The day that Matthias Gelf was blown up was a typical day for him: which is to say, incredibly busy. He had one in-person meeting and two conference calls in the morning, and more than an hour of work to do before he could break for lunch.
He had just unwrapped his steak sandwich at his desk when Jamie Lunczesi knocked and announced herself. The offices were relatively small, as any client time was conducted in the conference rooms, but he nodded to one of the two chairs facing his desk and waved her in.
Jamie was Gelf's senior-most employee: his first hire when he'd started Gelf Marketing Solutions almost a decade earlier. She was a short woman who hid effectively behind thick-framed glasses and her ever-present organizer. Despite her plain appearance and clothing, she projected competence and spoke with confidence, a surprisingly resonating contralto.
"What's the topic?" Gelf offered, re-wrapping his sandwich to give her his full attention.
"My position here," Jamie said, her eyes trained on her lap where the leather portfolio was open to a page of notes. "We need to discuss what I can expect going forward."
Gelf nodded. "Somebody sniffing around?"
"Pretty much always," she said with a half-smile. "Connors Matheson this time. Partner guaranteed in three years."
"So tell them to come back and offer you partner in three years," he shot. "The associates there make chicken feed."
Jamie sighed. "That's not what's making me think about the offer." She wasn't watching her boss's face and didn't see his growing frown. "They're offering final say over the clients I manage, after ninety days."
"Ah." Gelf took a minute to center himself, and then a second minute, waiting for Jamie to match his eyes. "And I won't give you that control." Another moment of silence; Jamie nodded, and Gelf continued. “Do you understand why?”
Jamie allowed herself a quick smirk. “I can’t answer that in a way that won’t insult you.”
“Control freak, right,” Gelf said, but he saw Jamie shake her head. “There’s another reason?”
A low hum came softly from Jamie’s throat as she considered how to respond. Finally: “You won’t pass on authority because you don’t trust me. Or Dylan, or Pierre. You’re not confident in our abilities to deliver the product without your oversight.”
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Gelf shook his head. “Not true, Jamie. Not true at all. I’m certain you can handle your own clients, and Dylan is well on her way to do the same. Pierre needs more time.” He balled his hands into fists, suppressing the urge to stand and pace. “It’s not a judgment call at all - it’s a commitment I made to myself when I started GMS.”
“A commitment not to let your employees manage their own cases?” Jamie asked wryly.
“To always have final say, final creative control, over everything I was managing. I wanted to avoid being like the large advertising firm that I left behind. Where senior managers took credit for cases they never touched but blamed their subordinates for any mistakes. Crap runs downhill, profits flow to the top.”
“So, this isn’t a temporary thing?” Jamie asked. “Working here, I’ll never make partner, never have my own book of business separate from you?” The question came out as challenging, frustrated.
“Working for me, no,” Gelf said. “I’m not interested in growing like that. But, here’s what we can do.” He pointed a finger at her portfolio and was unsurprised to see her writing down what he said. “Start putting out feelers with the clients that seem most comfortable with you, see how they would feel about working for Lunczesi Advertising, or however you’d style yourself. We can workshop it. Then, when you think you’re ready, we’ll sit down and draw up the split. You can take Dylan with you if she prefers.”
Jamie finished writing and stared at the words on the page. “You want to get rid of me?”
Gelf scoffed. “Not even a little bit. You’re fantastic here. But my business model is that I, myself, have final say on every case I take on. You know we’ve turned down business when I didn’t have the bandwidth for it.” His hand rested briefly on a stack of folders representing potential new business; most of them he would refer to other firms. “When you decide you want final say, don’t try to pry it out of the hands of Connors Matheson or Deeling Whittier. Hang your own shingle, Jamie. You can do it any way you want, but you might consider having a rule like mine.”
“All right. Meeting at two?” Jamie stood, and Gelf began to open his sandwich up a second time.
“See you then.”
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Jamie took the lead in the 2 pm meeting – a damage control case with a sundries manufacturer after a scandal involving one of their celebrity endorsements. Jamie was perfectly in her element for the meeting, reminding Gelf how grateful he was to have her. He made sure to tell her that before they parted ways for the rest of the afternoon.
The day dragged on, and he finally left the office at 7 pm. It was a bad time to be on public transport in Manhattan, but Gelf was used to it. Plenty of men and women in suits making their way home at that late hour; the chill of the August evening cut through him.
Much worse was the piece of chassis that literally cut through him a moment later, as a car bomb detonated at the corner of Wall and William. Gelf was next to the car when it happened. Heat destroyed his suit and charred his flesh as his torso was cut diagonally across his midsection. He died within moments.
In the ensuing pandemonium, the two paramedics that removed Gelf’s body from the scene went unnoticed. In the two days it took his employees to connect his sudden absence to the terrorist attack, Gelf was moved thousands of miles away.