“Yes, Elaine?” I responded. There was a sliver of time where I heard her catch her breath. Maybe it was because she expected my father’s gruff voice to answer her call.
“Umm, I have Mr. Clay Langley here. He had an appointment set with…your father. I’m so sorry, I thought I canceled it, but I must have missed this one. Would you like him to come back another time? Why don’t I just tell him—”
“No, that’s fine, Elaine. Let him wait in conference room one. I’ll be right down.”
“Thank you, Max—oh, excuse me, I mean Mr. Goldstein,” she said, embarrassed.
“No problem, Elaine,” I responded, trying to ease her discomfort.
Well, here we go. This was my moment to see if I was cut out for the corporate world. I pushed the knot in my tie back up against my neck, pulled my collar straight, and slipped on my navy jacket.
“I’ll be right back,” I said as I noticed Gary, Dan, and Calvin standing there silently. Their lips were closed so tight, you’d think they’d been threatened with spoons filled with poison.
It didn’t take me long to get to Mr. Langley. Just a short ride down a couple of floors in the elevator to the front reception area. Elaine was waiting by the elevator as it opened. Nervously, she tried to fill me in on what company Mr. Langley owned and what sort of relationship he had with GP. I listened as we shuffled to the conference room. She opened the door, presenting me to a man much older than me, his eyes worn by the stress of the years he’d been struggling to keep his company afloat in this economy. His blue pinstriped suit was pressed with sharp edges. His tie was a deep red, knotted tight around his thin neck. He’d combed what remaining hair he owned on either side of his head across the prevalent balding space on top. The lines dug deep in his face told stories filled with worry and regret. His hazel eyes gave me everything I needed to know. He was here to beg for help. What was I thinking?
I swallowed hard before walking determinedly over to the space where he was standing. He pushed his hand out in front of him. I collected his boney, dark palm in mine, and we shook as he began to tell me why he’d come.
“Mr. Goldstein—” he began.
“Please, call me Max,” I said.
“Max, I want to tell you how sympathetic my family and I are for your loss. Frank was a true gentleman, such a prudent businessman,” he said as his eyes glossed slightly at the mention of my father.
“Thank you, Mr. Langley. I appreciate that.” He let go of my hand and I noticed he began to run his fingers across the edges of his jacket as he thought about what to say next.
“Mr. Gold—Max, your father and I have been in business for years. He helped me when I was losing my shirt several years ago. He worked with me and set up options to keep my company open. And, well, now that he is…not with us, I am afraid that what we shook hands on a couple of years ago, well, I am afraid—” he struggled to speak openly.
“Mr. Langley, it’s okay to voice your concerns. You are afraid that with my dad’s passing, the verbal agreement you had with him will go by the wayside as well?” I said clearly. I was actually surprised I said it without choking up.
“Well, something like that. GP is the only company that gambled on us. It’s the only one I am willing to work with. GP is one of the last honest companies still run by the same family for generations. Max, my company is family owned too. Every ounce of blood I’ve spilled, I’ve spilled while keeping Langley’s independent.”
“Well, Mr. Langley, I can see and honor your passion,” I answered him as my stomach twisted in knots. I watched this man giving me what he considered his last ditch effort before he lost everything he had built for his family—probably a relatively meager living while the fat cats got fatter and the feral cats fought for the scraps they left behind.
“Max, I just wanted to come in person and meet you. I thought the proper thing to do was to tell you how sad we are for your loss. And if you find yourself passing through Fraser, my wife, Lydia, wanted you to know she’d love to have you and your loved one out to the house for dinner. We’d really like to show you what your father has done for Langley’s and the town of Fraser,” his voice trailed off.
It was at that moment, through his words, that I figured out what he represented for me. Clay Langley was manifestation of every moment my father missed dinners and baseball games when I was growing up, the thoughts that resided in my father’s eyes when he was preoccupied with work. Mr. Langley symbolized every small company my father made deals with on a hand shake. It was at that moment I realized Mr. Langley epitomized the legacy my father passed down to me. Max, there will come a day when you will have to make the decisions I’ve had to make. Make it with your head, but don’t forget to listen to your heart. It happens to be the strongest muscle in your body. My father’s voice saturated my soul.