Fallen Stones (5 page)

Stephanie held the letter in her now less-than-steady hands and gradually began reading it. After completing the three short paragraphs, she read it in its entirety once again; and then a third, then forth time. The first time she read it, she understood what she had read yet did not fully comprehend the personal ramifications of its meaning as if she had been reading a letter meant for someone else. The second time she read the letter was to make sure she truly read what she thought she had read the first time. The third time she read it to get all the facts straight and the last time was simply to read it calmly and to completely understand what its contents might mean to her and her family.

According to the letter, a previously unknown uncle of hers by the name of Emerson Washburn had recently passed away. His last will and testament had been probated a few days earlier, and he had named her as the sole heir to his estate. She had no idea she had even had an Uncle Emerson. This man was apparently her late father's brother. Neither he nor her mother had ever mentioned him having a brother when she was a child.  And since they had both died in a tragic car accident shortly after her eighteenth birthday, any opportunity to learn of his existence died with them.

Washburn apparently owned some sort of farm or large plot of land in a rural region outside of the town of Ashton. "Ashton?" She wondered. She found it quite strange how she had just been thinking of the town a few moments earlier, and suddenly that same town appeared as a focal point of her inheritance. The letter said she was to contact the lawyer at her earliest convenience to make arrangements to collect her inheritance and take possession of the property.

Stephanie sat with her mouth hanging slack-jawed in disbelief. Try as she might, she could not grasp what everything the letter meant. She had no idea if the mysterious Uncle Emerson had been a wealthy man or if he had just been a man of average means. Did he have a substantial insurance policy? She recalled how when her parents were killed, between the lawsuit and the money from their own life insurance her older brother Chuck had been able to finish his last year of college and there was enough money for Stephanie to get her degree as well. She at first felt a bit guilty, thinking about the money when someone she had never known had been kind enough to name her as his heir, but she had to admit, living on a single income with three kids made money very tight and every penny would help, no matter how small the inheritance might be.

She was already thinking far into the future; about selling the inherited Schuylkill County farm as soon as she was able, for whatever she could get and then using the proceeds to buy a nice single home on a large lot in western Berks County with a big back yard for the kids to enjoy. She didn't know the condition of the buildings on the farm, but understood that land was something that always held its value, even in poor economic times. Surely she would be able to find someone to purchase the land.

Again, she felt somewhat guilty spending money she did not yet have and especially when she considered how it had come to being. Suddenly she experienced a second cold chill race down her spine and the fine hairs on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end. She felt as if someone was watching her. Stephanie quickly glanced around the room but could see no one. For the briefest of moments she thought she saw a man out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned to look, all she could see was the large oval mirror out in the hall leading to the front door. She gave a nervous laugh, thinking about how she had managed to somehow spook herself. Stephanie shook her head in disbelief and read the letter several more times.

She decided not to call Jason at work to tell him, but instead to surprise him with the news after dinner. It was Friday afternoon, the start of a weekend. His work had been so very stressful lately and with their struggling, living from paycheck to paycheck, this windfall of whatever amount of money would be just what he would need to hear about, at the end of his long workweek.

 

Chapter 2

 

Jason sat at his desk running his fingers through his tousled brown hair in frustration. He was certain this project would be the death of him, even at his young age. Jason Wright was a manufacturing engineer for a high tech multinational manufacturing company called Technofacture International. This latest project was beginning to work on the very last of his already frayed nerves.  

He was writing a financial justification for the purchase of a state-of-the-art half-million-dollar computer controlled machining center. According to his estimates and calculations, the automated machining cell would most certainly pay for itself in less than two years, which was an incredible return on investment. But the justification process was completely out of his comfort zone, and he was certain no matter how many times he checked and rechecked his figures something would be wrong which might endanger the project's approval.

And that was just the tip of the stress-inducing iceberg for him. Even if the project was approved, he still had to arrange for the purchase of the machine as well as all of the related components and subcomponents of the manufacturing cell including a cutting tool package consisting of more than two hundred tools. Plus he had to see to the design and purchase of work-holding devices, an overhead crane, cabinets, utility carts and so forth. Then he had to coordinate the machine installation as well as learn to write programs to control the machine, train the machine operators, prepare operator manuals and about a thousand other incidental items. During more prosperous economic times, this would have been handled by a team of at least two or possibly three different engineers, but in the lean, mean world of twenty-first century manufacturing the sole responsibility fell on his young shoulders. In addition, he had to keep up with his normal shop floor support duties while simultaneously juggling the project.

The success of this project was paramount. It had been eight years since his facility had been given capital funds for the purchase of new equipment and if this project was not just a success, but also a resounding, knock-one-out-of-the-ballpark type of success it might be the beginning of the end for his facility.

Most of the other machines in the plant were so old and so antiquated, just keeping them running was a daunting task for their maintenance department despite the high skill level of the technicians. Not to mention the difficulty maintenance personnel had trying to locate and acquire replacement parts for machines that were considered obsolete. His company was falling far behind in their manufacturing productivity and efficiencies, so much so, he feared if things did not soon turn around, he and many others might be losing their well-paid jobs.

The facility where he worked was in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and was just one of dozens of plants the company owned around the world. Jason's site was also one of the few sites to still have a labor union. The company's once cooperative relationship with their bargaining unit had been damaged over the previous few years and seemed to continue to degenerate almost weekly. Most of the grievances filed by union members were unable to be handled at the local level and ended up being resolved by the corporate lawyers. This brought a great deal of unwanted attention by corporate management to the plant's labor-relations problems.

As the company's productivity figures fell, more and more of the manufacturing work was being shipped to other Technofacture facilities around the world. With the dirt-cheap labor rates in China and India, this had the potential of becoming a major problem for his plant. Fortunately, at least for the time being, the quality of the work returning from those foreign facilities was sub-standard, especially when compared to the superior craftsmanship his site could produce. But with each shipment received, it was clear the foreign division's manufacturing skills were improving, and Jason suspected within a year or two they would either equal or surpass the quality of his facility, and they would produce the product at a fraction of the cost stateside.

As if to make matters worse, foreign manufacturing plants were not the only threat to his future. His company also had a manufacturing plant some sixty miles northeast of Lancaster outside of the small town of Ashton. It was a non-union facility with a highly skilled highly-motivated workforce, more modern machinery and a much lower labor rate then at the Lancaster site. In addition, the workforce was known throughout the corporation for their strong work ethic, high productivity, low absenteeism and general dedication to getting the job done.

These facts alone were enough to make Jason concerned about his job security, but with his facility falling farther behind every day he was beginning to believe corporate would never approve the money for a new piece of equipment, no matter how good the numbers looked or how appealing the payback might be. Approval for the justification for the machine had already passed the company's local financial controller as well as all of the essential managers at the Lancaster facility and was currently in the hands of the division president. That corporate executive would be the one to deliver the final verdict. Jason felt like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, as if the fate of his small manufacturing plant might very well be spelled out by the direction this single project would take. He had no idea at that moment just how accurate his concerns were.

As Jason sat staring at the computer screen reviewing his massive spreadsheet full of efficiency calculations, machine rates, productivity estimates and capital equipment costs, his phone rang startling him back to reality and breaking his concentration. It was a double ring which meant it was an inside call; Jason assumed it might be the shop floor with a problem; it seemed lately his day was nothing but interruptions in the form of one crisis or another. Jason took a deep breath, composing himself then answered the phone.

"Jason Wright, Manufacturing Engineering," he said in his typical cheerful greeting, preparing himself for the noisy background sounds of manufacturing machinery to resonate through the phone; but there were no such sounds. Jason instantly realized it was someone calling from inside the office building.

"Jason," the voice said. "This is Walt. Can you come into my office?" Walter Williams was Jason's department manager. He was a kindly, even-tempered man just a year or so from retirement. He had been grooming Jason to take his place whenever he chose to finally leave the workforce. And although Jason was flattered by the vote of confidence, he had a lot of concerns about moving into the role of department manager.

Jason was an outstanding engineer and loved his work, attacking problems with all of his energy, but he had heard stories of other competent engineers who had tried their hand at management positions and just could not seem to make the transition very well. He had actually known several such men himself. He feared he too might be one of those people. Jason considered himself a doer and not someone who had the ability to get the job done by directing the efforts of others. He possessed a good deal of natural leadership capabilities, but he knew having such abilities to use at his choosing and being required to use them constantly to get the job done were two entirely different animals.

As Jason approached his boss's office, he was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of dread as if some sort of impending doom awaited him inside. He walked toward the door feeling as if he were moving in slow motion, reluctant to place his hand on the gleaming metal knob. It was a strange, unexplainable surrealistic sensation of anxiety as if he were experiencing some sort of premonition.  But Jason did not believe in omens, precognitions or any such things. He was an engineer, educated in the ways of logic and problem solving. He assumed the stress he was feeling from the project was affecting him in other ways; such as the bizarre emotions, he was currently experiencing. Taking another deep cleansing breath, forcing the odd sensation from his body, Jason gripped the knob and began to turn it as the door slowly opened inward.

Walter was seated behind his huge desk, which was in its typical state of disarray with papers stacked high on uneven piles, some of which had fallen and scattered across the top of his desk, intermingling with other collapsed piles in a mass of papers accumulated in the middle of his desk. It never ceased to amaze Jason how no matter how cluttered and disorganized Walt's desk looked, as soon as he needed some particular document he would simply reach into one of the impossibly cluttered piles and with the flick of a wrist, pull out the exact document in question without ever having to search.

Walter leaned back in his huge chair, attempting to appear relaxed with his two beefy forearms resting on its own thick leather arms. Jason thought he noticed some poorly disguised tension in the way the man's fingers held tightly onto the fronts of the chair arms as if his boss was bracing himself to deliver some bad news. Walter was a big man, not big in the tall sense but big in the weight sense. Only about five-foot eight inches tall and well over three hundred pounds of unexercised fat, the man was a prime candidate for a stroke or heart attack and the way his brow seemed to be glistening with sweat, Jason feared such an attack might be imminent.

“What's wrong, Walt?” Jason asked, seeing the uncertainty and displeasure on the man's face. Walter was not just Jason's boss but over the years he had become his close friend and mentor as well. Jason didn't like to see his friend appearing so overwrought.

“Well,” the man said reluctantly, “it's about the justification you wrote and sent to me for the new machine.”

Jason asked, “Did they approve it? Are they going to give us the money?”

“Not exactly,” Walter said rather cryptically, his large bulk appearing to almost squirm with discomfort. “The suits up at corporate believe the project is a good one and one which they'd have to be crazy not to approve.” Then after a moment of silent hesitation, he said wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief he kept handy for just such occasions, “But they don't want to approve it for our facility.”