Destined

by Patricia Haley

  Don and Madeline entered the meeting. Protocol commenced and ended quickly. Several items filled the agenda. Don waited patiently as the topics were discussed. His mother wasn’t as accommodating.

  The disappointing news of key clients leaving must have fueled her fire. “We have to address a critical problem,” she said, taking the floor after the quarterly sales report was read. “We’re hemorrhaging clients and everyone in this room knows why.” His mother pointed at Joel, who sat tall in his seat, appearing ready to take exception. Don could hear the battle cries; war was near. “This ludicrous notion of merging with an organization that doesn’t share our core principles is increasing customer uncertainty and driving them out the door. This can’t continue if we want to be around in five years,” she said without taking a breath.

  “How many times are we going to have this same discussion?” Joel jumped in to say. “This company is well overdue for an international market expansion. I didn’t hear anyone complaining last quarter about my decisions when we paid out record bonuses.” No one could refute Joel’s claim. “DMI will be fine once we get the merger completed. This constant internal bickering is the problem. Simple as that.”

  Don was certain Joel and his mother were going to lock horns and tussle around the board meeting until someone passed out from exhaustion or was too bloody to proceed. There was another way to combat Joel. If Don was going to be involved, it had to be legal and ethical, not necessarily overt. “Clearly Joel is correct. He’s responsible for unprecedented growth. On the other hand, Madeline is correct, too. We can’t discount how many key customers have left due to your dealings with a questionable company.” Don was striving to bring order into the discussion.

  “There’s nothing questionable about the company,” Joel lashed out to say, clicking his keys.

  “If our clients aren’t on board with the merger, it’s fiscal suicide.” Nods of affirmation about Don’s comment circled the table. “I suggest we take a step back and make sure this merger fits the long-term vision.”

  “This is a one-time deal. If we don’t act quickly, Musar Bengali is going to take his company to the next highest bidder. I can’t believe we’re wasting time talking about this again. My father wanted to expand into international markets for forty years. He didn’t. We can, end of story.”

  “Maybe you’re correct, but why don’t we take the time necessary to understand what we’re undertaking?” Don added.

  “We know what we’re undertaking because we’ve been here for the past three years’ worth of board meetings, unlike you, who was off in Africa somewhere running another company.”

  “He’s a member of this board and that gives him the right to speak,” Madeline said. The cease-fire between the two was over, and each was lobbing missiles across the room in words and stares. The sweet whisper of Naledi’s voice and the South African warmth ushered in Don’s oasis, although brief. The tension in the meeting thickened. Don had to regain control of the topic again, a never-ending battle with Joel and his mother.

  “I’m tired of this debate. I’m calling for an end to the discussion followed by a vote,” Joel said, agitated.

  “Vote on what?” one of the board members asked.

  “Funding approval. Like I said, we need to act quickly. I’m ready to close the deal. The contract will be ready no later than tomorrow at noon. Let’s stop debating and get to action,” Joel said, seeming to calm.

  “There’s no way you’re getting my vote,” Madeline said.

  Don wasn’t sure which stubborn person was going to require more work in managing, his relentless mother or his angry half brother. “I move that we suspend a final decision on the Harmonious Energy merger for six months, allowing sufficient time to have an independent counsel complete a thorough evaluation process. Simultaneously, we’ll have an assessment done by our legal team.” Don was hopeful that he’d get the necessary support. It was the only immediate way to slow Joel down. “Ideally, they’ll end up with the same results.”

  Joel rose to his feet, shocking Don and drawing stares from members in the room. “I’m CEO, and I’m calling this deal done.” The board members had entered into many heated discussions throughout the years, but none to the point of being unprofessional. Strong leaders, strong opinions were expected in the boardroom. Joel’s outburst was an exception.

  Technically Joel was the top-ranking official. Since the company was privately owned, he wasn’t accountable to shareholders, not that it would have made a difference. He was listening to no one, except for a spiritual advisor every once in a while, according to Madeline. Guidance from the board of directors was valued by their father. Joel had another way of leading—his way only and to heck with anyone else, making it difficult for others to differentiate his wisdom from ignorance.

  chapter

  11

  Joel couldn’t allow his throbbing temples to hamper his ability to think. He plopped into the desk chair, recounting portions of the meeting, rubbing the keys frantically, growing angrier with each memory. This was his company. He was in charge. He was the reason DMI had soared in sales. A few bad quarters weren’t driving them to bankruptcy. He knew what the company needed—an expanded presence. Before his father had died, the words he’d passed on to Joel burned in his consciousness—“Don’t be afraid to make the tough decisions, the ones no one else can make.” Joel was determined to proceed.

  “Can you please get a copy of the most recent Harmonious Energy contract from legal?” Joel asked his assistant through his private line. “And I need this immediately.”

  Joel massaged his temples to no avail. Fifteen minutes later his assistant was knocking on the door to present him with the contract file. “Thank you,” he said. “By the way, do you have any aspirin or Tylenol, anything for a headache?”

  “I can get you some ibuprofen if that will help.”

  “Yes, please,” he said. Opening the contract folder, the seven hundred million dollar purchase price soared from the page, intensifying the pounding in his head. “Please give me whatever you can find,” Joel called out, in a low tone, to his assistant. A few seconds later she entered with a small cup of tablets and a crystal glass of water.

  “I gave you four tablets, two for now and two for later, just in case you need more.” Joel gulped down all four pills and chased them with the water, causing the assistant to raise her eyebrow. If two were good, four were better. “We should put some basic meds and first aid kind of items in the executive dining room,” he told her.

  “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Mitchell,” his assistant said on her way out.

  “Please close the door behind you and hold my calls.” She acknowledged leaving Joel to tackle the nearly impossible feat of raising seven hundred million without support from the board of directors. Had they given their endorsement, half would have come from company reserves coupled with the rest from the credit lines. He rubbed his temples repeatedly. Scrounging for that amount of money had never been a consideration. Wasn’t impossible, maybe improbable, but the alternative of failing was definitely not an option.

  The pills hadn’t yet kicked in to reduce the suffering in his head, but he pressed on. He combed through the proposal, page by page. By the end of the document nothing had changed; he was at the short end of a daunting task. He snatched a sheet of lined paper from his portfolio and scratched out a few numbers. With an executive order, he could approve one hundred million from company funds and one hundred million from the bank’s credit line without any other endorsements.

  Every avenue had to be considered. This wasn’t the time to grow timid and conservative. His bold strategies had worked before and he’d force them to work again. His antagonists would soon be groveling with apologies after the successful merger and recovery of DMI’s small setback. The headache eased to a faint tingle. Five hundred million dollars more. A rough assessment of his personal belongings, cash, various liquid assets, and property holdings, which could be used as collateral o
n a personal loan, amounted to two hundred million, leaving a three hundred million dollar shortage. Joel tossed the pen into the air and let it crash to the desk, then rested his head on his index finger and thumb.

  There had to be an answer. He needed guidance, like the early days, before he became Joel Mitchell, the man full of business acumen. Communication with God had become dormant. Joel hadn’t intentionally set out to create distance, but his heavy schedule, focus on achievement, and finagling personal matters consumed his time and energy, leaving minimal time for spirituality and church. There was a time when both had framed his perspective and highly influenced his decisions. That wasn’t the case with this merger. Joel wondered in what direction God would have led him with the merger had he inquired. He pondered the question but was unable to answer. He was better off sticking to his agenda and being unwilling to accept opposition from anyone.

  He picked up the pen and jotted numbers again and again. Each scenario produced the same result: a three hundred million dollar shortage. Sherry popped in and right back out of the equation. He wasn’t willing to jeopardize his mother’s livelihood now that she finally had a taste of contentment and independence. Pushed to extreme means, he could think of only one person who could help him raise the funds—Sheba Warden. He liked that she didn’t require a label on their one-year-old relationship. He vividly recalled the day she’d walked into his office, a stranger determined to make an eighteen million dollar donation toward his pet project, the construction of the Dave Mitchell Library. Something about her had captured his imagination, and it hadn’t changed.

  Joel bounced to his feet, feeling the heaviness shed. He dashed from the office, then dialed her number. God had briefly entered his thoughts again, but Joel was becoming an expert at pushing those out almost instantaneously.

  chapter

  12

  Turbulence and mounting wind gusts shook the corporate jet en route to Chicago. Joel buckled in for the ride, unable to control the external forces attempting to derail his plans. After a tumultuous flight, the plane was on the ground, where the limousine awaited his arrival. The chaos of the day seemed to shift into order as the car door opened and Sheba’s presence greeted him. Her power never diminished. She was the muse he needed.

  “Well, Mr. Mitchell, I was surprised to get your call so soon after your last trip,” she said with words so soft it tantalized his back and shoulders, shaking off the tension from earlier in the day. She was the drug he longed for.

  “Am I overextending my welcome?” he said, engaging in their playful banter that happened every time they met, which was every chance they got. With him in Detroit and Sheba running her chain of boutiques in Chicago, rendezvousing was limited to about once or twice every other month.

  Sheba gave him a teasing wink and stroked the back of his hand. “Never. Your invitation is open-ended,” she said in the way that only Sheba could—sensual, alluring, natural. He loved her confidence. Mostly, he loved the way she understood him, his drive, his need to accomplish certain goals. That’s why he was ready to meet her anytime, anywhere, for anything. She didn’t crowd him with expectations or layers of judgment.

  He sank back in the seat, prepared for the forty minute drive along the Edens Expressway that took them from the private northwestern suburban airstrip to her office downtown on Michigan Avenue. He let his eyes close for a second, glad to have a morsel of solitude.

  Sheba scooted closer to the center of the backseat, closer to him. “Okay, what’s going on? You seem tired.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” He was overjoyed to finally have a chance to talk with someone he trusted. The image of Abigail standing side by side with Madeline and Don in the lobby earlier formed a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Loyalty is what he sought and that was what Sheba freely gave. “I’m trying to close the deal with Musar Bengali.”

  “That’s right, how is the merger going? Have you been able to get your management team to buy in on the idea? They seemed pretty resistant several months ago.”

  “And they still are,” he said, shifting his gaze to the cars passing by. “They just don’t see the big picture. They can’t envision a presence beyond U.S. borders. Maybe I need to fire all of them and bring in a team that can implement my vision.” He peered out the window, repositioning his feet. “What I have right now is a bunch of closed-minded executives who’ve gotten too comfortable with their plush offices and bonus structure.” He felt anxiety heating up. “They’re stuck in the past and refuse to consider supporting any other vision except that of my father. Don’t get me wrong. He was a good man, a good leader, and a great father, but he’s not perfect and most importantly, he’s not here. I don’t know why the team can’t see that. There is room to improve DMI beyond what my father envisioned. I should just go back to Detroit and kick everybody out.”

  “Including Abigail?”

  He wanted to say yes, but the words didn’t easily glide across his lips. She’d betrayed his trust by siding with the opposition, yet she was Abigail. They’d been in the trenches, working as a team, and he thought she understood what he had to do. He wasn’t willing to accept the possibility that she was done with him. “Abigail hasn’t changed her mind. She’s not in favor of the merger.”

  “I told you that you should have married her already. You would have her vote if you had,” she said, her voice sprinkled with humor.

  He leaned his head on the headrest and let the humor soothe him. “Please don’t start in with the Abigail conversation. We’ve had that talk too many times,” he said, beginning to loosen up.

  Sheba flashed him a gaze that routinely grabbed his attention and kept a grip on it. “I might not be able to predict the future, but good old-fashioned perception tells me that you and Abigail have engaged in a dance that neither of you seems to know how to end.” Joel was about to respond when Sheba said something else. “You’re a wise man, one of your many appealing characteristics, I might add. You know I’m telling the truth. You have my full support with buying Harmonious Energy, but you have to be certain about the arranged marriage piece of the deal. Do you really want to marry Musar’s daughter? Is this deal worth sacrificing your personal life?”

  “You don’t have to worry,” he quickly said. “Our friendship is not in jeopardy. Nothing will change with us—nothing.” The marriage was an extreme means to an end but sacrificing his personal life was a small price for fulfilling his mission of taking the DMI philosophy to the world. His father wanted to spread godly principles. Joel wanted to spread the company’s name, formulating an indelible legacy. Their motives were different but the end result was the same.

  “I’m not concerned about us. I’m wondering if you’ve seriously considered how this will affect Abigail.”

  “She’s not happy, obviously, but what can I do? I never made any romantic promises to her, never. She’s like a sister to me.”

  “Trust me, she doesn’t look at you like a brother, not based on what I saw when I spent those three weeks at DMI last year. You let her oversee the construction of your new house. She’s not going to be happy when Musar’s daughter moves in.”

  “Abigail will come around. She appreciates sacrificing for the company.”

  “This isn’t about business. She’s in love with you, plain and simple.”

  “Love doesn’t trump vision.”

  “Look, I’ll support whatever choice you make. Just don’t discount Abigail so hastily. That might be a mistake.”

  Joel didn’t want to think about Abigail. There was a strong chance that she’d change her mind and join him. In the meantime, he had to secure funding. The deal was about to slip away and he had to move mountains to make it happen. Failure was not an option. The limousine careened smoothly down the highway and deposited them into the Kennedy Expressway with the Chicago skyline in the distance. They chatted freely for twenty minutes more. His body fully relaxed. Sheba was his hope. “I need your help,” he said.

  “
You have it,” she said.

  “But you don’t know what I need.”

  “Doesn’t matter, you have it.”

  He heaved a gigantic sigh. “You’re amazing,” he said, delicately touching her cheek this time. “My life changed the day you came to Detroit.”

  “The day I showed up with a check in one hand and a request for you to be my mentor in the other.” She giggled. “I’m surprised you didn’t kick me out. Instead, one day turned into three weeks.”

  “Like I said, my life changed the day you came to Detroit.”

  “For the better or for worse?” she asked.

  This time he laid his smile on her, the one that often drew her into his magnetism. “Which one do you think?”

  Their playful bantering intensified. “So, what did I just agree to do?” she asked.

  His glance dipped briefly before returning to her. He was confident in their relationship and didn’t have to hide anything from Sheba. “I need to borrow money. The board of directors is blocking the merger. Between the limited DMI funds that I have access to, my line of credit, and my own money, I’ve raised four hundred million. I’m short three, which I’m hoping to borrow from you.”

  Sheba’s gaze dropped and Joel’s assurance followed. “I don’t have three hundred million, Joel.”

  “This is only a loan. I’ll pay you back with interest. You set the terms and I’ll honor them.”

  “I’m not concerned about you paying me back. I actually don’t have the liquid funds. You know my expansion project is underway, thanks to your encouragement. You helped me to make it happen,” she said with her voice dropping off at the end. “Unfortunately that expansion has burned through my cash reserves.”