Terminal Value by Thomas Waite Page B

female voice. “This is Arlene calling for Ms. Rohnmann. She would like to see you at your earliest convenience.”
    â€œHello, Mr. Johnson. This is Arlene again. Ms. Rohnmann asked me to give you another call.”
    â€œHi again, Mr. Johnson—”
    â€œI told her you were at a meeting,” said Sarah, leaning on the office door and smiling.
    Dylan returned a wry smile. “Have we received the itinerary for the road show yet?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œOkay. Why don’t you call Arlene and tell her to tell Christine I’m in and will be over shortly.” Christine Rohnmann also kept an office in Boston—another part of the transition.
    â€œHave you been a bad boy?” Sarah asked with a grin. “She seems mighty impatient.”
    â€œShe just wants to talk about the road show.”
    Sarah sighed and shook her Gibson-girl head. “You really need to get a life, Dylan.”
    * * *
    April 6, 2:00 p.m. Boston
    Christine Rohnmann’s home page, always set on CNBC, flickered as charts neatly tracked the daily fluctuations of the NASDAQ and the performance of Mantric’s competitors. Christine multitasked in a myriad of ways, primarily by keeping watch on the incoming messages during meetings in her office while asking detailed questions of those in attendance. And she was infamous for keeping a close eye on the firm’s employees’ personal as well as professional lives.
    Christine thrived in her role as CFO. She had dived into the furor of the past three months with relish. She led the effort to register Mantric with the Securities and Exchange Commission, and after submitting it to the SEC, she had responded to a large number of questions and requests for revisions. This action had chewed up valuable time, as their technology sector of the stock market was the one hot spot. She enjoyed being in the spotlight, and she let everyone know that complications such as being required to spend valuable time in Boston, working with the menial Rich Linderman on the acquisition, did not please her.
    As Dylan walked across the open space, he had a good view of Christine through the new glass wall of her office—glass walls designed to represent fiscal transparency and unity with the employees on the floor, yet maintaining a distinct separation. As Dylan watched her expressionless face staring at the huge LCD display in front of her, tapping the lethal fake nails of her left hand on her desk, he could not help but think transparency was not the picture. Dylan rapped on the glass door and entered as she looked up and waved him in.
    He was uncomfortable with this new office style, which was so out of character for MobiCelus. Christine had done the room over in steel and glass, giving it a sense of ice. She then covered every available surface with stacks of papers, spreadsheets, and notes. The shelves on the side walls overflowed with binders, and more stacks of papers were piled high on top.
    â€œMorning, Christine,” said Dylan, mustering up civility.
    â€œHave a seat,” said Christine, pointing to a hard-backed chair on the far side of her desk.
    Dylan settled into his chair as a winter-like chill washed over him. “You’ve made some interesting changes to your office,” he said, attempting to start a conversation.
    Christine neither nodded nor shook her head, an ingrained habit of hers. “I hope you’re not planning on starting all of your conversations today like that.”
    Dylan smiled. He found Christine’s abrasiveness odd but refused to let it bother him. Through his acquaintance with her over the past few months, he realized she used that technique with everyone, to get them on the defensive and off balance. She was the polar opposite of the affable Art, and together they formed a corporate good cop/bad cop team. The trick was not to accept her terms.
    â€œI had a meeting with your people here this morning in preparation for