Page 12 of The List

Chris laid down his pen. No minutes were kept on this topic. No votes recorded. “Did we not authorize five Priorities out of the eight candidates at the last meeting?”

“We did and they’ve all been processed. But a problem developed. One of the five survived the first encounter and had to be reprocessed.”

He was surprised to hear that.

“Thankfully, the Priority ended up in the Woods County nursing home and was easily handled,” Lee said.

“What of the error?” Hughes said.

“I have a meeting on that subject after we adjourn. The issue for us is the other three from the list.”

“Why is it necessary to authorize more?” Chris asked.

Lee stared across the conference table. “You just told us times were tough. Every dollar counts.”

The tone mocked him, but he knew how Lee liked to jerk his string. Lately, the length of that string had progressively shortened, particularly on the subject of Priorities. He decided not to take the bait and simply said, “There’s no need to authorize more.”

“But there is. We were going to authorize eight last time, but stopped at five.”

Lee turned toward Hughes.

“Raise the list, please?”

10:08 A.M.

C HRIS WATCHED AS H UGHES PUNCHED THE KEYBOARD, INPUTTING an access code known only to the three owners, which changed every few days. Once into the secured directory, Hughes opened the PRIORITY file. Instantly, all three screens displayed a column of eight sets of numbers.

034156901

456913276

343016692

295617833

178932515

236987521

492016755

516332578

“This is the list from May’s meeting,” Hughes said. “The first five were authorized Priorities, the last three were not.”

“Who are the last three?” Lee asked. “We didn’t discuss them.”

Hughes opened another file and double-clicked the mouse. Background information windowed onto the screens.

“Number 6 is Melvin Bennett. Sixty-four. He took early retirement two years ago. Medical records show good health, except diabetes that’s under control.

Assuming no serious complications he should live another fourteen years according to the mortality tables.

Our projection on total retirement benefits, if Bennett lives the full fourteen years, is right at $590,000.

That’s not counting any medical bills, and surely there’ll be some.

Right now, our average retiree incurs about $48,000 in medicals a year.

If a Priority is authorized, be aware we’ll have a $50,000 death benefit to pay.

But the residual savings, excluding medical bills, will be pushing $600,000. ”

Chris’ gaze soldered onto Lee.

“What about Numbers 7 and 8?” Lee asked.

“Number 7 is Paul Zimmerman. Currently on our payroll at the mill in the powerhouse. Good worker. Been with us seventeen years. His file is clean. But he has five children and medical expenditures for those dependents have run nearly $500,000 over the last two years. One child is handicapped, another has a growth problem. The hormone shots are $3,000 a pop—with four a month required. Medical records indicate these will continue for the next two years. Our estimate is over a million in medical expenses for his dependents over the next twenty-four to thirty-six months.”

Hughes paused.

Chris took the moment and studied the background information on Number 7, as the man would be referred to from this point forward.

The obvious did not have to be voiced. At Zimmerman’s death there would no longer be any medical benefits available for his dependents.

“I’d suggest simply terminating his employment.

Firing would solve the problem and realize the savings we’re looking for.

He can apply for government-mandated health care then and receive the subsidy.

That’s what the Affordable Care Act was designed to do. ”

“True,” Hughes said. “But there’d be a union problem and grievance fight. Though I’m sure something adequate could be concocted to support our decision.”

He pointed to the death benefit on the screen. “The widow can’t live on $50,000 and feed five kids. Severing his employment would be more than sufficient for our needs and still let the man support his family somewhere else.”

“Which union?” Lee asked.

“Electrical,” Hughes said.

Lee shook his head. “That’s Reed. He’ll be all over us demanding that job back along with lost wages. Probably even a few days off with pay for the trauma the man went through. I’ve seen that movie before. No way. Feeding five kids isn’t my problem. What about Number 8, Larry?”

“Michael Ottman. Seventy-one. He retired six years ago. Has a bad heart and bone cancer. Cost estimates are between $1 and $1.5 million for the chemotherapy and cancer treatments, then another $200,000-plus in terminal care cost, depending on how long he lingers. The numbers here are obviously fluid, but any way you look at it they’re substantial.

There’s also a death benefit we’ll have to pay. ”

The death benefits were a nuisance. Part of a collective bargaining agreement negotiated in the early 1990s, they required the company to pay money to a worker’s heirs based on a formula that took into account length of employment and amount contributed by the employee to the fund.

It was a form of life insurance that had proved costly to finance.

In the late 1990s, at Chris’ insistence, the benefit was removed from all three collective bargaining agreements.

Some of the older employees, though, still possessed vested rights to payment.

“The bottom-line savings from all three, after paying death benefits, would be nearly $3 million,” Hughes said, “and that’s depending on how bad projected medical expenses on Numbers 7 and 8 turn out actually to be.”

“Perfect,” Lee said with a satisfied smile. “Those savings would be welcomed. We can redirect those moneys elsewhere.”

He was disgusted with the whole topic. More and more Lee, aided by Hughes, resorted to the list to make up the dollars lost from either loose management or downturns in the market. The Priority program had never been intended as that sort of redemption.

“Have files been prepared on these three?” Hughes asked.

Lee nodded. “When they were preauthorized in April, background work was done in anticipation of a May Prioritization. They are now ready for immediate processing.”

He knew the procedure. No one was Prioritized without first being preapproved and the appropriate background file generated. That way any issues or problems could be dealt with early.

“I move we Prioritize the remaining three from May’s list,” Lee said.

Hughes gave the motion life with a second.

“I’d offer an amendment to Number 7 of ‘firing only,’ not full processing,” Chris said.

The suggestion was not out of order. Not everyone was fully Prioritized. Occasionally, criteria were set—conditions imposing specific hows and whens on the manner of processing.

“Will you accept the amendment as offered?” Lee asked Hughes.

“No.”

“Neither will I. Any more discussion?”

He sat silent. Further argument was pointless.

“We’ll vote on the motion as offered by a show of hands. All those in favor? All opposed?”

Motion carried two to one.

10:30 A.M.

B RENT KEPT ORGANIZING HIS OFFICE, FINDING THE THINGS HE NEEDED in a supply closet down the hall.

He didn’t have an assigned assistant. Instead, he and the general counsel shared the services of three ladies, all supervised by an attentive older woman named Martha Riddle, who’d worked at the mill for nearly a quarter of a century.

“We’re so glad to have you here,” Martha said to him. “I knew your father. He was a lovely man.”

He heard that a lot. “He definitely was.”

“We all miss him.”

As did he.

“How is your mother doing?”

“I think she’s glad to have her son back home.”

He and his mother had both decided to keep her medical condition to themselves. Nobody’s business. He was curious, though. “Was this my predecessor’s office?”

She nodded. “It was. Peter was an excellent lawyer. A really hard worker.”

“How long was he here?”

“Five years. We all enjoyed working with him.”

He knew the man had died tragically by suicide. But beyond that he lacked for details.

“Was he troubled?” he asked.

“He was… quiet. Sullen. For him to smile or laugh was a rare event. He was a joy to work for, though. But I always thought him bothered by something. I never sensed he’d take his own life.”

He understood that observation perfectly. “It’s hard to see sometimes.”

“Peter was a good lawyer. He worked the files with expert precision.”

“It sounds like I have a lot to live up to.”

She grinned. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“I bet you’ve seen a lot of people come and go from this office?”

“You could say that. We’re like a two-man law firm with only one client. But it’s a big client.”

She was right about that. He pointed at the stacked file boxes, which had been delivered a few minutes ago. “How many active workers’ comp cases do we have?”

“Two hundred and thirty-one,” she said with no hesitation.

He nearly smiled. This woman struck him as someone who knew every detail. A lot like his mother, who didn’t miss much either.

He mentally counted the boxes. Twenty-two.

A lot, for sure, but not much different from his active cases at the DA’s office, or when he practiced law.

Back then he’d handled pretty much whatever walked through the door.

Small fees. Large fees. Sometimes no fee at all.

He’d employed two assistants and together they’d run the office.

When he closed things down it had been easy to find them new jobs.

Their excellent reputations had preceded them.

Now here he was, not as a boss, but as a mere employee. One small cog in a really big machine.

“I’ll leave you to become better acquainted with all your new clients,” she said, pointing at the boxes. “These are the active cases. The retired files going back ten years are downstairs. Anything older is in off-site storage.”

Good to know.