Chapter Thirteen
Garrett
Victor called at eleven-seventeen on Wednesday morning.
Garrett was in the conference room with his laptop and three cups of coffee, the first two finished and the third half-drunk and cooling, and he had been going through the pension recovery projections for the fourth time not because there was anything left to find but because waiting required doing something with his hands.
"Three conditions," Victor said, without preamble.
Garrett picked up his pen. "Go ahead."
"First. The union's contribution to the pension recovery is front-loaded as she proposed, but the percentage in year one increases from eight to twelve. We need a faster initial recovery to satisfy the board's risk committee."
"She'll negotiate on the percentage. Twelve is high."
"Ten, then. But not eight. The board won't accept eight."
"Understood. Second condition."
"The press line. If the facility doesn't reach seventy percent capacity by month eighteen, Ashford Meridian retains the right to revisit closure. Full closure, not partial."
Garrett wrote this down. "Trigger threshold?"
"Seventy percent of the capacity projection in the union's own proposal. We use their numbers as the benchmark. They can't argue it's unreasonable if it's their own data."
He looked at the capacity projection on the page in front of him. Seventy percent at eighteen months was achievable if the Q2 infrastructure contract came through. It was less achievable if it did not. "She'll want a cure period. Sixty days to remedy before the clause triggers."
"Thirty."
"Forty-five."
A pause. "Fine. Forty-five days cure period. Third condition."
"Victor."
"Third condition, Garrett."
He waited.
"The board wants a liaison. Someone from Ashford Meridian on-site for the first six months of the restructure. Quarterly reporting directly to me."
Garrett set the pen down. "That's not standard."
"Nothing about this is standard. We're doing a partial restructure on a facility we originally assessed for closure, on the recommendation of a union organiser, because you spent a week in Chicago and came back with a different model.
" Victor's voice was not unkind. It was precise.
"The board needs a visible presence. Someone watching the numbers in real time. "
"Who do you have in mind."
A silence that lasted long enough to tell him the answer before Victor said it. "You."
He looked at the window. Outside, the plant floor. The day shift, the press line running, two workers at the far station in conversation. A normal Tuesday in a facility that was still open.
"Six months," he said.
"You can work the other accounts remotely. You've done it before."
He had done it before. Twice, on complex restructures that required continuous presence. Both times the outcome had been better for it.
"I'll bring it to her," he said.
"All three conditions together," Victor said. "Package deal. She takes all three or we go back to the original timeline."
"I understand."
"Garrett." A pause with something different in it. "You did good work on the analysis. I didn't expect the grant."
"She found the grant."
"Then she did good work too." Victor hung up.
Garrett sat with the three conditions for a moment. Ten percent pension contribution in year one. Seventy percent capacity trigger with forty-five-day cure. On-site liaison for six months.
He thought about what six months in Chicago meant. He thought about it more carefully than the first two conditions combined, and he knew what that meant, and he did not pretend otherwise.
He sent her a text: Conference room. When you're free.
Her reply came in four minutes: Five minutes.
He poured the cold coffee into the bin and went to find a fresh cup.