Lost December (34 page)

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to Phoenix to talk to Henry Price.”

How quickly the fates can mess with our lives
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary

From Crisp’s I drove directly to Rachael’s house.
With no job and no insurance, she must be terrified
, I thought. I needed to talk to her. I needed to tell her that I was going to fix this. I needed to tell her that everything would be all right.

I ran up to her apartment and knocked on her door. I had seen her car in the parking lot, so I was surprised that she didn’t answer.
Open up
. I knocked again. This time the door partially opened, just enough for Rachael to look through the crack at me. Her face was stained with tears.

“Rachael, I’m so sorry about what happened,” I said. “I’m going to …”

“Get out of here,” she said.

“What?”

“I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“I don’t understand. I just found out about your job, I didn’t …”

“You lied to me.”

“Rachael,” I said. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a liar!” she screamed. “You said you lost your money on the stock market. You lost it gambling.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“Quit lying to me! I read your text,” she said. “Do you want me to read it?” She held up my cell phone and read from it. “Luke, gambling losses are only tax deductible from winnings. No refund on two hundred seventy-two thousand seven hundred forty-seven dollars and thirty-two cents.” She looked back up at me. “You knew what had happened to me. How could you lie to me about that?” She threw my phone out into the hallway. “All I wanted was a little honesty!” She began to sob. “Why did you have to lie to me? I really cared about you.”

She slammed her door shut and locked it. I knocked. “Rachael,” I said. “I can explain.”

Nothing. I bent over and picked up my phone and read the text message myself. Mike Semken had selected a remarkably bad time to respond to the tax question I’d sent weeks earlier.

I put my ear against her door. I could hear her crying inside. “Please, Rachael.”

I knocked on her door for what seemed a half hour before I finally gave up. She wasn’t going to talk to me.

I’ve seen newspaper photographs of disaster sites
after a tornado has blown through,
destroying entire neighborhoods in mere seconds.
That’s what my world feels like
.

Luke Crisp’s Diary

Even as heartsick as I was, there was still something I needed to do. Not just for Wayne, but for Rachael and good people like them around the country. Whatever it took, I had to get their jobs back.

I got in my car and started off for Phoenix. I didn’t blame Rachael for being so upset. After what she’d suffered through with her husband, I understood why she would be panicked about what she’d read. I probably would be too. I just needed a chance to explain things. It had been so difficult getting her to open up in the first place I wondered if I would ever get that chance.

Scottsdale is a little more than 300 miles from Las Vegas, nearly a straight shot southeast on Highway 93, a five-hour drive if you do the limit—four and a half hours if you’re motivated. I made it to Phoenix by late afternoon. I drove directly to the Crisp’s headquarters and took the elevator to the seventh floor, where my father’s office used to be. I hardly recognized it. The furniture in the waiting room was different: sleek, new and showy—as was the young woman sitting at the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Henry,” I said.

She looked at me dully. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I don’t need one,” I said. “Tell him Luke Crisp is here.”

“Luke who?”

“Crisp, as in Crisp’s Copy Centers.” When she didn’t say anything, I added, “The company you work for.”

“Does Mr. Price know what this is regarding?”

“Just get him,” I said impatiently.

She picked up her phone and pressed a button. I heard her say my name in hushed tones. A moment later she said, “Mr. Price won’t be available to meet with you until tomorrow afternoon.”

“He’ll meet with me now,” I said, walking past her. I walked down the hallway into Henry’s office. Henry was on the phone and glanced up at me with a surprised, unhappy expression. My father’s office had changed as well, the new décor resembling the modern motif of the reception area. Even Henry looked different. He wore an expensive-looking jacket with a black T-shirt underneath.

“Henry,” I said.

He held up a finger to silence me. “Just a minute,” he said into the phone. “I just had someone barge into my office. No problem, I’ll call you right back. You too.” He returned the phone to its cradle, his eyes never leaving me. “Luke, what a surprise. What brings you back to the Grand Canyon State?”

“I need to talk to you about the changes you’re making at Crisp’s.”

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers knit together on top of his desk. “What changes would you be referring to?”

“Firing your lifelong employees before they can get their pensions, to begin with.”

“I’m not firing people so they’ll lose their pensions. I’m only releasing those who aren’t keeping pace.”

“That’s a lie, Henry. The company’s down across the board because the entire economy is down.”

“Which is why someone needs to make the tough decisions that are right for the company.”

“My father would never do it this way.”

“You’re right, but your father doesn’t run Crisp’s anymore, Luke. This is my show now.”

The way he said this sounded mutinous, as if he’d thrown my father from the ship. “You’re making a mistake, Henry.”

“Says who? The Crisp’s pension plan was a mistake to begin with. You said so yourself. There’s no tangible return on investment.”

“No return on investment? How about employee satisfaction and retention?”

Henry grinned. “We don’t need long-term employees to make money. We’re a copy company, not NASA. Most of our people could be replaced by trained monkeys.”

“What about
loyalty?”
I said.

“What about
profits?”
he replied. “That’s why corporations exist. Or don’t they teach that at Wharton anymore?” He leaned back in his chair. “So what’s your angle, Luke? You suddenly care about this because …”

“I’m not here for me. I’m here for the people I work with.”

He looked at me quizzically. “The people you work with.”
Suddenly his eyes lit. “Wait. You’re not telling me that you’re working for Crisp’s.”

“Store 317 in Las Vegas.”

“Wow, that is … poetic. The prodigal son gets his due.” He groaned with amusement.

“Henry, please don’t hurt these people who trusted in
us
. The decisions you’re making are hurting the people who built this company.”

“What’s this ‘us’? You’re not part of this, Luke. The Crisp name is a trademark, nothing more. And the decisions your father was making were hurting people—the people he was morally and ethically obligated to protect. They’re called shareholders. And if the employees don’t like it, they can work elsewhere. Remember what you said to me not so long ago, ‘We’re not a charity.’”

“I was wrong about a lot of things back then.”

“Well, that’s true, but irrelevant.”

“You were hoping all along that I would leave, weren’t you?”

“Also true but irrelevant.” He glanced down at his watch. “It’s good to see you again, Luke, but I’ve got to run. The Suns are playing tonight.” He pushed a button on his intercom. “Brandi, please have security escort Mr. Crisp out of the building.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. I turned to walk out.

“Luke,” Henry said.

I turned around.

“You can’t fight karma.”

I looked at his stupid, grinning face, then walked out of the office.