RRD - Chapter 3

(chapter 2, table of contents, chapter 4)

I stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse foyer at 11:52 a.m. The security guys buzzed me straight through into the executive reception. Eleanor's personal assistant, Brittany, greeted me with a well-rehearsed smile, informed me that Eleanor would see me as soon as she could, then asked me to take a seat. I picked the leather couch closest to Eleanor's office and half-heartedly perused that week's *Economist* while I waited.

Ten minutes later, Eleanor's door flew open and Halifax Gibbet, the man himself, our CEO and savior, five foot six inches tall (and, some said, round, though no one had ever been brave enough to try and measure him), stomped out, barking over his shoulder: "No more excuses!" He slammed the door then marched straight past me and down the corridor to his office. I couldn't tell if he deliberately ignored me or if he hadn't even bothered to ignore me. Whichever it was, he ignored me.

A moment later, Eleanor's door opened again and Mark Richmond, our chief marketing officer and FPP's sponsor, sauntered out of Eleanor's office. I heard him say: "Can you get back to me by, say, four?" Eleanor replied: "Five" from inside her office. Mark, a tall, fit man with pitch-black hair, had been well-known across Scotland a couple of decades earlier when he played on the Scottish Rugby team. He closed Eleanor's door and saw me sitting on the couch. Smiling broadly, he said, "Nice tan, Steve," then strolled across the hall to his office.

Twenty-five minutes later, Eleanor came out and—although I don't think I was technically sleeping, just resting deeply—startled me awake with a sharp "Steven."

I stood and we shook hands formally, as was her way. As she led me into her office, I noticed that she left her office door wide open, which I took as a good sign. She pointed me towards her couch, a short-legged, luxurious, antique thing (not unlike its owner), and like a good doggie, I sat. I felt awkward, as always, as I sank deep into the soft cushions, feeling my pants legs ride up and revealing not just my socks but a bit of leg as well. Eleanor sat down in a matching chair, her back straight, crossed her legs and got straight to the point.

"Hal and Mark tell me your new information confirms rumors they'd been hearing as well."

I rolled my eyes. What did she expect them to say? To admit they got caught with their pants down?

She let out a deep breath. "Truthfully, how healthy is the FPP project?"

I shrugged. "FPP is as healthy as any project of its size. Before today's news, we were on track to deliver before the end of next year."

"On track? What on earth does that mean?" She shook her head. "When were you actually going to deliver? Give me a month."

I put my hand up onto my chin and rubbed it, trying to give the impression I was thinking; which I was, but I wasn't thinking about when we'd deliver, I was thinking about how I could word my answer without causing Eleanor to react in a way that would make both of us regret her leaving her door open.

The truth was, we never knew when a project of this size would finish until we got a good bit into our testing phase. If we got lucky, finding few bugs during testing and not needing to make too many changes, then we would finish the testing phase quickly, with little rework. FPP hadn't yet started testing, so we estimated the testing phase would take approximately forty percent of the project's duration. The reality would depend on how lucky we got, and we didn't get lucky often.

Eleanor wanted a month, but the best I could give her was a season. "Autumn next year, if we got lucky. Though given the size and complexity of FPP, more likely winter."

"And the odds of it running into spring?"

I didn't know how to answer that, but I did my best. "One in six."

"So we were playing Russian roulette," she said, nodding slowly to herself. "Here's hoping you're firing blanks."

I said nothing.

"So FPP would have, most likely, delivered twelve to eighteen months from now."

I smiled weakly. None of this was news to her.

"Well, now you've got seven months."

"Pardon?" April 1st was just under nine months away.

"Hal promised Group we would beat Chaste to market. Our new launch date is February 1st."

I raised my voice. "I agreed to match them, not beat them."

"Steven," she hissed, shushing me and pointing towards the open door. "We have no choice."

I lowered my voice, as instructed. "He's robbed us of two months. He can't do that."

"He can, and—in fact—he just has." She spoke quietly, coldly. "The date isn't open for debate. But if you're as clever as you think you are, young Steven, Hal and I are confident you will find a way."

I stared at her, aghast and angry. My mind raced ahead. April 1st would have been tight, but I believed we could trim FPP of enough fat—lower value features and processes—to be able to do it. But there's only so much functionality you can slash before the product is no longer commercially viable. There's only so much overtime we can work before people burn out. It was too late to bring new people onto the project. That'd just slow everyone else down. The other option, the one I knew we'd end up exercising no matter how much I hated it, was to cut our quality standards back even more than we usually did.

I thought a moment. February 1st didn't make sense. Very few customers would buy the product until after the new tax year started in April.

I said, "How many customers does Mark expect to buy the product in February and March?"

"A dozen or so per week." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. He won't actively promote the product until April."

"Then why launch in February?"

"Because that's the promise Hal made. You don't need to know more than that."

I nodded, though I wasn't happy since I'd be the one who got blamed if we ran late. "So, if things get desperate, could we launch with spreadsheets to buy us a few weeks, then launch the actual software solution in April? Those two extra months could make a huge difference."

She looked at me as if I were an idiot. I took that as a no. Smoke and mirrors clearly weren't good enough.

I said, "We might not make February. We need a Plan B."

She glanced at the open door as she considered my comment. I thought she looked like she wanted to tell me more, but couldn't.

She spoke very deliberately. "Halifax promised our masters in Group two things: First, and clearly foremost, that he will beat Chaste to market and we will be selling FPP to real customers, albeit on a small scale, on February 1st. Second, we will be selling FPP on scale, in April, as customer demand grows after the new financial year. He promised he would deliver, or else."

She left the *or else* hanging there, as if she were inviting me to ask her about it. I obliged. "Or else?"

"You figure it out."

It wasn't difficult. No one said it, but everyone knew Hal's job was on the line. FPP was the rabbit up his sleeve, his get-out-of-jail-free card and his rescue plan all rolled into one. The Wyxcomb Group had been pumping cash into us for the last three years. They described it as investing for growth, but really, for all the growth they'd seen so far (exactly none), they were keeping us afloat. FPP was not only the rabbit up Halifax's sleeve, but also his future cash cow. No rabbit, no cow; no cash, no job. No job, no shirt on his back. No shirt, no sleeves, nowhere to hide his rabbit. Or something like that. Maybe the analogy makes more sense with top hats.

"Just because Hal's job is on the line doesn't mean we can just magically deliver FPP any earlier."

"I know."

We both sat there, silent for a few moments while we contemplated the position we had suddenly found ourselves in. I searched for a bright side, and the best I could come up with is that Hal may well shaft us, but at least I'd get a mention in his memoirs.

Eleanor broke the silence. "You will ship something on February 1st, correct?"

"Is Mark on board? If his team doesn't slash the product's scope back enormously then we're dead."

She nodded. "Yes, but Catherine doesn't know yet." Catherine worked for Mark. He was FPP's sponsor; she was our primary customer representative.

"Our overtime budget will soar."

"Of course."

I sighed. "Our product will launch prematurely. It will be buggy as hell and we'll spend months and months after launch nursing it into good health, fixing it. You won't get any new features for months."

She shrugged. "I know how these things work, Steve."

I nodded slowly. Our negotiations were over and I'd done my part as best as I could. I'd objected to the date and explained the consequences, and that was all I could do. I hated it, my staff would hate it, and our customers wouldn't like our product, but I'd done my job.

"Okay."

"Good," she said, then smiled. "Now, when you leave my office, you need to leave with a beaming smile on your face. As far as you are concerned, February 1st is not only achievable, but it's just the sort of kick in the pants your guys needed all along, and Hal is a good man for providing it. Understand?"

I forced the smile onto my face, just to show I could do it. "Of course I do. We've been in tighter situations and survived."

"Good lad," she said. "Now, one last question."

I raised my eyebrows.

She glanced towards her door to check that the coast was clear before she spoke. "Tell me, who normally gets blamed when a software-intensive initiative like FPP fails? The CEO, the CFO or the IT guys?"

(chapter 4)