Free Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4) by Neta Jackson, Dave Jackson

“You mean me too?” His boss nodded. “How soon?” It didn’t make sense. He’d known things were tight, but Hastings had been spurring on everyone to lock in more accounts, line up more exhibitors.
         “Sorry, Greg.” Hastings shook his head. “I really feel bad about it, but I can’t pay anyone beyond the Burnham Harbor gig. I’ve gotta close the doors the next day.” He shrugged. “Of course, anybody who’ll want to go sooner, can. But I can’t pay anyone past June 7. And as much as I’d like to, I can’t even offer anyone a severance package.”
         Whoa! Greg had to get his boss to back up on this thing. “Hang on a minute, Chuck. I thought the Waukegan show went pretty well. Didn’t you?”
         Hastings shrugged. “Depends on how you look at it. The slips were full, we had enough vendors, but attendance was . . .” He wobbled his hand back and forth. “And as you know, it’s not the number of people who come through the gate; it’s how many buy boats. And from what I’ve gathered from the exhibitors, only three sales were made during the whole show.”
         “But that’s not our fault! We brought ’em in, so that’s on the sales rep—the product, the pricing, whatever—but not us!”
         Hastings snorted. “But we pay nonetheless. If the exhibitors don’t sell, they don’t sign up for the next show. That’s what I’m trying to tell you! Huh. Maybe people brought their kids to see your motorized hang glider or whatever it was, but they didn’t come to buy boats. They had no intention of buying anything larger than a hot dog—and they didn’t.”
         Greg could feel his jaw working, pulsing the muscles at the side of his face. This couldn’t be happening! He swallowed. “Look, Chuck, what if we hold off on this decision, do some strategizing? I mean, you’ve put together a strong team here. Let’s work the brain trust and generate some viable alternatives.” Hastings was shaking his head, but Greg pressed on. “I mean, everyone works hard here, but if they knew Powersports was on the line”—he jerked a thumb in the direction of the inner offices—“I’m sure we could all dig deeper and give that extra effort that would make it go.”
         “It’s not you, Greg, and it’s not the other people. You’re all good employees. Give a hundred percent. I’ve got no reason to complain or put this decision back on any of you. But the bottom line is this . . .” Hastings’ finger stabbed the papers on his desk. “When the investors saw the financials for last quarter, they pulled their money, every one of the big ones. And when the others learn sales have tanked and exhibitors are bailing, they’re bound to pull the rest of our funding. It’s out of our hands. I don’t want to go into bankruptcy. This recession’s gotta end someday, and when it does, I don’t want a bankruptcy hanging over my ability to attract new investors. It’s better to pull the plug now and avoid more debt. As it is, we’re all gonna get the short shrift here. Even me!”
         Greg frowned. “What do you mean? How?”
         Hastings threw up his hands. “I’ll be talking to our creditors, but I’ve got nearly half a million in debt hanging out there. I might be able to negotiate some of it down, but I’m personally gonna be eating most of it.”
         Unbelievable! “And the rest of us?”
         “Huh, if gettin’ laid off isn’t bad enough . . . like I said, I can’t afford to give anyone severance pay.”
         Greg sucked in a long breath, then blew it out. June 7 . . . not even three weeks away. How could the boss do this? He leaned forward, his mind scrambling. “Look, Chuck, if you’re gonna cut that last show, the one after Burnham Harbor, there won’t be that much for us to do. Why don’t we all focus on recruiting new investors? If the old money’s dried up, let’s find new money!”
         Hastings