“What about you, Lucy?” Alan asked. “Did you decide to be a rebel and skip the monthly assembly?”
Lucy’s lower lip began to tremble. Then she suddenly burst into tears.
“What’s the matter?” Alan asked.
“Shawn Myers,” Lucy said, sobbing. “He called me an idiot.”
“Why did he do that?”
More sobs followed. Had the office not been empty, this would have been quite a scene; but the monthly assembly had at least spared Lucy the embarrassment of crying in front of several dozen colleagues. After a few more sobs, an explanation finally emerged.
“It was the inventory report,” she said. “Shawn didn’t understand it. So I tried to explain it to him several different ways, but he still didn’t understand. Then he said that if I couldn't make it clear to him, I must be some kind of an idiot.”
Being the newcomer here, I stepped back to a discreet distance so that the two of them could talk. But not too far back; this might be an opportunity to gain additional insights about the situation in which I was operating.
“Which inventory report?” Alan asked. “Give me the specifics.” Alan sat down at his desk and wheeled his chair over to Lucy’s. He placed his arm around her shoulder. The two of them were obviously quite close, though I couldn’t detect any sexual chemistry. It was more like the kind of bond you see between two longtime friends, or two siblings.
Then Lucy proceeded to give Alan the specifics. I had heard this story before. Not this exact story, mind you—but similar versions in different organizations. The disagreement about the clarity of the inventory report involved the sort of minutiae that is mostly impervious to outsiders. Every corporation has controversies like this—about how work should be performed, measured, evaluated, or recorded. These often boil down to something like religious debates, in which neither side is demonstrably right or wrong, and you simply have to chalk it up to a difference of opinion.
Given what I had seen of Shawn Myers so far, I was more than willing to assume that he was mostly in the wrong, though probably not to a degree that would inhibit him from pulling rank. If he had, in fact, called Lucy an idiot, then that was another matter. I would have been willing to bet, though, that Shawn was smart enough to have made sure that no third parties overheard the remark.
“I’m sorry, Lucy.” Alan clenched his jaws together. The anger on his face exceeded the emotional level justified by this situation. At this instant, Lucy might have been his daughter, deflowered by a gang of hoodlums against her will. “Shawn Myers is a son-of-a-bitch!”
“It’s all right,” Lucy said through her tears. She placed her hand on one of Alan’s. “Calm down. As for me, I’m mad now. But I’ll be okay.”
“Do you think you should go to HR?” Alan asked. “Talk to Beth Fisk?”
The question provoked a laugh from Lucy. “Be serious, Alan. That would be a bit like appealing to Al Capone about Chicago’s organized crime problem, wouldn’t it? She’ll just take Shawn’s side. She’s from TP Automotive, after all. They’re all on the same side.”
“What about Bill Prescott?”
Lucy rolled her eyes, shook her head, and then blew her nose into a Kleenex. “Didn't we already try that? Please. Bill Prescott has given up. He’s still wondering when they’re going to fire him as part of their grand reorganization scheme.”
I realized that this last observation likely had a basis in truth. When TP Automotive took over the company, they did release most of the existing senior management team. For some reason they had held on to Bill Prescott, either because he posed no threat, or because they wanted to maintain him as the face of the old regime—to partially preserve the fiction that nothing had changed. It was clear that everything had changed, though; and the Bill Prescott whom I had met would be as pliable as clay in the hands of a man like Kurt Myers.
Lucy finally composed herself—at least enough to allow her to go to the women’s restroom. When she was gone, Alan turned to me and shrugged.
“A lot of drama for your first day on the job.”
“Never mind that.” I said. “You know, I could tell that there was something wrong with her when we first walked in.”
“Lucy is like an open book,” Alan said. “Know her for a little while, and you’ll always be able to tell what she’s thinking.”
Chapter 17
“Tell me, Craig: Is it your normal practice to question your clients’ motives? We’ve hired you to complete a job for us—not to spar with us.”
Beth and I were alone in a small meeting room. I had requested this unscheduled meeting with her by text message after spending the morning with Lucy and Alan—the two people whom I had been hired to remove from the organization. Technically, this was a breach of protocol: It wouldn't be a good idea for me to be seen meeting with Beth Fisk now that I was undercover. But we had arrived separately at this meeting room behind the office area; and we would leave separately as well. The morning had given me some fundamental doubts about the nature of this assignment. I had to resolve them before moving forward.
Clearly, Beth didn't like what I had said thus far.
“I’m not questioning you,” I said. “And I’m not sparring with you, either.”
A diplomatic smile. “It sure seems that way.”
“Let me put it like this: It may not be my place to question your motives; but I need to at least understand them. I need to get my arms around why these two employees—who strike me as rather harmless—are such a threat to the well-being of this operation.”
Beth sighed. “As you’ve probably gathered,” she began. “Shawn Myers is being groomed for the top leadership position in this company. Right now his father is acting CEO; but Shawn will move up from the VP role as soon as he’s ready.”
“Well,” I said. “He might advance his readiness by learning not to refer to his subordinates as idiots.”
As soon as the remark had left my mouth, I knew that I had overstepped my bounds. I half expected Beth to reproach me, but she afforded me a quick, discreet smile instead. Apparently I wasn’t the only person who had taken a disliking to Kurt Myers’s son.
But Beth was still, in her heart of hearts, a good corporate soldier. “Shawn may need to make adjustments to his management style as time goes on,” she allowed. “And we’re prepared to coach him in that area. He’s never worked this closely with lower level office personnel and production employees before. Shawn’s spent all of his time at TP Automotive thus far among the executive staff.”
This was another way of saying that Shawn had not worked his way up from among the ranks. From his first day on the job, Shawn had been set apart from other employees, elevated by his father. No—he probably hadn’t spent much time among the company’s hoi polloi. I imagined that Shawn’s duties thus far had mostly consisted of cushy make-work staff jobs in various corner offices at the TP Automotive headquarters. In all likelihood, Shawn had never really done much of anything substantial. His father had been simultaneously protecting him and keeping an eye on him.
But that situation couldn't go on forever. In a publicly traded company like TP Automotive, nepotism had its limits. Sooner or later, Shawn would have to prove himself. He would have to face and pass a test. His posting to UP&S was that test.
Beth continued: “In any event, though, we can’t tolerate two staff-level team members who show open contempt for one of our senior managers. We need to protect the chain of command and the integrity of the organization.”
“You mean protect Shawn Myers.”
“It amounts to the same thing.” She leaned forward. “Look, Craig. I’m not going to try to convince you that Shawn Myers should be nominated for any corporate leadership awards. Do you think that you’re the first person who’s raised the issue of nepotism here? You should hear some of the talk I overhear back at the headquarters building. But Kurt Myers is a very influential member of the TP Automotive executive team; and this is important to him. Moreover, I don’t t
hink it’s impossible that Shawn Myers could have the makings of an effective manager. He’s a bit of a diamond in the rough.”
Now I could really see the writing on the wall: TP Automotive planned to sacrifice Alan Ferguson and Lucy Browning so that Shawn Myers would have a chance to be “coached” and prove himself a capable manager. They were to become the corporate version of cannon fodder.
Not that this changed my determination to perform my job, mind you. Alan and Lucy weren’t the first corporate employees who had been forced by circumstances to work beneath a manager who was incompetent or vindictive, or both. They each had a choice: Make peace with the new regime, or get out of Dodge.
Had they chosen either of those alternatives, they would never have landed in my crosshairs. Alan and Lucy had become targets of Craig Walker Consulting because they had refused to either submit and play ball, or to vote with their feet. Instead, they had selected a third option, but this wasn’t really an option at all: Both of them had opted to stay put and engage in a petty war with their boss, who was admittedly a first-class asshole. But the Byzantine machinations of organizational politics had landed worse men and women in top positions, I was sure.
“You know, if Alan and Lucy really hate their jobs so much now that Shawn is their manager, they could always look elsewhere,” Beth said. She might have been reading my mind. “They would have lost those jobs anyway, had TP Automotive not bought out UP&S.”
“I’ll give you that,” I said. “But it may be hard to find a way to force these two out while simultaneously covering TP Automotive from a wrongful termination suit. I don’t see Alan Ferguson as a man with skeletons in his closet. I’m not going to convince him to smoke a joint with me after work. And Lucy seems squeaky clean, except for the fact that she despises Shawn Myers.”
“Well, Craig, that’s why we pay you those hefty consulting fees, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“It is,” I allowed. “And I will.”
But for a job like this, I would probably need Claire Turner’s help.
Chapter 18
When Claire walked into UP&S for her first day “on the job”, I knew that I had identified Alan Ferguson’s vulnerability. And this Achilles’ heel frankly surprised me, given the purchasing agent’s outwardly nerdy demeanor.
Alan did a double take when Bill Prescott guided Claire to her new desk in the accounting department. Then he gulped and did another double take when the accounting manager took her around the office later that morning for introductions.
“Wow,” I said discreetly as Claire and her new “boss” departed. “This is the first time that I’ve seen you speechless, Alan. I wouldn’t have imagined that was possible.”
“Aw, stuff it,” Alan said, oddly resembling a thirteen year-old boy who is still self-conscious about acknowledging the fact that he notices women. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t see her, too.”
“Well of course I saw her, Alan. Her manager was taking her around for introductions.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did know what Alan meant. Claire looked stunning in her business attire. I’ve seen her in lingerie, gym clothes, and even in a swimsuit. However, Claire looks best when she dresses to the nines. Today she was wearing a skirt and blouse that discreetly clung to her curves, and a pair of high-heeled shoes that accentuated her height. I suppose that Alan was a goner before she even stepped into the building.
“Claire Michaels,” Alan said, repeating the name of Claire Turner’s alias. I silently remarked that Alan did have a truly serious case of middle-aged lust, infatuation—or whatever you might call it.
The accounting manager finally returned Claire to her desk, where she began amiably chatting with one of her new colleagues. As was the case with the fictional Craig Parker, Claire’s alias would be assigned just enough work to keep suspicions at bay, without placing her in a position to unwittingly damage UP&S’s operations. Claire, after all, would not be able to spend much time on the work of a staff accountant. Her job would be to work with me as necessary, while we nudged four problem employees out of UP&S.
And it was Claire who came up with the plan that we used to remove Alan Ferguson.
* * *
“Did you see the way he looked at me?” Claire asked. We were having dinner in the restaurant of the hotel where I was staying. We were reasonably safe here. It would have been bad for us to be seen together by any employees of UP&S. Strictly speaking, Claire Michaels and Craig Parker were supposed to be strangers—even if Claire Turner and Craig Walker were both professionally affiliated and occasional bedmates.
“The whole office was looking at you, Claire,” I said, taking a sip from my wineglass. “The men were all wondering what you would look like naked, and the women were all wondering what it would be like to scratch your eyes out.”
Although I had no direct evidence for this last assertion, it likely wasn't far from the truth. Pleasantly attractive women are not uncommon in factory environments like UP&S; but real stunners are rare. When a beautiful woman steps onto the scene in a place like UP&S, she upsets the entire balance, and makes many people of both genders uncomfortable.
“Okay,” she said. “I could be modest—”
“But that isn’t in your nature.”
“Jerk. What I’m getting at here is: think about how we can use this. That guy Alan Ferguson, his eyes were practically crawling all over my chest while he talked to me.”
“I didn’t notice him doing much talking,” I said. I recalled that Alan had been fairly tongue-tied while being introduced to Claire. “So what do you have in mind?”
She told me, and I paused for a moment to think about it. “I don’t know,” I said. “Isn’t that a little risky? It could make us liable for an entrapment charge. I mean, when I gave Kevin Lang the chance to flunk his next drug test, I presented that opportunity outside of the workplace. My alias had no affiliation with Great Lakes Fuel Systems. This is different. Claire Michaels is now an entity that is employed at UP&S. Her conduct could be liable to scrutiny as well.”
“Not if Alan does something stupid,” Claire said. “And that’s exactly what I’ll get him to do.”
Chapter 19
Claire went to work on Alan the very next day.
“Excuse me, Alan,” she said. “I've been told that you're quite the expert with the inventory reports. I’ve got a problem here. I could really use some help.”
Alan looked up from his computer screen, saw Claire, and gulped. She had appeared before his desk without warning.
“Hello,” he said numbly. An actual response to what she had said seemed to be beyond him at the moment.
“Anyway, Alan: You remember me, don’t you? I’m the new person over in accounting.” She held out a sheaf of papers. “It’s these blasted inventory reports. My job is to pick out the work-in-process line items, but its like Chinese to me.”
“Oh,” Alan said. The joking Alan who had referred to me as an FNG, and had traded quips with Helen Dufresne and Roy Jones, was indisposed now. In his place was a man who had trouble putting a coherent sentence together.
Luckily, Claire had picked up on his tongue-tied disorientation.
“So I was thinking,” she said. “Maybe the two of us could find an empty meeting room and you could show me how to pick out the WIP items.”
“You and me?” Alan asked, bug-eyed.
“Well,” Claire laughed. “Unless you can think of another way to teach me. I’d really appreciate it, you know. That is, if you’re not too busy.”
“No, no,” Alan said. “I’m not too busy.”
I actually had to restrain a smirk as this exchange unfolded. I would have felt guilty for taking amusement in watching Alan sow the seeds of his own demise. The better thing was watching Claire play the role of the humble, slightly ditzy blonde. She wasn’t humble, and while she was mistaken about some things, she was anything but ditzy. I had never taken her for such a skilled actress
.
“Hey, Lucy,” Claire said, while she waited for Alan to both compose himself and assemble the materials needed to explain the inventory reports. “I’d love to get some insights into how things work around here. I was wondering if you might be free for lunch sometime. We could chat, and you could give me the lay of the land.”
“Me?” Lucy asked, as if there were a half dozen other people named Lucy huddled around us.
“If you’re not too busy, that is.”
Lucy visibly brightened; and I could see that Claire meant something to her, too. It didn’t require much insight to peg Lucy as the wallflower, the shy, plodding girl who had never been invited to the right parties in high school, who had spent all of her life on the social fringes. Always waiting to become a full member of whatever circle she happened to have attached herself to. And now the most attractive, most glamorous woman in the office was befriending her. Befriending her.
For Lucy, this must have held the promise of redemption, of finally coming into her own at the age of thirty-four.
“Today’s fine,” Lucy said. “I’m free today. That is—if today is good for you.”
“Today is perfect,” said Claire, beaming.
Throughout this three-way discussion, Claire pointedly ignored me. Any visible sign of friendship between Claire Michaels and Craig Parker would only invite suspicions of collusion. We were also attuned to the fact that Craig Parker was supposed to be a single guy—and one who was younger and far better looking than Alan Ferguson. We didn’t want Alan to ever get the idea that he was in competition with me for the attentions of Claire Michaels. That would probably make him withdraw, thereby making Claire’s task all the more difficult.
Alan finally emerged from behind his desk, carrying an armful of file folders and a single large binder.
“Come on,” Claire said. She headed in the direction of one of the unoccupied meeting rooms, Alan following eagerly behind her.
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