London
The headache was sitting behind his left eye. It was a pain that was throbbing in a steady beat. This beat was like the sound of the rain hitting the window glass. The headache and the rain had the rhythm. The pain from the headache was very uncomfortable. It was matching the noise of the rain outside.
Zaviyar Khan pressed his thumb into his temple hard. This was not helping him at all. These days nothing was helping Zaviyar Khan. The espresso was not helping Zaviyar Khan. The boxing trainer that Zaviyar Khan paid two thousand pounds a month to punch at 5:00 AM was not helping Zaviyar Khan either. The view, well that was definitely not helping Zaviyar Khan.
People said the view from The Shard was really amazing. To Zaviyar it just looked like a big grey mess with water all over it. London was feeling very sad and gloomy in February and to be honest Zaviyar felt like he wanted to be sad. He felt like the city was matching his mood. The city was grey. Zaviyar was grey.
Harris said "You are not listening."
Zaviyar turned his chair around. The leather made a noise that was really annoying. It sounded cheap. This was weird because the chair was very expensive. It cost more than a Honda. The chair was supposed to be comfortable but it was just another thing that annoyed Zaviyar Khan today.
Harris was standing by the door. He was holding a file folder. He was holding it like it was something that could protect him. I feel bad for Harris. Harris has been working with the company for a long time. He was working here when Zaviyar's father was in charge. Harris remembers the father. The father was a scary man. Zaviyar is a scary man too.
After all these years Harris still looks scared when he comes into this office. Zaviyar's office can be a bad place for Harris. Harris looks terrified every time he walks in. He looks like he expects Zaviyar to throw something at him. Zaviyar does not throw things. Zaviyar is not his father. But Harris does not seem to know the difference.
Zaviyar said "I am listening". His voice sounded really tired. "I am just bored Harris" he said. "There is a difference between being bored and not listening Harris" Zaviyar said. "Being bored is worse. Being bored means I do not care."
"We did not get the Seattle bid" Harris said. He let the file fall on the desk. The file slid across the marble top and came to a stop just a few inches away from Zaviyar's hand. The file looked heavy. It looked full of bad news. "The people from the Roy family were able to get it. The Roys beat us with their bid for Seattle."
Zaviyar looked at the file. He did not open it. He already knew what was inside the file. He knew the numbers inside the file before Harris even walked into the room. "By how much?" Zaviyar asked about the file.
"Zero point four percent."
Zaviyar picked up a pen. Clicked it. The pen made a click sound. Click. Click. Click. This sound was really loud in the empty room. The room was so empty that you could hear the pen clicking over and over again. The sound was like a clock ticking. It was counting down the time until Zaviyar lost his temper.
Zero point four percent was not a business margin. It was something to annoy people. It was like someone was giving us the finger from across the Atlantic. It was a joke. The Roys were making a joke.
Zaviyar said this quietly. "They knew about our floor. The people who were bidding knew the number that we could not go below. They knew the exact number. Then they did something pretty clever. They bid a dollar under that number."
"The New York office is the problem" Harris said with a sigh rubbing his face. He looked really old under those fluorescent lights. Harris looked like he had not slept in a week. "We have a leak" Harris explained. "Someone who works in the Strategy department at the New York office is giving the Roys our plans before we even get a chance to print them. The New York office leak is very serious" Harris thought. "We are bleeding, Zaviyar. We are bleeding information."
Zaviyar stood up. He walked to the window. Stared at his reflection. Zaviyar looked like he had been through a lot. There were circles under his eyes and he had not shaved in a while so a shadow of stubble was visible on his face. The suit Zaviyar was wearing felt really uncomfortable like something was holding him. It was a cage made of wool. Zaviyar was thirty-two years old. He felt really old like he was eighty years old. He felt like his grandfather.
The feud. It is always the feud. The Khans and the Roys have been fighting with each other since 1947. This thing is very tired. It is really silly. The feud is the only thing that people care about. The Khans and the Roys just cannot stop fighting with each other. The feud is all that matters to the Khans and the Roys. It started with land. Then it was cotton. Now it is shipping and data. The things change but the hate stays the same. The hate is the only thing that is real.
Zaviyar said to the glass "I want those people gone."
"Who?" Harris asked.
"The management team in New York. All of them. Evans, the VPs, the assistants. Fire them. Fire every single one of them."
"Zaviyar you cannot just let a whole floor of people go" Harris said. His voice got really loud. "The thing about the severance packages for the people who work on that floor is that they are going to cost a lot of money" Harris pointed out. "Zaviyar needs to think about the people who work on that floor and the severance packages they will get if Zaviyar fires them. It will look bad in the press. The press will say Zaviyar Khan is a monster."
"I do not care about the money Harris" Zaviyar said as he spun around. For a moment the mask slipped. He was not the CEO. He was a guy who was really sick of losing to Vikram Roy. He was just a man who was angry. "I care that Vikram Roy is sitting in his penthouse in Mumbai and laughing at me" Zaviyar thought to himself. "I want a slate, a fresh start. I want Zaviyar to get rid of Vikram Roy and his people. I want to win, Harris. Just once, I want to win without it being a struggle."
Harris went quiet. He knew that tone. The Dad tone was something he was familiar with. That was the tone his father used when he was not happy about something. Harris knew the Dad tone too well. When Zaviyar used that tone, people usually got fired. Or worse.
"Fine" Harris said slowly. "But the Strategy Head position is very important. If we let the Strategy Head go the stock will go down. We need to find a Strategy Head right away. The Strategy Head job cannot be empty for long. The shareholders will panic. When the shareholders panic, the stock drops. When the stock drops, the board gets angry."
"Not someone who works here" Zaviyar said loudly. "The people here are not smart. I need someone who's good at what they do. Find me someone from outside. Someone who does not know about our company and does not care about it. I want a shark. Someone who can do the job without knowing our history. Zaviyar wants a shark from outside the company. I want a mercenary, Harris."
Harris hesitated. He put his hand in his jacket pocket. Pulled out a piece of paper that was folded up. This piece of paper was not an important document. The paper was something that had been printed out from a computer. It was wrinkled.
Harris said "I might have someone". He was thinking about this person for the London expansion. Since they really need someone he is willing to consider her now. Harris said "I was saving her for the London expansion but if you are really desperate..."
"I am not desperate. I am annoyed." Zaviyar took the paper. He smoothed it out on the black marble desk. The marble was cold. The paper was warm from Harris's pocket.
This person had a profile on LinkedIn. There was no photo of them. It just had their name and a resume. The resume was really something. It sounded like they were ready to fight a battle. The things they wrote in that resume were very strong like a declaration of war from the person who wrote the LinkedIn profile.
Anya Sharma.
Specialization: Hostile Takeovers, Restructuring, Asset Liquidation.
Harris said that this woman is a freelancer. She lives in New York. People call her The Scalpel. The Scalpel goes into companies that are doing badly gets rid of the things that are not needed fires the people in charge and then leaves with a lot of money. The Scalpel has no loyalty to The Scalpel's clients or the companies The Scalpel works with. She is a gun for hire. She shoots whoever she is paid to shoot.
Zaviyar looked over the page. This woman was a graduate of Wharton. She used to work at Blackstone. Then she decided to work for herself. There was a note written in the margin in Harris's handwriting: This person has high psychopathy scores. She is very efficient. She is also very cold.
Zaviyar smiled. This was the first time Zaviyar had smiled all week. It was not a nice smile. It was a smile that meant trouble.
Zaviyar said that she sounds really bad. He thinks it is great. Zaviyar loves the way she sounds. She sounds like him.
"She's expensive, Zav. Her day rate is obscene."
"Pay it." Zaviyar messed up the paper. Threw it away. "Get her on the jet. I want her to be here tomorrow morning. The Roys want to play games so let us show the Roys someone who does not follow the rules. The Roys will see what it means to play games with the Roys and I am talking about the Roys, the people who think they can play games with me and the Roys will learn that I do not play by the rules of the Roys."
He looked back out at the rain. The rain was still falling. The headache was still there, thumping away. But at least now, he had a weapon. He had a shark. And he was going to point the shark at New York and let it eat.