The Reunion Comes to an End
Caroline came over quietly, carrying the insulated bag she had prepared in advance.
“Boss. Here’s the item you asked for.”
When I unzipped the bag, crystal bottles filled with a deep amber liquid caught the fluorescent light of the gym and flashed brilliantly.
Louis XIII—the pinnacle of French cognac.
A bottle cost two thousand dollars.
All at once, every eye in the room turned our way.
“Whoa, what’s that liquor?”
“Looks insanely expensive.”
“Holy crap, that’s Louis XIII! That’s like two months of my salary!”
I set several more bottles on the table.
Then I filled Robert’s empty glass with cognac.
“Drink. It’s good stuff, so don’t leave any behind.”
“Wow… I’ve never had liquor like this before.”
Robert took the glass from me, his eyes shining.
I asked him, “Know where I bought it?”
“Uh, where?”
“From your father’s store.”
“Seriously!? But Dad’s store shouldn’t have had anything this expensive!”
“I put in the order a week ago.”
“Ohhh, I get it now! Thanks! Really, thank you!”
Robert’s expression brightened even more.
Buying several bottles at that price would have been a meaningful boost to his father’s store, after all.
I raised my glass and tapped it lightly against his.
The stiffness that had been clinging to Robert’s shoulders began to melt away.
“Hah! Wow, this really is different. So this is what expensive liquor tastes like.”
“I ordered a lot. I’ve got it held at your father’s store under my name, so feel free to go in and drink whenever you want. Just mention my name.”
“Really? That’s okay? Wow!”
One by one, the guys standing around Robert took glasses from me and drank as well.
The atmosphere loosened, just a little.
I naturally steered the conversation elsewhere. “Come to think of it, Robert, how’s your father’s store doing? I went by recently, and it seemed a little quieter than before. When people talked about the Red Bulldog Saloon, it used to be packed with customers every day, right?”
“That was a long time ago. Things are manageable now, though. These days, the workers from the factory you built come by pretty often. It was really rough before that.”
“So the regulars back then were mostly Black Bog employees, right? They don’t come around much now?”
“It’s not that they don’t come around. It’s that they can’t. Most of them got laid off.”
Once a few glasses of strong, expensive liquor had gone down, Robert and his crowd started talking more freely.
“Most of Black Bog’s regulars were fired, and the ones who are left only ever order the cheapest vodka now. They barely tip at all.”
The guys listening in from the side jumped into the conversation.
“Yeah. My uncle worked security there and got laid off last month. He’d done night patrol for over twenty years, and then some new manager showed up and booted him out overnight so he could bring in his brother-in-law.”
“My uncle-in-law was a truck driver there and got screwed the same way. He’d gone fifteen years without a single accident, but then some rookie logistics manager replaced all the drivers with guys from his hometown. They told him to get out right then and there, without even a handoff, so he couldn’t even pack his things.”
“That’s nothing. My brother worked there as a welder for seven years, got injured on the job, and filed for workers’ comp—then they fired him immediately. Said he violated safety rules and all that, shoved a few pennies at him for a settlement, and kicked him out. He’s still looking for a lawyer now.”
Robert slammed his fist into the wall, as if he couldn’t contain his rage.
“Those Black Bog bastards are a total shitshow. They went on about financial statements and restructuring, but all they really did was drive out the field hands and technical specialists, then fill the empty seats with crony hires—founder’s nephews, in-laws, all that garbage.”
“It was that bad? Still, wasn’t that the biggest company in the area? They must’ve had plenty of money.”
“Sanha. Things really changed around here while you were gone.”
Robert glanced around, lowered his voice, and leaned toward me as though he were about to reveal some state secret.
“I’m telling you this because it’s you, but… there was a ‘war’ over there last year.”
“A war?”
“Yeah. One of the engineers who used to be a regular at Dad’s place got drunk and spilled everything.”
That sounded like it might be useful information.
In old martial arts novels, information always got gathered in taverns and brothels. I could sort of understand why.
Robert set his empty glass down on the table and went on. “That regular was a veteran drilling supervisor who’d worked there for twenty years. Harrison, maybe? Morrison? Something like that. He handled well pressure management, drill-site stability checks, blowout prevention tests… that kind of thing. And then, overnight, they pulled his desk out from under him.”
“Can something like that really happen all of a sudden? Even if the economy’s bad, that’s extreme.”
When I asked in fake surprise, Robert got even more animated and kept explaining.
“Exactly. That company was originally run by the founder’s sons, right? The so-called Old Guard. Longtime locals, the whole lot. The chairman’s three sons each handled drilling, refining, and distribution.”
I nodded and poured more cognac into his glass, and Robert accepted it with a little bow of gratitude.
“But a few years ago, smart guys from New York started coming in as executives. MBA types or something. They were the New Guard, I guess. McKinsey people, maybe? They got poached by the Houston headquarters? I don’t know—those were adult conversations, so I never caught the details exactly.”
“Hmm. Sounds like they tried to modernize the company.”
“Right. At first, everyone welcomed them. Tear out the old systems, cut costs, bring in new equipment. But that’s where the trouble started. The New Guard guys began poking around in all the Old Guard’s dirty little corners. They dug through ledgers, traced slush funds, exposed phantom employees… one by one, they started pulling up everything the founder’s sons had buried.”
Robert took a sip of his drink, then spat the words out with a shake of his head.
“Then, at the shareholder meeting last year, the New Guard tried to launch a ‘revolution’ and wipe the Old Guard out completely… but they failed in the end. Turns out the founder’s sons had hidden their shares. They’d been quietly buying stock among themselves all along. On paper it looked like ownership was scattered, but when they lifted the lid, they were all in on it together. Uncle’s name, brother-in-law’s name, college buddy’s name… once they opened the proxies, it was all stacked so the chairman’s sons got the voting power.”
“Hmm. So an outsider tried to shove out the people already in place and got slapped back by the old regime. A classic story. Hard to say which side was worse.”
“Exactly, exactly. That’s why things turned bloody. After the failed revolution, all the professional managers and engineers who had sided with the New Guard got purged. I heard every department head and above was fired. Even people who’d stayed neutral got tossed out one by one. They’d kept track of who voted for what, then got their revenge.”
The others nodded along.
“My uncle actually supported the New Guard. Said they were sharp and got things done.”
“My dad always said the Old Guard bastards were nothing but blowhards and completely incompetent in practice.”
“My grandfather owns shares there, and he says this wasn’t some coup to steal control of the company—it was reform for the shareholders’ benefit. I don’t really know the details, but my grandfather leans toward the New Guard.”
I nodded and poured the remaining cognac into Robert’s glass.
Then I started fitting the puzzle pieces together in my head.
The stack of resumes from highly qualified veterans that had been piling up on my office desk lately.
Former Black Bog drilling supervisor, former Black Bog production operations director, former Black Bog geological analysis team leader… the first time I saw those resumes, something had already felt off.
Too sudden for ordinary job seekers, and their qualifications were too good for the low salaries they were asking.
The smell of people who’d been kicked out was all over them.
That was why I wanted to find out what had happened inside Black Bog, and today’s gathering had been the perfect opportunity.
So there was a civil war inside Black Bog not long ago, and I’m catching it just after the suppression was completed?
Layoffs were unavoidable in a recession.
But when you cut staff, you should do it for efficiency, not political alignment.
You cut the incompetent employees, not the ones whose politics differ from yours.
Black Bog’s Old Guard—the owner family—had fired people based on political alignment instead of competence.
…What a stupid thing to do.
Oil-field development wasn’t something you could do with capital alone.
Reading underground crude flow, handling massive heavy equipment, and taking on the risks of the field—all of it ultimately came down to people.
Purging the veteran engineers who had kept the operation running for more than twenty years meant Black Bog had castrated its own competitiveness.
That meant all I had to do was gather up the talent they had thrown away.
I could scoop up the cream of the crop that a competitor had spit out, all while they were carrying resentment toward their former employer.
I’ll secure my own competitiveness in the oil market, and I should also drag every bit of Black Bog’s internal confidential information over to the IRS and dump it all on them.
I was already on transactional terms with IRS team leader Alfie Solomons, so this might even help me secure tax advantages for my own company.
Even if I didn’t do anything, the people who’d been forced out were bound to become whistleblowers anyway, so helping them legally could be a good look as well.
…Thunk.
I set my glass down on the table and gathered my thoughts.
I had enough information. It was time to wrap things up and leave.
That was when Caroline, who had been standing beside me, checked her wristwatch and stepped in with a polite but firm voice.
“Boss. I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to get moving. We’re cutting it close before the next meeting.”
Caroline was an excellent secretary—someone who knew how to read the room.
I rose from my seat as though reluctant.
“Sorry, Robert. I’ve got a schedule, so I need to head out. This was a fun conversation. I’ll stop by your family’s store when I have time. Give my regards to your father.”
“Huh? You’re leaving already? There’s still so much liquor left.”
“I’d like to stay longer, but I really am pressed for time. And besides, I brought the liquor as a gift for you guys in the first place. It wouldn’t be right for me to drink it all myself.”
Robert and the others came over with expressions of regret, shaking my hand and throwing arms over my shoulders.
I left their cheers behind, turned away, and Caroline followed quietly after me, carrying my coat.
As we came out of the gym and headed toward the car—
“Sanha!”
Someone blocked my path.
It was Stephanie.
She looked flushed and lightly caught the sleeve of my shirt.
“Um… you’re leaving already?”
“Yeah. I’ve got another meeting.”
“Th-then… could I call Harvard later? Just to check in, I mean. Could you give me your dorm number?”
There was obvious anticipation in her eyes, mixed with a little excitement.
I gave her my dorm room number without hesitation.
“Call anytime. Though I’m not around the dorm much these days, so my roommate might pick up.”
Stephanie was a key member of the local social set that helped shape youth opinion in Garden Queens, and she had some influence in the community in her own right.
Keeping her on my side wasn’t a bad move from a town-management perspective.
“Thanks! I definitely will!”
Stephanie beamed as if she were about to jump for joy and finally let go of my arm.
I headed straight for the parking lot and climbed into the truck.
As I sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine, Caroline spoke up.
“Boss.”
“What is it?”
“That woman from earlier. Stephanie.”
She buckled her seat belt and asked calmly,
“Why did you give her your phone number? You didn’t even give the other classmates a business card when they asked.”
“She’s just an old friend.”
“A friend?”
Caroline cried out as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“That woman’s been staring at you like she wants more than friendship since the moment she saw you!? C-could it be… is this what I told you about before!? Your high school crush!? Now that you’ve got money, power, and social standing, are you finally trying to fulfill it!? No, you can’t! Sure, she’s got a decent face and body, but her brain is completely empty! The boss is way too good for her! I’d rather…! I’d rather…! I’d rather…! I’d rather…! Ugh…! I can’t even say it out loud…!”
Instead of answering, I drove the truck forward.
…I was starting to think it would be best if she just kept leaning all the way into the cool, aloof secretary concept.
---