of them,” Zenaida insisted. She blinked away tears of anger. “I’ve never, never, ever used language that was even remotely offensive at this company.”
The room remained silent. Clarkson continued to glower, while the Division Manager and Human Resources affixed her with a cold, professionally disdainful stare. The security guard stood, gesturing her towards the door. He looked bored. Zenaida knew he was probably as underpaid as she had been. Zenaida realized they weren’t going to discuss or debate the matter with her at all. They had made their decision, and she was now simply an unpleasant piece of business to conclude before they went about their day. Zenaida thought of her forlorn bank account, empty gas tank, and Karen’s looming threat of eviction.
“Please! I...I really need this job,” Zenaida cried. “You can’t do this!”
As it turned out, they could. And on her way out of the building, Zenaida ended up using plenty of offensive language after all.
III.
American Dream
Face still burning in shame, she began the long walk back to Lara’s apartment. She could have taken the bus, but she needed time to cool off. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle and the sun peeked from between the clouds.
Zenaida seethed as she walked. She replayed the incident over again in her mind as she walked. With each replay, she improved her response, added witty retorts, one-liners and fiery rebukes. In her mind’s eye, she stood at the conference table and unloaded on them all. Clarkson would apologize. The Division Manager’s face would buckle in shame. Stupid Jen from Human Resources would cry.
She was so deep in the fantasy that she barely noticed the growing noise. The whup-whup-whup of a helicopter grew, loud at first, then deafening. It covered the sound of traffic and soon the helicopter’s roar encompassed everything.
Zenaida looked up just in time to see the helicopter pass directly overhead. She watched, stunned, as it slowly hovered above the empty parking lot across the street and gradually lowered itself to the ground. Several passing pedestrians slowed, raising their phones to snap photos.Dust, grit and stray pieces of litter fluttered about, and Zenaida shielded her eyes against the flying debris.
The helicopter door opened and Hunter stepped out.
“Good Morning Zenaida,” Hunter announced. He was wearing a different suit, charcoal gray this time, but looked otherwise unchanged from their last meeting. Despite the morning’s rain, his silver hair was utterly immaculate. A silver tie clip held his tie firmly in place. “Where are you headed? Why aren’t you at work?”
“If you must know, I was just fired,” Zenaida said. She was too angry and emotionally drained to play games. Hunter appeared entirely unsurprised.
“Were you now? How very unfortunate,” he said dryly. Zenaida smacked her forehead, suddenly dumbfounded by her own stupidity.
“It was ZhongRevo,” she realized aloud. “They planted bogus complaints about me.”
“ZhongRevo is very, very keen to make a settlement with you. This was their way of making sure you are equally keen to settle with them,” Hunter said.
“So they’ve prepared another deal?” Zenaida asked.
“You were right, Zenaida. ZhongRevo underestimated you with that first offer, but I warned them that you weren’t messing around. They’ve prepared a real offer that is ready for your review. Come on, get out of the rain. We’ll fly to my office and you can hear them out.”
“Fine,” she said, wiping rain from her forehead. “ZhongRevo want to talk so bad? Let’s talk.”
The morning’s terrible humiliation still fresh in her mind, Zenaida followed Hunter into the helicopter. The copilot came over to help strap Zenaida into her seat. Then, with a swift smoothness that made her stomach lurch, they were soaring over the buildings below.
As they passed over the old company office she’d just been fired from, Zenaida gave them the finger and smiled to herself. Hunter raised a questioning eyebrow, but rather than shout over the dull roar of the helicopter, Zenaida just shook her head.
The time spent on her parent’s laptop over the weekend had been well spent. Zenaida hadn’t been sure if ZhongRevo would be back with another offer, but she wanted to be well prepared if they did. There had been a Snapshot video posted by a guy named BizWiz_99, titled Top Five Tips for Winning Important Negotations. Zenaida had watched the video, then watched it again and again, until the lessons were imprinted on her mind.
The helicopter approached a skyscraper in the upper business district, then slowly lowered itself onto the helipad. Zenaida’s stomach lurched once more and she was suddenly glad she’d only had a small breakfast. Then with a suddenly clunk, they were down.
The copilot opened the door and helped Zenaida to the ground. Hunter followed close behind, speaking quietly into his phone. They walked across the roof, Zenaida’s hair strewn about by the downdraft, then entered a rooftop elevator. Hunter put his phone away and turned to Zenaida.
“ZhongRevo are in my conference room. They have an interpreter, legal staff and finance guys on hand. Do you have any questions before we go inside?” he asked. Zenaida shook her head. She noticed that the fierce winds from the helicopter hadn’t mussed Hunter’s hair a bit. As the elevator descended, Zenaida thought back to the BizWiz_99 video.
BizWiz_99 Negotiation Tip 1: Be Prepared. Never Walk Into a Negotiation Without Having Done Your Homework.
Zenaida had spent hours on her parent’s laptop doing precisely that, devouring every morsel of information about ZhongRevo not hidden behind a paywall. She had read blogs, business articles, and investor notes. She had watched company press releases and ‘Life working at ZhongRevo’ videos for prospective employees. She had even memorized the company’s organizational leadership hierarchy.
The elevator opened and as Hunter led Zenaida towards the conference room, she studied the meeting participants through the glass. The fat guy must be Liaowei Cheng, architect of the eShopping platform. The woman in glasses would be Lili Fang, fearsome and well-respected legal counsel for ZhongRevo. The two young men in suits were Luke Ming and Weichen Hsieh. They were Finance. That meant the girl with the ponytail was the translator.
Hunter opened the conference room door and Zenaida walked in, as confidently as she could manage in still-damp work clothes. Everybody stood to greet her, and the first few moments were spent exchanging handshakes and bows. Zenaida smiled politely, acutely aware that these people had just arranged to have her fired.
After the initial greetings concluded, Hunter pulled out a seat and Zenaida
sat down. The other participants took seats on the opposite side of the table. Zenaida hoped the meeting would go better than the last time she’d had such a seating arrangement.
BizWiz_99 Negotiation Tip 2: Be Quiet. Sometimes Silence Has the Loudest Voice.
Everybody looked as if they expected Zenaida to say something. When she didn’t, Liaowei Cheng cleared his throat and leaned forward. He spoke a stream of Chinese, which the ponytailed translator promptly relayed to Zenaida in flawless English.
“Thank you for coming. As you already know, the ZRWG domain is extraordinarily important to our company and to our upcoming eShopping initiative. Although we believe it unfair that you have come into possession of the domain through an unfortunate oversight on our part, we are prepared to offer financial compensation to enable a smooth and mutually beneficial conclusion to this matter.”
Zenaida nodded but remained silent. Cheng exchanged a glance with Fang, the lawyer, and then continued.
“You seem to possess a surprising degree of business acumen, and I understand you claim to have purchased the ZRWG domain for a website called the Zenaida Ruiz Writing Gallery. While we believe this to be a falsehood, our legal counsel acknowledges it is enough to keep ZhongRevo from seizing the domain on copyright grounds alone.”
Zenaida nodded again. A tiny voice had told her to tell that lie, and it had paid off. Cheng paused to give Zenaida time to respond. When he realized she was not going to, he continued.
“However! You should also be aware that ZhongRevo does possess the means to make life very difficult for you in a wide variety of ways. Your leverage over us is not unlimited. While we would prefer to avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness, along with the bad publicity that it would bring, we will do what we must. That is why we encourage you to hear our new proposal with an open mind, and an open heart.”
