could see each other as people, not simply obstacles.
Tara called the meeting to order and went over the ground rules she’d written on a newsprint tablet: listen first, assume good intentions, no attacks, no blanket statements, offer solutions, be specific.
Just as she finished, Dylan’s father walked in.
Dylan introduced him to the Wharton team and Tara.
“The prodigal daughter returns,” his father said. “I understand they’ve put you to work over there. Does that mean you plan to stay?”
“For a while, yes,” she said. “I hope to make a contribution.” She didn’t respond to the light mockery in his father’s tone. She was a professional, for sure, and he admired her for that. Her plan for the meeting was solid, too.
His dad sat in the chair Dylan had saved for him, but he seemed edgy, restless. Dylan’s gut tightened. He caught his father’s eye. Don’t screw this up.
As the men began their discussion, Tara did a good job of guiding the conversation, drawing out important points, emphasizing areas of agreement and enforcing the ground rules.
Eventually they reached the crux of the conflict—the failure rate of Ryland’s parts. Jeb claimed the bad units caused power surges, suggesting Ryland’s suppliers had provided shoddy components. Victor pointed out that even if the parts were bad, which they weren’t, it would require an extreme torque or a huge jolt to cause the surge they described. Finally Victor said that they needed to see the Wharton tests performed, period.
Jeb went on his rant about all the proprietary equipment and processes, how a visit wouldn’t be possible.
Then Tara asked about showing the Ryland team selected tests, setting aside the proprietary items.
Trapped by his own objection, Jeb Harris had no choice but to agree. Matt Sutherland’s jaw dropped, clearly surprised by the concession.
Abruptly his father stood. “I can’t believe we are begging to see the tests we supposedly failed. What are you hiding over there, Jeb? Rigged tests? Sabotage?”
“Mr. Ryland,” Tara interrupted firmly, “you missed the discussion of ground rules, but you’ll need to reframe your comments. No accusations. No presumptions or blanket statements.”
“This is my business, my building and my reputation at stake, I’ll make whatever statements I want, blanket or otherwise.”
“We’re working it out,” Dylan said. “Let us finish.”
“Those so-called power surges are bogus,” his father said, brushing off Dylan’s objection. “I’m driving around with one of those so-called duds in my own car. So are you, son, by the way.”
“What?” Dylan said.
“I changed out your battery when you had your car serviced. I put one in Candee’s Prius, too. A couple others.”
Dylan was furious, but he held his tongue.
“Have you had any power surges, son?” his father demanded. “No, you haven’t. No one else has, either. We’re the best vendor you’ve got, Jeb, and we won’t offer our part for less than the dirt-cheap price Abbott extorted from my son, who has this fairy story in his head that Abbott and I could sing kumbaya around the campfire again.” He shot Dylan a glare, his eyes on fire.
“Abbott Wharton was a stubborn, arrogant man who expected the world to bend to his will. In the end, he didn’t get that, did he? No. The world had its way with him and now he’s gone.”
There were gasps, looks were exchanged and dead silence fell over the room.
“Abbott Wharton robbed me once. He won’t rob me again. I promise you that. I’m finished with what I have to say.” His father stalked from the room.
Dylan looked at the stunned faces around the table. His father had just killed the compromise they’d nearly reached.
Victor got up. “We stand by our product,” he said, then turned to leave, Dale and the techs following. Victor had taken the test failures personally. He’d been downing heavy-duty antacids since the troubles began.
“That was unfortunate,” Tara said, red spots on her cheeks. “But we’ll straighten this out and follow up about a visit.”
“I won’t kowtow to those assholes,” Jeb said and took his team out of the room, leaving Tara and Dylan staring at each other.
“What the hell was that?” Tara said.
“I’m sorry. I talked to him about being conciliatory, but—”
“Conciliatory? He dropped a bomb and stomped out like a child. He ruined everything. We were this close to an agreement.”
“I know. I’ll straighten it out. I’ll settle our guys down and apologize to Jeb.”
“Your father’s the one who should apologize. That was unforgivable.”
“Abbott’s death has been hard on him. He’s not been himself.”
“I seriously doubt that, Dylan. He basically said my father got