But then I thought about Big S. I thought about the guys who drove through blizzards.
“I can try,” I said. “But it will cost you.”
“Anything.”
“You sell the Arcadia brand to Global for $1. We take the assets, we take the liabilities, we take the pension, you walk away, you retire to Italy, and you never, ever come back.”
“You want me to sell my life’s work for a dollar?”
“It’s worth less than that right now, Walter. It’s negative equity. I’m offering you a clean exit.”
There was a long silence.
“Do it,” he said.
I hung up.
I called Marcus. It was 11:00 p.m.
“Judy?”
“Change of plans, Marcus. We’re not just taking the clients. We’re buying the whole damn company.”
“For how much?”
“$1.”
“And the catch?”
“We assume the pension-fund liability.”
“Judy, that’s… that’s sentimental. That’s not good business.”
“It’s great business, Marcus. We get the fleet. We get the warehouses. We get the drivers. Loyal drivers who will know that we saved their retirement. You want loyalty? You buy it.”
Marcus was silent. He was calculating.
“You’re a shark, Judy,” he said finally. “A sentimental shark, but fine. Draft it.”
I leaned back on the couch.
I had done it. I had destroyed the king, jailed the prince, and usurped the kingdom. And I saved the peasants.
I took a sip of wine. It didn’t taste like victory. It tasted like exhaustion. But it was the best wine I’d ever had.
Three weeks later, my new office at Global has a glass wall. I can see the harbor from here. I can see the cranes loading containers onto ships.
Some of those containers are painted Arcadia blue, but they have a Global Logistics sticker slapped over the logo.
We’re calling it the acquisition of the decade. Forbes wrote an article about it. They called me the Iron Lady of Logistics. I hate it, but I framed it for my mom.
Travis is out on bail, awaiting trial. Rumors say Crystal is testifying against him in exchange for immunity. She’s launching a podcast about surviving toxic workplaces. I subscribed. It’s hilarious.
Walter is in Tuscany. He sent me a case of wine. I haven’t opened it.
The drivers kept their pensions. Big S sent me a bouquet of flowers that was so big it required a forklift to get it to my desk.
The card read: To the boss lady. We roll when you say roll.
I sat at my desk looking at the clean digital dashboard on my three monitors. No paper, no clutter, just efficiency.
My assistant, a sharp kid named Leo who actually knows how to use Excel, walked in.
“Mail call, Judy.”
He dropped a stack of letters on my desk. I flipped through them. Vendor contracts. Thank-you notes.
And then a small pink envelope.
It was from the Department of Corrections.
I opened it. A letter from Travis. Handwritten.
“Judy. You think you won. You’re just a cog. You’ll always be a cog. I hope you enjoy your cubicle.”
I looked at my sprawling corner office. I looked at the view of the empire I now commanded.
I didn’t feel anger. I felt nothing.
He was a ghost. A glitch I had patched.
I picked up the letter. I walked over to the shredder. The pink paper turned into confetti.
I walked back to my desk.
My phone rang. It was Marcus.
“Judy, we have a situation in the Suez Canal. A ship is stuck. We need a route plan.”
I smiled.
“I’m on it,” I said.
I put on my headset. I pulled up the map. The machine was humming, and I was the one holding the wrench.
“Let’s move some freight,” I said to the empty room.
And for the first time in 20 years, I didn’t need a cigarette.
“Thanks for watching, you cubicle warriors. Hit that subscribe button. Unless you’re my old boss. Then you’re on your own.”
Revenge of the coffee pot strikes again.