Unbeatable: The Legend of Vincent Scott – Chapter 9: The Mutiny

As Vincent headed to his office to turn on the dialer for the day’s work, he passed Clyde, who muttered, “I’m McHungry.”

“You and me both, brother,” Vincent replied.  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting,” came the reply.

Once the stand-up dispersed, the reps and managers broke up into their crew level pow-wows.  Vincent activated the dialer and began his schedule, which required him to be there every time a campaign ran out, and the managers regurgitated the morning message with varying levels of skill and accuracy. 

No one but IT guru Eric Aames knew the dedication it took for Vincent to be there every moment a campaign ended in the dialer and a new one needed to be activated.  He could have pawned off this responsibility but he wanted complete control over the schedule.  Often he would make decisions on a whim or play with the leads and he alone knew how to get the best results out of any lead set at any given moment based on his religious studying of the statistics.  It was a cocktail only he knew the ingredients to.

However, every day around 10 AM, Vincent made sure the dialer was set on a campaign that would last until 10:30 or 11.  Reason being?  “The Breakfast Club.”

It started with Cal, Slade, Jimmy and Vincent, over a year and a half ago.  They started to go to McDonald’s and discuss the state of the union.  As time went by, Frankie and Clyde would tag in and they would all end up there.  Eating, drinking coffee and sodas and eating greasy breakfast to soak up the hangovers from the night before were the orders of the day.  They discussed happenings in the department and the treatment they got from Dickhauser.  Lately, they discussed what should and would be his fate.

With tensions high amongst the team in anticipation of the eventual conclusion to the Dickhauser investigation, they were not going to miss an opportunity to discuss the latest.

“I hear the calls have stopped,” Clyde offered, referencing the calls from HR leadership to each and every member of ABM Online management about the tactics of Keith Dickhauser.  “A little birdie told me that he will be put to pasture in a staff job downtown and away from us.” 

A “little birdie” was code between Clyde and those he kept close to the vest for Agnes Landry’s best friend Helen Johnson.

“What is the timeframe?” Frankie inquired. The group also had a pool, drafting the days they anticipated the demise of their falling leader.  Each had a vested interest as the pot was over $250.

“No telling,” Clyde responded.  “But they won’t waste time.  Every day they take he is a liability to the company.  If he makes further movement against someone they can sue ABM for inactivity.”

“He knows, boys,” Vincent dropped.  Everyone looked at him with concern and disbelief.

“Shut up,” Slade muttered.

“Mark told him,” Vincent offered up.

“How do you know?” Cal inquired.

“Keith told me,” Vincent revealed.  “Don’t worry, I played cool.  I had to, I wasn’t about to let on that I knew something.  I just played it off like – ‘why would they want to talk to me?  I’m the bad boy of ABM and everybody knows HR hates me’.”

“Well played,” Clyde said. 

“I anticipated this and intended to reveal knowledge of the whole thing at the end,” Vincent continued.  “It sounds like we’re there so I will go to him today saying I got the call.  I can’t have them say they talked to everyone and him not hear from me that I got a call.”

“Are you sure that’s the right move?” Jimmy asked.

“It is,” Clyde said.  “Vincent can’t do anything to expose him or us as traitors.”

“Precisely,” Vincent said. 

“And then the Vincent Scott regime begins,” Cal boomed.

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Vincent said.

This was more of a reckoning than mutiny.  This was years of oppression and being screamed at and cursed at and targeted wrongfully and condescended to and it had finally culminated into enough people wanting to do something about it.  Vincent was just along for the ride. 

He had not initiated this firing squad.  He had received a call and, as he knew more than anyone and could provide a unique insight to the tactics and demeaning activities, he did just that.  He told the truth. 

It was not a foregone conclusion. Vincent knew he could either tell Dickhauser what was happening and help Keith by giving him a heads’ up, or he could join the resistance that was – HR assured them – going to be successful. Now it was just a matter of seeing what transpired in the aftermath. It could not happen soon enough.

But would this company actually promote Vincent Scott to Dickhauser’s vacant position?  Vincent had a track record of battling policies, dating females in the company, a child out of wedlock with a former rep in the department and a known affinity for partying – he was the last thing many in this company wanted despite his overwhelming charisma and ability to flat out execute. 

The conflict for Vincent was that no one took the time to look at the reasons for any of those things.  It is easy to cast stones at people like him. 

Vincent may not have always reacted to things the right way, but he was never prepared by anything or anyone for some of the attacks thrown his way. Vincent battled superiors for the greater good of the people who worked for him.  Yes, he was sometimes borderline insubordinate but he thought he was doing it with just cause.  He became romantically involved with females in the company because he was a workaholic and never had the opportunity to meet anyone else. 

He had to escape from his own mind, his debilitating fears and insecurities, and being social and burying himself in work were all he knew. 

The company needed Vincent Scott but would much rather someone else – anyone else – who would march to their drum without controversy, would come about and be able to provide the work ethic, contributions and results that he could. But such a creature never came, much less existed. 

“But you know that will never happen,” Vincent lamented, continuing his thought after the brief mental escape to a world where he would actually get the reward he deserved.

“Vincent, you know that’s the whole goal of this,” Clyde said.  When Clyde said it, he wanted to believe it.

“They aren’t going to put a wild card like me in that post.  They will bring in someone who knows nothing about our business, which could be more dangerous than our current situation,” Vincent stated.

“Vincent’s right,” Johnny Slade agreed.

“The ‘evil we know is better than the evil we don’t’ philosophy,” Frankie offered.

“Exactly,” Vincent said.  “That’s why phase two is my letter to the executives in the aftermath of Keith’s removal.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asked.

“I’m going to tell them what their play is.  Very respectfully, of course,” Vincent tempered.  “If they don’t want to promote me, that’s fine.  They would be better off having no one take Keith’s job.  Let Mark and I run this as we are now.  Keith is nothing but a political figurehead who has worn out his usefulness and beats the will to live out of the people making this place successful.  I will offer to be their single point of contact, maybe a temp promote on a trial basis until they feel comfortable making the change permanent.  Meet them halfway, as it were.”

“That’s smart,” Cal said.  “Because you’re right, you look too risky on paper.”

“It’s the only move I’ve got,” Vincent said.

“Then it’s settled.  The Brotherhood’s mission is near completion,” Clyde said, beaming from ear to ear.

The group toasted with their McDonald’s cups, then dispersed.  It was back to the ranch. 

Upon returning, Vincent walked across Block 1 to his office.  Once he got in his office, he unlocked his computer interface and logged in to see how many leads were left in the campaign bucket and check his e-mail.  The company’s instant messenger system had several incoming messages.  He perused e-mails me missed and re-focused on his day.

Vincent knew what he needed to do.  With the Dickhauser investigation seemingly over, he had to go to Keith and tell him something that would keep his suspicious eyes off his back. 

Vincent did not feel guilt for applying nails to the coffin for Keith.  The relationship had been tumultuous since the starting gun of his ascension to running the department.  He had been cursed at, yelled at, hung up on and threatened so many times he knew how his subordinates felt and then some.  He had been their only buffer and lately even that dam was weakening. 

There was only so much he could now prevent and with the floodgates opening against them, they took the opportunity to return fire on Keith.  He had to go and Vincent felt no compassion; he had brought it upon himself.

Vincent walked across the building, passing the crew areas for Clyde, Cathy and Steve.  He could never make a journey from any particular points A to B without being stopped by people with questions about accounts, sales strategies or soliciting advice on some idiosyncratic situation and this trip was no exception. 

About five minutes later, Vincent walked past secretary Marla Mooney’s workstation and rapped on Keith’s door. “Is he available?” Vincent asked.

Marla scoped the phone line situation and nodded, “Yeah, he just got off the phone.”

“Come in!” came the response from behind the door.

Vincent opened the door for what seemed like the millionth time and walked in, closed the door and parked himself in the chair facing Keith Dickhauser. 

When summoned into this office, Vincent never closed the door.  He could always tell if there was a hint of danger to the meeting when Dickhauser asked him to close that door.  This time, the door needed to be kept secure.

“I got the call,” Vincent said. 

“Really?  When?” Dickhauser asked, focused on Vincent, looking up from his sports news on his desktop computer.  For Keith Dickhauser to give anything the preponderance of his attention was a rarity in and of itself. 

He was a classic case of a disturbingly short attention span, even notoriously walking away from people mid-sentence on occasion, but this was one conversation he did not want to miss.

“This morning, first thing.  She called during our stand-up and I called her back.”

“Who was it, Agnes or Lydia?”

“Agnes.  And don’t worry,” Vincent answered coolly.  He paused momentarily before adding, “I took care of you.”

Vincent had wanted to deliver that line so badly for so long.  Obviously Dickhauser would interpret it to mean he smoothed things over.  Vincent meant it in quite the opposite fashion.  And he did not tell a lie.

“What did she say?”

“It was pretty much like Mark described.  She asked if I had seen you tell someone in an open forum that if they couldn’t do their #@$%! job you would find someone who could.  I said I had never heard you curse in an open forum,” came the selectively worded reply. The threat in question had happened in a smaller assemblage.

“Right,” Dickhauser said, clearly on edge.  “What else?”

“Just the same stuff, apparently.  I told them we have to have tough conversations sometimes to get our point across.”

“I just want to know who ratted me out,” Dickhauser grumbled with anguish.  “Did she give any hint as to who it is?”

“She said there was an anonymous call and then two who revealed their identities to her.”

“God $%#! it, I am too old for this $%#!.  I just want to ride out my three years and get the %$!@# out of this place.”

“And I just wanted you to know that I got the call.”

“Thanks for letting me know.  Obviously we have to have each other’s backs.”

Vincent nodded as he rose and left the room. Those final words did not resonate any guilt within Vincent, primarily for one reason. 

Four months prior, Vincent had been under a firing squad all his own, spurred by an “anonymous call.”

The call reported Vincent for a meeting where he said “if you choose to ignore this report, you’re a fool.”  Vincent’s tight-knit team would not bury him, of course.  In fact, of 20 people in that room only 6 admitted to even hearing that uttered and only 4 said anything that would amount to constructive criticism of Vincent’s occasionally overenthusiastic style. 

When Vincent faced Agnes Landry and Lydia Rawlings, who were clearly out for blood with the way they posed their questions and the hateful way they read off his purported crimes, Dickhauser had every opportunity to defend him.  Quite the contrary; Keith allowed Vincent to be under fire and lied to cover up his own faults to make it seem like any bad behavior in the department was not his despite what the report said. They said that while Vincent was innocent, Keith himself was the one who was berating and belittling and blasting reps and managers on a daily basis. 

Vincent’s disgust lingered and now he had silently enacted his revenge.  He had given proof of Dickhauser’s wanton ways by sending a voice mail where he had referred to the managers as idiots and said, “F— them.” 

He had provided e-mail proof of abuse where he had systematically targeted certain individuals because of race or gender – where he picked apart every sale they made but did not do this to others, evidence of Dickhauser ordering illegal falsification of documentation specifically in order to terminate people he did not like, how Dickhauser changed rules whenever and however he wanted despite company policies, and plenty of first-hand account of his horrendous dictatorship, harassment and systematic targeting and racism and sexism. 

Vincent had merely told them the truth.  And may the truth set them free.

The last day of a month for Vincent was actually the easiest – like Election Day.  He had done everything possible, busted his tail during the campaign, drummed up as much support as he could and now it was time to sit back and watch the results roll in. 

He loved numbers.  He analyzed every lead source, every dialing statistic and anything he could try to tweak or manipulate to squeeze more money out of this engine.  He found himself now pretty much finished tweaking. 

This was the optimized beast. 

He was scrambling to find another challenge to keep him interested.