by Adam Leigh
“How are you holding up, Alex? It must be difficult.” His head tilted sympathetically.
“No, I’m good. We’ll get through this relatively unscathed, I’m sure.”
“Of course we will. I just have one thought I’d like to run past you.” His head was at a normal businesslike angle now, his eyes fixed at some point beyond my shoulder.
“Go on.”
“I’ve been talking with the team and to Moshe.”
“To Moshe? Why do you need to speak to him?”
“He calls me to pick my brains from time to time.” Suddenly, I felt less invincible. Moshe always had an agenda in any conversation.
“And?”
“And we think you should not be the public face of the company through this crisis.”
“Why would that be? It’s not pleasant, but it is very much my role.”
“I want to put this diplomatically.”
“Thank you, Henry Kissinger.”
“Everyone thinks I will be better.”
***
Just as I had wrested back control, I felt the queasy uncertainty of a different but equally ambitious rival seeking to topple me. A covert insurrection had gathered pace, believing the urbane preppy persona of Clark better suited to intense media scrutiny than an emotional ‘heart on the sleeve’ sort of chap like me. My position as CEO was being undermined by a collective lack of faith in my ability to stay calm and measured under pressure.
I still led the legal response to the investigation, but my every move was accompanied by Clark at my side, nodding in vigorous agreement or sagely suggesting a better alternative. He was always respectful, just not that helpful.
For a couple of weeks, Clark was the king of interviews. Our stated position was that we hadn’t known about the arrival of the data and it had most likely been brought into the company by a contractor or former employee. Clearly, we were appalled by the revelation and were instigating a full, transparent review of our procedures. The Information Commissioner wanted to push for the maximum fine available (£500,000), having also found other consent breaches in some of our activity that infringed the new GDPR law. More worryingly. the National Crime Agency was also investigating us to see if serious fraud had taken place.
In this febrile mood, Clark proved an adept ambassador for the business. He was unruffled and articulate. Even a feisty Newsnight grilling did not faze him and his engaging performance had a foundation of gravitas. I was consumed with resentment but still had a few unglamorous challenges of my own. First, I had to fire Dimitri. We all knew that he had pushed our initial growth independently of any compliance with data protection. He tried to argue in our internal investigation that Julian and I had been complicit. I was affronted by the accusation and denied it vehemently, even thinking of adding ‘liar, liar, pants on fire’ for emphasis. Fortunately, Dimitri was no longer irreplaceable now that we had grown. We could happily choose from many candidates at other digital behemoths.
His exit was undramatic – having surrendered to its inevitability, he was resigned to his fate. His former guileless persona briefly returned, and he thanked me repeatedly for the opportunity of a lifetime, declaring that he would never again experience the adrenaline-fuelled pleasure of our early days. The unexpectedly amicable parting allowed Alice and I to take him for a valedictory dinner, at which we relived some of his more unreasonable and extreme behaviour through a sentimental mist that rendered it harmless.
Negotiations concluded with a generous settlement. In return for his future silence and discretion, his shareholding remained intact and he left a very wealthy individual. I had no qualms about precipitating his departure, though I was slightly uncomfortable that blame for the investigation was not collective, but exclusively his. Self-preservation can breed some amoral behaviours.
After a month of intense scrutiny, it seemed we had weathered the initial onslaught. Clark was reputationally enhanced, with a genuine external profile. He would swagger through the office like a politician elected to high office, stopping short of developing a presidential wave. On the other hand, bruised and insecure, I needed the organisation to give me a cuddle. My mood was not enhanced by a rare text one evening from a caustic Nigel, who informed me that that preppie minion of yours has made you look more of a moron than even posh Julian in his heyday.
The investigation was not over at all, in fact, and although we escaped criminal action, we were due a hefty fine from the Information Commissioner. Of more concern was the political pressure now being applied. Gordon Hardcastle, Labour MP for Cleethorpes and Chairman of the Commons Cross-Party Communications Committee, was incensed by our unprincipled greed. He tabled an Early Day Motion in Parliament, which did not hold back.
This House believes the alleged data breaches by PrimaParent, currently investigated by the Information Commissioner, represent the ethical decline of digital businesses engaged in securing unicorn status and require agreed guidelines for start-up businesses with additional legal redress if the pursuit of customer acquisition comes at the expense of data protection.
MPs flocked to sign the motion and the ensuing debate about start-up culture received widespread coverage. Buoyed by parliamentary support, Gordon Hardcastle pushed for a formal review of our operational practices, to be heard in front of his sub-committee. Clark, adept at avoiding personal involvement in this growing battle, claimed it was inappropriate for an American to challenge the sovereignty of a foreign government. How convenient for him that it was me who was summoned to appear in front of the committee when the investigation became miraculously fast-tracked.
I was not helped by the very forceful investigation that also began into our principal backers. An organisation will inherit the DNA of its funders and it didn’t take much to link us to the values of our well-known investors. Moshe was offensively portrayed as a mysterious Israeli tech maven, presumably a Mossad agent looking to foment political instability. Brooke and Cole’s increasingly separate public lives, coupled with some bitter war stories from failed companies they had supported, made them the manifestation of Silicon Valley venality.
Lord George Dobson was now also a magnet for controversy. His high-profile support of the Conservative Party undoubtedly energised Gordon Hardcastle’s quest for blood. To make matters worse, he was now implicated in a growing scandal emanating from his partnership with a Chinese company on a massive new City development. It turned out that a significant sum of money could be traced back to the Chinese government, who were looking to curry favour with our political establishment in return for telecommunication contracts.
Let me summarise these machinations. Clark was now a hero and I was a paranoid chump. Because of my undeclared complicity, we were going to be fined significantly. Verbose and overemotional, I had been summoned for a grilling in Parliament. The world thought Moshe a spy and George the funder of a Chinese spy ring. Brooke and Cole’s sham marriage papered the cracks of their dubious investments.
And if that wasn’t enough, I was going to have to make peace with my father.
24. Home Truths
It had been nearly two years since I’d last spoken to my father. Time passed quickly as my grief at the dispute was masked by a prodigious work ethic. I had also decided that if I couldn’t be a good son, I would become a better father to my own children by making an increased effort to create a set of boundaries around family life, which I tried to preserve. It was not necessarily about being present all of the time, so much as being less distracted by my phone. Sarah appreciated the attempt to change, joking that one day she might even leave me alone with them.
I had grown up in a close family, which, despite the contrasting temperaments and outlooks, had an unshakeable stability. The fissure of upset from our dispute was a trauma that no one expected.
My mother and I spoke regularly. When we met for coffee, we managed a short amount of idle conversation about business and domestic minutiae before she would attempt, with all her years of therapist
experience, to address the underlying cause of our collective unhappiness. I did not want to peel away the layers of my anger and would close down conversation abruptly. She would try another approach, only to be met with unyielding silence.
Sarah carried on taking the children round to see them and they were devoted grandparents, carrying on as best they could in abnormal circumstances. I felt a deep sense of shame, but it did not outweigh the anger. My father had never hidden his lack of respect for my commercial drive. The more I wanted to achieve, the further I undermined the validity of his personal philosophy. Having a sister whose ambition was rooted in a desire for social change was not very helpful for me.
I would lie awake at night and reflect on my stubbornness. It seemed so unfair that I should have to be the first to back down. But as time dragged on and the argument remained unresolved, I began to realise that nothing good can come from perpetual anger. Just ask Darth Vader.
After so much recent trauma in the business, I was beginning to soften, and knew that a resolution could not be avoided. This was accelerated by a call from my sister to invite me to the Palace to see her meet The Queen and receive her OBE. She had also been trying some shuttle diplomacy between me and my father to thaw the Cold War.
“I am allowed to take three people,” she told me, “and as much as I prefer Sarah, I suppose you should have first call.”
“I would understand. She’s a huge royalist and a much nicer human being.”
“That’s not in doubt, but I’ve known you all my life. You’re like a brother to me.”
“Well, I’m honoured, baby sis. I’ll even iron a shirt.”
“Alex, you’re going to have to deal with Dad before you come. I’m not going to make Mum sit between you two in brooding silence. This has to stop. He was wrong and you have to swallow your pride. Do you think you can do that for me?”
I didn’t answer because I knew she was right. It just felt like a trip to the dentist for a filling, knowing the surgery had run out of anaesthetic and the drill was a bit rusty. In the end, I told Judith how proud I was of her and that I would not ruin her day.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to make the first move as the next day I received a an unexpected email from my father, saying: Please read the attached and then call. There was an accompanying ten-page letter – not an apology, but an attempt to effect resolution through academic discourse. It began with a calm assessment of our divorce.
This schism between us has at its root differing perspectives of the value of ambition in the construction of stable society. You are focused on its expression through wealth creation and I feel there is a validity in the aspiration for personal contentment. Perhaps we both seek a unicorn – yours monetary and mine predicated on humanist values. You would expect little less from me but rigorous evidence-based analysis. So, let me elaborate.
What followed was an examination of how the human spirit copes with its restless nature and the implications that can have for personal contentment. The conclusion (if there was one) would suggest that ambition is more likely to grow faster in better-educated, more affluent cohorts. But rooted in impatience, it is less likely to confer long-term domestic happiness or stability. Emotional well-being is more closely linked to the stability and support of a close-knit community with shared values.
The content did not matter as much as the sentiment. It was a love letter of sorts and a half-apology, derived from his belief that maximising our potential for thinking is more important than anything. He finished by saying:
My conclusion, Alex, is uncertain. I cannot tell you how to live your life. I shouldn’t publicise my concerns and you need to let your anger dissolve. But I love you. You are my son and we must move on.
I called him immediately.
***
Several weeks later we were in the ballroom of Buckingham Palace, sitting together. It wasn’t as grand as I had expected, and I whispered to my father that perhaps they needed to upgrade the carpet and curtains sometime soon. He nodded and, ever the republican, observed that tapping posh people on the shoulder with a sword should not be considered a proper job.
We had made peace to a certain extent. After I received the letter, we met that evening and had an emotional mutual tear-fest in which we both apologised, not really to each other, but mainly to our absent wives for their fortitude during our estrangement. It was implicit in our reunion that we were going to move on, but it was equally clear that neither of us wanted to probe too deeply into what had happened for fear of reigniting the conflict.
Family life returned, slightly tarnished, but sufficiently robust to withstand any more knocks. The children took it for granted that we could now all be together, and there was much excitement for the arrival of a new baby. My father and I resumed a slightly strained relationship in which we spoke politely about each other’s work to avoid causing offence. It was not perfect, but my mother was relieved that we were together again, and sanguine about the cordial father-son relationship that had emerged.
When Judith received her OBE, we were all united in our pride for her achievement. The Lord Chamberlain announced her award ‘for Services to Charity’ and she strode shyly towards The Queen. Her curtsy secured a perfect ten from the Russian judge and I saw my mother squeeze my father’s hand in mutual admiration for the wonderful person they had created.
Judith and The Queen had a good old chinwag for what seemed much longer than everyone else. At one stage, she turned her head towards us, almost introducing us to The Queen. Whatever she said, it produced much hilarity and for a moment it seemed that our monarch, free from the repetitive monotony of the ceremony, was actually enjoying herself.
When we met up with her afterwards, we all hugged and stared at her medal. The only medal I ever got was for ‘most improved player’ at the end of one football season when I was eleven. I teased her for being part of the Establishment.
“How are things going in the Empire these days? Are you upset we lost India?” My mother looked at me disapprovingly.
“Please ignore your jealous brother and tell us what you chatted to The Queen about. You were definitely her favourite this morning. It looked like you were having a grand old time.”
“She was lovely. She asked me how my family felt about all the time I had spent in a war zone. That’s when I looked in your direction.”
“Why?” my father chipped in.
“I told her that it distracted my father and brother from continually arguing with each other as to who was the cleverest.”
“And is that why she laughed?” I said.
“Well, it was actually when I asked if she ever had the same trouble with her family!”
***
A month later, my parents came to support their other child in public. This time, it was to sit in the visitors’ gallery as I appeared in front of the Cross-Party Communications Committee.
Curiously, I was less nervous about the outcome than the public scrutiny and the risk of enduring YouTube notoriety because of something stupid I said. I did not want my parents to come, but Sarah was insistent on being there and my parents did not want to leave her, heavily pregnant and distressed, watching the man she loved cry like a baby on national TV. I was hoping to preserve a proud, Mount-Rushmore-like composure, but no one believed me.
That we were heading towards a massive fine was inevitable, but we were now a global operation, and it would be a blip in our healthy cash flow. While we had ever so slightly accidently broken the law, there was a media and political glee that underpinned the attempt to unravel our success. Our ascent had come too easily, so our hubris deserved a bit of unpleasantness.
The real challenge, as I awaited my grilling, was the growing realisation that I was now the focal point for our company’s failings, and this made my presence at its helm much more precarious. Moshe was all over the business now. He phoned me constantly with a barrage of random questions about any aspect of our performance, personnel issues, future plans or
financial performance. His continual WhatsApp messages to me were like a form of Chinese water torture. Incessant random thoughts unconnected by a single thread of conversation. Have you done this? Have you thought about that? Why? Who? What? Where? When? His interrogation techniques had a military precision in their clear objective to unsettle me.
He was assisted in a more insidious fashion by Brooke, who acted as my all-in-one unsolicited mentor, therapist and rabbi. She rang me constantly to ask if I was OK. She sent me eclectic articles and links, which tackled subjects including veganism in the workplace, management meditation techniques and what the Talmud can teach today’s CEO.
I couldn’t fathom why there was always such close proximity between the arrival of her messages and the sharper and more accusatory questioning from Moshe. It was as if they had a co-ordinated messaging strategy to maximise my disquiet. To confuse me further, it seemed that Brooke and Cole had reconciled once more and had embarked on some very public appearances to show they were still current in Silicon Valley. As for Brooke and Moshe, I had given up wondering what their relationship was, other than continually unsettling for me.
Finally, there was my overenthusiastic deputy, Clark, hovering in the background with helpful suggestions and insights. He had managed to make my parliamentary appearance sound like a good personal opportunity to raise my profile and show the world who I was. He was continually slapping me on the back and uttering war cries like ‘attaboy’ and ‘go get ’em tiger’, like I was his son about to step up to the plate to bat in a Little League baseball match.
Only the ever-loyal and empathetic Alice knew what to say. She came to find me the night before the hearing to wish me luck, bringing me a present of some extra-strong breath mints, which she presented with a flourish.
“With all that coffee you drink, there’s no point offending everyone further with your halitosis.”
