Chapter 10 #2
“Enough.” I step between Zita and the increasingly hostile faces around the conference table. “I appreciate your interest in our family’s welfare, but these matters require specialized knowledge and experience that research alone doesn’t provide.”
“Specialized knowledge like understanding that federal RICO prosecutions increase dramatically following high-profile gang violence?” Zita’s challenge is delivered with the precision of a surgeon making a critical incision.
“Or perhaps I need to be a specialist to recognize media attention from warfare makes it impossible to maintain the political relationships that protect our operations?”
She’s absolutely right, which makes her intervention both more valuable and more dangerous.
The men around this table need to hear these arguments, but they also need to respect my authority to control when and how such discussions occur.
“Your points are well-taken,” I say carefully.
“They will be given appropriate consideration in our final decision-making process.”
“When will that consideration take place?” she asks, clearly not satisfied with vague promises.
The solution comes to me in a flash of inspiration that might be brilliant or catastrophic.
“The strategic implications will be weighed immediately.” I make a decision that will probably change everything about how this organization operates.
“My wife has raised important considerations that affect all our interests. Her boldness in bringing these concerns directly to this council demonstrates commitment to our family’s success that I value. ”
I turn to face Zita directly, holding her startled expression with my own carefully neutral one.
“My wife’s desire to participate in our planning reflects her understanding that this organization’s prosperity affects everyone connected to it.
Her research shows initiative and analytical capability that could serve us well. ”
The reframing catches everyone by surprise, including Zita herself. I’ve just transformed her embarrassing interruption into evidence of loyalty and strategic thinking. I’ve made her defiance look like dedication rather than insubordination.
Alexei catches on first, nodding slowly. “Mrs. Belsky’s analysis does identify genuine vulnerabilities that we should address regardless of who brought them to our attention.”
“Her analysis identifies theoretical problems that might not have any relevance to how we do things in the real world.” Dmitri still disagrees, but his tone has shifted from outrage to grudging consideration.
“Academic research doesn’t account for the psychological factors that determine whether our enemies view us as strong or weak. ”
Her confidence returning. She’s realized I’m covering for her rather than condemning her. “Psychological factors like the respect that comes from building something sustainable rather than just defending something inherited?” she asks in a neutral tone.
The debate continues for another twenty minutes, but the room’s dynamics have shifted.
Instead of simply arguing about whether to attack the Federoffs immediately, we’re discussing broader questions about what kind of organization we want to build and how our methods affect our long-term objectives.
Zita has forced us to think strategically rather than just tactically, and the quality of our decision-making improves dramatically even in just a short span of time. I’ve managed to turn her disruption into a productive contribution.
When the meeting finally concludes, I’ve committed to a measured response that addresses the Federoff threat through targeted law enforcement pressure rather than open warfare, along with continued discreet surveillance with the understanding my men will act if it’s an emergent situation.
Otherwise, they’re to observe and document.
It’s not the approach my father would have chosen, but it’s probably more likely to achieve lasting results without creating new problems. Only a few of the older men still seem resistant to the course of action, but none have stormed out.
The men file out with expressions ranging from thoughtful acceptance to barely concealed skepticism. After the door closes behind the last lieutenant, I turn to face my wife, who’s organizing her research materials with obvious satisfaction.
“That was quite a scene.” I keep my voice neutral.
She responds without looking up from her portfolio. “That was quite necessary. Your men were trying to commit you to a strategy that would have destroyed everything you’ve worked to build.”
“My men were following established protocols that have protected this organization for three decades.” I approach the table where she’s sitting, noting how she doesn’t retreat despite the obvious tension crackling between us.
“My men were demonstrating loyalty to methods that kept my father alive and prosperous until he died of natural causes.”
“Your men were demonstrating loyalty to tradition without considering whether that tradition still serves your interests.” She closes her portfolio and looks at me directly.
“Your men were about to turn you into a leader who rules through fear rather than thoughtful decisions. You don’t want that, and quite honestly, neither do I. ”
The accuracy of her assessment is infuriating because it highlights vulnerabilities I’ve been trying not to acknowledge. The pressure to follow my father’s methods exactly is enormous, but those methods may not be appropriate for the challenges I’m facing or the organization I’m trying to build.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?” I move closer until we’re separated by less than a foot. “Do you understand how close you came to making me look like a fool who can’t control his own household?”
She stares at me for a moment. I’m expecting her to cower or perhaps even apologize. Instead, her eyes glitter with anger, and she’s vibrating with anger and resentment. So am I as we stare at each other without speaking for a long moment.