“We’re exactly on time, sir, and everyone who’s coming is present,” said the man in the middle.
“All right,” Harcourt said, surprised, but eager to move things along. Once the meeting was over, he’d just make his call and give Peter his resignation. “I take it you’re my preppers?”
“My name is David Gooding,” said the man in the middle after giving Harcourt a pained look. “This is my associate Jason Petrovich, and this is Garner Forestdale, who is representing the stockholders in this matter.”
Harcourt held up a hand, then leaned forward. “I’m sorry, what do you mean by ‘this matter,’ and what do the stockholders have to do with prepping me for my return?”
“Sir, if you’d let me continue, it will all become clear,“ said Gooding.
Harcourt had heard enough. He sat forward in his chair and spoke, his voice clear in its seriousness and need for a straight answer. “Where’s Peter?”
“Mr. Talbert isn’t present per my suggestion,” Gooding said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to get started. I have a plane to catch.”
Harcourt’s jaw clenched and his lips pressed together as he held back a biting retort. One hour, just put up with these assholes for one hour and then it will all be over. Apparently satisfied that he was going to be allowed to continue without further interruptions, Gooding nodded to the man on his left, the man he’d called Petrovich, and the young attorney started digging through a thick file. Harcourt noticed that his hands shook as he struggled to find what he was looking for.
“Give me that,” Gooding snapped as he yanked the file out of the younger man’s hands.
Petrovich sat back in his seat, and Harcourt saw color rise in the young man’s cheeks.
Gooding wasn’t having any better luck finding whatever they were looking for. As the seconds ticked past, Harcourt felt an urge to turn off the computer and go for a run. But he didn’t want to give the press anything to talk about, such as his aberrant behavior, nor was he interested in doing anything else that might compromise his new plan.
He straightened the notepad and pen on his desk as he waited for them to get their act together. A smile flitted at the edge of his mouth, and he felt the tension in his neck lessen. That was it. That’s all it was. They need lawyers to prep me, because Raymondson Industries is in the middle of a major acquisition. He went on to confirm that postulation.
While on leave of absence, he technically wasn’t a member of the firm; he was just another member of the public until he came back to his official capacity. Anything they told him now had to be carefully vetted to make sure he didn’t receive any details which would give him insider information when he wasn’t an insider.
Lawyers would be far more suited to that task than a roomful of old friends and colleagues—the executive team of Raymondson Industries—men and woman who in their enthusiasm to share with Harcourt all the amazing business milestones they’d reached in the last year might accidentally let something slip that he shouldn’t yet know about.
Yes, it made sense that lawyers would handle this, if for no other reason than to keep the SEC from galloping up the company’s butt.
Patting the piece of paper in his pocket, Harcourt reminded himself that he didn’t care. The crinkling sound comforted him. He looked at his watch. Only five minutes had gone by. It seemed like an hour already. He breathed in. All he had to do was get through the next hour.
“Yes,” Gooding said as he found what he was looking for. He smoothed the single sheet of paper on the table in front of him and pushed his glasses up his nose and read the document.
Harcourt’s fingers drummed on the table. “What’s on the agenda first, gentlemen? International acquisitions? Next quarter’s revenue projections?” he said, hoping to move things along.
They looked up at him, and Harcourt added, “I have a plane to catch as well, gentlemen,” he said, and looked at his watch. These pretentious slackers were wasting his time.
The man to the right of Gooding, the one introduced as Forestdale, spoke for the first time. He was a rotund man with sharp black eyes and a fleshy, doughy face dripping with oatmeal-colored skin. He smoothed his thin comb-over and looked down his nose at Harcourt as he spoke. His voice was nasal and his tone condescending. “We’re not here to discuss business affairs, Mr. Raymondson.”
“Then what are we here to discuss?” Harcourt said through gritted teeth, as his fingers rounded into fists on the desk. Forestdale gave Gooding a meaningful stare and Gooding handed over the document. Forestdale’s multiple chins bounced as he reread the paper, and Harcourt’s whole body tensed as if he knew it wasn’t going to be good news.
“This meeting is to inform you that the board of directors will be voting to rescind your upcoming reinstatement.”
His jaw dropped open and he felt a boulder land in the pit of his stomach, taking the breath out of him. He shook his head, sucking in air. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’ll read it again,” said Forestdale, as if he were explaining something to a four-year-old child.
Harcourt put out his hand. “No, don’t. I’m not saying another word, or listening to another word from you. I demand to speak with Peter Talbert, right now!”
Forestdale’s black eyes gleamed in the crevasse behind all that flesh. He held up his hands to his two colleagues as if to say that he would handle this, then said, “Mr. Raymondson, you have no authority to demand anything.”
He sat back, a smug smile forming on his face. Harcourt wanted to reach through the screen and tear the smug expression right off his face. He couldn’t control the volume in his voice. “What do you mean, I have no authority? It’s my company. I built it with my own two hands!”
“That may be the case,” said Forestdale, clearly unperturbed by his outburst. He had his elbows on the table and he looked at Harcourt through the upside down V made by his templed fingers. Continuing to speak to Harcourt as if he were talking to a person with limited mental abilities, he said in a slow and well-enunciated voice, “It’s true, you did build the company, Mr. Raymondson, but then you had an IPO, remember? And that made Raymondson Industries a public company, which means it belongs to the shareholders, who I represent. Are you with me so far? And due to the recent catastrophic drop in value, you are no longer a majority stockholder, which means you have virtually no authority. The board of directors, which is tasked to look after shareholders’ interest in case you’ve forgotten, has tasked us with giving you this notice. They’ve been forced—with reluctance—to instigate this action to stop the bleeding before the company is irreparably harmed. Has this explanation helped you at all?”
Harcourt’s eyes went wide. He’d stopped listening after he heard the words catastrophic decline in value. His heart thumped like a cat trapped in a bag, beating so hard and hurting so bad he feared he might be having a heart attack. He pressed his palm against it to stop the thrum. He gasped for air. Nothing made any sense. Peter had assured him the company was doing great all this time. He shook his head, feeling the floodwaters of doubt sinking his hopes. When he finally managed to speak, his voice cracked. “Ca…catastrophic decline in value?” he asked, shaking his head again as if the concept was too absurd to contemplate.