The Hero's Fall (DCI Cook Thriller Series Book 14) by Phillip Strang (best classic romance novels txt) 📗

After all, she’d been opposed to his appointment. The only thing that had been in his favour was that he was sleeping with Alison Glassop, the perpetually smiling female, a favoured niece of Jaden’s.

Another person present, the wily Bob Babbage, a capable orator, able to twist the truth, or a non-truth if it suited. He was keeping quiet, letting Jaden rant on, taking in what was being said, ready with a defence when needed.

Tom Taylor kept glancing over at Alison, looking for moral support.

‘And how do you explain this headline?’ Jaden continued.

‘It was Jim Breslaw’s idea,’ Karen Majors said, judging it time to pass the buck.

‘No use to me, is it? The man’s gone, paid off. We, or should I say you, need to do something.’

‘We ride it out,’ Babbage said. ‘It’s a glitch, not only us, all the other television stations are feeling the pinch, and advertising revenues are down across the board.’

Tom Taylor looked out of the window, nothing to say, nothing that would make any sense. Alison moved alongside him, gave him a nudge, a subtle wakeup call.

Taylor opened his mouth, knowing that he had to say something, but no words emanated.

‘Say it, Tom,’ Jaden said.

Red in the face, wishing a hole in the floor would open up and swallow him, Taylor cleared his throat; better to say something than nothing, to be shot down in flames if that was to happen, go back to administration, an accounts clerk if it was to be.

‘We weren’t responsible for him making the climb, regardless of what the newspapers are saying,’ Taylor said, hesitantly at first, but as he spoke, he became more confident, more fluid in his delivery.

‘Yes,’ Jaden asked. ‘So, what are you suggesting?’

‘We can’t alter public opinion, but we can mould its perception. Bob’s right, revenue’s down, that’s a fact, which means we need a bigger slice of the pie.’

‘Spouting from a textbook doesn’t get us anywhere,’ Jaden said. He could see himself in Taylor at a similar age, unsure, tongue-tied.

‘Maybe it doesn’t, but Karen saying it was Jim Breslaw’s fault is a good idea.’

Karen Majors looked over at Tom, gave a small smile, realised that Taylor, behind the greenness and the face of youth, had the makings of a shrewd operator, someone to watch, to cultivate.

‘We infer that Breslaw was aware of Simmons’s foolhardy attempt and that he had approved it without seeking authorisation,’ Taylor continued.

‘But he had,’ Babbage said.

‘Had he? Is it recorded?’

‘You weren’t there, but Karen was, so was Jerome.’

‘I don’t remember,’ Karen said. She did, but she knew where Taylor was taking the discussion.

‘I was distracted,’ Jaden said. ‘I can remember him bringing it up, but I believe we categorically forbade it, thought it was a crazy idea, climbing without permission, no insurance.’

Babbage, who had been there and knew the truth, concurred with the majority. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Jim Breslaw disobeyed orders. A court-martial offence.’

‘His actions were treasonous, placed us in a quandary.’

From a corner of the room, a whisper of a voice. ‘If I may speak,’ a bespectacled woman said. ‘You asked me to attend.’

‘Yes, that’s correct, Helen,’ Jaden said. ‘You were going to give us a rundown on our financial status.’

Helen Moxon stood up. She was even shorter than Jerome Jaden, a rotund insignificant woman who most people at the station avoided, a smell of cats, a desk in a dark corner of the building.

‘I asked Helen to conduct a financial analysis of the current situation,’ Jaden said. ‘When you’re ready, Helen.’

The woman passed around a sheet of paper to each of those present. ‘I’ve kept it short,’ she said. ‘If needed, I can detail it, put up a PowerPoint presentation.’

‘Short is fine.’

‘Very well, Mr Jaden.’ As a lowly-paid functionary, a junior accountant in the company, over-familiarity was not appropriate.

Helen commenced. ‘Advertising revenue is down by fifteen per cent this quarter. That’s nearly thirty per cent down from the same period last year, although the station has reduced expenditure by eight per cent this year.’

‘Which means?’ Tom Taylor asked.

‘Mr Jaden’s seen the detailed figures, but in simple terms we are, on an adjusted monthly basis, running in the red, to the amount of eight per cent each month.’

‘The conclusion?’ Karen Majors asked.

‘Six months, unless one of two things happens.’

‘Which are?’ Tom asked.

‘I should think that’s damn obvious,’ Jaden said. ‘I asked Helen to give the facts, not a convoluted spreadsheet with more columns than there are letters in the alphabet. What she prepared is based on advertising revenue, operating costs, money in the bank.’

‘And best and worst projections,’ Helen said.

‘Thanks, Helen. If you could leave us, that would be appreciated.’

The woman left the room as silently as she had come.

‘To answer your question,’ Jaden continued, coming back to Tom’s earlier question, ‘we either reduce costs or increase advertising revenue. The banks are not going to help us, not this time.’

‘We could go under,’ Babbage said.

‘If we do, you can all forget your performance bonuses, your stock options, severance pay.’

Babbage had been prepared for such an ultimatum; he had made plans to leave before the final curtain came down, but foregoing severance pay and stock options weren’t on his agenda. ‘We need to save the station,’ he said.

‘Can I speak again?’ Taylor said. ‘My idea of what we should do.’

‘The floor’s yours,’ Jaden said.

Tom Taylor stood up, Alison squeezing his left hand as he rose, unseen by the others, although Karen Majors had picked up a discreet glance between the two. He moved to the end of the table, the side diametrically opposite Jerome Jaden. Full of confidence now, the aphrodisiacal power of importance. ‘We crucify Jim Breslaw, heap all the blame on him.’

‘Even if it’s not true,’ Babbage said.

‘It’s survival