Louis Postadolas was the next in line. He had no title and no one even knew what he did in the company, but he was always at every important meeting that was conducted in this conference room. A large, well-proportioned handsome man, he was always the best dressed person in any room he entered. He was able to blend today’s fashion trends with the standards of the past seamlessly making everyone wonder why they hadn’t thought of that combination themselves. Louis wore a watch that was worth twice as much as most fancy cars, and his ties were custom made of a silk produced in only one Chinese province. Rarely, if ever, did he speak; and when he did, everyone, including the boss, paid rapt attention. His sentences were short, crisp, and to the point…but more importantly, they were followed through immediately.
Dennis Spoltz was vice-president in charge of technology, a sort of catch-all position that had little to do since E. Emory was generally opposed to moving forward too fast in anything. His “if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it” mentality was cost ineffective, but that didn’t matter to him. He understood how things worked in the past. New technology meant new learning for him, something he either didn’t want to do or was incapable of doing…either way it produced the same result.
And that took the circle back to Daniel Brent, boy wonder, corporate hot shot, whiz kid…the man to take chances. E. Emory’s daughter, Susan, had heard about Daniel from gossip on the street. He was working for another research company and had just engineered a coup by snatching an advertiser away from Pro-Rank. Susan was smart enough to realize two things in her life: first, her husband was good in bed but lousy in business. He could never run anything on his own, but he was fantastic at a party. His income depended on Pro-Rank, and Susan’s desires to be pampered and live the good life were directly related to her husband keeping his job. Second, she saw that Pro-Rank was going nowhere in an industry that became more technological by the minute. Her second source of income, her father, could easily let the company fall apart by his unwillingness to modernize. As much as she hated to get involved in anything serious, Susan put two and two together and realized Pro-Rank needed a Daniel, or someone like him, to survive. That’s how Daniel Brent found himself seated at this table. Susan had approached him with the following: a twenty thousand dollar a year raise on his present salary and the title of vice-president of creative management as an inducement. She also pro-rated a bonus package dependant upon how much the company’s profits grew in each quarter he was there. This was too good for Daniel to pass up, so he gave his notice and joined Pro-Rank.
“Let’s get down to it, gentlemen,” E. Emory said. “Daniel, here, has been with the company for two weeks now learning the ropes. I called this meeting to get a report on his impressions. Daniel.”
Daniel stood at his seat. This wasn’t a crowd that would be dazzled by computer-made slide shows or movies because they’d be so overwhelmed by the production values that they’d fail to see the messages being presented. These were people used to listening to ideas and having pieces of paper in front of them with graphs and drawings. If they couldn’t hear it, see it, and touch it…it didn’t exist.
“Gentlemen…and lady,” Daniel began. “Most of you have seen me circulating among your offices and departments gathering information. I wanted to see how this company worked from the bottom to the top, so I observed a lot and asked a thousand questions. After all, isn’t that what Pro-Rank is all about…asking questions, getting answers, and tabulating the results? We then sell those results to clients who use them to build campaigns around. Whether they’re selling ketchup or running somebody for office, they want to see how the average person is thinking…what will sway him or her. Is it a word, a concept, a color, a new slant on an old idea…they need to know before they sink millions of dollars into the project.”
Daniel stopped and tried to read the body language of the people around the table. E. Emory was still squirming in his chair meaning the orthopedics weren’t doing him much good. Melinda was focused on E. Emory trying with her facial gestures to show sympathy for him; she was really oblivious to anything Daniel had said. Dennis was paying attention while Arturo and Bernard were busy doing little things with their fingers, tapping paper clips or folding and refolding the corner of a piece of paper, to try to irritate each other. Their attention was obviously some place else. Marcus, the jerk, was trying to catch glimpses out the window or looking at his watch indicating he had an appointment elsewhere and was wondering when he could excuse himself from this one without pissing E. Emory off too much. Louis had his eyes glued on Daniel as if his stare could burn a hole in the speaker’s face. He was the most intent listener in the room.
“As a result of my observations,” Daniel continued, “this company will be lucky to survive another year. If it were a horse, it would be shot to put it out of its misery.”
“What?” E. Emory blurted out. His outburst focused everybody’s attention on Daniel. Those who hadn’t been listening suddenly knew the boss had been, so they were trying to catch up. In their desperation, they didn’t know what kind of face to display: anger, concern, sadness?
“What do you mean? You better explain yourself!” E. Emory said, a redness showing on his face.
“This company is so far behind the times that it would have to jump light years ahead just to get into the horse and buggy era,” Daniel replied bluntly. “The wasteful methods you employ to secure data are staggering never mind that half of what you produce is useless. The good polling companies produce an error margin of plus or minus four per cent; the top companies do plus or minus three per cent. Pro-Rank’s best is five per cent, and you don’t always hit that mark. You’re losing customers at the rate of three per week. A kid flipping coins can probably give you better answers than what you’re providing, so I don’t blame these guys for dumping you.”
E. Emory looked over at his stable of vice-presidents who were now sitting quietly trying to avoid direct eye contact with the boss for fear he might ask them a question. Even Arturo and Bernard stopped trying to irritate each other.
“Look,” E. Emory said; “if you don’t like it here, then -.”
“Let him talk,” Louis said interrupting the boss. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
E. Emory suddenly became obediently quiet surprising everyone at the table. With a hand gesture, he indicated for Daniel to continue.
“It’s not that I don’t like it here,” Daniel continued; “but what is HERE? Are we in the business of polling? If we are, why aren’t we the best? What’s stopping us from plus or minus three per cent? Why aren’t we shooting for two per cent? I’ll tell you in two words…technology and methodology.”
Dennis started clapping then caught himself and lowered his hands under the table.
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