Rooms - James L. Rubart [60]
“No. Why?” Micah switched his Bluetooth to the other ear.
“Because it’s obvious.”
“No question, you’d keep this guy?”
“In this hypothetical situation, what makes him worthy of getting fired?”
Micah went silent.
“You’re playing with someone’s life.”
“Before you condemn me, get a few more details. We had to do it to get the government off our back. FTC claimed we violated a bunch of monopoly rules, all garbage. This appeases them, problem solved. And believe me, this guy will be taken care of. We’ll give him a huge severance package, plus I’ve already called a friend who has promised he’ll hire him. He’ll make more money than he did here.”
“So you make him feel like a loser, but since he gets another job and makes more, it’s okay?”
Micah took a right and drove up toward the entrance to Seattle Center. “There’s a bigger picture to look at. The reasoning is right.”
“I don’t care if the reason is perfect, Micah. It’s wrong.”
“The reason is perfect, Sarah. We fire this guy, and a significant legal and PR problem goes away. And the guy gets more than taken care of financially.” He pulled into a parking lot near the Children’s Museum, threw his car into park, and yanked the key out of the ignition.
“Ninety-nine percent truth mixed with 1 percent lie is still 100 percent lie. Always.”
“So you won’t let me explain why it won’t upset the guy in the least?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re not dealing in truth. Every choice we make takes us farther down one of two paths. Both paths lead to a kingdom, Micah. You have to decide once and for all which kingdom you want to live in. Because eventually one of the kingdoms has to—and will—disappear. You’re still living with a foot in each world. God gives only two choices: hot and cold. Living in the world of lukewarm gets you spit out.”
Micah bit into his lower lip. “I know your vast experience in the business world gives you the right to judge me. So while we’re at it, do you have any other great moral teachings? Like a holier way to brush my teeth?”
“This isn’t like you,” she replied just above a whisper. “I don’t need your sarcasm right now, and you don’t need to give it. I’m not teaching morality here and you know it. I’m talking about the heart. Yours. What is the Holy Spirit that lives in that heart telling you? Did you ask Him?” She sighed. “I’ll see you when you get back down here.”
“Sarah!”
The line was dead.
Micah ripped off his Bluetooth and hurled it onto the passenger seat of his BMW. What a wi—! He stopped himself, shocked at the anger that wrestled to get out.
He was not an angry person. Wit, humor, maneuvering situations with the power of persuasion were his weapons in controlling his business and his life. But anger? It never advanced anything. He’d buried his anger and his pain a long time ago. Micah rubbed the scar on his left hand. This wasn’t about his father and what he’d done to Micah after his mom died. He wouldn’t let it be.
A moment later he got out of his car and walked toward the fountains in the middle of Seattle Center. As they shot water fifty feet in the air, kids played in the spray raining down, dodging, ducking, laughing. He slumped onto a bench and took Sarah’s advice.
“God, I want the truth. What’s the right move with this firing? There has to be . . .” He didn’t finish. No need to. He sighed, jammed his hand into his pocket, and grabbed his cell phone.
“Yes?” his senior VP answered.
“It’s Micah. When are you doing the exit interview?”
“Ten tomorrow morning.”
“Cancel it.”
“What?”
“We’re not letting him go. Call him. If he wants to stay, tell him we want him back. We’ll figure another way out of this.”
“That is a surprising decision. You do realize you’re running the risk of losing a significant portion of what we’ve gained over the past two years?”
Micah tapped the bench he sat on with his car keys. “Get the team together tomorrow morning at 9:00 so we can put together a strategy.”
He hung up and stared at the wooden bench, faded almost white from years of being doused in Seattle