Page 60 of The Client
He doesn’t seem to realize that his bullshitting is getting him nowhere.
Reg rises from his chair, broad shouldered and a few inches taller than my father and still quite imposing in his old age. “Sit.Down.”
Dad sits.
“Rhys,” Reg says, glancing my way, “if you’d be so kind as to explain to the Senior Vice President why we will not be building factories in Tamil Nadu.”
I don’t even need to think about my answer. The topic is one about which I am passionate. My grandfather knows this. We’ve discussed it at length in the past.
“McConnell Enterprises is not in the business of selling the cheapest-made goods for the highest markup,” I begin. “We’ve built a reputation for high quality and consistency, and we’re proud of that reputation. It’s why we’re so successful, beyond maintaining a strong global network of satisfied partners and customers. People come to us because they know our goods are the best in the industry, that we’re reliable, and that we care about everyone we work with.”
“There are other considerations—” Dad tries to interrupt, but I don’t let him.
“Now I won’t get into the garbage ethics of paying people pennies per day to work for us in poor factory conditions overseas,” I continue, “but it is worth mentioning that when we manufacture in places close to us, like Mexico and here in the U.S., we have the ability to liaise with management directly, in person, on a same-day basis. That means we have better oversight of production and working conditions and that we can course-correct as needed. India is a fourteen-hour flight.”
“So what? We can just…set up a satellite office,” Dad interjects.
Ignoring him, I go on, “Perhaps you’ve also forgotten how unpredictable and financially unfeasible that is. The reason we moved all of our manufacturing out of China a few years ago was that many of our components were delivered with a clear lack of quality control, not to mention the supply chain and transportation delays. Having all our factories exclusively overseas was a mistake; one this company won’t make again.” I look to my grandfather.
“Reg? Does that about cover it, sir?”
I’m usually not such a blatant brown-noser, but I know it irritates my father to no end to see me in the role of my grandfather’s pet, and I’m frankly enjoying the moment.
Reg nods. “Well stated. Thank you.”
My father opens his mouth but then seems to think better of arguing. In his most reasonable tone, he says, “Fine, then. I’ve said my piece about the matter. Perhaps the board will feel differently at the next quarterly meeting.”
“Perhaps they will,” Reg says, in a tone that implies how unbothered he is by Dad’s thinly-veiled threat. “Dismissed.”
Clenching his fists, Dad turns to storm out the door.
“Oh, and Rupert?” my grandfather calls after him. “You need to stop charging up your expense accounts at those cabarets.”
Cabarets? Dad spins back around, and the guilty expression on his face says it all. That’s when I realize that Grandpa’s referring to strip clubs. It’s difficult to keep from smirking.
“They’re not cabarets,” Dad protests. “They’redinner clubs. I’m entertaining clients. It’s a perfectly acceptable business expense.”
“Which clients?” Reg asks, clearly not buying it.
“Potential clients! And…and colleagues,” Dad sputters.
Raising a brow, Reg flips open a file on his desk, looks it over, and says, “And who did you take to…Delilah’s Den on the seventeenth?”
My father hesitates and then blurts, “The Dubaians.”
“Rhys closed that deal a week prior to the charge,” Reg says. “No Delilah necessary.”
“It was celebratory,” Dad insists.
“Then you can celebrate on your own tab,” Reg says humorlessly. “This last foray of yours cost the company over thirty-thousand dollars. And don’t for a second think that I don’t know what ‘champagne service’ means at these types of establishments. The CFO is watching you, and I’ve capped your AmEx limit at 10k per month. For the foreseeable future.”
This confrontation about my dad’s spending is a surprise to me. For years, he’s been spending company money in ways that would get anyone else fired, if not arrested for embezzlement. I always assumed my grandfather was fully aware, and tolerated it because the company can afford to foot the bills. Maybe not.
I’m not sure how it finally caught the attention of our financial department, but I can only surmise that it means my father has spent far more than he usually does.
“Don’t act like I haven’t contributed to the success of this company over the last four decades,” Dad says. “If I want to spend some piddly little portion of our many billions, who cares? You have to spend money to earn money. I’m trying to maintain client relations!”
“We’ll need the receipts for everything you’ve purchased with business dollars in the past year, all your expense reports, and your balance sheets,” Reg says. “Rhys will handle it.”
