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Six
Lincoln
I look at my brother and cousin with my hand on the conference room door. They both nod, and I push it open where two men in suits sit, along with Tricia, who’s making casual conversation with them.
She stands when we enter. “Sirs. This is John and Bryan McAuliffe, owners of Mac’s Yeast Company.”
We shake hands with them both and take seats on the opposite side of the table.
“I take it you looked over our proposal?” I ask John.
I’d of course already done extensive research on this company, and it’s the typical story. Dad started the company, left it to his sons. After the father passed away, the sons didn’t manage it very well. We’d occasionally ordered yeast from them but stopped two years ago when their prices weren’t competitive anymore. Now, the business is failing and I want it. John’s the eldest so I’d addressed my question to him.
“Yes, we did, but your proposal’s bullshit,” he says with a challenging stare.
Oh, so this is the game we’re going to play. Okay, then.
“And what, exactly, about it is bullshit?” I ask, steepling my fingers.
John narrows his eyes. “Your numbers. We almost didn’t even show up today, they’re so insulting.”
These men are young, probably late-twenties, and despite their expensive suits and cheap haircuts, I can tell they’re just trying to play hardball.
Which I can respect—and enjoy.
“What would be a more respectable number?” Nathan asks the duo, his arms folded across his chest.
Bryan juts his chin at the folder in front of him. “Like, triple that.”
I resist chuckling. Instead, I keep an impassive mask in place. “Gentlemen, I’ve looked at your numbers. You’ll be bankrupt within six months. You’ve obviously cut corners on your product to save money, which has caused you to lose clients. Your facility has failed inspection by the health department not once, but twice. And to make matters worse, you’ve let go of more than half your staff, which has caused the other half to go search for alternate employment.”
John slams his fist on the table and Roman puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head at the man.
“How would you even know all of that?” John asks.
“Public record,” I reply.
“Bullshit, not all of it,” Bryan comes back, his demeanor a lot cooler than his brother’s.
“Well, you just confirmed it with your response, so I say I’m pretty warm with all of this, am I not?” I lift my chin smugly. I know I’ve got them.
John shrugs Roman’s hand off his shoulder and clears his throat. “Still”—he points to the folder—“this proposal is BS. Double it and we’ll sign, no questions asked.”
“No can do,” I reply. “That’s our final offer, take it or leave it, gentlemen.”
John’s face turns red, and his brother places a hand on his arm. He looks at us. “May we have a minute alone?”
“Of course,” Nate replies, ushering us out of the room.
The four of us stand outside the glass walls and watch as the brothers have a low, heated discussion, hands flying and lips moving quickly. I turn my back to the glass to give them more privacy and look at Nate and Roman.
“What do you think? Too harsh?” I ask.
“Since when do you ask us what we think?” Roman says with a chuckle, plucking that blasted toothpick out of his jacket pocket.
“I always ask you!” I defend.
Nate laughs. “You never ask us if we think you’re being too harsh. You’re always harsh. You play hardball. We’re used to it, and honestly, bro? It works.”
