Troubleshooter

Chapter 7 - Amy, Get Your Gun

STROM INDUSTRIES had three main office sites in London: the headquarters in the financial district, half of an office tower in the Docklands, where Strom Defense resided along other units, and a complex called "Industries Services", located in a architecturally unimpressive office park close to Heathrow. "So there is a difference between corporate life and company life," Paul said to himself as he entered the clean but overly functional lobby. Unlike the headquarters building in the financial district, this location of Strom Industries had no visitor contact and therefore did not display any pompous visuals. It was a collection of general services provided for many of Strom's branches, like financial statements, procurement, payroll, and call centers. According to Michael Ny, there were over two thousand people working in the three connected buildings.

There was no receptionist, but the counter held a phone with a single button. Paul picked it up and simply pressed the button.

"Petra Gentle, Strom Services, I'll be right with you!"

After two minutes, a slightly overweight lady in her late fifties came to the lobby.

"How can I direct you, Sir?"

"My name is Paul Trouble from the headquarters. I have an appointment with Mr. Armstrong."

"In archiving? Just follow me, Mr. Trouble." She gave a small giggle. "I am sorry, Sir, but the pun just came to me and was completely unintended."

Paul smiled. "Rest assured, my ancestors and I have heard them all. No trouble at all."

She smiled, giggled again, and Paul followed her through a maze of floors and doors left and right. Some were open to show large cubicle farms of unknown purpose. People were working, but there was almost no sound. Paul felt like he was a science fiction movie where silent robots were performing menial tasks.

They went down several staircases, into the cellar, and Petra knocked on a closed steel fire door.

"Fire protection, you know. All that paper..." Petra explained.

A thickset man opened the door. "Paul Trouble? Thanks, Petra. I am Mike Armstrong." They shook hands, and Mike showed him into a tiny office that was nothing more than a desk, two chairs, a beat-up scratched roll-container, and a computer, millennium model from the look of it.

"So you are here for Amy? Did she do anything wrong?"

"No. Any reason you ask?" Paul had only had access to Amy Norwood's personnel file, which showed superior skills but the evaluation by her various managers were less than stellar. Unfortunately, there hadn't been any details or reasons.

Mike scratched his head. "Don't get me wrong. Amy is a nice kid, and she occasionally shows brilliance in her work, but she has disciplinary issues. It is hard to control her and to assign her duties that actually are needed in the job."

"You are her fifth manager in a relatively short timespan. How come?"

"Ask the previous four!" Mike guffawed. "After one manager experienced difficulties with her, he just handed her down to the next department. She started out as a team leader, a catastrophe! Her team threatened to collectively quit if Amy remained their boss. Then she took a project manager position—another fail, big time. After that, two positions within the Information Technology department as a technical specialist, and then she came to me." He sighed. "To tell the truth, my department is probably as low and unpopular as it gets. Records and archive. We are about the past, no connection to current business affairs, no careers to be made here. Our task is to make legal guys happy—no more no less."