In Greed We Trust (A Novel)

In Greed We Trust

(A Novel)

PROLOGUE

Why did I lose my job?

Robert A. Barron, President and CEO of American Pride Agricultural Industries, did not answer. Strapped naked into a cold, metal chair, the strips of black electrical tape wrapped around his skull prevented him from seeing anything or anyone. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been this way.

Answer me! Why did I lose my job?

The voice hovering over him was male and forty-something.

I...I don’t—

Before he could finish, Robert felt an open palm strike the side of his head. The pain was hot, stinging.

I don’t know what you mean.

Wrong! the voice growled.

Robert squirmed and tried to break free but it was no use. His legs and arms were bound with the same black electrical tape that covered his eyes. All the strength in his trim 54-year-old body was not enough.

I’m waiting.

I’m...I’m sorry, Robert stammered. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Please let me go.

Robert felt another vicious slap strike the side of his head. The sound rang out like a gun shot. His ears buzzed.

The voice hovering over him escalated into a high-pitched laugh. How shocking! Well, let me refresh your memory.

Robert remained silent. Slow, heavy footsteps encircled him.

Three months ago you and the other corporate fat cats at American Pride had a little layoff party. You all got together wearing your $5,000 Italian suits and sat around a table and decided the fate of 15,000 people. The voice rose to an angry crescendo, fifteen-thousand people!

You work for American Pride? Robert asked. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The footsteps drew closer. A fist connected with his right eye. His head snapped backward. He grunted as another unseen blow landed to his jaw.

USED to work, the voice thundered back.

Robert’s head swooned. Pain pounded his skull.

Hey, hey, go easy now, a second male voice called out from somewhere behind him. We don’t want to kill the guy.

We don’t? the first voice shot back.

Ready to pass out, Robert felt a wave of ice water crash over him. He shrieked. A harsh chill ran down his spine. His nude body convulsed. He lowered his head and sobbed into his chest. Images of his family flooded his brain. He prayed he would see them again.

In answer to his prayers, he felt a hand clutch the back of his neck. A knife cut away at the heavy strips around his head. The cool sensation of air began to kiss his balding head.

The second voice spoke up again. What the hell are you doing? Stick with the plan.

Forget the plan, the first voice barked back. I want this greedy son-of-a-bitch to look me in the eye and explain why 15,000 innocent people had to lose their jobs just so he could have another $100 million in the bank and another Picasso hanging in his bathroom.

No. He’ll see you. He’ll see ALL of us!

The tape was nearly undone when Robert realized the second voice was right. He clenched his eyes shut. Then he felt something hard and cold press against his temple.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? another voice shouted.

What does it look like?

We said NO guns, remember? Put it away you idiot.

Robert’s spine stiffened. The muzzle pressed deeper into his flesh.

I’m sorry, Robert, the first voice said. Management has decided to eliminate your position. We wish you best of luck in your next life. Have a nice day.

"You’re fired!"

—Donald Trump

"You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live."

—William Shakespeare

CHAPTER ONE

(22 months before the kidnapping)

Dear fellow Associates, this is some of the most difficult news I will ever have to share with you...

When Larry Lehman read these words sitting in his tiny cubicle, his stomach clenched. It was the opening line of an E-mail from William Steele, Jr., Chairman and CEO of TeleStar, Inc., the fourth largest telecommunications company in the world. The E-mail did not come as a surprise. Larry and everyone in the company had expected some type of formal announcement for weeks. The rumors had circulated and snowballed, building even greater momentum with last Friday’s announcement of TeleStar’s dismal third quarter earnings—down 76% from the previous quarter and 31% lower than predicted. The question was—when? When would the formal announcement come? When would the giant, corporate shoe fall?

The suspense was over.

"Today we are announcing several major steps to improve our competitive position that will..."

Larry stopped before he read any further. He looked over his shoulder. He noticed entire 7th floor of the building was eerily silent. Not a single phone rang or copy machine could be heard. He read on.

"These difficult decisions, affecting many dedicated and talented employees, are driven by several major factors: the economic slowdown associated with the recent terrorist attacks, significant shifts in customer preferences for products and services, continued severe pricing pressures from overcapacity..."

None of what Larry read in the first, four paragraphs told him what he really wanted to know. There were no hard dates or headcount figures. Instead, the TeleStar CEO continued to make general reference to things like market conditions and regulatory and legislative uncertainties. Larry knew it was all politically correct jargon to cushion the blow of what he already knew. TeleStar was a dying behemoth. Fat and slow from gorging on the booming demand for wire line communications during the 1990’s, the company of 59,000 employees had become victim to its own success. Competitors had diluted the market place. Margins had shrunk to nothing. Now the company not only limped into the new millennium, it lay on its side in the dirt bleeding.

Executive management had decided to sever a limb.

"The reality of the situation, and the needed response to it, means that we must reduce our workforce by approximately 11,000 employees. The reductions will occur in every area of the organization, most heavily in the Customer Support and International divisions. Trust me when I state that I made every effort to avoid an employee reduction of this magnitude."

Larry had to chuckle. This from a CEO whose personal estimated worth was last reported in Forbes Magazine in excess of $1 billion—this from a CEO who probably never once considered reducing his own salary in order to save another person’s job. His eyes became restless. He began to skim; hoping something would jump out at him. Nothing did, until the E-mail’s conclusion where the ultimate insult was delivered.

"Implementation teams are working already to resolve all the issues involved. We will communicate openly, quickly and accurately when decisions are made and we will make every effort to minimize rumors and confusion. Most associates whose jobs are being eliminated will be notified by mid-November and given personalized information on their benefits and separation packages."

All the blood drained from his face.

MID-NOVEMBER?

That meant it would be a month before the 11,000 people affected would even know. Not only that, they would be laid off just in time to celebrate the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Larry’s blood boiled. Of all the horrible things to do to a person, he thought. Then it hit him.

I COULD BE ONE OF THOSE 11,000 PEOPLE!

He immediately thought of his wife. He had no doubt she already knew about the announcement. The local news vultures were camped outside TeleStar’s main campus in the white vans with the satellite dishes on top when he arrived this morning. Larry pictured Julie sitting at the kitchen table with their six-month-old twins, Claire and Lily, wriggling in her lap. Before the twins arrived, Julie worked full-time as a dental assistant but had not returned to work since, reducing the Lehman family to a single income. Not just a single income but a single medical insurance plan. Larry knew Julie was already eager to have more kids.

"I close with my most sincere thanks for your dedication to TeleStar and the successes we have collectively achieved and my deepest regrets for this announcement. God bless you and your families. Sincerely, William Steele, Jr."

Larry read these empty words of consolation and felt sick to his stomach. Worse than that, he felt powerless. All he could do was wait—and wonder.

AM I ONE OF THOSE 11,000?

"11,800 Americans are fired every working day...one out of every four will be fired at least once in their careers."

—Harper’s Index

"Only six percent...lose their jobs to poor performance."

—William Morin and James Cabrera from Parting Company

CHAPTER TWO

Unlike Larry and millions of others in Corporate America that lived in fear every working day, Mike Battle wasn’t worried about losing his job. He never even considered the possibility.

Mike worked for Digital Horizons, Inc., a thriving Fortune 100 Company that specialized in providing technology solutions and IT consulting to its financial industry clients. A talented, hard-charging programmer with a team of five reporting to him, Mike never received anything less than an above average performance review from any of his supervisors. His official title: Manager, Information Risk Management Group. It was his team’s job to maintain the intricate firewalls that protected the company’s vital data.

Mike was shocked when he found out his best friend had lost his job at Telstar. He had called on a typical Tuesday morning to give him a hard time about his recent ass-kicking in their fantasy football league only to find his office number no longer in service. He re-dialed several times before he gave up and called Larry at home. To his surprise, Larry answered.

What the hell are you doing home? Mike asked. Don’t tell me you’re sick again.

Larry did his best to laugh it off. No. I wish that was the reason. I got laid off.

Mike jerked his head away from the phone, You what?

I got laid off.

They laid YOU off—when?

Over the weekend, I haven’t been to work since last Friday.

You’re kidding, right?

Larry made a loud clucking sound with his tongue. Nope.

Mike was floored.

After a short, uncomfortable silence, Larry spoke up. I never thought it would happen this way, you know, with a package arriving in the mail. Julie thought it was an early Christmas gift from her grandmother in California. Then we saw the return address. A friend of mine in HR said companies do this to prevent people from going postal on company property.

Unbelievable Mike said in shock. Un-fucking-believable.

Larry sighed. What can you do?

I’m sorry.

Thanks.

Mike was almost afraid to ask. How is Julie doing?

She cried when I showed her the severance package and she hasn’t stopped crying since. It’s been three days now. She spends most of her time on the phone with her mother. She’s a wreck. I can’t say that I’m handling it any better.

I’m sorry, Mike said again, embarrassed for offering such worthless words of support to the best friend he had known since 3rd Grade, the same best friend that had never once let him down and bailed him out of trouble more times than he could remember. He wanted to ask Larry how much was in the severance package but refrained.

Larry read his mind. The severance package was pretty disappointing. I only got 12 weeks pay and benefits. According to the letter, some people didn’t get anything. I guess I should feel lucky, huh?

Mike continued to shake his head like a man who had lost his own job. He felt numb. The two said very little after that.

A month after their conversation Mike was reading a never-ending E-mail string regarding the latest round of system diagnostic testing while sipping Starbucks when he heard a knock on his door. He looked up and saw his boss.

Got a minute? Bill Cheatham asked. He walked into Mike’s office without waiting for an answer. He wore a plain but expensive Brooks Brothers suit that matched his personality.

Sure, Mike said. Have a seat.

Despite his friendly tone of voice, Mike didn’t like his boss very much. Not many people in the division did. It was commonly known and discussed in break rooms and standing around water coolers that Bill Cheatham—despite not knowing shit about IT—had successfully connived and ass-kissed his way to a cushy Vice President’s seat while leaving a trail of hard-working, dead bodies in his wake during his 12-year career at DHI. He was the quintessential corporate animal. It didn’t hurt that his brother-in-law was the company’s Chief Information Officer. Their dislike was mutual. Their past clashes and shouting matches over budget, staff and operational issues were legendary.

What can I do for you? he asked.

I’m afraid that I have some bad news, his boss said.

Mike instantly sat up. What? Did the PO5 server go down again?

No. It’s not that. It has to do with the merger.

Mike relaxed. Now he was more curious. He had not heard of any last minute SEC complications with DHI’s announced merger with its former competitor, Avalon, Inc. It was a merger that would make sacred cow DHI executives like his boss extremely rich.

What happened?

The merger is a done deal as you know. But the effect it’s going to have on our immediate organization has altered significantly. I had been told by our Division President from Day One that Avalon’s financial division, specifically the Systems and Technology group, would continue to operate separately from ours and there would be no job redundancy. Bill exhaled. This was not entirely true.

Mike had an immediate sinking feeling that he was going to be asked to eliminate a member of his team, a skeleton crew that was already buried under enough projects to take them through the end of the fiscal and into the next.

The CIOs met last month in New York and decided that our two financial divisions are, in fact, going to merge. As you might expect, this is going create some cross-functionality issues. Consequently, the president and I have been directed to cut headcount by 10% in the IT division and at least one from your immediate team.

Tell me it’s not Colleen, anyone but Colleen, Mike pleaded. Colleen O’Meara was the top programmer in