February 8, 2009
San Bernardino, CA
"I’m sure that most of you have already guessed why you’ve been called here today." The regional manager of Vandekar Publishing stood before the assembled employees. "We’ve tried not to let this leak to the press, but some people just couldn’t keep their mouths shut."
Jack sighed inwardly, leaning back in the hard plastic chair. He knew exactly why they had called this meeting. The CEO of Vandekar Publishing, Mark Anderson, had been caught embezzling from the company. Further investigation had revealed widespread accounting errors, most of them deliberate, and most of them encouraged by Anderson. Anderson himself had been summarily fired, but not before he had cashed in his stock options and placed the money in an overseas account, making off with fifty million dollars and sending the company’s stock plummeting.
Each employee had been given forty shares when the company had begun offering stock, and some had bought more, but it was nearly worthless now. He would be surprised if the corporation didn’t go bankrupt.
The public relations employees had done a good job of keeping the scandal out of the news, until one of them, knowing that layoffs were imminent and knowing that he would soon be out of a job, had sent copies of the accounting records and his own statement to the New York Times, and it wasn’t long before every newspaper and news service in the country picked it up.
The whistle blower had been found dead a few days later, an apparent suicide, though some people were not so sure, and there was an investigation into what had happened. Not surprisingly, when he had told Rose about what was going on, she had immediately begun to investigate, drawing on her sources—her friends in strange places, as she called them. All of the information she had uncovered had been sent to the FBI—which had begun investigating after the public relations employee was found dead—and to the news services.
At first, no one had objected to her investigation, but after she had written and recorded a song satirizing the scandal, an anonymous gunman had taken a shot at her one night as she left a nightclub in Temecula. No one had been hurt, but the shooter had not been apprehended, and Rose had grown ever more cautious, afraid that it would happen again.
Now, some seven weeks after the scandal had come to light, the management was finally announcing what the future would hold for the corporation and the employees. Jack already knew that it wasn’t going to be good, but he didn’t know just how bad things might be.
The manager cleared her throat, obviously not looking forward to what she had to say. "I know that rumors have been flying over this incident, but I can assure you that most of them are not true. There was no foul play involved in the death of Gus Faro, the public relations employee who reported the incident to the New York Times. Mark Anderson has not fled the country, and is not being investigated by the FBI. In addition, Vandekar Publishing had no part in the attempted shooting of singer Rose Dawson."
Jack snorted rudely. He begged to differ with all four denials. Being married to Rose, he had access to information that the regional manager either didn’t have or was trying to cover up. He settled back in his chair, pasting an innocent look on his face as the manager looked to see who had interrupted her.
Finally giving up, she looked at her notes and spoke into the microphone again. "It is true, however, that the company is bankrupt. Our actual profits were much lower than reported, and when the stock dropped, it presented a financial catastrophe for Vandekar Publishing. What was left was bought out by White Star Publishers, Inc., providing just enough money to cover the debts and pay off the top management. Each of you will find a pink slip in your mailbox when you leave this meeting, and I regret to inform you that there will be no severance pay. That is all."
As the manager hurried from the room, an angry murmur went up amongst the assembled employees. Vandekar Publishing bought up by another company—what was left of it, anyway? Everyone laid off? No severance pay, and the company stock worthless? Some people had invested heavily in Vandekar Publishing and had lost everything. It would be especially hard on those nearing retirement, who suddenly found their investments worthless and themselves unemployed.
Jack stood up angrily and headed for the door. It was like Rose had said—the same story repeated over and over again, of some shady CEO manipulating the books to his own benefit, and then leaving the company in a shambles and the employees without jobs. She had known well enough how such things happened—her ex-fiancé had been one of those dishonest CEO’s, although Titan Construction had been fortunate in that he had been convicted and imprisoned for another crime before his manipulations could destroy the company.
Jack stalked to his mailbox and collected its contents, then headed for his desk to clean it out. He had been an assistant manager in the San Bernardino office for several years, but apparently he didn’t rank high enough to be paid off. It wasn’t that he thought himself anymore deserving than his co-workers, but the Dawsons had little money left in their savings after paying for Paul’s funeral in December. He had hoped that his job would last a while longer—at least long enough to save a little money and send out his résumé, but it hadn’t happened.
To make matters worse, there was no severance pay, so he had only the little bit that he had made in the past week, and the benefits that had come with the job had been cut off when White Star Publishers had purchased Vandekar Publishing. He was just grateful that the family was still okay in that regard—Rose qualified for health insurance through her membership in the Screen Actors’ Guild, and would continue to do so as long as she maintained that membership.
He might be lucky enough to find another job quickly, but he doubted it. The recession that had begun the year before was only growing worse—it was the worst economic decline since the Great Depression, something Jack had barely paid attention to in history class, though now he wished he knew more. Jobs were difficult to find, with more disappearing every day. Rose still worked, but the number of singing engagements she had booked had grown smaller since the shooting incident, and the independent film company she had been working for was foundering, its last film a dismal failure in the art houses.
It didn’t take him long to pile his belongings into a cardboard box. Lifting the box, which contained a handful of things he had kept in his desk, a couple of family photographs, and a plaque he had been given just a few months earlier when he had been employee of the month, he walked slowly from the building, wondering what he was going to do now.