Undo - Joe Hutsko (bearly read books TXT) 📗

“But when the ISLE system is ready for production, we’ll be less dependent on Wallaby. There’s an important difference between what we’ve got with Wallaby, and what we are proposing for ISLE. With this, ICP will have invested hard cash in your baby. So don’t worry, we’ll see to it that she’s a success.”

“Then we’re on,” Byron said.

William beamed. “Excellent,” he said. He checked his watch. “I’d better get moving if I’m going to catch my plane.” The trio walked to the door together. They shook hands, and William departed.

“You see, Petey,” Byron said after closing the door, “the big guys aren’t all so bad after all, eh?”

“I like him,” Peter admitted.

“Man, we’ve sure got our work cut out for us. I just hope we don’t have any setbacks.”

“How did it go?” Grace asked.

Byron kissed her on the cheek. “Like a charm.”

“Congratulations,” she said. “Peter, this man called while you guys were out in the yard.” She traded a Post-it note for Isle. There was a name written on it that Peter did not recognize, and a phone number. “Thanks. I’ll call him later. Let’s go tell the guys the good news.”

 

*

 

“Did Greta find you?” Eileen asked, rising from her chair as Matthew returned from lunch.

“She found me, all right,” Matthew said, winded, rushing past her and into his office. He gathered his pen and notepad and hurried to the boardroom. There was only a minute to spare before the meeting began.

The entire Wallaby executive staff was seated around the table. “Good afternoon,” Matthew said, sweeping the group with a smile. For an instant their inexpressive faces reminded him of the day they had voted Peter Jones from the company, and the hairs on the back of his neck tingled as he seated himself at the head of the table.

All eyes drifted to the assistant chairman, Hank Towers.

“Matthew,” he started affably, “we’re all pleased with the large volume of sales orders for the new Joey II.”

A few heads nodded. A smile here, another there. The room seemed to loosen a little, and Matthew smiled broadly. Laurence had been correct. The meeting had been called to applaud his success with the Joey II, and the strategic alliance with ICP.

“Thank you,” Matthew said modestly. Then he became serious, scanning the room expertly, locking briefly on each person’s eyes. “But I couldn’t have done it without all of you.”

Nods. A few brief smiles of genuine affection. Then all eyes gravitated once more to Hank Towers. There was an unsettling air of deference, protocol.

“Matthew, you’ve been very busy with the ICP alliance,” Hank said, “which is perfectly understandable. So the executives and I have been working on our three-year plan.”

Matthew nodded.

“However,” Hank said, “there is some concern among us, particularly in the area of future product engineering.”

Matthew glanced at Alan Parker, who had been Matthew’s assistant in getting the Joey division back on track after Peter’s ejection. Alan had directed the reorganization of the Mate and Joey divisions, and managed the day-to-day development operations, while Matthew had championed the project’s overall mission of delivering the new Joey Plus, then the Joey II, to the public. At present, Parker seemed to be very interested in his disposable pen.

“What kind of concerns?” Matthew said, relieved to hear that his own voice sounded authoritative.

Hank said, “With the work we’ve all done, focusing on the Joey Plus, and especially the II, none of us had much time to think about the future. Now that you’ve gotten the Joey II out the door, we’ve come to an important realization. Matthew, the truth of the matter is we have no realistic three-year plan.”

“What do you mean no plan?” Matthew said, his voice splintering in mid-sentence. It was as if he were being shaken awake while in the midst of a pleasurable dream, suddenly confronted with the bafflement that comes with the knowledge that it was just that, a dream. Because he had spent all his time securing the alliance with ICP, he had never considered what Wallaby would think about after the relationship was announced.

Actually, he thought in the silence of the room, that was not altogether correct. In truth, he had not cared about what Wallaby would face after the ICP strategic alliance, because after that, according to the original plan, ICP would have bought Wallaby, and the future strategy would have become their concern. At that stage he would have been protected behind his big desk in his luxurious, apartment-sized office. How could he have made such a simple oversight? After contacting William to cancel the final stage of the eventual merger, hadn’t he realized that following the Joey II, there would have to come new, future products from the innovative Wallaby?

Sometime during his reverie, the meeting had resumed.

“…among us is an awareness that we’re all but succumbing to ICP as a maker of compatible systems. Our days as a radical portable computer company, a company for the people, may be over.”

As Matthew considered this implication, that he had crumbled their fairy-tale company by moving them successfully into big business, he felt as though he were somehow slipping back in time, to the meeting in which he had forced out Peter Jones. Only this time, he was playing the part of Peter. Wasn’t that what he had always wanted?

“Each one of you,” he charged, sweeping his index finger around the table, “approved our plan to build systems that could tie-in to ICP’s computers and share the same information!” He stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets.

“We did,” Hank said calmly, speaking on the group’s behalf. “As well as granting you the authority to run the shop. And all this room wants to hear is that you’ve got a product strategy, a vision, that goes beyond where we are today.”

“Of course I have a plan,” Matthew said indignantly. “We will evolve the Joey II, incorporating more powerful features.” His voice turned shrill. “ICP is at our mercy. Think about it! The orders indicate that we are now the maker on the rise, that Joey is the one that people want for doing their work and accessing other systems, if even those systems are ICP’s!”

“Matthew, be realistic,” Hank said. “ICP could drop our arrangement at a moment’s notice and introduce their own system.” His manner became grave. “Or worse.”

Matthew pressed his hands flat on the table, ready to challenge the group’s faithlessness. “Worse? What worse?”

“Denise?” Hank said with a deferential nod to Denise Campbell, Wallaby’s chief financial officer.

“There’s a rumor circulating” Denise said. “Supposedly one of our engineers heard from his former colleague, Paul Trueblood, that Jones was demonstrating some new product to an official from ICP today.”

Matthew paled. ICP? William Harrell? Was it possible that William had teamed with Peter in the few short months since Matthew had pulled the plug on the acquisition plan?

“That’s what could be worse,” Hank said. “In my estimation, it’s possibly the worst thing that could happen to Wallaby. Our own founder leaves and builds a product that directly competes with his own invention.”

They all stared at him, waiting. If he didn’t think quickly, there was going to be another vote. “But the ICP alliance is our vision,” Matthew said, groping for a solution.

Hank met this revelation with a gentle shake of his head. He looked down at his leather portfolio, at some notes. “Matthew,” he started, sounding very tired.

If he didn’t come up with something in the next few seconds, Matthew knew they would be asked to place their ballots. Resorting to the thing that had brought him to Wallaby in the first place, he decided his only chance was to resurrect his original secret plan.

“Wait,” he blurted, cutting off Hank before he could continue. “I have a solution,” he said, trying to sound confident. “I propose that we merge with ICP.”

Their faces around the table disclosed either total confusion or total shock. Hank gave an astonished chuckle. “What on earth makes you think we would do a crazy thing like that? Or that they would?”

“They would, and they will,” Matthew said firmly. “When we announced the strategic alliance, William Harrell had expressed ICP’s interest in possibly merging our companies. I told him we weren’t interested,” he said, shifting the details to accommodate his story. A funny feeling hit him just then. That regardless of today’s outcome, the act of finally revealing his compulsion felt like a great weight off his shoulders. At least his original plan was no longer a secret.

“Why weren’t we told of this?” Hank demanded.

“I didn’t seriously think it would be something any of us would want,” Matthew said. “Harrell knew he couldn’t acquire us without our consent, so I never feared a hostile takeover. An attempt to create a monopoly would be prevented by the FTC, and more seriously, the employees would rally against it, and our culture would be lost.”

“But that’s just it, Matthew,” Hank said. “Without any real future products in the pipeline our culture is essentially doomed. You’ve succeeded in convincing the employees that coexisting with ICP was the right thing to do. No one has given back their profit-sharing checks, for crying out loud.”

“Hank, this is business, not a fraternity. Business is sales, and we’re finally making them, big time. Why not go all the way with it? We’re a grown-up company now, in with the big boys.”

If Wallaby were to merge with ICP, no one seated around the table would have a financial care in the world. Their stock options would stack additional millions upon the millions most of them had already accrued. And looking around the room, at the calculating faces, he knew that that was exactly what each was thinking. All except Hank.

“Now then,” Matthew said, “I propose we vote. How many people would agree to the initiation of a merger with ICP?”

“It would mean the end of Wallaby,” Hank said gravely.

“No, Hank,” Matthew countered, turning to face him. “It’s just the beginning. ICP would sell millions more Joeys then we ever could.”

“Agreed,” Hank said. “You just said it yourself. ICP would sell. No more Wallaby.”

As far as Matthew was concerned, it was all the same. He would assuredly be named president of the Wallaby subsidiary, just as he and William had planned almost three years ago. And the thought of eventually taking over William’s role at ICP held enormous appeal again, as it once had. He locked onto this as his new goal.

“All in favor of me contacting William Harrell and proposing the merger of ICP and Wallaby, please raise your hands.” His own hand stretched so high it hurt his side.

“We’ll have to get full board approval,” Hank warned, one last effort to counter Matthew’s proposition.

Matthew said, “When they find out that Peter has been talking to ICP, I don’t see how they can object. Now, all in favor, please raise your hands.”

The room teetered on the edge of absolute stillness.

Then, slowly at first, hands rose. One after another, every person in the room raised his or her hand - except Hank Towers.

Once more, all eyes were on him.

Slowly, he lifted his open palm, held it there briefly, then stood and left the room.

“Very well,” Matthew said and lowered his hand. The others followed suit then silently gathered their things and left the room.

All alone now, he lowered himself to a chair with an exhausted sigh. He had done it again. First Peter. Then the strategic alliance. Now the merger. An agreeable sensation of vengeance washed through him when he thought about Peter Jones and whatever plan he had up his own sleeve. For the second time he had voted Peter