More Than Just Business

[William Glenmorgan]

William Glenmorgan felt old. Of course, that was simply a side effect of his genuine advanced years; but there were days when despite the aches and pains and other general complications that his body managed to conjure, he actually managed to feel relatively spry and youthful. Energetic, even. Today, alas, was not one of those days.

His mood had been a little sour of late, ever since Oliver Queen had moved to Gotham City. Despite the pretense he loathed the boy: the stupid, insolent whelp whose wild antics and reckless made him - in Glenmorgan's mind at least - unworthy to inherit his father's surname, let alone his business, wealth, and holdings. He had been named the executor of Robert Queen's estate, and had been charged with preserving Queen Industries and everything else that Robert had built, until such a time that Oliver was old enough to shoulder that responsibility himself. While astronomy and law dictated that Oliver was now old enough, he certainly wasn't ready enough. Seizing control of the company had been Glenmorgan's only option.

The fact that he'd managed to line his pockets rather nicely in the process was irrelevant, of course.

Unfortunately, Glenmorgan's ellaborate efforts to teach Oliver a little humility and responsibility had been thwarted; or at least thrown badly off-track. Several years in service to the military had been a fantastic start - granted it was the United States military, but Glenmorgan doubted his ward would survive if he'd followed through on his threats to pack him off to the Royal Marines - but when Oliver had returned to find William still holding on to the business, he had immediately run crying to one of his little rich-boy school friends.

Bruce Wayne had provided a job in Wayne Enterprises; loaned him a penthouse appartment in the heart of the city; and apparently the keys to his vast collection of fast and fancy cars. Though a little more responsible about it than he had been five years ago, Oliver Queen was reverting back to his old ways remarkably quick.

Glenmorgan's mood was sour then at the thought that his well-laid plans had become so swiftly unwravelled. Not to mention the fact that giving Oliver a mid-level role in the company to learn the ropes and earn his way up the ladder was a fantastic idea, and William bitterly wished he'd thought of it first.

A mix of growl and sigh escaped his lungs, a Scottish snarl grasping at his voice as he muttered the words, "Bruce bloody Wayne." He shook his head, and with a grunt jabbed the talk button on the intercom that had been insistantly flashing at him for a few minutes. "Send him in," he commanded, already knowing what his Secretary wanted to say.

[Roman Sionis]

The day was a busy one. He’d dismissed three different applicants and candidates for the very position he was now about to receive. Most were unwilling to act as a puppet while holding such a position; unfortunately for them, the President of Janus Enterprises was looking for a good stooge, and nothing more. Glenmorgan seemed to be of the same sort of mind it seemed to him, but if he wanted to be able to get what he wanted from this deal, he might have to give Glenmorgan some of what he wanted.

His phone rang, drawing him from staring blankly at the office buildings littering this part of the city like pillars of dead trees turned to stone, or the spires of some worldly church.

Roman smirked at the last thought as he checked his phone. He liked that sort of thinking. These buildings were essentially the churches of the modern world; back in the dark ages, the most effort was put into the church buildings, and all the towns were arrayed around them, making them usually in the town or city center. These temples of glass and stone were erected to greed, instead of to cruelty.

The limousine stopped and the driver stepped out to open his door. Roman stepped out in front of the large office building holding the vast majority of Queen Industries’ main power-players within it. Roman smirked lightly at the realization that he’d soon be one of them, and entered...

And, within five minutes, was walking into Glenmorgan’s office with a confident smile.

“Nice to meet you finally, Mr Glenmorgan. I am Roman Sionis. How are you?”

[William Glenmorgan]

Mouth drawn into a tight line, Glenmorgan's jaw briefly worked as if he was chewing away at his beard from the inside. Of course you're Roman Sionis, the voice of his subconscious muttered darkly, though decades of practiced self control prevented the words from tumbling from his throat.

Eventually he spoke, but between the seemingly permanent frown on his face, and the fact that his Highland tones escaped from only one lopsided half of his mouth, any warmth he had intended was stripped harshly away. "As well as can be expected," he growled, his accent squashing some syllables, and stretching others, with no apparent pattern or logic.

He fell silent again, features so fixed that they could have been carved from stone, erroded and weathered by years of exposure, and riddled by deep fractures and wrinkled canyons. His eyes stared out, scrutinising Roman with a piercing, inescapable gaze.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" he asked eventually, after the silence had dragged on long enough. His lack of reciprocation was blatant, but a brief moment of weakness forced a vague explanation from his lips. "I can't abide false pleasantries and ceremonies. Sit down, and speak freely."

[Roman Sionis]

liGlenmorgan’s gruff attitude didn’t seem to sway the young businessman. In fact, Roman’s smirk widened and he sat, nodding calmly.

“I agree,” he said. “The masks people wear end up hurting more than anything else. It doesn’t hurt to present a pleasant attitude though.”

He let his right ankle rest on his left knee.

“I suppose though you are expecting me to list you with all my accomplishments as though I were presenting a personal résumé for you to look over and deliberate as if I had gotten the position like any other job.” Roman leaned back in his seat.

“I won’t. It is my opinion that doing so would only be a disgrace to you; I expect you have seen my qualifications in detail before I came in. Seeing me means that you think I am up to the job, but you still want to measure me with your own eyes, to see not only how well I can perform but whether I will work with you or be forced into a position to follow your vision for the company and not my own.”

Roman’s grin dimmed slightly, though the cheerful manner still remained.

“I know exactly how you feel, Mr Glenmorgan, as I’m going through much the same thing. Most ambitious upstarts want make the companies in their own image, instead of working with the founders to preserve them.”

[William Glenmorgan]

"Do you, now?" It wasn't entirely clear whether it was amusement or annoyance that changed the pitch of Glenmorgan's voice, as he reacted to Roman's claims at empathy. He unleashed a grunt. "I'm afraid you'll find working with the founders quite hard, Mister Sionis; the African wilderness made sure of that a good two decades ago or so."

He shook his head, a growling sigh escaping from him as his arms folded across his chest. "It's a good job you apparently have good business skills, because your ability to read people isn't nearly as honed as you seem to believe." His jaw clenched and he paused, sizing Roman up as he sat. "I'm not after a puppet; I'm not after someone to merely parrot back the plans I feed them. If that's what I wanted, I'd run the damn company myself, and take home both pay cheques at the end of the year."

He shook his head again. "No, Mister Sionis. You are here because you took your father's failing company, and sent it soaring up the stock exchange. You make changes. You pursue new avenues and new directions. You consolodated, diversified, overhauled, and did everything you needed to do in order to retool your business into a success." His mouth drew into a thin line. "Queen Industries has scarcely changed since it was founded a few decades ago by Robert Queen, and while I have done what I can to keep her solvent, I am a generation behind the times. Queen Industries needs fresh blood."

Fresh blood that isn't that hothead Queen, his subconscious added, a not of his earlier frustration returning briefly. He pushed it aside, focussing himself squarely on Roman. "Lets be copletely clear on this, Mister Sionis: I hired you for two very clear reasons. First of all, I want you to do for Queen Industries what you did for Janus Enterprises. And second -"

A rare smile tugged at his lips. "- it's going to annoy the hell out of Bruce Wayne."

[Roman Sionis]

“I am aware of the founders’ deaths,” Roman said, retaining his confident demeanour. “As you are quite aware of the point I was making, given your last remarks.”

The younger man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

“Masks, Mr Glenmorgan. It all comes down to what sort of mask one wears, and that applies not only to people, but to any sort of entity, whether a government or company. It was more complicated, but that is a concise explanation for my company’s rise. Whatever is the actual face of things beneath the glossy exteriors of this building’s facades, my main concern will be to present the best image of this company to the public and investors.” He paused. “If Queen Industries makes the best products, but no one buys because there are rumours of corruption, then it’s likely the company will lose its innovation to a competitor.”

Roman leaned back in his seat once more.

“What I see, Mr Glenmorgan, is that Queen Industries is not failing. Its growth is slow, but not dangerous. It remains competitive. What I did with Janus was save it. Why, and from what, do you want me to save Queen Industries? Why is my blood what is needed? These are the questions I have asked myself. There are some conclusions I have reached, and the one that makes the most sense to me is that it isn’t my past accomplishments which brought you to hire me. It makes sense to me, but it wouldn’t make very much sense to others, or perhaps it might lead them to make some conclusions that could lend themselves easily to speculation.”

[William Glenmorgan]

Glenmorgan let out a snort. "I care very little what they think," he countered with a frown, shaking his head as he spoke. "The media will assume the worst, as they always do; but fortunately for our bottom line, cynical journalists are only a small proportion of our customer base."

He let out a sigh, collecting his thoughts. His eyes strayed to the collection of artifacts littered across his desk: mementos from Africa; from his youth; from when times had been simple, and not filled with the complictions of corporate politics and management double-talk. Part of him longed for that life; unfortunately, the rest of him was too busy protesting with the aches and pains from his age-addled bones. Inside, he was still the man who could wrestle survival from the wilderness with his bare hands; but alas, he was trapped in a body that relished every comfort and relief that his sizeable corporate salary could provide.

"In terms of the global market," Glenmorgan admitted, "Our profit margins are not unreasonable. Our stock is not without value. However -" He gestured out of the window, indicating the cityscape beyond. "- in Gotham, in America, and beyond, we are overshadowed by Wayne Enterprises. The turnover of Wayne Technologies alone dwarfs ours. In terms of branding, Wayne products have a higher profile than anything with a Queen label." A hint of a scowl crossed his features. "Bruce Wayne is a jack of all trades; unfortunately, he's a master of most of them as well."

He fixed his gaze squarely on Roman. "You took Janus Cosmetics, and you retooled; you expanded; you rebranded. You tunnelled outwards, and carved a new network of niches. I want you to give the same kind of facelift to Queen Industries."

Reclining in his chair, Glenmorgan steepled his fingers. "I want there to be two kinds of consumers in Gotham, Mister Sionis: those who buy Wayne, and those who buy Queen. And I want you to make sure that as many people as possible want to be the sort of person who buys Queen."

[Roman Sionis]

The man before him seemed to be an interesting mix of contradictions; hopes, desires, wishes, flaws, failures, and everything else mixed together to make his character. Whatever Mr Glenmorgan wanted, he was used to getting, either by his own actions, or more commonly as of recently, by having others do it for him. But then, that was an interesting mix of blended colours as well.

“And there it is,” Roman said, a smile working its way back onto his face. “‘Those who want to buy Queen, and those who want to buy Wayne’. That I can do, Mr Glenmorgan. I do believe I can do that very well. Setting our sights on topping Wayne Enterprises is no small goal. But it is, I think, doable, given the right strategy.”