Compositional Defiance

Part 1: Let's Push The Limits!

Were Logan's daughter. The phrase stings.

"I'm still his daughter, nothing changes that," I say, and while I meant it to sound strong, my tone falters. I clear my throat.

Mr. Stirling unbuttons his suit jacket. "I apologize, I did not mean any offense. Logan and Anna's deaths have been hard on all of us too. Please tell us about yourself."

For some reason, his apology stings too. I very much doubt their deaths were harder for you than for me, and I'm keeping my composure. I mean... c'mon, man.

"Sure. I'm Adalie Beyer, Logan's daughter. I've grown up around Intrepid. I hate the reason that I'm here, but I'm happy to help carry out my parents' legacy through the company."

"Did you study business?" another board member asks, this time a woman with curly red hair that fades to grey around her face.

Ugh, I should have just left my water bottle out. "No... no, I didn't. I, uh... I studied art. Specifically pottery."

The room falls silent.

"I guess that's not too helpful now," I joke, but no one laughs or even smiles along with me. "But anyway, I'm ready to learn, and I promise to do my best."

"Well," Mr. Stirling starts, leaning toward the table and flipping through his packet of the profit and loss statements, "we are going to need more than your promise to do your best. Frankly, we're going to need a bit of a miracle."

I scoff. "Why?"

"Haven't you looked over the statements?" he asks, furrowing his straight silver brows.

I nod with a quick shrug of my shoulders that gives away my insincerity. The truth is I did look them over... whether or not I understood them is an entirely different question.

"The statements show that the company is in crisis," he explains. "We are down 20% this quarter, as we have been each quarter for the past twenty-four months. The company can't continue like this for much longer before we will have to consider shutting our doors, or as I have suggested, selling to one of these newer companies."

I swear my heart may pound right out of my chest. Close Intrepid Airways? I may not understand the financial stuff, but I understand how much this airline means to my parents' legacy and to all its employees.

"Wait, hold on. We're not talking about closing Intrepid or selling. What's the problem exactly? Why are we losing so much money?" I ask.

"Where to begin?" Mr. Stirling scoffs. I'm beginning to wonder if another reason Dad stopped inviting him over for poker night was because he was a jerk.

"The cost of fuel is getting to be too much," the woman from earlier answers. "Besides that, the time and expenses of maintaining our equipment are also taking a toll on our profits."

"What's your name?" I ask the woman.

"Debra."

"Thank you, Debra. Why is the cost of maintaining our equipment so high?"

Then, despite the fact I'm clearly asking Debra, Mr. Stirling butts in: "Our equipment and technology are outdated. One of these newer companies would be able to buy us out and easily turn everything around, but we our profit margin as miniscule as it is, it's very unlikely we ever could. We should sell now, before we lose more money."

I press my palms against the tabletop, and do my best to suppress my anger. "Mr. Stirling," I barely get out through my clenched teeth, "we are not selling the company. What you're suggesting isn't just disrespectful to everyone in this room, it's disrespectful to me, and more importantly, to my parents, my dad in particular. I will...."

I panic. Where am I going with this sentence? I will what? Save the company? How? I realize I've been sitting here with my mouth agape for far too long to sound convincing, but I do my best.

"I will do whatever I can to keep my family's company alive."

Then Mr. Stirling begins echoing my own self-doubt. "How? What is your plan?"

"I'll figure it out," I say.

"Until you do, I propose a vote," Mr. Stirling starts.

"What? Wait, no. About what?" I interrupt.

"About selling."

"No, you can't do that." Whether or not he actually can, I have no idea. But how could he be so quick to discard Intrepid Airways after Dad's death?

"Adalie clearly does not have any concrete plans at this time," he continues, "so I propose we meet again next week to discuss next steps. At that time, I will come with my plans for selling and how we can all walk away with as much of our assets as possible. Adalie, if she wants to keep the company, will come with a plan to reinvigorate Intrepid."

Now I really get why Dad stopped inviting Mr. Stirling to poker night: He must have worried about controlling his urges to punch Mr. Stirling in the face every time he spoke, just as I worry about it now.

"All in agreement say 'aye'," he says.

"Aye," the whole room seems to say. In fact, I think the only people who don't agree are me and Debra.

The board stands to leave--I didn't even get to learn their names because of stupid Stirling, he doesn't deserve the 'Mr.' anymore--and just like that, my first board meeting crashes as burns just as quickly as it lasted. What was that, five minutes? Ten?

I feel like even more of an unqualified failure than I did before the meeting began. My worst prediction--that they wouldn't trust me because I was just a young, art major--didn't come true. What did happen was much worse: Now the board doesn't trust me because Stirling made me seem, art major or not, like an incompetent boss. But how hard was it for him to do that, really? Didn't I fall into his traps as easily as he set them?