It's Not Luck - Eliyahu M. Goldratt [29]
“That’s all?” Pete sounds relieved.
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry, Alex. I think that we can sell it. It might be that I have more trust in our buyers than you do, but I really think we won’t have any problems selling it.”
“I’ll take your word for it. It sounds good, very good. Go ahead with it.”
“Sure thing, Boss. We’ll have a much clearer idea of how well it works very soon.” As I accompany him to the door he adds, “Tomorrow we are going to submit two such quotes, and then my sales manager and I will meet with those buyers next week.”
“Super job.” I shake his hand. He has done a super job, his solution is a true win-win solution, but I have my doubts if he can sell it. Until I see the orders rolling in, I’m not going to revise the forecast.
A minute later he sticks his head back in to tell Don, “By the way, as long as we have a lot of excess capacity, we don’t have any intention of printing batches of two months and storing them.”
10
It’s the first time I’m crossing the Atlantic in first class. I’m entitled to fly first class, being an executive vice president, but in the last year I simply haven’t needed to go to Europe. Actually, I don’t think that I need to go now, and if it were my choice, I wouldn’t. I don’t think that we should sell my companies. I think it’s a mistake. The only reason for the sale, in my opinion, is that the board wants to show Wall Street that they are doing something, that they have a decisive plan of action. Baloney. They don’t even know what they are going to do with the money they’ll get.
And the man who stands behind this big empty show, Trumann, is sitting beside me. In the big leather first class couch, big enough to sit two tourists, the most expensive seat in the world. The going rate is over three thousand dollars for seven hours.
They start to serve dinner. You should see the choice of appetizers. Goose liver pâte, lobster’s kastanietas, Caspian Sea caviar. Have you ever ordered Caspian Sea caviar for an appetizer? I haven’t. Not until now, that is. These little black balls cost fifty dollars an ounce. It’s like eating pure silver.
It tastes like shit. Now I understand why they serve it with vodka. Frankly, I prefer pizza and beer.
Trumann sure knows how to handle the caviar. You should see how quickly he spreads it on this small toasted triangle with egg yolk and thin chopped onion. A real pro, I tell you. Why is it that a person who produces nothing, who doesn’t contribute anything, lives in such luxury? I guess that was always the case; slave drivers always lived in better conditions than the slaves.
“How many boards do you sit on?” I ask.
“Right now, only twelve.”
Right now only twelve, I think to myself. Probably last month they closed one company and sold another two. “Why do you ask?” Trumann raises his eyes from the consommé.
Bad mistake. The way that the plane is shaking now, and with these shallow spoons, he’s bound to spill soup on his silk tie. He doesn’t.
“Just wondering,” I say.
“Wondering about what? Do I have enough time to know what is really going on in the companies I serve? Or wondering in general what my job is?”
“Both, actually.”
“Alex,” he smiles at me, “you are relatively new at this game, aren’t you? I don’t recall having heard you speak in the board meetings.”
Trumann is a powerful man. When my companies are sold and I lose my job, I’ll need him. You can’t find an executive position through answering an ad in the papers. You need connections. You need to know and be known by the right people. Thanks to Granby, I now have that opportunity. A whole week is enough time; I have to impress Trumann, to make him know me better.
“Not like some others,” I say, thinking of Hilton Smyth. “I prefer to do, not to speak.”
“Oh,” his smile widens, “so that