“Please, allow me to introduce myself.” He held out his hand and I shook it, despite my reservations. His skin was warm and he smelled faintly of... something. Spice of some kind, and smoke. His teeth were a little too long for the smile he was wearing to set me at ease.
“I know who you are, Mister Iblis,” I said. “What I’m wondering about is...” We sat down on either side of the huge conference room table. I made an all-inclusive gesture with my hands. “Well, why you’re here. I honestly haven’t been able to work it out.”
He folded his manicured hands on the table and leaned forward, radiating sincere trustworthiness. His hands were obviously well-cared for, but equally obviously he’d done hard, manual work at some point; his fingers were thick and slightly misshapen, as though they’d been repeatedly broken and reset. Workman’s hands.
He smiled that overly toothy smile again.
“Yes, I guess I’m something of a boogey man around here, aren’t I?” He said it disarmingly, looking around as he did. The conference room we were in was glass, and it stood in the middle of the office, so everybody could see who I was meeting with; nobody was actually standing there gawking, but I could tell that productivity would take a hit today.
“Well,” I said, “You’ve bought out four of our competitors. Half of these people are here more or less specifically because they didn’t want to go work for you... thank you for that, by the way, I wouldn’t have been able to attract this kind of talent without you.”
He laughed, a hearty, trustworthy laugh. Every gesture he made was the sort of little thing that made you think that he was someone you could trust, could confide in. Almost as though he’d spent some time thinking about all the things that corporate executives do that make you want to punch them in the face, and learned to do the opposite.
I liked him, despite the fact that my heart was hammering in my chest and my palms sweating at the very thought of his being in this room.
He’d shown up just after lunch, with no entourage and no appointment, asking if he could have a minute of my time. Obviously, I was going to give it to him; whatever else he was, he was not someone to piss off gratuitously.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m not here to offer to buy you.” I wasn’t sure whether that made me happier or not. On the one hand, I didn’t want to work for him any more than my employees did; on the other hand... on the other hand, he was rapidly becoming the only major player in our sector, and if he didn’t buy us... well, it meant that it was going to be a while before I saw cash for my stock.
“Okay,” I said, noncomittally.
“Listen,” he said, “You’re the only other big player in this business right now that stands a chance in hell of even mounting a threat to me. And, frankly, you’re my precise counterpoint: you’ve got that whole ‘plucky small company full of smart people’ thing, which plays great against my ‘big corporate evil juggernaut’. And, you know, if I was looking for a job, just to... do work, I’d go work for you, not for me.” He leaned back comfortably. “Hell,” he said, “If I was a customer, I’d go for you and not for me.”
I blinked, not really knowing what to say. He seemed sincere; I looked back at his hands. The hands of someone who’s made things.
“It’s nice of you to say, Mister Iblis...”
He waved me off. “No,” he said, “No, I want you to understand where I’m coming from.” He looked around at the office outside the glass walls again.
“I don’t buy out smaller companies and absorb them like the fucking Borg because I like putting people out of business,” he said. “I don’t pay full price for anything, frankly, and I don’t really need more people to put to work. As it is, I’m pretty sure half the people on my payroll aren’t really doing anything but sharpening pencils.”
More than half, I would have said. I never understood how a company that produced basically the same thing we did could fill an entire skyscraper.
“No, I buy companies that are on their way out, because when companies go under, it makes it look like the industry is failing.” He looked across the table at me. “Every single one of those plucky little companies I gobbled up in the last year or so was just on the brink of folding up; hell, one of them was trying to figure out how to make payroll the day I walked in the door.”
He tapped the big conference table with one of his big fingers, making an audible ‘thunk, thunk’ sound.
“I’m here, because I’m in trouble,” he said. “The FTC doesn’t like one company owning an entire industry any more than I like having companies in my industry folding left and right. You’re the last major player left, other than me... and if you go under, I won’t get regulatory approval to buy you; in fact, I’ll probably get sued for even thinking about it.”
I had folded my hands and was just listening. Everything he was saying was true, of course, but it... seemed like the sort of thing I would tell my board and investors, not the sort of thing...
“And frankly,” he said, “It sucks for the customers if they don’t have a choice. Because if there’s only one player, the game becomes all about cutting expenses, and that makes for a shitty product.”
I nodded. I had made that argument, too. I think we had commercials playing that said almost that; it wouldn’t surprise me to find that he was quoting one of them.
“And frankly,” he said, “My board, not to mention my managers, do not listen when I say that we should be providing a better product, unless I bring up your marketshare. I have a slide, that shows your up-and-to-the-right growth pattern, and it’s the one I use when I want some group to step up their quality control and do some fucking innovating.
“I tell them,” he said, “I tell them that you’re coming for them, that you’re going to take their marketshare, and their jobs, and that when you take over the industry you’re not going to have room to take them on, because you’re a good manager and you run a lean shop. And they listen; every single thing we’ve done in the past two years to improve our product has been after I made that speech, and showed them that slide.”
He stopped tapping his finger.
“Because if I’m an industry God,” he said -- it was something from a Forbes article -- “You’re the Devil, and God is just no good without the Devil. There’s always got to be an... alternative, you know?
“So,” he said, “I’m not here to buy you out, or to threaten you. I’m here to make sure you stick around, and keep claiming marketshare, and keep growing, because I need you. Obviously, I can’t give you any money, but... Anything I can do, I will, Okay? Just ask. It can be lonely at the top, I know, so even if you just want to get a drink...”
Sympathy? It was the last thing I’d expected. And then I looked at his hands again, his making-things hands, and I realized that he wished he was me. Had been me, once, before he’d laid his competitors to waste and taken the industry over.
I looked at his hands, and looked up at him, and I wondered if I was going to be him, someday. I wondered if I could do better.
I reached across the table. “I appreciate that, Mister Iblis,” I said. “I really do. And I may take you up on it.”
He shook my hand and he left. I sat in the conference room, poured myself a double scotch, and put my feet up on the table and smiled; after a while, I raised my glass in a toast, to myself, to my people. Because Sam Iblis had shown weakness, and for the first time, I saw my endgame.
Oh yeah.
“I know who you are, Mister Iblis,” I said. “What I’m wondering about is...” We sat down on either side of the huge conference room table. I made an all-inclusive gesture with my hands. “Well, why you’re here. I honestly haven’t been able to work it out.”
He folded his manicured hands on the table and leaned forward, radiating sincere trustworthiness. His hands were obviously well-cared for, but equally obviously he’d done hard, manual work at some point; his fingers were thick and slightly misshapen, as though they’d been repeatedly broken and reset. Workman’s hands.
He smiled that overly toothy smile again.
“Yes, I guess I’m something of a boogey man around here, aren’t I?” He said it disarmingly, looking around as he did. The conference room we were in was glass, and it stood in the middle of the office, so everybody could see who I was meeting with; nobody was actually standing there gawking, but I could tell that productivity would take a hit today.
“Well,” I said, “You’ve bought out four of our competitors. Half of these people are here more or less specifically because they didn’t want to go work for you... thank you for that, by the way, I wouldn’t have been able to attract this kind of talent without you.”
He laughed, a hearty, trustworthy laugh. Every gesture he made was the sort of little thing that made you think that he was someone you could trust, could confide in. Almost as though he’d spent some time thinking about all the things that corporate executives do that make you want to punch them in the face, and learned to do the opposite.
I liked him, despite the fact that my heart was hammering in my chest and my palms sweating at the very thought of his being in this room.
He’d shown up just after lunch, with no entourage and no appointment, asking if he could have a minute of my time. Obviously, I was going to give it to him; whatever else he was, he was not someone to piss off gratuitously.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m not here to offer to buy you.” I wasn’t sure whether that made me happier or not. On the one hand, I didn’t want to work for him any more than my employees did; on the other hand... on the other hand, he was rapidly becoming the only major player in our sector, and if he didn’t buy us... well, it meant that it was going to be a while before I saw cash for my stock.
“Okay,” I said, noncomittally.
“Listen,” he said, “You’re the only other big player in this business right now that stands a chance in hell of even mounting a threat to me. And, frankly, you’re my precise counterpoint: you’ve got that whole ‘plucky small company full of smart people’ thing, which plays great against my ‘big corporate evil juggernaut’. And, you know, if I was looking for a job, just to... do work, I’d go work for you, not for me.” He leaned back comfortably. “Hell,” he said, “If I was a customer, I’d go for you and not for me.”
I blinked, not really knowing what to say. He seemed sincere; I looked back at his hands. The hands of someone who’s made things.
“It’s nice of you to say, Mister Iblis...”
He waved me off. “No,” he said, “No, I want you to understand where I’m coming from.” He looked around at the office outside the glass walls again.
“I don’t buy out smaller companies and absorb them like the fucking Borg because I like putting people out of business,” he said. “I don’t pay full price for anything, frankly, and I don’t really need more people to put to work. As it is, I’m pretty sure half the people on my payroll aren’t really doing anything but sharpening pencils.”
More than half, I would have said. I never understood how a company that produced basically the same thing we did could fill an entire skyscraper.
“No, I buy companies that are on their way out, because when companies go under, it makes it look like the industry is failing.” He looked across the table at me. “Every single one of those plucky little companies I gobbled up in the last year or so was just on the brink of folding up; hell, one of them was trying to figure out how to make payroll the day I walked in the door.”
He tapped the big conference table with one of his big fingers, making an audible ‘thunk, thunk’ sound.
“I’m here, because I’m in trouble,” he said. “The FTC doesn’t like one company owning an entire industry any more than I like having companies in my industry folding left and right. You’re the last major player left, other than me... and if you go under, I won’t get regulatory approval to buy you; in fact, I’ll probably get sued for even thinking about it.”
I had folded my hands and was just listening. Everything he was saying was true, of course, but it... seemed like the sort of thing I would tell my board and investors, not the sort of thing...
“And frankly,” he said, “It sucks for the customers if they don’t have a choice. Because if there’s only one player, the game becomes all about cutting expenses, and that makes for a shitty product.”
I nodded. I had made that argument, too. I think we had commercials playing that said almost that; it wouldn’t surprise me to find that he was quoting one of them.
“And frankly,” he said, “My board, not to mention my managers, do not listen when I say that we should be providing a better product, unless I bring up your marketshare. I have a slide, that shows your up-and-to-the-right growth pattern, and it’s the one I use when I want some group to step up their quality control and do some fucking innovating.
“I tell them,” he said, “I tell them that you’re coming for them, that you’re going to take their marketshare, and their jobs, and that when you take over the industry you’re not going to have room to take them on, because you’re a good manager and you run a lean shop. And they listen; every single thing we’ve done in the past two years to improve our product has been after I made that speech, and showed them that slide.”
He stopped tapping his finger.
“Because if I’m an industry God,” he said -- it was something from a Forbes article -- “You’re the Devil, and God is just no good without the Devil. There’s always got to be an... alternative, you know?
“So,” he said, “I’m not here to buy you out, or to threaten you. I’m here to make sure you stick around, and keep claiming marketshare, and keep growing, because I need you. Obviously, I can’t give you any money, but... Anything I can do, I will, Okay? Just ask. It can be lonely at the top, I know, so even if you just want to get a drink...”
Sympathy? It was the last thing I’d expected. And then I looked at his hands again, his making-things hands, and I realized that he wished he was me. Had been me, once, before he’d laid his competitors to waste and taken the industry over.
I looked at his hands, and looked up at him, and I wondered if I was going to be him, someday. I wondered if I could do better.
I reached across the table. “I appreciate that, Mister Iblis,” I said. “I really do. And I may take you up on it.”
He shook my hand and he left. I sat in the conference room, poured myself a double scotch, and put my feet up on the table and smiled; after a while, I raised my glass in a toast, to myself, to my people. Because Sam Iblis had shown weakness, and for the first time, I saw my endgame.
Oh yeah.
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