Chương 13: The Machinery of Influence

The New York State Assembly building in Albany looked exactly the way I had imagined it would: corridors lined with portraits of dead governors, wooden panels darkened by time, and the kind of silence that only exists in places where important decisions are made. The secretary led me into Holloway's office without unnecessary words. William Holloway rose from behind his desk when I entered. A man in his forties, athletic build, gray just beginning to show at his temples.

His handshake was firm, but not performatively strong. There was fatigue in his face, though not the exhausted fatigue of a driven horse. More the fatigue of a man used to working at full capacity and not complaining about it. I sat in the chair opposite his desk and prepared myself for the conversation.

"Catherine has told me a great deal about you, Mr. Miller," Holloway said, leaning back in his chair. There was no tension in his voice, but no particular warmth either.

"I hope nothing compromising," I tried to joke, and immediately regretted it. Wrong joke, wrong moment. Holloway smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes.

"She says you have been actively supporting her foundations. She also says you are one of the few young entrepreneurs who thinks about more than profit. I value people like that, Mr. Miller." It felt like a rehearsed phrase. Interesting. Did he know the truth? Or had Catherine decided not to ruin my reputation in her husband's eyes?

"I believe business is not only about extracting profit," I said, trying to sound sincere.

"If you take from society, you should give something back."

"Commendable," Holloway nodded.

"Though that position is rare these days. So how can I help you, Mr. Miller?" Direct and to the point. I liked that. I took out a folder of documents and placed it on the desk.

"My company manufactures office equipment and safety products. We have several developments that could be useful to city and state institutions. I would like to discuss the possibility of cooperation." Holloway took the folder and began slowly turning the pages. His face remained completely neutral; only his eyes moved along the lines. He read halfway through, then raised his gaze.

"The state already has suppliers, Mr. Miller. Long-standing, proven ones. People we have worked with for years. You understand it would be difficult to simply replace them with an unknown company?"

"I understand," I leaned forward.

"But my product is objectively better than what is currently being used. And I am prepared to offer competitive prices. All I need is a fair chance to demonstrate the quality." Yes. This was how I had decided to secure myself a roof. Legal and official protection at the state level. When you are a supplier to government institutions, when your contracts go through the administration, no one can simply touch you without consequences. Too many questions appear.

Too many people become interested in making sure deliveries continue without interruptions. Besides, it opened access to information. Who was planning what, which projects were being developed, where the city and state were moving. And that was without even mentioning connections. He watched me silently for several seconds. Studying my face, as if trying to read something between the lines. Then he placed the folder on the desk and folded his hands.

"Mr. Miller, I'll speak plainly because I dislike dancing around the point. I do not lobby for the interests of individual companies. It contradicts both my principles and my office. But," he raised a finger, "I can recommend you to the right people in the administration. Give you contacts and, so to speak, open the right doors. If your product is truly good and your prices are reasonable, they will make their own decision. Without pressure from me and without any obligations on your side. Would that suit you?"

That was exactly the answer I had expected. Holloway was clearly not one of those politicians who sold influence left and right. He had a reputation as an honest man, and he valued it.

"That is all I need," I nodded.

"A fair chance to prove myself."

"Good." Holloway opened a desk drawer and took out a card holder.

"I'll give you three contacts. The head of city procurement and two people in the state administration. Call them in my name. Say I recommended you. From there, everything depends only on you and the quality of your product." He handed me the cards. I took them, looked each one over carefully, and put them in my wallet.

"Thank you, Mr. Holloway."

"Don't thank me too soon," he said seriously.

"I want you to understand something. I am not doing this because you donate money to my wife's foundations. And not because she asked me to, though her opinion matters to me. I am doing this because I believe young entrepreneurs should be given a chance when they deserve one." He paused, and his voice grew harder.

"But if you disappoint me, if your company proves incompetent, dishonest, or simply unable to fulfill its promises, this will be the first and last time I recommend you to anyone. More than that, I will make sure everyone knows about your failure." He opened the drawer again, took out a cigar, rolled it between his fingers, but did not light it.

"And one more thing, Mr. Miller. I do not ask for anything illegal, and I do not expect direct gifts. But in politics, there is such a thing as mutual support. If I help a business develop, it would be reasonable for that business to support the right initiatives. Charitable projects I supervise, educational programs, sometimes election campaigns of people who share my views. Nothing mandatory, all voluntary and open. But that is the reality of this world. Do we understand each other?"

"Absolutely," I said, holding his gaze.

"I have always believed that successful business should support the right initiatives in society. And I am prepared to participate in projects that bring real benefit to people." Holloway nodded with satisfaction. We understood each other without unnecessary words.

"Then I think we'll find common ground, Mr. Miller." Holloway nodded and relaxed. The business conversation was over, and for the next half hour we discussed broader topics. He spoke about the state's plans for the coming years, new bills in development, the way the city was changing. He spoke intelligently, with an understanding of all the fine mechanics of the system. An old-school politician, for whom power meant not only money, but also responsibility. Amazing things.

Though I suspect he wasn't exactly poor himself. He was far too sharp for that. I noticed him tense when the conversation accidentally touched on family. The topic of children was clearly painful for him and Catherine. Stern had mentioned it: eight years of marriage and no children. Rumor said they both wanted them, but something wasn't working out. I decided not to say I could have made him a baby. I doubt he would have appreciated that. Overall, Holloway turned out to be exactly the kind of man I had imagined.

Intelligent, cautious, with something resembling principles. Long-term relations could be built with him, carefully maintained and mutually useful.

Now I had two serious protectors on the political field. Whitmore in the city through his connections in business circles, Holloway at the state level through administrative structures. Not friends. Not partners in the direct sense. Just people who could open the right doors when necessary, give a recommendation at the right moment, and show a fist to jackals from other factions. Money for charity, formal dinners, golf games, and riding outings had done their job.

The next step was creating a structure that would allow me to use those connections as efficiently as possible. I needed a public relations department. Not one PR man writing press releases, and not a secretary answering calls. A whole team of professionals who would handle connections, image, and event organization. People who would help my acquaintances solve their problems, connect the right people with each other, organize meetings, and watch the company's reputation.

The logic was simple: the more useful I was to influential people, the stronger my position in this city became. But doing all of that myself was physically impossible. The main problem was that such specialists were nearly impossible to find. In 1975, PR had not yet become a fully separate industry. There were advertisers who made television commercials, journalists who wrote articles, political aides who organized rallies.

But professionals capable of building long-term public opinion strategies were catastrophically rare. And almost all of them already worked for major corporations or political campaigns. I needed people with connections, experience, and an understanding of how the system worked. Preferably people who, for one reason or another, were out of the game and willing to risk working for a young company. I called Stern and gave her an assignment.

Find candidates with experience in politics, journalism, or event organization. Preferably people who had resigned or been fired under scandalous circumstances, but not through their own fault. At the same time, I asked Harold to dig through his union contacts. There were competent organizers there, people who knew how to work with large groups and weren't afraid of dirty work. A week later, six dossiers lay on my desk.

The one who interested me most was Thomas Greer, forty-three years old, former aide to a congressman from New York State. He had left politics two years earlier after a loud scandal. According to Stern, Greer had not been guilty of that incident; he had simply been set up to cover someone's ass higher up the ladder. His reputation suffered, and none of his former colleagues wanted to risk hiring him.

He was currently working as a consultant at a small advertising firm on Madison Avenue and, judging by everything, was deeply unhappy with his position. I called him on Wednesday morning, introduced myself, and explained that I was looking for someone for a new position in my company. Greer agreed to meet that same day.

We met in a café on Lexington Avenue. I simply wanted something tasty. I arrived five minutes early, ordered coffee and dessert, and sat by the window. Greer appeared exactly on time. His suit was of decent quality, but clearly not new, a little worn at the elbows and knees. Leather briefcase, scratched. He sat opposite me, ordered coffee, and studied me carefully.

"Mr. Miller," he said after a pause, "I was surprised by your call. Young entrepreneurs usually don't look for people with my… let's say, controversial reputation."

"Your reputation doesn't concern me," I said, taking a sip of coffee.

"At least not the part tied to the scandal two years ago. I made inquiries. You were framed to cover someone else's ass. That wasn't your fault." Greer raised his eyebrows.

"You made inquiries?"

"I always make inquiries about people I intend to work with. I know you spent seven years as Congressman Harrison's aide. I know you built his connections with business circles and organized his election campaigns. I know you still have contacts in City Hall and the state administration. And I know you are currently earning a pathetic ten thousand a year doing work that doesn't interest you." He stayed silent, studying my face.

"You prepared well."

"I always prepare well. So, Mr. Greer, I need a man who will create and head the public relations department in my company. Someone who understands how connections work in this city. How to deal with politicians, businessmen, journalists. Someone who can build a system, not just write press releases. You fit that description." Greer drank some coffee and looked thoughtfully out the window.

"I do know how it's done," he said slowly.

"I have connections. But you understand the problem, Mr. Miller. After that scandal, many people are afraid to work with me. They're afraid reputation is contagious. If I come to you, it may scare off potential partners." The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Or the opposite," I countered.

"People will see that I'm not afraid to hire professionals, even if they have dark spots in the past. That speaks either to my stupidity or to my insight. And considering my company has grown to two hundred employees in a year and brings in steady profit, I don't think anyone will call me stupid." He smirked.

"Convincing logic. What exactly do you want me to do?" I leaned back, gathering my thoughts. I had to explain it without frightening him with the scale.

"Build and maintain connections. Not only mine, but those of the people I work with or intend to work with. If an acquaintance of mine has a problem that can be solved through the right contacts, you solve it. Need to organize a meeting between two influential people? You organize it. Need the company to look right in the eyes of the public? You make sure it does." Greer listened carefully, occasionally nodding.

"In essence, I need you to manage the company's reputational capital and my personal one. But that is only the first level of the work."

"And the second?"

"Expanding the contact network. Right now I have access to a certain circle of people, but it isn't enough. I need useful acquaintances to grow systematically. You must understand whom we need, how to approach them, and what to offer them."

"Classic influence network-building," Greer nodded.

"I spent seven years doing that in politics."

"Exactly. And the third point." I leaned forward.

"Charity. It should not be just PR, but a real instrument. People must see that I am not throwing money around for a nice line in a report, but actually helping. That builds reputation and… certain obligations." Greer raised an eyebrow.

"Obligations?"

"When you help a person solve a serious problem, he remembers it," I shrugged.

"Not always, of course. But often enough that at a critical moment he will be prepared to help in return. Not because of debt in a direct sense, but because of… reciprocity, I suppose. You understand what I mean?" Greer slowly nodded.

"I understand. You want to build a system where people feel not merely like recipients of help, but part of a mutually beneficial network. Where help flows both ways."

"Exactly. And if things ever go badly, I want enough people around me who won't run from a sinking ship, but will try to help. Because they remember that I once helped them." That was true, though not the whole truth. I wasn't planning to take written promises from people or anything like that. Too crude, too criminal. But building a web of connections that would tear without me? That was elegant. I believe in reciprocal kindness, but I believe in pragmatism more.

When people can't run their business without me, whether they want to or not, they'll have to come to my aid. Greer stayed silent, considering what I had said.

"I must admit, Mr. Miller, your vision is quite mature for your age. Young entrepreneurs usually think only about profit here and now. You're building a long-term strategy of influence. That is rare."

"I learn from other people's mistakes," I said.

"I have seen enough people rise quickly and fall just as quickly because they had no real support. Only business contacts that evaporated at the first sign of trouble."

"Fair. As for charity," Greer tapped his fingers on the table, "I'll need people who understand it. An accountant who knows how nonprofits work, someone with experience in charitable foundations, possibly an assistant for routine work."

"Can you find the right people?"

"I know a couple of candidates. We'll need to meet them, check them. How much time do I have?"

"One month to form the team. Two months to launch systematic work. If in three months I don't see results, I'll have to look for another person. I'm saying that plainly." Greer smirked.

"I appreciate honesty. What's the budget?"

"One hundred thousand a year for charity. Sixty thousand total for salaries for your team. Distribute it as you consider appropriate. Every candidate must go through our director Prescott for vetting. I don't need people with criminal pasts or serious debts."

"Reasonable. It's a large amount of work, but doable." Greer thought for a moment.

"I'll need an assistant to handle event organization. Someone with experience working with crowds, someone who knows how to get permits, negotiate with venues, and control contractors."

"Do you have someone in mind?"

"There's one fellow. Robert Cohen, works in the construction workers' union. Twenty-eight, energetic, competent. He organizes strikes and rallies, knows all the details. If something needs to be arranged quickly and properly, he'll manage."

"Good. Anyone else?"

"Margaret Lyndon, former Times journalist. She wrote about city politics, left after a conflict with her editor. Freelance now. She can write, understands how the media works, and has press contacts. Perfect for publications." I nodded.

"Arrange meetings with both of them. I want to look at people myself before hiring."

"I'll do it." Greer took out a notebook and began making notes.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Start compiling a list of the contacts you kept from your previous work. Politicians, businessmen, journalists. Which of them are willing to work with you, who can be useful to the company, who will simply maintain the acquaintance. By the end of the week, I want the full picture of your capabilities."

"Understood. It will be done." We exchanged handshakes. Greer left with a satisfied expression. Twenty-five thousand a year plus the chance to restore his reputation was a good incentive to work honestly.

The meetings with Lyndon and Cohen went well. Both made a good impression, and I hired them without hesitation. Lyndon was exactly the kind of professional I needed, someone who knew how to present information properly. Cohen showed relentless energy and real experience organizing large events. But three people were not enough for a fully functioning department. I needed charity specialists.

Someone capable of distinguishing a real foundation from scammers, someone who knew nonprofit documentation, someone who understood how to build long-term relationships with beneficiaries. I gave the assignment to Stern and a couple of other detective agencies working for me. We looked for people with experience in the charity sector, preferably fired through no fault of their own or who had left out of disappointment with their previous place of work. Such people were usually motivated to prove their worth.

Two weeks later, eight dossiers lay on my desk. I personally met with every candidate. Five were unsuitable for various reasons: some were too idealistic and did not understand the realities of business; others, on the contrary, were cynical to the point of seeing charity only as a PR instrument; some simply lacked the necessary skills. I hired three. The first was Jennifer Morris, forty-two.

She had previously coordinated programs at a foundation supporting children's hospitals, but left after a conflict with a new director who had turned the foundation into a machine for laundering rich people's reputations. Her recommendations were excellent. Former colleagues said she had been the only one there who truly cared about results rather than pretty reports. The second was Arthur Bell, thirty-seven, an accountant.

He had worked in three different nonprofit organizations, knew every subtlety of reporting, and could spot fraud from a mile away. Calm, methodical, meticulous to the point of pedantry. Exactly the kind of person I needed to control where the money was going. The third was Susan Wright, twenty-five. Fresh out of university with a degree in social work, full of enthusiasm and a desire to change the world. Young, energetic, ready to work sixteen hours a day.

Morris and Bell would provide experience and control; Wright would add energy and fresh ideas. Prescott vetted all three. A week later, he returned with a report: clean as a tear. No criminal connections, serious debts, or scandals in their backgrounds. One last detail remained. I needed a secretary to coordinate the work of the entire department, handle documentation, keep track of schedules and deadlines. Someone organized, attentive to detail, and experienced in chaotic environments. I assigned that to Wesley.

If anyone knew how to find the right people quickly, it was him. Wesley came back two days later with a candidate.

"Alice Donovan, forty," he said, placing a thin folder in front of me.

"Spent ten years as secretary to a senior partner at Cromwell, a law firm. Left when she married and had two children. The children are teenagers now. Her husband makes good money as an engineer at a construction company, but she's bored sitting at home. She wants to return to work."

"Why is she suitable?"

"Organized beyond reason. At that law firm, she coordinated the work of three partners at once, handled their schedules, documentation, meetings. She knows how to work with huge amounts of information and not lose her head when everything is on fire. Also, she has no ambition to become something larger. She likes the coordinating role specifically."

"Salary expectations?"

"Fifteen thousand a year. She doesn't need big money; her husband provides for the family. She needs interesting work where she feels useful." I met Alice the next day. A neat middle-aged woman in a strict suit, hair gathered back, calm and confident movements. In fifteen minutes of conversation, she asked more correct questions about the department structure and workload than all previous candidates combined. I hired her immediately. By the end of the month, the department's core was assembled.

Seven people: Greer as head and chief strategist, Lyndon for press relations, Cohen for event organization, Morris, Bell, and Wright for charity, and Alice to coordinate the whole machine. I scheduled a general meeting for Monday morning in the conference room. Everyone was told to come by nine, and everyone arrived on time. Greer sat with his constant notebook, already making some notes. Lyndon studied the others with a journalist's appraising gaze. Cohen tapped his fingers on the table with impatience.

Morris quietly discussed something professional with Bell. Wright smiled at everyone in the room. Alice waited calmly for the meeting to begin. I gave them a couple of minutes to get acquainted, then stood.

"Thank you for coming. I want to immediately explain what exactly we will be doing here, so everyone has a clear understanding of the tasks." The conversations died down. Everyone turned to me.

"You are sitting at one table, but in essence, this is two subdepartments with different functions. The first," I nodded toward Greer, Lyndon, and Cohen, "handles connections and reputation. The second," my gaze moved to Morris, Bell, and Wright, "handles charity. Alice coordinates the work of both areas." I walked along the table.

"Mr. Greer, Miss Lyndon, Mr. Cohen. Your job is to build and maintain connections. Not only my personal connections, but those of people I work with or plan to work with. The logic is simple: I want to become useful to the influential people of this city. When one of my acquaintances has a problem that can be solved through the right contacts, you solve that problem. If a meeting between two necessary people needs to be arranged, you arrange it.

If the right material needs to appear in the press, you make that happen." Greer nodded. Lyndon took notes. Cohen listened with burning eyes.

"The goal is for people to know that working with David Miller is profitable not only financially. I can help with connections, influence, and problem-solving. That creates long-term relationships stronger than any business contracts. Clear?"

"Absolutely," Greer said.

"Miss Morris, Mr. Bell, Miss Wright," I turned to the charity block.

"Your task is to work with charity as a serious instrument, not just PR. Receive applications from organizations, check them for honesty, distribute money, monitor reporting and results. Organize events when necessary. I want our charity to bring real benefit to people, not simply become a pretty line in a report." Morris nodded approvingly.

"What's the budget?" Bell asked. Typical accountant question.

"One hundred thousand dollars for this year. Next year, if the business grows, the budget grows with it." Bell wrote the figure down.

"Mr. Greer," I looked again at the head of the department, "both directions are under your general coordination. You are responsible for making sure everything works as a single system. Alice will be your right hand in organizational matters."

"Understood."

"Now the first assignment." I placed my hands on the table.

"In three weeks, we are organizing a charity dinner in support of educational programs for underprivileged children. Twenty people from my contacts, plus representatives of the press. The goal is twofold: to show that the company takes charity seriously and to get coverage in at least two major newspapers. Budget: ten thousand dollars." Greer reached for his notebook and began assigning tasks.

"Mr. Cohen, you are responsible for all organization. Venue, catering, musicians if needed, technical support. Miss Lyndon, you handle the press. Press releases, invitations to journalists, articles after the event. I will coordinate the process and help with the guest list. Miss Morris, you will prepare information on the programs we support, concrete figures and results for Mr. Miller's speech." Everyone wrote.

"Do you already have a guest list?" Greer asked me.

"Alice will give you access to my contact base. I will choose half the guests myself; those are mandatory people. You suggest the other half. Think about who else should be invited to expand the network as much as possible and make the right impression."

"Speech theme?" Lyndon clarified.

"The importance of education for the city's future. Support for children from low-income families. No politics, purely social agenda. You'll help draft the speech, I'll add my own thoughts." She nodded.

"I'll need concrete data. How many children have already received help, what programs are active, whether there are success stories we can mention."

"Miss Morris will provide all information," I said, looking at the charity coordinator.

"No problem," she nodded.

"I have contacts in several educational foundations. I can request up-to-date statistics."

"About the venue," Cohen raised a hand.

"Any preferences?"

"Something on Fifth Avenue or nearby. Prestigious, but not loud. A hall for fifty or sixty people, good acoustics for speeches, and the ability to organize a reception after the official part. Look at the options, suggest the three best with cost estimates."

"Understood. Format? Seated dinner or cocktail reception?"

"You know better, but I think a seated dinner. People should have the chance to talk to one another calmly." Cohen wrote it down.

"Music?"

"Decide for yourselves." The next hour was spent working through details. Greer asked clarifying questions about which contacts should be involved first. Lyndon determined which publications we wanted to catch. Cohen compiled a list of what needed to be organized and by what deadline. Morris and Bell discussed how best to structure information on the charitable programs. Wright suggested inviting a couple of children who had received educational grants so they could personally thank the donors.

I did not like the idea with the children.

"No," I shook my head.

"We are not turning this into a tearful show. We are not here to press on pity. Facts, figures, concrete results. That is enough." Wright deflated slightly, but nodded. By the end of the meeting, everyone clearly understood their area of responsibility and deadlines. Alice was already putting together a schedule of meetings and checkpoints.

The next week moved at a frantic pace. Cohen found a suitable hall at the Plaza, negotiated a discount, arranged catering and musicians. Lyndon wrote the speech and sent press releases to several newspapers. Greer called half the city, inviting the right people and convincing them the event was worth their time. There were problems. One of the musicians fell ill two days before the event, and a replacement had to be found. The chef got drunk and caused a scene, forcing Cohen to find another one at the last moment.

But in the end, everything came together. The hall at the Plaza was set with tables, live music played something light and unobtrusive, waiters carried drinks. Forty-seven out of fifty invited guests came. Not a bad result for a first event. I gave the speech Lyndon had written, adding several thoughts of my own. I spoke about the importance of education, about every child deserving a chance regardless of the family they were born into.

I announced that the company was donating fifteen thousand dollars to programs for underprivileged schoolchildren. Several people approached me after the speech, thanked me for the initiative, and said it was the right thing to do. The next day, a small note appeared in the New York Times: "Young Entrepreneur Supports Educational Programs." The Queens Tribune published a longer article with quotes from my speech. Lyndon had done excellent work.

Now I could finally say I had closed the main issues connected to influence and protection. I had Whitmore at the city level, Holloway at the state level, and an entire department that would expand my network of contacts and strengthen my reputation every day. Now it was time to deal with a very important matter, one for which I finally had all the necessary resources. A matter which, if delayed any further, could lead the company to catastrophe.