Wednesday, April 14th, 6 a. m
The call from the concierge jolted him awake. Rudker splashed cold water on his face, then spent forty minutes on the treadmill in the third-floor gym before showering. Until he’d hit forty, his nervous energy had kept him lean. Now he had to work at it. He dressed in the charcoal suit, choosing a striped silver and light-blue tie. Pharma people on the west coast were slightly more casual than their counterparts in the east coast corridor. He’d been on a panel at a pharma marketing conference in Edison, New Jersey, and every guy in the room had been wearing campaign colors: dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. The women, fortunately, made some livelier choices.
Nervous excitement kept him from having breakfast, but he downed his usual assortment of supplements: vitamins B, C, and E, zinc, kelp, calcium, and DHEA. Prevention was the key. He’d read the side-effect profile of too many pharmaceuticals to leave his health in the hands of drugs. Except for the Zyprexa and an occasional migraine pill, he steered clear of chemicals.
The company sent a car for him at 7:15, and Rudker arrived at the Stewart Street headquarters with thirty-five minutes to kill. Not wanting to look eager, he circled the entire campus on foot, ignoring the dark sky that threatened rain. With twenty minutes left, he headed up to the executive suite. He stopped at Gerald Akron’s office, but the secretary told him the CEO was in a meeting. A meeting before the meeting? That seemed odd, perhaps even ominous. No, it could be anything, he told himself.
He found a reading nook on the west side of the executive suite and tried to concentrate on the two reports he’d prepared, but his mind kept surging forward to the board meeting. He imagined the announcement, saw them reach out, one by one, to shake his hand. A board member! Rudker’s heart pulsed in his fingertips. Abruptly, he pushed out of the chair and began to walk the hallway again. After what seemed like an eternity, the clock said 8:20. It was time.
Rudker entered the boardroom at the end of the hall and immediately sensed something was wrong. The group didn’t exactly go quiet, but they all glanced up at him as they wrapped up hushed conversations. John Harvick, the chairman, walked over and welcomed him with a handshake. Rudker felt a little better. He had to stop being so paranoid. Right. If he could do that, he wouldn’t need the Zyprexa.
He took a seat near the door on the opposite end of the table from where the chairman sat. The room was surprisingly small and had no windows. Meeting rooms were always like that. Architects rarely wasted prime window real estate on anything but offices. He hated the confined feel.
Harvick called the meeting to order. Rudker surveyed the people seated around the long mahogany table. Gerald Akron, Art Baldwin, Harvey Kohl, Jane Kranston, Richard Mullins, and Jim Estes. The “super seven” had control over a company that pulled in $14 billion a year in revenue. They had control over his future.
“Let’s get a quick update on the merger,” Harvick said, looking at Akron, JB’s chief executive officer.
“Firing on all cylinders,” Akron reported. The heavy bald man stood to deliver the rest of his brief: “The SEC wants us to sell two of our cardiovascular products, both with sales under $80 million. Genzar wants the pair. We’ve identified twelve middle management positions and five R amp;D staff that can be eliminated during the merger. And plans are in motion to move Prolabs’ R amp;D operation to Seattle. The only holdup is the final approval to build a new factory in Eugene.”
“Anything we can do to push that?” Harvick looked at Rudker.
Rudker was ready. “I’ve got an insider on the city council and all we need to do is wait for their vote. I have a friend on the environmental committee too. So I expect quick approval of our plan to recreate the wetlands. We should know in a week or two.”
Kranston and Kohl laughed. Rudker gave Kranston a look.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s the idea of recreating wetlands. It’s like promising to put up a new ghetto.”
Rudker relaxed a bit. “Eugene is a little odd that way. Nothing but weeds and ducks and a few scrubby trees out there in that acreage, but folks want to preserve it. The town also has ten percent unemployment. This factory will be built.”
“Excellent.” There was a long pause before Harvick continued. “Karl, I know you’re anxious to know our decision and we won’t keep you waiting any longer. We think it’s premature to offer you a position on the board, but we promise to reconsider the idea after you’ve had six months under your belt as chief operating officer.”
The air left his lungs as if being vacuumed. Rudker fought the panic. Fought the desire to shove his fist into Harvick’s face. He clenched and unclenched his hands in his lap several times before responding. “I’ve got twenty-five years in the business under my belt.”
“We know that, Karl. But never at a company that does more than a billion a year. Give it a little time.”
Stunned by their decision, he considered withdrawing his company from the merger. He had other offers. Yet he sat there, silent. Time was the problem. Prolabs was too close to financial collapse to start over with a new deal.
Finally Rudker nodded. “It won’t take long to show you what I can do.”
The voices in the room faded away and all he heard was the one in his head. Second man and no board seat. Nice lateral move. Rage and shame burned in his veins.
“Anything to update on Nexapra?” Now Kohl was asking questions.
Rudker pulled in a fresh supply of oxygen through his nose and spoke slowly. “We’ve started recruiting for Phase III clinical trials. The FDA has given us an okay for the protocol. We’re projecting a late-2011 approval date.” He sounded so calm.
“Excellent.” Kohl turned his next question to Akron, and Rudker’s mind flipped back to his humiliation. How could he have been so wrong about the board member decision? Did they know about Prolabs’ financial mess? Were they toying with him?
He could feel his power position slipping away. Now it all rested on Nexapra. He had to push it through approval and to the top of the charts. He couldn’t let anything get in his way.