IWMR | Bbangsaz

Chapter 7

Hanni's

"I just don't see how this is a good idea," I say. "Nothing good can come of it."

I look into his eyes, trying to see what he sees, but they give nothing away. Instead, Jake pushes the folders in front of me.

"The numbers are all here, Hanni. We're employing too many people for what we're making back. Payroll is far and away our biggest expense, and until we can start making the returns that justify this kind of bloated staff, the truth is going to remain the same, whether you like it or not. We need to lay people off."

Jake folds his arms, leaning back in the chair across from my desk. Well, my father's desk, I should say. Everything about this office still feels like him — the cherrywood desk, the dark leather desk blotter, the bookshelves filled with art and design books and professionally bound copies of our catalogs. Every one of them since 1971, in fact, when he first opened the company.

This company meant everything to him. When I first settled into this office, three days after Dad's funeral, I found one framed picture of me, and one of mom. The rest of the pictures up on the wall were from Pham Living launches, magazine spreads the company had been featured in over the years, and glowing news coverage they'd gotten. Of course, most of those articles and photo spreads are old now — it's been quite some time since Pham living was en vogue enough to make it into a magazine without spending major moolah.

Still, this is Dad's baby. And I can't help but think that the people who work here are part of that. Dad might have been a business man, but he was extremely kind to the people who worked under him. I just know in my heart that he wouldn't want me laying any of them off.

"There has to be another way," I say to Jake. I'm sure he can detect the note of pleading in my voice.

He sighs, loudly and with great exaggeration. "Yeah," he says with exasperation. "Start doubling our profits. Then we could afford to keep everyone and actually make this business viable."

I chew on the end of my purple pen. "Is it really that dire?"

I've looked at the spreadsheets, and sure, our orders seem to be going down at the same time that our costs are going up. And okay, salaries have been going up with inflation. And our prices have unfortunately stayed relatively stable, probably Dad's attempt to try to avoid isolating the current customer base.

So profits are down while costs are up. That much is clear from looking at the books. But surely there's still hope?

I look pleadingly at Jake but he shakes his head sullenly.

"I'll be honest with you, Hanni." He says it as if it's causing him great pain to have to tell me this. "Pham Living is on its last legs. Your father wasn't making the best decisions at the end. He didn't want to admit to the fact that the company needed some serious overhauling if he wanted it to stay profitable. He didn't want to listen to my advice — I told him we needed layoffs. I told him we needed to look at outsourcing. You know, we could get these pieces produced in China or Vietnam for a fraction of what we pay here. Your father wouldn't hear it — I just hope you won't have the same problem." His words are pointed, and I swallow thickly.

"You just need to give me some time," I say, trying to mask the desperation in my voice. Layoffs and outsourcing — the very words make me shudder. "I've only been here a month. We're already making progress — our social media efforts have been getting some traction … and didn't you say we got six new big orders after that advertising spread in The Post?"

Jake grudgingly nods, but he doesn't uncross his arms, and his expression is still sullen. "It's not enough, Hanni. If you're going to be the CEO, it requires making tough decisions. Not posting a few pictures on Instagram or whatever."