It's Not Luck - Eliyahu M. Goldratt [2]
“I think that the strategy to diversify was wrong,” Trumann says. Turning to Granby he continues, “I understand why you initiated this. You wanted to broaden the base of UniCo, to give it some security. But in hindsight you must agree it was a mistake. We have invested almost three hundred million dollars in diversification. The return-on-investment certainly doesn’t justify it. I think we should go back. We should sell these companies, improve our credit base, and re-invest in the core business.”
It’s the first time I have seen Granby under such an attack. But that’s not the point. The point is that this attack on Granby will destroy me. What Trumann is suggesting is to sell all my companies!
What can I do about it?
Granby won’t let it pass. His whole long-term strategy was based on diversification.
But from this point on, things move with the speed of an express train. More directors support Trumann’s suggestion. The resolution is proposed, seconded and accepted—all within less than five minutes. And Granby doesn’t say a word. He even votes for it. He must have something up his sleeve. He must.
“Before we move to the next item on the agenda,” Granby says, “I must comment that we should carefully plan how to invest in the core business.”
“Agreed,” says Trumann. “The investment plans that we have seen so far are too conventional, and much too risky.”
I look at Hilton Smyth. He isn’t smiling any longer. It is obvious that a double-crossing took place. The CEO position is not in his pocket. Most likely we are going to get a parachuted-in CEO. Anybody is better than Hilton.
2
Some crummy band is giving a loud concert in my house. I go straight up to Dave’s room. He is at his desk doing homework. There is no point in saying hello, he won’t hear. I close his door; the noise drops fifty decibels. It’s a good thing that together with his new stereo, Julie had the wisdom to install a soundproof door to his room.
Sharon is on the phone. I wave at her and go down to the kitchen. Since Julie has opened her office, we’ve all gotten used to eating late-night dinners. Being a marriage counselor, Julie says that the best working hours are between four and nine in the evening. For her clients it’s the best. For us, we take consolation in the tapas that Julie prepares. Being in America doesn’t mean that we cannot adopt some European habits.
“Saturday night I’m invited to a very special party.”
“How lovely,” I reply, and finish the last of the chicken liver pâté. “What’s so special about it?”
“It’s a sophomore party. Only four of us who are not sophomores have been invited.”
“My popular daughter,” I wink at her.
“Why not,” Sharon twirls around.
The kids have left me only one cream cheese and olive sandwich. I swallow it in two bites.
“So it’s okay with you?” she asks.
“I don’t see any reason why not.” She sends me a kiss and floats out of the kitchen.
“Wait a minute,” I call her back. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t let you go?”
“Not really,” she says. “You know that I’m almost fourteen.”
“Yes, big girl. If you can call eight months away almost.” Then it dawns on me. “What time is this party supposed to be over?”
“I don’t know,” she says casually. Too casually. “Late, I suppose.”
“How late, Sharon?” I ask, and open the fridge for a beer.
“But, Daddy,” her voice becomes more pinched, “I can’t leave the party before it ends.”
I open the can and head toward the living room. “How late, Sharon?” I repeat.
“Daddy, it’s a sophomore party.” She still doesn’t answer my question. “Don’t you understand?”
“I do,” I say, and switch on the TV. “And I want you home before ten o’clock.”
“But Debbie, Kim and Chris are all going!” Tears start to roll. “How come I have to stay at home?”
“You don’t have to stay home. You just have to be home before ten o’clock.” I switch aimlessly through the channels. “What did your mom say?”
“She said to ask you,” Sharon sniffles.
“So you asked, and you got the answer. That’s it, darling.”
“I told her you wouldn’t understand,” she cries, and runs to her room.
I continue to