made, and even the
fireplace was ready to go, with kindling, paper, and cut wood all
arranged. All he needed to do was light a match. Alice and Jack
were thoughtful, nice people.
Ben listened to the fire crackle for a
moment and then slid his coat off before opening his laptop to
check his email. One from his boss caught his eye:
From: Peter Stillwell, CEO, Kootenai Kounty
Oil
To: Benjamin Wilde, President, Kootenai
Kounty Oil
Subject: Update on Settling the Natives
Ben,
What’s the news? Good, I hope. Call me
anytime and update me. We want to get this project started and the
problems there put to bed.
Best,
Peter
Short and sweet, right to the point. Peter
wasn’t going to be happy with what Ben had to report. The fire had
just started to throw off some heat when he sat on the bed. He
pulled his cell phone out and called Peter. Maybe his boss was
sitting by the phone, as he answered on the first ring. Ben could
hear voices in the background.
“Ben, was wondering when I’d hear from you.
So tell me, how did the presentation go? Did you work your magic?
Tell me you have good news.”
Yeah, he was anxious. Peter was a man who
wanted answers.
“The presentation took a different turn than
expected,” Ben said. How could he explain to Peter that these
people wouldn’t have listened to a slideshow or to someone singing
KKO’s praises for the jobs and security that they would bring to
the community? These people just didn’t buy that kind of fluff
after the curveballs life had thrown their way. These people didn’t
trust outsiders.
“Different in which way?” Peter asked. He
was direct, and he always came across as gruff when things didn’t
go as smoothly as he expected.
“Well, you already know I wasn’t welcome
here. This is a tough community. The folks here are pessimists,
always looking for what can go wrong. They already brought up our
track record and that of every other oil company—though, in all
fairness, all oil companies do have a history of leaving damage.
The townsfolk pointed out every example they could.”
“Sounds like you might be on their side,”
Peter snapped.
“No, Peter, listen. That’s not what I’m
saying. You need to understand these people first before you can do
something like what we want to do. You can’t just steamroll over
these people and believe they’ll go away. It won’t work, not here,
not in this town. They’ve been misunderstood for so long, beaten
down, kicked in the head, and they know what struggling is. They
won’t just roll over, not on this one. They’ve dug their heels in.
Besides, someone in the community already suggested they ask for a
bigger cut from us before there’s any further negotiation.”
There was silence on the other end, long
enough that Ben could feel the energy, the annoyance. He suspected
Peter was going to take a hard stand.
“Excuse me? I don’t think I heard you right.
Are you telling me that aside from what that shithole community
stands to gain in jobs, the new hospital we’re going to fund, and
the new community hall, they want more?”
A new hospital? Where had that come from? He
wondered sometimes where Peter came up with things. Since this was
the first Ben was hearing of it, he figured maybe Peter had been
behind the scenes, working at sweetening the pot for this community
since Ben had left. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replied.
“These people are smart. They know they’re the ones assuming the
lion’s share of the risk, so they want a bigger piece of the pie.
This is a win-win, Peter, for us and them. We really need to come
back with something so each of these families can see how they’ll
gain financially from this project—not just in terms of jobs but
how everyone will benefit. Right now, most here are focused on
basic human needs, how to feed their families, keep a roof over
their heads. They’re just getting by, little by little, so having
something more will go a long way to winning
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