Beg for It(5)

She’d started at Stein and Sons fifteen years ago in the accounting department and worked her way up, until here she sat in her own corner office with a big, shiny desk and a view of what had once been farm fields but was rapidly becoming obscured by neighborhoods populated with mini-mansions. She’d been through every downsize and shift in the company’s focus. There’d been a few times she’d considered leaving for a position that paid more, but she’d never quite made the leap. She’d been too aware of how deceptively green the grass could be when fertilized with the manure of someone else’s cows. Now she wondered if it was time to start seriously revamping her résumé.

There’d been rumors flying for months. Corporate takeover. A buyout. Mergers. Flat-out shutting down the entire production line and selling off all the assets. Dennis, Lynn, Patty, Jennifer, and Ryan—the Stein grandchildren who’d maintained their inherited positions within the company—had been reassuring the employees that nothing was going to change, no matter where Stein and Sons ended up heading.

Corinne doubted that was true. Everything changed, no matter if you wanted it to or not. Besides, she saw the numbers and the bottom line. She signed off on the paychecks and ran the quarterly reports. She’d been the one to let the rest of the office staff go when they needed to cut back on employee costs. Stein and Sons was in trouble, with no good way out in sight.

The board had turned down too many offers over the past couple of years, ones they probably should have taken back when the business had started off booming and they could’ve turned a hefty profit. It was now fizzling, without much to offer anyone. If they couldn’t turn around sales in the next few months, they were going to go under.

“We’re still not seeing enough growth,” she explained to the men and women sitting at the conference table across from her. Someone had laid out some bagels with a carton of the dairy’s garlic/rosemary cream cheese, and she’d already indulged herself in coffee with real fresh cream from the employee fridge. She was going to miss this if she had to leave.

“Patty was supposed to oversee the new marketing ventures,” Jennifer said, turning to her cousin. “What’s happening with getting the new products into local stores? Why aren’t we increasing orders?”

“We’re not only not increasing, we’re losing them,” Dennis put in.

Patty frowned and tucked a curl of graying brown hair behind her ear. “Look, it’s not that easy. We’re in direct competition with a lot of the local dairies we used to have business relationships with—”

“A million years ago,” Ryan interrupted.

Patty nodded at him but kept talking. “And none of them are dealing with all this fancy stuff. It’s straight up milk, cream, seasonal eggnog, ice cream, whatever. They’re selling to the big conglomerates too, for more money than we can afford to spend on more product than we can possibly utilize. So even if they’re not putting local products on the shelves, they’re profiting by selling to the big kids’ club.”

“Exactly,” said Dennis with a small thump of his fist on the table. “We need to serve a market with an expanded palate. That’s what we’re going for. We want to reach those folks who think nothing of driving into Philly for dinner because they’re sick and tired of nothing but chain restaurants. The kind who pair cheese with wine. Hey, have we looked into maybe getting in with some of the local wineries? Maybe a themed cheese spread or something?”

Corinne had heard people like that existed in Lancaster County. Transplants from New York or Philadelphia or even D.C. who’d fled “to the country” and suffered a long commute so they could raise their kids to play endless seasons of soccer on fields that reeked of manure. She’d been born and raised here in south central Pennsylvania. She’d never driven to the “big” city just for the sake of having dinner.

“People around here don’t want to eat herbed yogurt, Denny. They want the kind with fruit on the bottom. They might go for some fancy cheeses, but trying to sell them anise and lavender ice cream is just going to end up making us look like fools.” Patty said this last bit firmly, with a matching rap of her knuckles on the table. It was a habit most of the family had picked up from their parents, who’d learned it from their fathers, Morty and Herb.

“Look, we got into the Philly markets—” Ryan began.

“Only three, and only on a provisional basis. It’s more expensive to ship there. If we had more customers it would make the cost of shipping maintainable, but we don’t. We also have more competition from bigger dairies closer to Philly, and they’ve snagged the spots in the farmer’s markets, places like that where we might have a shot. Yes, we can reach the sorts of customers who’d love a candied walnut and rosemary goat milk ice cream, but only if we find a place that will carry the products. All around, what Corinne’s been saying is the simple truth.” Patty turned to Corinne with a sigh. “Not enough growth. Guys, we have to face it. We’re going to have to shut it all down.”

Ryan sighed. He was in charge of product invention and testing. “We could go simpler. It doesn’t have to be so fancy, I guess. Get back to basics, come at it from the nostalgia angle. Stein and Sons has been around forever.”

“I don’t want to sell. I never have.” This came from Lynn, usually silent, which meant that when he did have something to say, everyone listened. Before anyone could chime in to agree or disagree, he held up a hand. Lynn had started off in the company working in the dairy barn. He knew more about the cows and goats than any of the others. His brother Dennis liked to tease that Lynn wore manure instead of cologne, and Corinne was privately inclined to agree, but no matter what he had caked on his boots, Lynn commanded respect. “But I think it’s time we seriously considered the offer again.”