chair high within Peachtree Towers was fierce.
It was into that chair she now settled after moving through the connecting door from the conference room to her office. She was exhausted. Weekly staff meetings were a necessity, if for no other reason than to reassure her department heads that she continued to maintain a keen interest in the goings-on within their individual domains. But these days that chore did not come easily, with so many other concerns before her. She had never dreamed that success would bring the kind of complications she faced daily. Rising to the top had been great fun, a challenge at every step; but then the real work had begun. Finishing the day with a sense of accomplishment had always been something she treasured. Lately, though, she would leave the office too close to morning and bed down with the realization that far more had been put off than had been completed. The work just kept piling up, and her refusal to delegate authority allowed only the smallest dents to be made in the vast heap.
Her intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Amy?” Lisa said into the speaker built into the phone.
“Mr. Kimberlain called again while you were in the meeting,” her secretary said.
“Did you give him my message?”
“Yes, and he said he was heading over here anyway.”
“You mean he came down? To Atlanta?”
“He called from the airport.”
“Damn. I want you to leave word with security that he is not to be allowed entry to the building,” she said firmly. “Is that clear?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call downstairs immediately.”
Lisa leaned back again, upset she had been so terse with her secretary. Amy wasn’t to blame for her problems, the most recent of which concerned the strange claims by this man Kimberlain, which angered more than frightened her. She had no time for fear.
She looked around the room. This same office had been her father’s, and she had made no changes in it whatsoever since taking over the business. The oversized soft leather chair, which seemed ready to swallow her frame at any moment, the mahogany paneled walls with matching bookshelves and desk, the imported hardwood chairs and tables, even the paintings on the walls were all too masculine to suit her tastes. But they symbolized something she felt she needed to keep in touch with: her father’s life, and the business he had built and then allowed to tumble.
Lisa recalled those early days following his death. He had left a mess behind, and the soundest advice the lawyers and bankers could give her was to sell off all assets, including the business, in order to settle the estate. Her two brothers were all for it, but Lisa would not hear of it. A strange addenda to her father’s will stated that all decisions relating to the sale of the company required a unanimous vote by his children. Accordingly, since another stipulation named her chief executive officer, by casting her vote against selling she effectively gave the business to herself.
Lisa believed that that was what her father had wanted.
Her first move was to dissolve the board of directors when they refused to back her plans to rebuild TLP and make it solvent again. Dissolution proved costly, and almost fatal, for litigation froze Lisa’s operating funds. Then the unions called a strike at all her factories and warehouses the day after the first paychecks weren’t available. Lisa bypassed the union hierarchy totally and went straight to the workers her father had treated like family. She visited all four factories in a two-day whirlwind tour. She reminded the workers of the various innovative plans TLP had provided them, including low-interest loans for emergencies. She told them that this strike would destroy the business and their jobs. She pleaded for just a little time to get things settled. In return, she would institute a profit-sharing plan: the better TLP did, the better its employees would do. She was going to make the company the largest of its kind. She
It was into that chair she now settled after moving through the connecting door from the conference room to her office. She was exhausted. Weekly staff meetings were a necessity, if for no other reason than to reassure her department heads that she continued to maintain a keen interest in the goings-on within their individual domains. But these days that chore did not come easily, with so many other concerns before her. She had never dreamed that success would bring the kind of complications she faced daily. Rising to the top had been great fun, a challenge at every step; but then the real work had begun. Finishing the day with a sense of accomplishment had always been something she treasured. Lately, though, she would leave the office too close to morning and bed down with the realization that far more had been put off than had been completed. The work just kept piling up, and her refusal to delegate authority allowed only the smallest dents to be made in the vast heap.
Her intercom buzzed.
“Yes, Amy?” Lisa said into the speaker built into the phone.
“Mr. Kimberlain called again while you were in the meeting,” her secretary said.
“Did you give him my message?”
“Yes, and he said he was heading over here anyway.”
“You mean he came down? To Atlanta?”
“He called from the airport.”
“Damn. I want you to leave word with security that he is not to be allowed entry to the building,” she said firmly. “Is that clear?”
“Absolutely. I’ll call downstairs immediately.”
Lisa leaned back again, upset she had been so terse with her secretary. Amy wasn’t to blame for her problems, the most recent of which concerned the strange claims by this man Kimberlain, which angered more than frightened her. She had no time for fear.
She looked around the room. This same office had been her father’s, and she had made no changes in it whatsoever since taking over the business. The oversized soft leather chair, which seemed ready to swallow her frame at any moment, the mahogany paneled walls with matching bookshelves and desk, the imported hardwood chairs and tables, even the paintings on the walls were all too masculine to suit her tastes. But they symbolized something she felt she needed to keep in touch with: her father’s life, and the business he had built and then allowed to tumble.
Lisa recalled those early days following his death. He had left a mess behind, and the soundest advice the lawyers and bankers could give her was to sell off all assets, including the business, in order to settle the estate. Her two brothers were all for it, but Lisa would not hear of it. A strange addenda to her father’s will stated that all decisions relating to the sale of the company required a unanimous vote by his children. Accordingly, since another stipulation named her chief executive officer, by casting her vote against selling she effectively gave the business to herself.
Lisa believed that that was what her father had wanted.
Her first move was to dissolve the board of directors when they refused to back her plans to rebuild TLP and make it solvent again. Dissolution proved costly, and almost fatal, for litigation froze Lisa’s operating funds. Then the unions called a strike at all her factories and warehouses the day after the first paychecks weren’t available. Lisa bypassed the union hierarchy totally and went straight to the workers her father had treated like family. She visited all four factories in a two-day whirlwind tour. She reminded the workers of the various innovative plans TLP had provided them, including low-interest loans for emergencies. She told them that this strike would destroy the business and their jobs. She pleaded for just a little time to get things settled. In return, she would institute a profit-sharing plan: the better TLP did, the better its employees would do. She was going to make the company the largest of its kind. She
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