The CEO

  “We don’t allocate car-parks to executives.”

  “Harry, I don’t really give a fuck what happens with the other executives, but I’m the CEO and I don’t intend to park a hundred metres away just because it’s convenient for the office girls.”

  Harry’s face flushed and he fought to hold his tongue.

  “Why don’t you point me in the direction of my office? Then you and Stan can get going. I’m sure you’re both busy men and I don’t want to hold you up. Besides, I’ve got a lot to get through today.”

  “You know you’re responsible to us,” Harry said, peeved at the way he’d been treated.

  “No I’m not. I’m responsible to the board and then only through the chairman. Harry, you’re a non-executive director and, seeing you’ve raised it, I’d really appreciate it if you’d confine your role to just that.”

  “Come on, Harry,” Stan said. “It seems Douglas doesn’t want or need our help.”

  Aspine walked down the corridor, past offices that he guessed were occupied by the company’s executives. The office at the end was obviously his, and adjacent to it was a glass-fronted office occupied by a frumpy, frizzy-haired, middle-aged woman who he knew to be his PA, Shirley Bloom. He did not acknowledge her, but entered his office. It was small, ill-lit, and was furnished with an old L-shaped desk, a brown fabric swivel chair and three matching visitors’ chairs, all badly worn and in varying states of disrepair. There was another door to the right of the desk which opened onto what was obviously the boardroom, comprising a large board table and twelve leather chairs. He sat in the swivel chair behind his desk, looked out the window and saw his car. “Shirley,” he shouted. “Come in here.”

  She waddled in, saying, “So you already know my name.”

  He ignored her comment. “Organize to get the closest car-park sign written, and have a sign erected behind it Reserved CEO.”

  “Oh, Douglas, we don’t have alloc…”

  He cut off her off. “It’s Mr Aspine to you, and I don’t really give a stuff about what’s occurred in the past. Now, get my car-park organized today.” He watched her large flabby cheeks turn red and he held her stare until she lowered her eyes.

  “Is there anything else?”

  He looked at his watch before responding. “I want to see the manager of human resources at ten o’clock and the financial controller at eleven. And get me a coffee, white with none. If I need anything else I’ll shout.”

  She didn’t move and appeared to be deep in thought. “Mr Aspine, Harry, used to buzz me on the intercom when he wanted me and, well, he used to get his own coffee.”

  “Shirley, listen, because I’m only going to say this once. I’m not interested in what Harry did or whether he buzzed or sent for you by carrier pigeon. If you do what I say, we might just get on and if you don’t, you won’t be here much longer. Is that clear?”

  She turned bright red again. “Yes, Mr Aspine.”

  “Hang on,” he said, reaching inside his briefcase and handing her a page of the Financial Review. “Photocopy the article about my appointment, blow it up to double size, and put it in an envelope with a with-compliments-slip marked private and confidential, to Bob Dwyer at Biotech.” He smirked, knowing Dwyer would go ape shit when he found out that he had been screwed out of two hundred big ones.

  Aspine had spent the five days since his appointment reading the company’s annual reports, announcements to the Stock Exchange, press clippings, and board minutes and management reports that Sir Edwin Philby had couriered to him. He had a solid understanding of the company, its current projects and its personnel. One thing he’d been pleased to learn was that the company banked with the Federal Bank. He could hardly wait to meet the bank executive handling the company’s account.

  Kurt Metzger was a strapping young officer in the Munich Police Force at the nineteen-seventy-two Olympics and bore close witness to the terrorist attack known as the Munich Massacre. He had been profoundly affected and shortly after left his home country bound for Australia. Within a month of arriving in Melbourne, he was working with Mercury Properties as a builder’s labourer. He had been labouring just six weeks when an enormous concrete beam crashed down, crushing him and two of his co-workers. Displaying enormous strength, he had managed to move the beam and save the lives of his fellow workers, but by the time it was lifted off him, his back was shot to pieces. Harry Denton, visited him every day in hospital and, as he recovered, offered him the newly created job of health and safety officer. He had grown with the company, culminating with his appointment as human resources manager ten years earlier. He knocked lightly on the door to Aspine’s office and entered. “I’m Kurt Metzger. You wanted to see me,” he said, in a guttural Germanic accent, as they shook hands.

  “Sit down, Kurt. I guess you know who I am.”

  He was still slightly stooped from the accident and curled his lean body into the chair, fully extending his long legs. His once-blonde hair was grey and thinning, and his face bore deep worry lines. “Yes, Mr Aspine,” he said, in the same way an army private addresses his sergeant.

  “Kurt, Mr Aspine, was my father. My name is Douglas or Doug. What I need from you are summaries of the company’s four thousand employees, firstly by department, secondly by location and thirdly by age categories in bands of five years. When can you let me have them?”

  “Four thousand two hundred and eleven. All of that information is in the system and I can have printouts for you within two hours. Is there anything else?”

  Aspine smiled to himself. This guy’s been in Australia over thirty years, but still gives the impression of someone who wants to jump up, click his heels together and salute. “I’d like see to status reports on all WorkCover claims and employees who’ve been receiving sickness benefits for longer than two weeks.”

  Kurt looked concerned. “Yes, Mr Aspine, that’s not a problem. I can let you have them with the other information.”

  “How did you address, Mr Denton?”

  “Everyone called him Harry. Most of us grew up with him as CEO.”

  Aspine let it pass. “Is there a strong union presence in the company?”

  “We’re property developers and builders, so yes, there is, but we work well with the union organizers. You’ll be pleased to know that we haven’t had a strike or union dispute for over five years,” Kurt said, smiling for the first time.

  Aspine was far from pleased. “In my experience, that usually indicates the company’s management is negotiating after having bent down, grasped their ankles, and dropped their pants.”

  That wasn’t the response Kurt had expected. Harry had never drawn crude analogies like that. “We like to think of ourselves and the unions as being equals.”

  “Fuck! You guys have been playing with yourselves. Those union organizers must be pissing themselves laughing. Well, we’ll soon change that.” The buzzing of the intercom interrupted him. “Yes,” he snapped

  “Neil Widge is here for his eleven o’clock appointment,” Shirley said.

  “Tell him to wait.”

  Kurt had had time to think and he spoke slowly, in a measured tone. “It’s a very strong union. You need to be very careful before you do anything precipitous.”

  “Precipitous?” Aspine smirked. “I all but broke the last union that took me on. I also believe that the CEO should handle industrial relations and I sure as hell intend to.”

  “Harry used to delegate industrial relations and negotiations with the unions to me,” Kurt responded, looking miffed.

  “You and I will work well together if you remember one thing: I don’t give a fuck about what Harry said or did. What you need to know is that this company has underperformed for the past ten years, and I intend to fix that underperformance. And Kurt, make sure I have that information by one o’clock.”

  “Yes, Mr Aspine.”

  Aspine sighed. “On your way out tell Neil Widge to come in.”

  Neil Widge had commenced with Mercury as an
accountant over twenty years earlier, and worked his way into the position of financial controller and company secretary. In his latter role, he attended all board meetings and saw himself as a defacto director. As he entered the office, it hit Aspine that he was an older version of the Newman character made famous in the hit sitcom, Seinfield: curly grey hair, little piggy eyes, large glasses, fat jowls and thin, unsmiling lips. His handshake was soft and sweaty and he was trembling, not with fear, but with pent-up aggression. He glared at Aspine. “You shouldn’t be sitting in that chair. After Bill Norton’s death, they promised me that I’d be CEO,” he said, eyes, blinking rapidly.

  “Why didn’t they appoint you then?”

  “The institutions, that’s why. They appointed Sir Edwin Philby as chairman and he appointed you. Not one other director wanted to appoint you. How does that make you feel?” Widge sneered.

  “I don’t really give a fuck. The institutions own more than sixty per cent of the shares, so a majority of shareholders support my appointment. Anyhow, I didn’t call you in to discuss my appointment. I’m CEO and you’d better get used to it, in a hurry.”

  “And if I don’t?” Widge snarled, tears of anger welling up in his tiny eyes.

  “I’ll reluctantly have to sack you, and at your age you’ll be lucky to ever work again,” Aspine responded, hoping Widge’s pride might make him do something stupid.

  “Sack me? You prick! I’ll save you the trouble. I resign!” Widge yelled, standing up and smashing his fist on the desktop. “When the board hears about this they’ll sack you and reinstate me.” Widge’s face was contorted and he was trembling uncontrollably.

  “Well, you give me no choice. I’ll accept your resignation. You don’t have to worry about working out the period of notice. We’ll pay you for that, but I want you off the premises within the hour.” Aspine smiled. It would have cost another three hundred thousand had he sacked Widge, but the fool had resigned. He hit the intercom. “Kurt, Neil Widge, has just resigned. Help him clear his desk and show him off the premises.”

  Widge hadn’t moved; his anger had receded and been replaced by shock. “I-I might have overreacted,” he said. “I-I think I might reconsider.”

  Aspine laughed. “I’m sure you know the law of contract. You made an offer and I accepted. For you, I’m afraid it’s game set and match.” One down, five hundred and ninety-nine to go he thought.

  Within minutes of Widge’s departure Aspine was on the phone to Jeremy looking for his replacement. “I need you to find me a financial controller, pronto. I won’t tell you your business, but there are two things I’m looking for. He’s got to be under forty-five and he can have any colour hair so long as it’s not grey.”

  “You’ve sacked Neil Widge already?” Smythe gasped.

  “No, he resigned, but I eventually would’ve had to fire him. He just saved me the time, trouble and expense.”

  “I understand. You said two conditions, but you referred to three. There are some very clued-up females in the market. Does your financial controller have to be a male?”

  “Yes, you can make that the third condition. I’m not into that affirmative action crap, and I want to be able to say ‘fuck’ anytime I want to, without being hauled up before some lefty feminist, equal opportunity tribunal.”

  “You have a real way with words, but I wouldn’t be expressing that opinion in public,” Jeremy said, a trace of disgust in his refined voice.

  “I’m not stupid. I think you’re going to be busy over the next few months.”

  “Shirley,” Aspine shouted. “Who’s our relationship manager at the bank?”

  “Phil Kendall.”

  “Get him for me.”

  A few minutes later Shirley said. “I have Mr Kendall. I’m putting him through.”

  “Congratulations, Douglas. You’ve got some big shoes to fill,” Kendall said.

  “Christ, I hope you don’t mean that. Don’t you read the company’s financials or track its share price?”

  “It’s always been a conservative company run by morally responsible people.”

  “So you think low returns on equity, paying lousy dividends to shareholders and depressing the value of their shares is moral? We’re going to have to agree to disagree.”

  Kendall was taken aback by the tone and aggression of Mercury’s new CEO and resolved to tread with more care. “You phoned. How can I be of assistance?”

  “I’m looking at all existing relationships, including banking, and I want to see if you can deliver on our needs.”

  “Mercury’s banked with us for nearly fifty years. The relationship is very solid.”

  “Phil, understand this: I’m a catalyst for change and in a very short time a lot of long-term relationships are going to be severed. Particularly ones where I think we’ve been being screwed or under-serviced. Now, this has been a great account for you, low risk and high yielding; almost the perfect bank customer.”

  Kendall didn’t like the way the conversation was going. He’d been fast-tracked for big things in the bank, but if he lost a top-two-hundred-company, there’d be hell to pay with his bosses. He didn’t need this. “When can I come and see you, Douglas?”

  “I have some time next Tuesday morning. I’d like you to bring your South Yarra branch manager, Jonathan Bardon, and one of your lending managers, Colin Sarll, with you. Can you organize that?”

  “Yes, of course, but they won’t have anything to do with Mercury’s account, so can I ask why?” Kendall said, choosing his words carefully.

  “I’ll let you know on Tuesday morning. Is nine-thirty okay for you?”

  “Yes. I’ll get back to you if there’s a problem with the other two.”

  “There won’t be a problem, Phil, but if there is make it go away. That’s what good managers do you know. Good-bye.”

  Neil Widge had been terribly upset and suffered a dreadful shock. In less than ten minutes, twenty-six years of loyal service had disappeared. Kurt listened to him and was very sympathetic, but the new CEO was not to be messed with, and he still had a deadline to meet. He was a good manager and had delegated the reports to two of his assistants, while he escorted Neil off the premises in a tactful, but efficient manner. At exactly one o’clock he knocked on Aspine’s door and said, “I have those reports.”

  “Good. Let me have them.”

  He quickly perused them and they were as expected. Eighty per cent of the company’s employees were based in Victoria. He paused and reread one of the reports, before letting out a low pitched whistle.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Kurt, half our employees are over fifty and we only have two hundred who are twenty-five or less. Jesus, we’re a company full of geriatrics. How did that occur?”

  “We have a lot of long-serving employees. Mercury has been a very good and fair company to work for, so we lose very few employees and labour turnover is minimal.”

  “Fair or cushy?” Before Kurt could respond, Aspine let out another whistle. “We’ve got nearly a hundred employees on light duties, WorkCover or extended sick leave. Christ, we’re a nursing home for the old and infirmed.”

  “We’re a caring company and our employees repay us with loyalty and hard work.”

  “Bullshit! I’ll take these reports home with me and we’ll talk again tomorrow. You can take me around the offices and warehouse now, but don’t introduce me to anyone unless I ask. I don’t want to be meeting people who mightn’t be here on Friday.”

  “You’re going to make some retrenchments?”

  “Yes. Six hundred,” Aspine replied, not batting an eyelid.

  “Si-six hun-hundred. You-you ca-can’t be serious. Are you-you going to cons-consult the unions?”

  “Why should I? Come on Kurt, I’d like a tour of the warehouse.”

  The intercom buzzed and Shirley said, “It’s Harry Denton, Mr Aspine, he wants to talk to you about Neil Widge.”

  “Tell him I’m busy, and get him to phone me at home toni
ght.”

  “He won’t like it.”

  “Just tell him, Shirley!”

  - 4 -

  DUSK WAS SETTLING and the street lights were flickering, as Aspine swung the Ferrari into his driveway. He got out and patted it, like it was a large dog that he had a special bond with. The door from the house to the garage opened and Barbara said, “There’s a Harry Denton on the phone. He’s phoned three times. He sounds agitated.”

  “Shit! Did he give you a hard time?”

  “No. He’s been a perfect gentleman, but he sounds stressed.”

  “What a pity.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Pity he didn’t insult you.”

  “I’m still not with you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take it in the study.”

  “Yes, Harry.”

  “I want you to take Neil Widge back as financial controller.”

  “He resigned and, as far as I’m concerned, that’s it.”

  “He was under stress and you baited him. You know what you did. You coerced him into quitting.”

  “So he stuffed up, and then ran to you to fix things.”

  “I don’t want to argue about this. I’m telling you to take him back.”

  “You’re telling me,” Aspine chuckled. “Understand this Harry, you’re not CEO any longer and the resignation of executives, other than me, is not your concern. I’ve accepted Widge’s resignation and I’ve already instructed management consultants to find a new financial controller.”

  The phone went quiet, but Aspine could hear heavy laboured breathing. “Harry, are you still there?”

  “If you won’t reinstate him, I want him properly compensated.”

  “We’ve done that. We paid him every cent he was legally entitled to.”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t play games with me. I want you to pay him what you would’ve, had you sacked him.”

  “For the third and last time, this has nothing to do with you as a non-executive director. Now butt out and let me get on with my job.”