Franklin leans back in the plush chair, his focus lost to his phone rather than the board members gathered around the table. When he finally sets it down, his antsy fingers shift to his name plate – William Franklin, CEO Americana Commercial Holdings – tapping it back and forth as he lets his gaze slowly circle the room. He abruptly stops, seeing an empty chair where Marsha Clemens, his Marketing Director, should be sitting.
“Where is she?”
Thomas Prickerton, the CFO, bristles. “Her nanny didn’t show this morning. Something about not being able to afford the gas.” He smirks. “Damn hard to get good help these days.”
“Guess we know where her priorities lie,” Franklin huffs. He juts his chin at Roger McDuff, his Logistics Director. “Okay, let’s make this quick. I’ve got a tee-off at 1:30 and I’d like to have some lunch at the club first.”
McDuff nods, his face flush. “Well, as noted, fuel costs are higher, so even with a doubling of home deliveries we’re not quite up to the 30% profit margin we’d hoped for. I think that—“
The CEO cuts him off, stabbing a finger in his direction. “Make it happen.”
“Yes sir.”
“Next.”
Andrew McKinsey, Construction and Sales VP, nervously slides his chair forward. “Sir, with interest rates tripling, real estate sales, with the exception of luxury homes, have tanked. We’d projected a 40% profit this quarter, but when you add the dismal sales to the new construction costs—“
Franklin raises an open hand. “Enough. I know where this is going.” He turns to Dennis Frazier, Automotive Sales. “You got anything better?”
“Well, Mr. Franklin, as with housing, luxury car sales are through the roof, particularly the hybrid and electric models. And that’s helping to take the edge off the drop in standard model sales. But with inflation, fuel prices, and worker complaints about wages and benefits, we’re having to lower our expectations.”
“’Lower expectations’ is not a phrase I care to hear. Ever.” He looks down at his phone, noting the time. “Marty, with all this nonsense about rising costs and the damn poor people, I can only hope our energy division is pulling its weight.”
Marty smiles. “We’re booming, Boss. Profits way, way up. Even with oil at $125 a barrel, we’re raking it in.”
“Finally some good news,” Franklin says, winking. He looks to the last man at the table. “What’cha got Chris?”
Chris stiffens. “It’s been tough times for folks out there, sir, so grocery sales are off. Except for soups and broths. They’ve become extremely popular because they’re less expensive.”
Franklin leans back. “Tough times, indeed. It would seem we all need to help out wherever we can, eh?” He points at Chris. “And here’s where you can help out...with our profits, that is. Raise the price of soup and broth by 15%.”
Chris’ mouth opens, but no words escape.
Franklin stands. “That’s it, gentlemen. There’s a martini with my name on it waiting at the 19th hole...”
“Where is she?”
Thomas Prickerton, the CFO, bristles. “Her nanny didn’t show this morning. Something about not being able to afford the gas.” He smirks. “Damn hard to get good help these days.”
“Guess we know where her priorities lie,” Franklin huffs. He juts his chin at Roger McDuff, his Logistics Director. “Okay, let’s make this quick. I’ve got a tee-off at 1:30 and I’d like to have some lunch at the club first.”
McDuff nods, his face flush. “Well, as noted, fuel costs are higher, so even with a doubling of home deliveries we’re not quite up to the 30% profit margin we’d hoped for. I think that—“
The CEO cuts him off, stabbing a finger in his direction. “Make it happen.”
“Yes sir.”
“Next.”
Andrew McKinsey, Construction and Sales VP, nervously slides his chair forward. “Sir, with interest rates tripling, real estate sales, with the exception of luxury homes, have tanked. We’d projected a 40% profit this quarter, but when you add the dismal sales to the new construction costs—“
Franklin raises an open hand. “Enough. I know where this is going.” He turns to Dennis Frazier, Automotive Sales. “You got anything better?”
“Well, Mr. Franklin, as with housing, luxury car sales are through the roof, particularly the hybrid and electric models. And that’s helping to take the edge off the drop in standard model sales. But with inflation, fuel prices, and worker complaints about wages and benefits, we’re having to lower our expectations.”
“’Lower expectations’ is not a phrase I care to hear. Ever.” He looks down at his phone, noting the time. “Marty, with all this nonsense about rising costs and the damn poor people, I can only hope our energy division is pulling its weight.”
Marty smiles. “We’re booming, Boss. Profits way, way up. Even with oil at $125 a barrel, we’re raking it in.”
“Finally some good news,” Franklin says, winking. He looks to the last man at the table. “What’cha got Chris?”
Chris stiffens. “It’s been tough times for folks out there, sir, so grocery sales are off. Except for soups and broths. They’ve become extremely popular because they’re less expensive.”
Franklin leans back. “Tough times, indeed. It would seem we all need to help out wherever we can, eh?” He points at Chris. “And here’s where you can help out...with our profits, that is. Raise the price of soup and broth by 15%.”
Chris’ mouth opens, but no words escape.
Franklin stands. “That’s it, gentlemen. There’s a martini with my name on it waiting at the 19th hole...”
