“What’s being done about the problem?”
“I’ve directed De Florio to find out whether Reed has the list and, if so, what he knows about it. I didn’t ask how he proposes to do that, nor do I want to know. Jon will take care of it, like he always does.”
“And what of May’s list?” he asked.
“Fully processed, with no problems, including the three approved at our last meeting.”
His mind raced, more pieces of the plan he’d conceived fitting into place. “Needless to say, I assume we’re in agreement to suspend any further Prioritizing until this matter is resolved.”
Neither objected, then Hughes changed the subject. “What about the negotiations? How are we going to handle things this time?”
Chris had been waiting for a mention. “I have to be at the mill for the close of the fiscal year. I thought I could put in the customary appearance by ownership.”
“I have no objection to that,” Lee said.
“Nor I,” Hughes said.
No surprise on either count. Though industrial relations lay within Hughes’ sphere of supervision, he routinely delegated all the responsibility to subordinates. Similarly, whenever negotiation time came around Lee looked for an excuse not to spend two weeks cooped up in Woods County. They both also probably figured the three hundred miles between Atlanta and Concord would get him out of their hair, at least for a while.
He knew what he had to say. “I’ll get the five years, as cheap as I can.”
“You should be able to get them for only agreeing to no takebacks,” Hughes said. “Reed will be happy to settle for what he’s got right now. The status quo is good for all of us.”
“Assuming he doesn’t have the list and doesn’t know what it is.”
Neither one of them said a word.
“I’ll keep both of you informed as to my progress.” But he had no intention of doing any such thing. What he did need, “Hamilton, have Jon report directly to me in Concord what he findsconcerning the list. I also want Brent Walker involved in the negotiations. I may need to use him with Reed. I want him close by. Please arrange for that to happen.”
10:50A.M.
CHRIS STOOD ALONE BEFORE THE OUTER GLASS IN HIS OFFICE.
The meeting had adjourned a few minutes ago after more decisions on how to handle the upcoming negotiations. All three men had promptly left the boardroom and returned to their respective offices on the twenty-ninth floor.
It was not even noon, yet his abdomen ached. It seemed to start earlier and earlier each day.
He gazed down over the morning traffic, thinking again about the Priority program. A long time had passed since it started. Then its victims were simply aggravations, problems that seemed to constantly jeopardize a tenuous investment. The first one?
How could he forget.
Robbie Shuman.
“I’m sick and tired of hearing about Robbie Shuman,” Lee said again.
They were in the middle of the monthly board meeting, crowded around an oval table in a tiny conference room, part of the space the corporation leased in one of downtown Atlanta’s older office buildings. TheSavannah Morning Newslay before them, its front page headlinedPAPER COMPANY UNDER FEDERAL SCRUTINY, the article anything but flattering.
Federal authorities have confirmed an investigation has been started into the air emissions and water discharge activities of Southern Republic Pulp and Paper Company. The Atlanta based corporation purchased the Concord, Georgia, paper mill six years ago. Since then, the plant has been undergoing a rapid expansion with the addition of two more paper machines and extensive modernization. Allegations have come to light that the company may be violating its discharge permit into the Savannah River and air emissions may exceed federal standards. United Paperworkers Local 567 President Robbie Shuman said yesterday that Southern Republic is violating the law and called for an immediate investigation, offering documentation to support his allegations.
“That son of a bitch is going to sink us,” Hughes said. “We’ve got millions invested and are about to invest millions more.”
“Something has to be done,” Lee said. “I’m in the process of buying three sawmills. We can’t take this kind of publicity. It’s tough enough squeezing money out of banks without this crap.”
Shuman had been a problem from the start. He was a papermaker and president of the papermakers’ union, the mill’s largest. Southern Republic inherited him from Republic Board. He was a tough little man with wavy black hair, a bushy black mustache, and beady gray eyes. The two sets of contract negotiations since their purchase of the mill from Republic Board had both been ordeals, all thanks to Shuman. The third was about to begin in a couple of months, and no one was looking forward to it. Shuman stayed in the newspaper and obviously knew how to dial a telephone. In the last forty-eight hours they’d fielded questions from theAtlanta Constitution,Savannah Morning News, andNew York Times, and yesterday a producer from60 Minutescalled to arrange an on-camera interview between one of the three shareholders and Mike Wallace.
“This is getting way out of hand,” Hughes said. “We don’t need this kind of attention. Shuman’s got to go. Why can’t we just fire him?”
“What good will that do?” Lee asked. “He’d just continue to raise hell and the union would grievance us to oblivion. We’d have every governmental agency there is coming down on us.”
