Not Strictly Business!. Susan Mallery

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The five people standing there turned to look at him.

      He knew a couple by sight, having met them at various functions. The other three introduced themselves, then introduced the two who hadn’t been able to make the meeting. The chairman, a craggy man in his late sixties named Baynes, motioned for everyone to take a seat. Jack found himself sitting at one end of the long conference table, while Baynes took the other. Jack had filled each of them in by phone so now they could get right to it.

      “Sorry business,” the older man said. “How did it happen?”

      Everyone looked at Jack. “I have no idea,” he said. “Until you asked me to step in for my late father, I’d been busy with my law practice.”

      “He never talked about the business with you? Never mentioned how things were going?”

      “No.” Jack didn’t see any point in explaining he and his father had never spoken much at all, about the company or anything. He set the second set of books on the conference table. “I found these when I was cleaning out his credenza. There was a false bottom on one of the shelves. He didn’t want anyone to find them.”

      He pushed the books to the center of the table. No one seemed to want to be the first to touch them. Finally Baynes motioned for them and the lone woman on the board pushed them in his general direction.

      “The chief financial officer has made copies of everything,” Jack said. “She’s already running the numbers to find out where we really are. We should have some accurate information by the end of the week.”

      “The auditors are going to have hell to pay,” Baynes said absently.

      Jack nodded. Every publicly traded company was required by law to be audited by an independent accounting firm. Somehow George’s double books had gotten past them.

      But their problems were the least of Jack’s concerns. “I’ve prepared a statement,” he said. “We’ll issue it after the board meeting.”

      Several of the board members looked at each other, but no one suggested not going public. Just as well, Jack thought. He didn’t want to have to remind them of their legal or fiduciary responsibilities.

      “You asked me if I knew about this,” he said. “What about all of you?”

      Baynes looked at him. “What are you suggesting?”

      “That you were his board. Many of you had known my father for years. He would have talked to you.”

      Baynes shook his head. “George didn’t confide in anyone. This was his company. He made that clear before he went public. Things would be done his way.”

      “So you just let him run the company into the ground?”

      The woman, Mrs. Keen, leaned forward. “George presented us with financial reports. We had no reason to doubt their validity or his. Your father wasn’t a bad man, Jack, but clearly he was in over his head.”

      That seemed to be the consensus, he thought. “Shouldn’t you, as his board, have noticed that? Shouldn’t you have made sure the man running Hanson Media Group knew what he was doing?”

      “Attacking us isn’t going to solve the problem,” Baynes said firmly.

      Right. Because they were all more concerned about covering their collective asses, Jack thought grimly.

      “We need to present a united front,” Mrs. Keen said. “Perhaps the board should issue a statement as well.”

      “Do what you’d like,” Jack told her.

      “Things would go better if we could announce that you would be taking on your father’s job permanently,” Baynes said.

      Jack narrowed his gaze. “I agreed to three months and that’s all. I’m not changing my mind.”

      “Be reasonable,” the older man said. “This is a crisis. The company is in real danger. We have employees, stockholders. We have a responsibility to them.”

      “No, you have one.”

      “You’re George Hanson’s oldest son,” Mrs. Keen said. “People will look to you for leadership.”

      “I’m not his only son,” he pointed out. “I have two brothers.”

      Baynes dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Who are where? They don’t have the experience, the education or the temperament for this kind of work.”

      Jack did his best not to lash out at them. Losing his temper would accomplish nothing. “Three months,” he said. “That’s all. In the meantime, I suggest you start looking for an interim president. Hire someone who knows what he or she is doing.”

      “But—”

      Jack stood. “There’s no point in having a conversation about me staying or going. I’m not changing my mind. Besides, we don’t even know who owns the majority of the company. My father’s shares are in limbo until the reading of the will. Who knows—maybe he’ll want them sold on the open market.”

      The board members paled at the thought. While they were still taking that in, he made his escape. As he walked down the hall, he loosened his tie. But that wasn’t enough to wipe away the sense of being trapped.

      “Come on, come on,” Samantha called as she stared at the basket and willed the ball to slide cleanly through the hoop. There was a moment of silence, followed by a swish of net.

      “Woo hoo.” She held up her hand to Patti, one of her directors. “Two more for our team. We’re up by six.”

      Patti gave her a high five, then went back into position. Perhaps playing basketball in the corridor right outside her office wasn’t standard corporate procedure, but Samantha found it really helped her people clear their heads after a long day of brainstorming.

      “Lucky shot,” Phil said as he dribbled the ball. He jogged in to take his shot. Samantha moved in front of him. When he stretched up to shoot, she batted the ball away and it bounced off the wall before rolling down the hall.

      The game went quiet as Jack rounded the corner and picked up the ball. Samantha could feel her staff looking at her. She knew Jack had endured the meeting from hell with the board and braced herself for him to take that out on her.

      He raised his eyebrows. “Who’s winning?”

      “My team,” she said quickly. “We’ve been brainstorming all day and we’re—”

      “No need to explain,” he said, then bounced the ball. “Got room for one more?”

      She glanced at Phil, who shrugged. “Sure,” she said.

      Jack tossed the ball back, then took off his jacket. After pulling off his tie, he went to work on rolling up his sleeves.

      “Who’s on the other team?” he asked.

      “I am,” Phil said, then he quickly introduced everyone else. “Any good at this?”

      Jack

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