The Man Who Risked It All Read online

  But the real change when the company went public was of a cultural nature: The atmosphere changed overnight. All eyes were now riveted on the share price. At first, everyone was caught up in IPO frenzy, filled with enthusiasm as we watched the price climb. But this quickly became an obsession for all our managers. It’s true that the company now had to publish its results every quarter, and mediocre figures would make the share price fall at once. The management regularly issued press communiqués, but it was difficult to keep on announcing good results. In a business, you don’t have hot news to reveal every day, and yet we had to “keep up the pressure on the press,” as our CEO said. Feeding reporters positive results quickly became a form of slavery.

  Over the years, the company had grown through its professionalism, its reliability, and the quality of the services it rendered to its customers. Special care was given beforehand to each recruitment undertaken for a client. We did everything to find the rare pearl, the candidate who had not only the right skills and abilities but also the character and temperament to fit in well, get along with their new boss, and be successful in handling the responsibilities entrusted to them.

  Since the stock flotation, all that had become of secondary importance. Of primary importance now were the turnover figures announced to the press at the end of the quarter, and therefore the number of recruitments entrusted to us by clients. Apart from their recruitment role, the consultants now had to seek out new business. Not really my cup of tea. But we absolutely had to bring in new clients, new contracts, and increase “turnover.” The orders were to spend a minimum of time on interviewing candidates and a maximum on looking for new business. The job was being emptied of its substance, losing the noble meaning it had had in my eyes.

  Relations between colleagues had also changed entirely. Any camaraderie, any team spirit I had known in the first two months had given way to frenzied selfishness, every man for himself, stimulated by competitive challenges. It was obvious that the company was the loser since to survive, each member of the team put obstacles in the way of the others, to the detriment of the common interest. Admittedly, we no longer wasted time around the coffee machine as we used to, gossiping about candidates’ slips and lies, but those moments of relaxation had contributed to developing a feeling of belonging, to making us love the company and motivating us to serve its interests.

  Besides, what is a company if not a group of people with whom you share emotions while working on a project? Making an abstract number like turnover go up is not a project. And making us compete with each other did not create positive emotions.

  The phone rang. Vanessa announced that my first appointment had arrived. A glance at my diary showed that seven were scheduled. A long day ahead.

  I rapidly scanned my e-mails: 48 in just one day off. I immediately clicked on the one from Luc Fausteri. As usual, the subject field was blank. A laconic message:

  You must catch up with the work lost as a result of your day off. I must remind you that you are already behind with your monthly target.

  Regards, L.F.

  The Regards in the automatic signature stuck out like a sore thumb. Copy circulated to Grégoire Larcher and all my colleagues in the department. What a pain!

  I met my candidate and the interview began. It was difficult to concentrate, to get involved in my duties. I had left the office the night before convinced that I would never set foot in it again. In my mind, this job had been wiped out of my future. In the end I had remained alive, but it was as if all the data had not been updated in my brain. Now this place seemed almost foreign, and my presence here had no real meaning.

  I managed to get away around seven o’clock. A miracle. Outside the building I had barely set foot on the sidewalk of the Avenue de l’Opéra, when a man in a navy blue blazer came up to me. A real hulk of a man with pale, expressionless blue eyes, flat cheeks, and no cheekbones. Instinctively, I took a step back.

  “Monsieur Greenmor?”

  I hesitated a second before replying.

  “Monsieur Dubreuil is waiting for you,” he said, discreetly pointing to a long black Mercedes parked half on the sidewalk.

  The tinted glass windows prevented me from seeing inside. Somewhat apprehensively, I followed the man, who opened the back door for me. I slid inside with a twinge of anxiety. A faint smell of leather. Dubreuil was sitting next to me, but the width of the car allowed us to keep a certain distance. Before the driver shut the door, I had time to catch the intrigued look of Vanessa, who was just leaving the building.

  Dubreuil remained silent. A minute later, the Mercedes pulled away.

  “You’re going home late,” he finally said.

  “Sometimes I stay a lot later, occasionally as late as nine o’clock,” I replied, pleased to be able to fill the silence, which fell again right after.

  Eventually, he broke the silence. “I’ve thought a lot about your case. In fact, you’ve got several problems fitted inside each other. The kernel is your fear of people. I don’t know if you really realize it, but you not only do not dare impose on anyone or really express your wishes, you also have great difficulty going against someone else’s wishes and expressing a frank refusal. In short, you’re not really leading your own life.

  “The first tasks I’m going to give you will teach you to overcome your apprehensiveness so that you can accept being in disagreement with others, can dare to contradict them, and can express your desires and get what you want.

  “Then, you must accept not necessarily conforming to other people’s expectations, not always meeting their criteria or values. You must dare to display your differences, even if it upsets them. In short, you will have to let go of the image you want to project and learn not to care too much about what others think of you.

  “When you fully assume your differences, then you will be able to examine other people’s ways and, if necessary, adapt to them. You will thereby learn to communicate better and interact with strangers, so you can create relationships based on mutual confidence and be accepted by people who don’t work like you. But first you must accept what makes you unique. Otherwise you will continue to be controlled by other people.

  “I will also teach you to be persuasive, so that you will know how to get what you want. And then I will get you to dare to have new experiences, implement your ideas, make your dreams real. In short, I’m going to blow apart the shackles that are binding you today, that without you even realizing it are completely imprisoning you. I will liberate you so that you can live your life and live it to the fullest.”

  “And you’re going to make me do certain things so that I can learn all that?”

  “Do you think that by continuing to lead your little life as you’ve led it till now, things will change for you? Besides, you saw where it led you.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. I’d forgotten.”

  “Even if it doesn’t drive you to such an extreme, life is long and boring, Alan, when you don’t live it as you’d like.”

  “No point trying to convince me, since you’ve got my agreement in any case.”

  The Mercedes had turned onto the Boulevard Haussmann and was driving fast down the bus lane, past all the cars caught in rush-hour traffic.

  “It’s by rubbing up against reality that you’ll realize it’s not so dreadful,” Dubreuil said. “And then you’ll be able to do things that you’re not permitting yourself to do at present. I also want to make you change your relationship to the events of life. Listening to you yesterday, I was often surprised by the way you function on a day-to-day basis. I think you frequently adopt the role of the victim.”

  “The role of the victim?”

  “It’s just a figure of speech to indicate a sort of posture that certain people adopt without thinking. It consists of living as though what happens to us has been imposed on us, that it’s something we experience despite ourselves.”

  “I don’t think I’m like that.”

  “You probably don’t reali
ze, but you put yourself in a victim position when you use expressions like ‘I’m not lucky,’ ‘Things aren’t as I would have liked,’ ‘I would have preferred …’ When you describe your daily life, as soon as something doesn’t turn out the way you want, you tend to say ‘Too bad,’ or ‘That’s a shame,’ or ‘I don’t care,’ but you don’t say it with the wisdom of someone who is calmly accepting a situation. No, you say it with regret in your voice. It’s a resigned acceptance, and, what’s more, you sometimes remind yourself that it wasn’t your choice. And then you also tend to complain at times. All these are indications that you revel in the role of the victim.”

  “Perhaps I adopt the role without being aware of it, but I certainly don’t revel in it.”

  “Yes, you do. You inevitably find advantages to it. Our brain works that way. In each moment, it gets us to opt for what it considers to be our best bet. That is to say, in each situation you experience, your brain is going to select, from all the things you know how to do, whatever seems to be the most appropriate thing, the most opportune—whatever is going to bring you the most advantages. We all function like that. The problem is that we don’t all have the same array of choices. Some people have developed a variety of attitudes and behaviors, so that when they encounter a given situation, their brain has a wide range of possible reactions at its disposal. Others tend to always do more or less the same thing, and in that case, their range is limited, and the choice they make is seldom appropriate.

  “I’ll give you an example: Imagine a discussion between two strangers in the street. One is unjustly criticizing the other. If the other has lots of strings to his bow, he will be able to prove that the criticism is wrong perhaps, or make light of it with a joke, or even ask pointed questions to force his accuser to justify his position. He can also put himself in the other person’s place and try to understand the origin of the criticism, in order to be able to put his critic right while staying on his good side. Alternatively, he could choose to ignore his critic altogether and simply go on his way. If he is capable of all that, then the instant he hears the criticism, his brain has numerous possible responses at its disposal, and there is a high probability that it will select one that is really appropriate to the situation—that optimizes his interests and is the most advantageous. Now imagine the same situation involving someone who doesn’t know how to do any of that. It’s probable that the only choice his brain has is to insult his critic or passively accept the criticism, no matter how unjustified it may be. Either way, that will be his best bet.”

  “You’re saying I’m a bit limited, is that it?”

  “Let’s say that when things don’t go your way, then yes, you don’t have many choices available, and you tend to put yourself in the position of the victim.”

  “Supposing that’s true, what are the advantages I get from it?”

  “From what I discovered yesterday, you like to be seen as someone who puts himself out for others, and you hope that in return you will be valued for your so-called sacrifices. And then you also enjoy being pitied and arousing people’s sympathy. Between you and me, that’s a load of bull. All the research shows that we are attracted to those who take responsibility for their choices and live with the consequences. In the end, you’re the only one who’s moved by your lamentations.”

  “Even so, objectively—really objectively—I think I’ve had less luck than others in life so far, beginning with my social background. I’m sorry, but it’s much easier to be happy when you’re born into a wealthy family where you’ve gotten all you want.”

  “Stop! That’s bullshit, all that.”

  “Absolutely not. Any sociologist will tell you that statistically, children from privileged social backgrounds are far more likely to go to college than children from underprivileged backgrounds and therefore to have access to better jobs.”

  “But that’s got nothing to do with happiness! Besides, don’t forget you are an executive. Unfairness derives from the love and education a child receives from its parents; this, indeed, contributes to future happiness. In that regard, I agree, there are underprivileged people. But it’s unconnected to social background. Being rich doesn’t mean you know how to give love to your children, or the right dose of authority to bring them up successfully. Look around you.”

  “Okay. But you can’t say I was lucky from that point of view either. I didn’t even have a father!”

  “Yes, but now you are an adult, and you can learn to move beyond moaning and crying over your fate.”

  The Mercedes turned onto the Boulevard Malesherbes and drove toward Rue des Batignolles. I was very annoyed by what he had said.

  “Alan …”

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Alan, there is no such thing as a happy victim. Do you hear? They don’t exist.”

  He fell silent for a few seconds, as if to allow his words to sink in. I felt his phrase go like a knife to my heart, and now his silence was pushing the blade deeper into the wound.

  “Right. So what do you do to stop yourself from slipping into the role of the victim? Because if, on top of everything else, it’s unconscious, I don’t see how I’m going to extricate myself.”

  “In my opinion, the best way is to learn to do something else. Again, if pretending to be the victim is your best bet, it’s clearly because your brain doesn’t have many other possibilities. Therefore, you must develop some. You know, nature abhors a vacuum. So if you simply try to suppress the victim role and don’t know how to do anything else in its place, it won’t work. You’ll resist the change. The best thing is to discover that you can do something different. Then, I’m confident, your brain will quickly choose the new option of its own accord, if it brings you more advantages.”

  “And what will this new option be?”

  “Well, I’m going to teach you to get what you want on a daily basis. If you succeed, you won’t need to pretend to be the victim. Listen, I know it was only an anecdote, but you staggered me yesterday when you told me your lack of luck pursued you even in an insignificant act of everyday life like buying bread at the baker’s. You said you regularly get bread that’s got a hard crust but you prefer it soft!”

  “That’s right.”

  “You must be kidding! That means you’re not even capable of saying, ‘The crust on this one is overdone. May I have that one next to it?’”

  “Of course, I’m capable of it! It’s just that I don’t want to put the baker out when there’s a shop full of customers waiting. That’s all.”

  “But it would take only two seconds! You prefer eating crusty bread that you don’t like to taking two seconds of the baker’s time! No, the truth is, you don’t dare tell him. You are afraid of annoying him to get what you want. You’re afraid that he’ll think you are demanding and unpleasant, that he won’t like you. And you’re afraid that the other customers will be annoyed.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “On your deathbed you’ll be able to say, ‘I made nothing of my life. I got none of the things I wanted, but everybody thought I was nice.’ Brilliant.”

  I was beginning to feel decidedly ill. I looked away from this man with his upsetting words and allowed my gaze to wander over the buildings, shops, and people we were passing by.

  “I have some great news,” he went on.

  Skeptical, I didn’t even bother to look at him.

  “The great news is that all that is in the past. What’s more, you’ll never again eat crusty bread. Never,” he said, looking around. “Vladi, stop.”

  The chauffeur stopped the car and turned on the hazard lights. Cars passed us, sounding their horns.

  “What do you want from in there?” Dubreuil asked, pointing to a bakery.

  “At this moment, nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Good. So you’re going to go in, ask for a loaf, a cake, anything, and when it’s given to you, you’ll find a reason to refuse it and ask for something else. Then you’ll invent another reason to refus
e the second item, then the third and the fourth. And then you’ll say that, after all, you don’t want anything, and you’ll leave without buying a thing.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can. In a few minutes, you’ll have proved it.”

  “It’s beyond me.”

  “Vladi!”

  The chauffeur got out, opened the door for me, and waited. I looked daggers at Dubreuil and then reluctantly got out. A glance at the bakery: the crowd before closing time. I felt my heart beating at top speed.

  Inside, it was a hive of activity. I stood in line as if I were waiting for my turn to mount the scaffold. It was the first time since my arrival in France that the smell of fresh bread had repelled me. The shop assistant repeated the customers’ orders to the woman at the cash register, who repeated them out loud as she took the money. Meanwhile, the assistant was already taking care of the next customer. It was like a well-rehearsed ballet performance. When it was my turn, there were already eight or ten customers behind me. I swallowed hard.

  “Monsieur?” she asked me in her very high-pitched voice.

  “A baguette, please.”

  My voice was muffled, as though stuck in my throat.

  “A baguette for monsieur!”

  “One euro ten cents,” said the cashier.

  The shop assistant was already talking to the next customer.

  “Madame?”

  “A pain au chocolat.”

  “A pain au chocolat for Madame!”

  “Excuse me, would you have one less well done, please?” I forced myself to say.

  “One euro twenty for Madame.”

  “Here you are,” said the assistant, holding out another loaf. “Mademoiselle, it’s your turn.”

  “A sliced sandwich loaf, please,” Mademoiselle said.

  “Hmm, excuse me. I’ll have a bran loaf, actually,” I squeaked.

  The slicing machine drowned out my voice. She didn’t hear me.