Wilson — Charter Jet G650, Inflight
Midway over the Atlantic, Wilson called an ad-hoc executive staff meeting to evaluate the whirlwind tour and its expected impact on the firm. It was six o’clock in the evening London time, but on board the G650 it was time for someone to swallow the bait he’d been dangling all week. Everyone turned their chairs toward the center of the aircraft, so they could face each other. The six vice presidents seemed anxious to talk, although most of them looked tired from the week’s arduous schedule. After a few words of praise and appreciation for their efforts, Wilson opened the meeting to general comments and feedback.
Not surprisingly, Joel Spivey, Mr. Human Resources, started it off.
“I think the response to your leadership has been extremely positive. Headquarters has received numerous calls and emails expressing appreciation for the tour. I think it’s laid the perfect foundation for your future here.”
“I agree,” Frank O’Connor added in his pleasant, therapist-like voice. “Your five initiatives have created a lot of excitement.”
“They’ve also created a lot of high expectations,” Leigh Tennyson cautioned, seemingly hard-wired to anticipate change issues. “If we don’t show real progress on your initiatives within ninety days, the tour will become an obstacle, not a foundation.”
“Absolutely,” Wilson said, smiling at her. She was refreshingly candid and non-apologetic. He liked her more every time he listened to her.
“I must say, I have some concerns about the marketing and publicity initiative,” John Malouf said.
Silence filled the plane’s cabin. The rushing air and hum of the Rolls-Royce engines grew louder. Everyone seemed to sense this criticism was coming.
Malouf continued, “I have no problem supporting our consultants in their writing and publishing activities, but the wrong kind of publicity campaign could backfire.”
Here we go, Wilson thought. It was now clear that Malouf’s earlier comments about publicizing Fielder amp; Company’s furtiveness belied his opposition. Maybe Tennyson’s comment had made him anxious, Wilson thought. More likely, the partnership was forcing his hand. Either way, Wilson decided it was time to freshen the bait. “How’s that, John?”
“High visibility has its own risks,” Malouf said.
“Such as?” Wilson said.
“Losing clients who don’t want more public scrutiny, compromising our credibility as independent and unbiased consultants, exposing the firm’s methods and approaches to our competition, diverting our focus from real issues, do you want me to go on?” he concluded with barely suppressed hostility.
Wilson waited a moment to rehearse what he was about to say. Then he leaned forward in his chair and locked eyes with Malouf. “I understand your concerns, John. And we will address them. But in my judgment, the benefits of higher visibility clearly outweigh the risks, especially when it comes to expanding the firm internationally,” Wilson said firmly.
“Let’s talk about Kresge amp; Company’s mystique,” Malouf said condescendingly, his irritation beginning to show, as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If they’re not careful, their increased publicity could destroy the aura of mystery and veneration that has surrounded the institution and its methods for decades.”
Wilson could see that anger was loosening Malouf’s tongue. “I don’t have a problem capitalizing on Fielder amp; Company’s furtiveness, although I think we should find a better word,” Wilson said.
A ripple of quiet laughter broke out among the other vice presidents as they took advantage of the break in tension to shift in their seats and cross or uncross their legs.
With obvious effort, Malouf softened slightly. “Sometimes, less is more, Wilson. I’m sure you understand that better than any of us. Kresge’s zeal for protecting its privacy and the privacy of its clients is legendary.”
This was the first serious challenge to one of Wilson’s initiatives and everyone was waiting to see how he would handle it, especially Malouf. Wilson responded matter-of-factly, “I am fully aware of Kresge’s position on privacy and publicity, but it’s outdated and behind the curve.” Wilson paused before continuing, “We live in a new era of public exposure and transparency. It’s time to learn how to capitalize on it.”
Malouf bit down hard on the freshened bait. “I can assure you, our clients will resent that attitude,” he said, no longer attempting to disguise his anger.
Make Malouf take action, Wilson told himself. “Privacy is a dying myth. It doesn’t exist, John. Secrecy is not only becoming unfashionable, it’s becoming impossible. We owe it to our clients to prepare them for a future when nothing they think, feel, say, plan, or do will escape the scrutiny of their employees, customers, shareholders, suppliers, competitors, the press, and society in general.” Wilson said, knowing exactly how arrogant he sounded. Bring me inside. “Creating more publicity-savvy consultants will make us more, not less, effective with our clients. Besides, I think it’s time we replaced Kresge amp; Company as the world’s premier management consulting firm.”
“That’s exactly why David Quinn and The J. B. Musselman Company fired Kresge amp; Company. Because privacy became a myth,” Malouf shot back spitefully.
Wilson’s blood ran cold as he listened to Malouf’s words and saw the cunning smirk on his face. For an instant, his confidence faltered, his mind jumping into hyperdrive to bring it back. What was Malouf trying to tell me? Was there a connection between David Quinn and the secret partnership? Or, was Malouf merely pointing out that I’d been wrong about Musselman?
Even though The J. B. Musselman Company had never been discussed during the week, Wilson assumed the vice presidents already knew that he was the Kresge partner who had prophesied Musselman’s doom. Then it struck him. Malouf was still trying to convince someone that Wilson was a loose cannon who needed to be stopped. Ashford? Spivey? He couldn’t believe it was Tennyson or O’Connor. Certainly not Throckmorton. Or was it intended for someone else, listening from a distance or to a recording when they landed?
The silence and Wilson’s runaway train of thought was broken by Leigh Tennyson. She looked at Malouf as she spoke, “I agree with Wilson. We can’t keep playing the same old game; it’s too risky. A more proactive approach to visibility could give us a big advantage.”
Wilson was shocked. The way Tennyson was looking at Malouf, there was no mistaking it. She had to be involved. Wilson was sure of it. Leigh Tennyson, who he’d come to admire and respect, was a card-carrying member of the secret partnership, signaling to Malouf that Wilson needed to be brought into the fold. We can’t keep playing the same old game, Wilson repeated in his mind.
“The initiative does represent a major departure from your father’s philosophy,” Corbin Ashford remarked.
The comment was both innocent and revealing. Ashford was talking to Wilson, not Malouf or Tennyson, and he seemed completely oblivious to any hidden agenda. But Wilson had to be sure. “My father changed his will a few weeks before he was shot,” he said slowly, letting the words sink in. “In his new will, he expressed a desire to put Fielder amp; Company on a high exposure path. He said it was time for the firm to come out of hiding.” Another pause. “I have committed the firm to act on his desire, and I invite all of you to do the same.”
From opposite sides of the cabin, Malouf and Tennyson exchanged looks of urgency, most likely pondering how much Wilson actually knew about their insiders club. He could see Malouf squirming. Wilson had just become a bigger threat to the secret partnership, but this tour had also made him harder to eliminate.
After that, there were no further questions or comments about initiative number four. The discussion turned to issues of implementation, timing, costs, responsibility, and anticipated obstacles. Malouf and Tennyson became more and more removed, apparently considering a new set of initiatives.
When the meeting ended, the six vice presidents relaxed quietly in the Gulfstream’s comfortable surroundings. Four days together, and this final meeting had provided more than enough dialogue, even for the talkative Spivey. And while Wilson still couldn’t believe that he’d been so easily deceived by Leigh Tennyson’s candid complaints about John Malouf, he’d now done everything he could to force the partnership’s hand. He hoped he’d done enough-and not too much. But his misreading of Tennyson continued to worry him. What else would they do to take him by surprise?
For now, all he could do was wait. A week in Venice with Emily would afford him the space and distance he needed to be patient and give the secret partnership enough rope to develop a response. He was looking forward to endless, uninterrupted hours with Emily.