Gao Jin cut a broad and focused figure along the sidewalks of Zhongshan East Road. His dark suit was crisp, his tie of black dragon brocade, his hair secured into a topknot unruffled by the chill breeze of early morning. His thermal mug of green tea at its usual double strength, although he had easily woken before his alarm. The caffeine was superfluous, the heat a comfort, the taste a routine trigger to boot his brain into calculation mode.
Trees arched high above the waking bustle of the boulevard. The Huatai International Center towered beyond them in sleek tiers of glass and stone. Twin lion statues flanked sliding doors into the marble lobby. Peak Accounting and Finance occupied the tenth floor, a maze of translucent dividers chased in chrome.
Gao Jin settled into his windowed cube, sipping his tea as he paged through the morning’s email. A meeting invitation, a formula request from a colleague more apt to memorize calculations than derive them from precedent. A late night note from cousin Tao – a sales quote and specifications for some new line of self-lubricating sewing machines. Gao Jin distilled them into a spreadsheet to estimate operational costs, putting through a return call as he finished his first set of numbers.
“I’m running the preliminaries on your new toys.”
“Hell of a deal, aren’t they? I finally got a good volume discount.” Cousin Tao snorted. “These brokers think you’re nothing if you want less than a hundred.”
“As merchandise, they’re top grade. As an investment? Questionable.”
“They use less electricity. They don’t need to be shut down and screwed with several times a day. That all adds up.”
“I see that. I like that.” Gao Jin had been inserting computations for these efficiencies, shaving slivers from the cost totals. “But I’m not seeing enough return to beat your debt.”
Two years ago, cousin Tao had marched into Gao Jin’s office with the books of the Nanjing No. 1 Leather Goods Factory. Gao Jin flipped through a chunk of disorganized ledgers before shoving the whole sheaf back across his desk. Cousin Tao offered to double his hourly rate. Gao Jin demanded a plan behind his whims of rebirth, a superior gravitational force to cheap wages in rural backwaters and nearby economies emerging in China’s wake. Cousin Tao’s research into the domestic fashion explosion had him hitting the library to chase a few ideas of his own. When Gao Jin finished his feasibility study, he pondered the indulgence of binding a copy for his bookshelf.
The numbers say to sell. Strip the assets, unload the real estate, and reopen inland. If you’re a shortsighted fool, that is.
I’d like to think I’m not.
Then I’d like to help you prove it.
Cousin Tao had slashed his salary, fired useless management, used the savings as collateral to finance a loan – restrictive to him, a stretch on Gao Jin’s risk tolerance. Production lines were reorganized, material cutting brought in house, employees retrained accordingly. An inventory and order database, purchased on a past whim, was deployed to replace the paper trails it had been languishing alongside. The rest went into savings to weather the lean months, preventing a repeat of No. 1 Leather’s downward slide.
Supreme Leather and Luggage halved its precursor’s cruft during the transition. It still scraped the bottom of its emergency fund before rising into the black. Cousin Tao continued to obsess about overhead, seeking upgrades to cut waste and inefficiency and error. Extravagant purchases were wishlisted, others weighed against the loan interest. These sewing machines came close to breaking even. With debt still heavy, and the nest egg minimal, close was no bargaining chip – just another loss, another dream for a distant future.
“This offer’s only good for thirty days. Give me a call if you change your mind.”
“Show me more money and I just might.”
Cousin Tao laughed. “Always the technicalities with you.”
“I do what I do.”
Gao Jin forced himself through a routine stack of expense reports, changing pie chart colors to squeeze a scrap of creativity into boilerplate. The sewing machines lured him back to Supreme’s budget. He continued to adjust the numbers, quantifying the boost of intangible benefits. A rise in worker morale, and therefore in productivity. Increased confidence from the discriminating clients Supreme was selling itself to. The coefficients were estimates, reliant on general research and fledgling records. And, even in the most generous model, falling short of a win.
The phone rang, unstringing a partially envisioned formula into a mental heap of variables. Gao Jin swallowed a grumble before picking up the call from reception.
“So sorry for the inconvenience, but a client is asking to see you this afternoon. Are you available?”
“Which client, and did they explain the issue?”
“Mr. Han from Adept Auto. He says it’s urgent.”
Gao Jin clenched his teeth, took a silent and heavy breath. Adept was a parts rebrander and distributor he had nurtured into sustainable prosperity. It had since gone public, represented by a new and aggressive liaison. Han Housheng had no patience for the gentle hills and inevitable plateaus of long-term growth. Only a mountain would do, tectonic upheaval be damned.
The budget had been externally reviewed and brought back full of red pen. Han Housheng accused the wholesalers of ripping them off. Gao Jin provided cost breakdowns showing scant markup on the supply side. Han Housheng scoffed at the wages squandered on rank and file. Gao Jin displayed impressive statistics of employee retention. Han Housheng reminded Gao Jin that he danced on the shareholders’ puppet strings. Gao Jin fantasized of typing a directive on Peak corporate letterhead for the shareholders to roll it up and fuck themselves in whichever end was most painful. Instead he redrew his graphs, repeated his numbers, reiterated the solidity of three years’ success. And took no news as good news until this call – just a week before their scheduled quarterly.
“I’ll be free at one thirty.” In the twilight of a strong shot chased over lunch.
“Thank you so much.”