CHAPTER 2 A Well Timed Visitor

Back in his office, Dave stared at his computer screen. A calendar reminder popped up with a ding. His eyes locked on the little window but the information didn’t register. His mind was replaying his meeting with Jim—particularly Jim’s last words: I want a full report on my desk in two weeks. . . . I need to do some thinking, too. Dave wondered if his job was on the line. Was firing Dave what Jim needed to think about? He was demanding, but he usually didn’t make threats.

Ding. The reminder popped up again, urging Dave to take notice. When the information finally sank in, he grabbed his phone, stuffed his laptop into his briefcase, and hurried out of the building. Saying "Call home” to his phone as he ran through the parking lot, Dave then cursed under his breath. Damn, I’m late again.

Dee picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?”

“Honey, I’m just now leaving the office. I’m sorry, but I’m going to be late.”

Dee sighed. "I’m pouring wine now. We’ll save a glass for you.”

Twenty minutes later, Dave pulled into the driveway. He walked around the side of the house and entered through the back door. He slipped into the bathroom, cleaned up, took a deep breath, and prepared to greet his sister-in-law from the UK. This would be the first time he’d seen her in several years.

She spied him as soon as he entered the living room. "Hello, Dave! How are you?”

The years had been kind to Beattie Anderson. Dave thought she looked like a wiser, more dignified version of the blonde, twenty-something maid of honor at his wedding. She stood eye to eye with him, offering a handshake and a warm smile. He leaned in for a quick embrace.

“Great to see you, Beattie. I’m doing well, thanks.” Was he? Now that he thought about it, Dave felt stressed out. He gestured to the glass in her hand. "I see you have some wine. Don’t mind if I do.” He poured some wine from a decanter into a glass and promptly took a drink.

Dee came in from the kitchen. "Dinner is served.”

Beattie and Dave made their way to the dining room, where the table had been set for three with the good china and silver.

“Wow,” said Dave as they took their seats. "This is quite a spread.”

“Of course it is,” Dee replied. "It’s not every day I get to cook for my sister.”

Dee tapped her fork against her wine glass and a clear note rang out. "Before we start our appetizers—or as they say across the pond, starters—I’d like to make a toast.” Dee turned to their guest. "To my dear sister, Beattie, and her recent success!”

“Hear, hear,” said Dave, smiling and raising his glass.

“I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate the sale of my company than to get over to the States for a good visit,” said Beattie. They all clinked glasses and began to eat.

“So, Beattie, I hear you made a killing on the London Stock Exchange,” said Dave.

“Yes, yes, I did,” Beattie admitted. "Now I have the time and the money to come and see you in sunny San Diego. You have no idea how much I could do with some sunshine right now.”

“So it’s raining in London?”

“God, yes. It’s been the wettest April since records began—and that’s saying a lot,” Beattie said with a laugh.

Still reeling from his meeting with Jim, Dave found it difficult to engage in polite conversation. After all, there was only so much they could discuss about the sun in San Diego and the rain in London.

Beattie took the initiative. "Dave, what’s happening at work these days? Dee told me you recently headed up a big project—Primo was the name, I believe?”

“Yes, Primo. I found out today that it was a failure—and it looks like I’ll take the hit.” Did I really just say that in front of Dee’s sister? Dave thought. He was immediately embarrassed at his lack of discretion in the presence of such a successful woman.

“Oh, Dave,” said Dee, "that’s awful.”

Beattie was sympathetic. "Gosh, I’m so sorry. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you think the problem was?”

“Problems plural,” he corrected. "It was one of those projects where if something could go wrong, it went wrong.”

“Sod’s Law!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, nothing—it’s a British saying for things that go wrong.”

“Ah—here we call it Murphy’s Law,” said Dave with a nod. "Anyway, I had three departments working on this project, and each of the department managers wanted to lead the whole thing. When the managers weren’t fighting, the team members started acting out, claiming they needed to take care of their bosses' interests.”

Having heard Dave’s stories about Primo as the project had evolved, and being an experienced HR executive herself, Dee joined in. "That’s what silos are all about—everyone protecting their own interests. Talk about egos!”

Beattie nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds tough. I had similar issues at Blenheim when we really started to grow—self-serving managers and siloed departments. I hadn’t realized that moving from a startup to a midsized company would cause so many growing pains. My executive team and I had to really think about the most efficient method of operation—something that would ensure excellent results and human satisfaction. In the end, we realized we would never achieve our goals without genuine collaboration.”

“What kind of collaboration? What do you mean?” Dave asked.

“I mean we had to focus on everything from our vision and values to how individuals at every level could feel they were making a real contribution. It was a huge culture change for everyone. Managers had to give up their silos and their perceptions of power and start focusing on the collective good rather than on their own gain.”

Dave let out a laugh. "Ha! There’s an impossible dream—getting department heads to give up their fiefdoms. How on earth did you manage that?”

“Dave, please,” said Dee quietly.

“It’s all right,” said Beattie. She smiled at Dave. "I don’t blame you for scoffing—it took quite a bit of time for us all to become what we called 'silo busters' and to make the shift to a collaborative culture. But we did it—with fantastic results. I’d be happy to chat it through with you if you think it would help.”

“Silo busters, huh?” said Dave, unconvinced. "Thanks—I’ll think about it.”