“Jon Richards, CEO.” It was the name written on the wooden door that I was facing. A square glass pane provided a view of the office behind the door where a person was working behind a desk. That person was not Mr. Richards though, because she's a woman. I entered the room and saw that Sonia, the secretary was on the phone. On the left side of the room, there was a bigger desk with an expensive-looking notebook on it. A man was sitting behind it. That's our CEO. In addition to being tall and well-built, his tan skin made him an imposing figure. If it was not fo his clean-shaven face and the pair of glasses hanging on his nose, he would have been mistaken for an athlete.
“Got all the paperwork, Tom?” He asked.
“Yes, sir. I got everything.”
“Let's get this over with. Sonia, is the car ready?”
“Mr. Dat is waiting for you in the lobby sir.” The secretary answered. “Sir, will you be meeting with the creditors this evening?”
“No, let Jim handle it.” said Jon without pausing to think. Walking towards the exit, I saw his personal black van waiting with his driver Mr. Dat waiting by the open back door.
“Where to, sir?” The friendly Vietnamese driver asked as we both entered the car.
“Lowry's General Store. Don't rush, we have time.” He took off his suit and tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I hate those guys.” He started reading the newspaper he had been carrying since morning.
“The Lowrys?” I asked, wondering what could two small store owners have done to offend him
“No, I meant creditors. I can handle the Lowrys. Creditors are annoying. All they want is their money back. Fortunately, James Foley is very good in dealing with them.”
“Isn't that yesterday's paper?” I noticed the date on Jon's paper, which was very odd since people usually did not read old newspaper.
“It is indeed.” He answered, smiling slyly like a fox.
I had been working for Richards' Corp. for two weeks but I still hadn't learnt everything about it. All I knew was Jon Richards was the CEO and James Foley was his main deputy, who was also the head of the finance department. As part of the legal department, my job focused solely on paperworks. Contracts, deeds, agreements, that kind of stuff. We were heading towards Lowry's General Store to negotiate something with them. What exactly we were negotiating, I didn't really know.
“What are we doing with the Lowrys?” I decided to ask.
“We're closing them down.”
“Excuse me?” The non-chalant reply kinda shocked me a bit, although it shouldn't have. I have heard stories about Jon Richards in my two weeks working for Richards Corp. He was a miser. He had no compassion. He was ruthless. He didn't care about other people than himself. Apparently, he picked up those traits from his father, who had founded and built the corporation. The rumor was that Douglas Richards, Jon's father, bribed the mayor to sell him the land now known as the Summertown Industrial Complex. He built his first factory in the area. Within a decade, half of the former commercial district had been taken over by Richards one by one, while the other half consists of distribution centers, warehouses and stores selling their products. Jon continued his father's policy of expansion, until you almost could not find a building not owned by Richards Corp in the complex. Those strong enough to resist, like the Lowrys, were threatened to have their rent increased tenfold, unless they agreed to enter some kind of a deal.
“You read the contract. They're giving discounts on other company's product.” He explained.
“The contract doesn't say they can't sell other company's products.” I browsed through the paperwork to refresh my memory.
“They can sell them, but they can't promote them. That's the deal. Oh, here we are.” The car pulled over into a small store, with a plank above the door that said 'Lowry's General Store, since 1961”. Wow! They've been here for almost fifty years. I was impressed. We both got out of the car and approached the store. Sure enough, more than half the racks were filled with Richards' products. Two elderly couple stood behind the counter, reading today's paper as there was no customer to serve.
“Mr. Richards! What a surprise.” said the man, putting down his paper.
“Mr. Lowry, Mrs. Lowry. This is Tom Whitfield from legal department.” Mr. Richards introduced me to the store owners.
“How do you do? I'm Ray, This is my wife Molly.” Despite the cold breeze outside, their hands felt warm as I shook hands with them.
“Nice store you have here. Since 1961?” I said, trying to make small talks.
“It's our legacy. We're proud of it.” Molly said, her face brimming lightly.
“Unfortunately, that legacy will end, Mrs. Lowry.” Jon's sharp words immediately turned both the Lowrys' faces pale.
“I don't understand, Mr. Richards. What do you mean?” She asked.
Jon laid down the newspaper he carried and pointed out an advertisement. I peeked at it and realized what it was. Oh no! I said silently. They had made a mistake. “You advertised that you slashed the prices of our competitors' products.” The advertisement in question showed the Lowry's logo, followed by pictures of non-Richards product. Next to each picture are two numbers, one higher than the other, with a straight line going through the higher number indicating that the products were being sold at the new lower price.
“But Mr. Richards,” Ray said, fear clearly showed in his voice, “We're trying to sell those products off as soon as possible. We wanted to make room on our racks for your products.”
“You know the rule, Lowry. You can't do a promotion on products that are not ours. This advertisement here counts as a promotion. You know what this means.” Unfortunately for them, Jon was right.
“Sir, please. Can't we let this one go. It's just one advertisement. We'll put a bigger one to promote yours.”
“That's not how business works, Lowry.” Jon's voice became sterner and sterner as the conversation went along. “Our current contract is void. Either you pay the current rate of rent, which is ten times than what you're paying now, or you sell your store to us.”
“But we can't afford the current rate of rent.” Molly protested.
“I knew that. I would make the preparation if I were you. I'm sorry it had to end this way, Mrs. Lowry. I really am.” Jon picked up the newspaper and started to walked out of the store. “You will hear from our lawyers. Come on Tom, we're done here.”
As we got into our cars, I could here Ray Lowry screaming. “You can't do this, Richards! This land doesn't belong to you! Your father got it illegaly! Someday, you're going down, Richards!”
“Goodbye, Mr. Lowry.” We drove away from the store with the Lowrys still screaming at our car. “Tom, prepare the paperwork.”
“Yes, sir.” Wow. What did I get myself into?
*
It had been two months since we took over Lowry's but time had not made me feel better. I drafted the legal documents of the purchase of Lowry's General Store by Richards Corporation. I felt guilty about it. Although It was not my decision, I felt like the executioner in that event. At least the amount was pretty good, definitely enough for their retirement. I doubt it would be a good enough solace for them though, as they seemed to enjoy working with their store. I was hopeful that I did not have to close down any more small businesses for the sake of Richards' expansion policy.
The hope turned out to be an empty one, when one day I received an email from Richards. He wanted me to prepare all the paperwork on the Trotts Orphanage. A meeting with the Trotts had been arranged the next morning. “Surely he's not going to close an orphanage!” I thought. Gathering all the relevant paperwork, I learnt that the orphanage's lease would expire in three months. “Maybe we're meeting to discuss an extension.” I tried to convince myself that Richards was not so bad that he would close down an orphanage and forced the children to live in the streets.
The next morning, I made my way to Mr. Richards office, only to find his table empty, with Sonia the only human being in the room.
“Good morning, Tom!”
“Is Mr. Richards not here yet?” I asked.
“He just called and said he's meeting with the board so he will be late,” she answered. “And he's moved the orphanage meeting to two.”
“What do you think he wants with the orphanage?”
“What do you think? He's closing it down. He just confirmed to me that we're going to use it as a warehouse. Oh, don't look so surprised. That's typical Richards," she said, smirking. "He would close down his mother's flower shop to expand his company."
I could not believe what I heard. I went back to my desk to prepare for the meeting. As I browsed through the sea of paperwork, I refreshed my memory about the status of the orphanage. They had a twenty year lease on the land and the building and it was about to expired in three months. Jon Richards could not force them to move until then. Unfortunately for them, Richards Corp had the first option on lease extension, meaning if corporation did not want to extend the orphanage's lease, they did not have to. The orphanage itself was visible from my window. I could see its light blue roof and beige wall, with a patch of green surrounding the building served as a reminder of what the area used to be, a lush park. Staring at the building, memories of the past started to enter my head as I drifted to a waking dream.
*
“Tom, I'm open!” I looked up and saw my teammate Andy waving furiously at me. I nervously set the soccer ball with my left foot and sent it towards him with my right. My momentum caused me to fall down and I was forced to watch him slyly rounded the other team's goalkeeper and put the ball in between the two sticks that we used as goalposts. “That's five! We win!” Andy jumped up and down in joy as we scored our fifth and winning goal.
“That was great Andy! You're probably the best six year old soccer player in Summertown!” I rushed towards him and congratulated him. Three-on-three soccer was one of our favorite past times. We had transformed the backyard of the orphanage into a multi-function sports field. Soccer, baseball, even basketball had been played on those grass. We did not have much equipment though so we had to use sticks as goalposts.
“Tom! Come in. There are a couple of nice people wanting to meet you.” It was the voice of Jack Trotts, who was the only father I had known until I was six years old. He and her wife Helen ran the house that I shared with the other orphans. I walked into the house and saw that he was having coffee with two strangers, a man and a woman. “Tom, this is Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield.”
It was time for me. I had seen it before with the other kids. One day the Trotts would pull one kid aside and introduce them to a couple for a potential adoption. For the lucky ones, they would get a family. For those who were not so lucky, Jack and Helen would raise them until they finish high school, then they can decide for themselves what they wanted to do. Some went to college, with the help of a student loan. Others stayed to help with the day-to-day operation of the orphanage. I was one of the lucky ones.
The living room was quite, with no other children in sight. It was always expected when Jack or Helen met with prospective parents to talk about adoption. Compared to the well-dressed couple sitting in front of him, Jack was wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of shorts as usual. He was always very casual, very easygoing. I walked slowly, shyly towards the Whitfields and shook their hands. “Nice to meet you, sir, ma'am.”
“I'll leave you three alone.” Mr. Trotts left me with the couple who would become my adoptive parents. In two weeks, it was settled. I would leave the orphanage and be renamed Tom Whitfield. I still remembered the day I left. Saying goodbye to the kids, to Mr. Trotts, to the orphanage itself. I never came back, although it had to be fate that brought me to work for its neighbor, the Richards Corp. Unfortunately, I found out that my boss was not very neighborly, and the idea of working for someone who was about to destroy my childhood home suddenly made me feel very sick.
*
“Mr. and Mrs. Trotts here to see you.” The clock on my desk said 12.50 when the receptionist informed me of their arrival. I had not seen them since my adoption day, although they called several times to check on me. Embarrassingly, I had to admit that I did not think of them much, having been absorbed into a new life and a new family. I had only come back to the orphanage two times, a number that I wished had been higher after learning the impending fate of my former home.
"Thank you, Marie." I hung up the phone and headed to the reception area to meet the couple who took me in after my parents were killed in a car accident. As I approached the waiting room, I saw them. They're still the same selves, just older. I noticed Jack's hair had turned completely gray, and the wrinkles in Helen's face had become difficult to disguise. Nevertheless, they were still full of smile exchanging pleasantries with Susan, our receptionist.
“Jack, Helen, How are you?” I gave them each an honest hug from the bottom of my heart as I was truly happy to see them.
“Tom! We were pleasantly surprised to hear that you work for Richards. We're neighbors!”
“Let's hope it stays that way.” My sigh quickly reversed the atmosphere 180 degrees. “I heard Mr. Richards is not extending the lease. Oh, there he is!” A black van passing by the building gate suddenly alerted me to the arrival of the devil. From the second floor, I could see the van pulled over to the parking spot reserved for the upper management, close to the lobby. As Mr. Richards made his way out of his car into the building, I motioned to my guests to lead them to the meeting room. “Let's wait in the meeting room.”
While waiting for Mr. Richards, Jack explained that he had been trying to secure a permanent place for the kids. But the economy boom of Summertown had made it impossible due to the steadily increasing price of lands and houses. The development of the industrial complex also had made the area unideal for children to live and play in. Parks had been replaced with pollution spewing factories, and the school that used to stand within walking distance to the orphanage had closed, forcing the children to commute thirty minutes everyday to reach their school.
“Mr. Trotts, Mrs. Trotts, I apologize for my tardiness.” Jack's story was interrupted by the arrival of our CEO. “I didn't expect the board meeting to go for hours.”
“Mr. Richards, thank you for meeting us,” Jack said. “As we have said in our letter, we would like to extend our lease, keeping the current rate, on the orphanage for another ten years.”
“Mr Trotts, I have discussed this matter with the board, and I'm sorry to deliver a bad news. The board wanted to use the building as a warehouse and therefore, will not extend your lease, and especially not at the current rate. The value in this area had increased considerably in the last twenty years. I'm afraid you have to vacate the property in two months. I'm really sorry but you have to find another place for your children.”
“We have pursued alternative places to house the children, but we can't afford the lease anywhere else. This current rate is all we can afford.”
“Mr. Richards,” I interrupted. “Our warehouse upstate is operating at under forty percent capacity. We do not need another warehouse.”
“Tom, that warehouse has always been a temporary one. We have been wanting to use the orphanage building as a warehouse for many years.” He answered.
“Mr. Richards, please think of the children. They need to be taken care of.” Jack tried to plead, sounding desperate.
“This is not a third world country, Mr. Trotts. The government will take care of them.”
Mr. Richards maintained a straight, stern face throughout the meeting, which last about thirty minutes. Because of the nature of the lease deal, the Trotts did not have much leverage in the discussion. They were at the mercy of the corporation, and, despite their and my best effort to persuade Richards, the mercy did not come. The decision had been made. They had to leave the orphanage in two months with very little chance of finding a new place by then. Jack and Helen maintained a dignified posture as they left the office, although I could see the stress and sadness painted on their face.
The rest of the day flew by in auto-pilot. I sat in my desk with my eyes gazing across the street. A yellow bus stopped in front of the orphanage, dropping off the older children from school. Younger children were playing ball in the backyard under the supervision of an adult volunteer. Those were just some of the activities that I could witness to alleviate myself from the boredom of work. Thanks to Mr. Richards, I would witness them no more.
*
It had been two weeks since the meeting and the hammering of the nails on the orphanage's coffin. I spent those two weeks contemplating. Who is this guy Richards anyway? Do I need him? No, I don't need him. I can find work anywhere else. Why should I work for a heartless man who destroyed my childhood home, and the home of many other children. And I had made my decision. I finished typing a letter and thought about sending it by email but I decided against it. I would give it to him in person. With the press of a button, the content of the letter copied itself from the monitor to a piece of paper. I took letter, my resignation letter, and kept it in my drawer, because Mr. Richards was not in the office so it had to wait until Monday. As I was getting ready to go home, an email was suddenly delivered to my inbox. It was from Jack Trotts. What could be the matter? I double-clicked the email to enlarge it so I could read it:
Hey, Tom! Good news. The Summertown Charity Foundation had decided to take us in and they had found a new place for our new orphanage. Their benefactor had donated some money to us but unfortunately, we're still short so we're going to do some fund raising. I'm going to meet with them this evening. Why don't you come down to the Foundation and check out the details. The address is 55 Mission Ave.
Regards,
Jack Trotts.Ah, good news. It was nice to know that people still cared. I heard about the Foundation before. Their headquarters was located not far from my apartment, so I decided to stop by on the way home. No one knew who established the foundation. It just appeared out of nowhere one day. They had done lots of goods to the city though, so I can't complain about their existence. I was thinking about how I could help. Maybe I would help with the fund raising, or I could donate some money myself.
As I parked my car, I noticed a familiar black van. Isn't that Mr. Richards' car? I shrugged off the thought. A miser like him had no business being here. Immediately behind the double door was the lobby area. To the left was a long couch, long enough to fit three people. A line of potted plants decorated the right side of the lobby. Above them was a banner with a slogan written on it. It said 'GIVING BACK TO SOCIETY', all in capital letters. Directly in front of me was the reception area. On the table was a newsletter, apparently their own. I noticed two familiar faces on the front page. It was The Lowrys! I picked one up and read that the foundation rent them a place near downtown where they set up their new store. I was happy and relieved to here the news, and helped reduce my guilt for closing down their old store.
“Can I help you, sir?” A male receptionist asked.
“Is there a Mr. Jack Trotts here? I heard he's going to be here.”
“I'm sorry sir. Mr. Jack Trotts is having a private meeting with the benefactor. They have asked not to be bothered.”
“Oh, okay them. Mind if I look around?”
“Go ahead sir.”
I walked through a long hallway behind the receptionist. A billboard on the wall showed the projects that the foundation is working on. I didn't see anything on the orphanage though. As I made my way to the second floor in this three-story building, I heard two people talking inside the first room from the stairs. It must have been the meeting room, I thought. I peeked through the window pane and see Jack, who was having a meeting with another man whose face I could not see well, who was probably the benefactor. He looked rather young, maybe in his late thirties. As he turned a little bit to his left, I could see his more clearly. Too my surprise, it was an all too familiar face, the face of Jon Richards. Surprised, I stayed close to the door to hear their conversation.
“Mr. Richards, thank you very much for helping us. I was surprised to find out that you're the benefactor of a charity foundation.”
“Why is that?”
“Let's just say the reputation of your father is not very flattering, and his blood runs in yours.”
“Actually, it doesn't.”
“It doesn't?”
“Mr. Trotts, the reason why I build this foundation lies in my past. I am not a Richards. Like the children that you're caring for, I was an orphan. Douglas Richards adopted me when I was five, because he and his wife could not conceive a child. They raised me as their son and eventually I inherited my father's company. Despite all this, I can't forget my past as an orphan. I decided to build this foundation to help the unfortunates like my father had helped me, but I wanted to be discreet. A lot of things that we do here have conflicts of interest with the corporation, such as the situation with your orphanage. That's why I hid my identity and used a fake name when building this foundation.”
“Why didn't you just let the old orphanage be?”
“What many people didn't know is that I didn't make all the decisions. We have a board of directors and we vote on important decisions. I tried to defend the orphanage, but the board wouldn't budge. They wanted the whole area for the corporation. I'm sorry I couldn't save it.”
I had heard enough. I quietly left the building not knowing what to think. So Jon Richards was an orphan, and he had been running a charity foundation secretly. I tried to make sense of all this. How could someone run two different organizations with two very opposite goals? One was built as a money making machine while the other a money giving one. Regardless, one thing is clear. I went home knowing that the orphanage could be saved.
*
The following Monday, I received another letter from Jack about the new orphanage. It was in a nice location upstate, closer to the school. It turned out that it was owned by Richards' Corp. but Jon managed to convince the board to sell it on the cheap, with him funding half the cost through the foundation. The rest would have to be funded through other means, such as a fund raising event that Jack had planned. In the end, the orphans would have a new, better home. I reached for my resignation letter and promptly tore it apart and threw it to the empty trash bin underneath my desk. There was no need for that letter now, because I discovered the miser's secret.
