A Winter Dream: A Novel Read online

  It took nearly a year for Mr. Ferrell’s vision to pay off. But it did. As our Creative started generating buzz on Madison Avenue, Wall Street, and Main Street America, our clients began putting more power back in our hands.

  Ad Age magazine ran a front-page feature on the new face of Leo Burnett, actually using the headline “Agency Renaissance.” There was only one mention of me in the article and they got my name wrong, John Jacobson, but I didn’t care. It made Mr. Ferrell look good, and making your boss look good is good for job security.

  Besides, the idea was his, not mine. What Mr. Ferrell had dreamed about, a creative renaissance, was actually coming true. With all the success and accolades, I shouldn’t have been surprised when, with the holidays approaching, everything changed.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-seven

  Things are going well, which, of course, means it’s time for change.

  Fate abhors nothing so much as contentment.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  The day before Thanksgiving, Charlene buzzed me in my office. “J.J., Mr. Ferrell would like to meet with you.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes. Immediately.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right in.”

  Charlene smiled as I approached her desk. “He’s waiting.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mr. Ferrell was sitting at his desk. In front of him was a bottle of Dom Perignon and two long-stemmed crystal champagne glasses.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” I asked.

  “Have a seat, Joe.” (Mr. Ferrell was the only one at the firm who I allowed to call me Joe. He told me to call him George, but I never felt comfortable with it.) I sat down in the leather chair facing his desk.

  “Are you ready for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s easy. I’m spending it alone.”

  “Sounds refreshingly simple. We’ve got all of Peggy’s family coming over. Maybe I’ll join you.”

  “Let me know,” I said. “I’ll pick up another Hungry-Man frozen dinner.”

  He smiled, then his demeanor turned more serious. “I need to tell you something.” He leaned back in his chair. “Last night I received a phone call from Don Shelton. Do you know who that is?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Don’s the Chairman of the Board for Leo Burnett. He gave me some news that I’d like to share with you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “First the good news. The rumors you’ve heard milling about the energy rooms are true. I’ve been promoted to CEO of Leo Burnett Worldwide.”

  “That’s fantastic news,” I said. “You deserve it.”

  “Thank you,” he said, downplaying my excitement. “Now the bad news.”

  My excitement drained nearly as fast as it had come. I looked at him anxiously.

  “With me leaving, I’m afraid there won’t be a place for you here in the New York office.”

  I fought back my disappointment and surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought things were going well.”

  “And they have been,” he said. “But if business has taught me anything, it’s that nothing is as constant as change.” He looked at me for a moment, then said, “I hope losing your job here doesn’t stifle your creative flow, because I’d like you to come with me as the new Global Chief Creative Officer for Leo Burnett Worldwide.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re promoting me?”

  Grinning, he opened the bottle of champagne and poured it into the glasses on his desk. “Of course I am.” He lifted both glasses and then walked around the desk to the front, offering one of the glasses to me. “You’ll be my number one.”

  I was speechless.

  “We work well together,” Mr. Ferrell said. “I’m no fool. The Florence Initiative is the main reason I got the promotion. And we’ve just begun. I believe that the two of us can fulfill my dream of a creative renaissance—not just for Leo Burnett, but for the whole world.”

  “I believe so too, sir.”

  “I know. You’re a dreamer like me.”

  I held up my glass. “To the dream.”

  “No,” Mr. Ferrell said, holding up his glass. “To the dreamers.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-eight

  Life has granted me the most operatic of circumstances.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  Mr. Ferrell’s and my promotions meant we’d be moving to the Leo Burnett international headquarters in Chicago. Chicago. I was apprehensive about returning, though I admit I was looking forward to seeing the look on Potts’s face when I walked back in as his boss’s boss’s boss. Definitely worth the flight.

  It would not be so gratifying to confront my memories of April. I decided that rather than ignore my pain, when I got back to Chicago, I would go back to the diner and put my memories to rest.

  At any rate, Mr. Ferrell wouldn’t be moving to Chicago for about three weeks, allowing enough time for him to hand over the reins of the New York agency to his successor. I planned to leave New York around the same time Mr. Ferrell did. In the meantime, there was a lot to do to prepare for the change.

  Two weeks into our transition, Mr. Ferrell called me into his office.

  “Joe, didn’t you say you’re from the Rocky Mountain area?”

  “Colorado,” I said.

  “Colorado. Perfect. We need a presence in the Rocky Mountain area and we’ve been looking at purchasing an existing agency in Utah or Colorado. There’s a Colorado agency that looks especially promising. In fact, it looks prime for the plucking.” He handed me a file. “Are you familiar with this agency?”

  I looked at the sheet. My heart froze.

  Jacobson Advertising and Public Relations

  2001 Altura Drive, Denver, Colorado

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Just about everything,” I said. “That’s where I started. I worked there for eight years.”

  Mr. Ferrell looked pleased with this revelation. “Interesting firm, Jacobson. Over the last fifteen years they’ve won practically every award possible. They used to have a stellar reputation, but over the last year their stock has plummeted.

  “Our executive management team looked into it. As you know it’s a family-run business. The CEO is the father, Israel Jacobson. He’s been rather ill for the last year. With the downturn in the economy and his absence, they’ve lost their three largest accounts. If someone doesn’t save them soon, the business may go under. I’d like you to investigate the firm and see if it’s worth saving. Can you handle this for me?”

  The news about my father being ill left me reeling. “I’ll do whatever you want, sir. But I should disclose that I have a conflict of interest.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Our parting was less than amicable. They forced me out of the agency.”

  “No doubt one of their greatest faux pas on their way to decline,” Mr. Ferrell said.

  “I’m not sure I can be totally objective.”

  “You’ll be better than objective. You’ll be passionate.”

  “The agency is owned by my family.”

  Mr. Ferrell raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t kidding when you said you know the agency, were you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Still, if it’s not too difficult, I’d like you to handle it. I have complete confidence in you. Will you do this for me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Very well. I’ll look forward to your report.”

  On the way back to my office I stopped at my assistant’s desk, handing her the paper Mr. Ferrell had given me. “Krysten, I need you to contact Rupert and Simon Jacobson at this firm. They know who we are. Tell them I’d like to meet with them in our offices this Thursday afternoon.”

  She looked at the paper. “Jacobson Advertising.” She looked up at me. “Jacobson. Any relation?”

  “Distant,” I replied. “Very distant.”

  “All right,�
�� she said. “How long would you like me to schedule the meeting for?”

  “Keep my entire afternoon open. It may go long.” I started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “Krysten, one more thing. Don’t tell them my last name. Just call me Mr. Joseph.”

  She looked at me quizzically. “Why is that?”

  “Simple,” I said. “I don’t want them to know who I am.”

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-nine

  Even a broken heart can still hold love.

  Joseph Jacobson’s Diary

  I hardly slept Wednesday night. My emotions ranged wildly. My brothers had sent me out into the wilderness. I should have hated them for what they did, but if they hadn’t banished me, I never would have achieved what I had. I never would have become creative director of one of the world’s largest advertising agencies. Nor would I have met April. Considering how much I had suffered over losing her, that may not seem like a good thing. But even as painful as our separation was, I still would have chosen to meet her. To have felt her love, even for the short time I had it, was better than to not know that such love existed. At least that’s what I told myself.

  No matter my brothers’ intent, no matter the pain they’d inflicted on me, I was grateful for what they had done. But that had little to do with the purchasing of the advertising agency. The bigger question was, could I work with them? And that depended on the biggest question of all: Given the chance, would they do what they had done again? Had they remorse for sending me away? That was what would determine whether or not we could work together.

  Ultimately, their hearts would determine their fates.

  Thursday morning, as I was shaving, I took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I had changed a lot in the last three years. Not just mentally and emotionally, but physically as well. I inventoried those changes. I had lost weight and grown more muscular. More angular. I had changed my hairstyle, which was a much bigger thing than you might expect. My father, being a soldier during the “make love not war” sixties, abhorred “hippie hair.” So, like my brothers, I had always kept it short and above the ear. Now it touched my collar and my ears were all but invisible. My father would be aghast.

  My wardrobe had changed dramatically as well—thanks to a change of scene and a company credit card. I definitely looked more suited to New York than Denver. Getting ready for work, I put on a navy blue Armani suit with a turtleneck. I doubted they’d recognize me. Honestly, I don’t think I would have recognized me.

  There were also the intangibles. I once read somewhere that context is 90 percent of recognition, and my brothers certainly weren’t expecting to see me. Still, if you’ve ever read a romance novel, you know the eyes are always the giveaway.

  I put on a pair of yellow-lens Ray-Ban sunglasses, then took out my Colorado driver’s license and compared visages in the mirror. A cop would definitely question my identity. I was certain that my brothers wouldn’t recognize me.

  As I walked into my office, I reminded Krysten not to use my real name. An hour later she buzzed my office.

  “They’re here,” she said.

  My heart raced. “Show them in.”

  “Right away.”

  Rupert came in first. While I had worried about him recognizing me, the truth was, I almost didn’t recognize him. Actually either of them. Simon had also changed. They looked older: gray and weary, the way stress and hard times change you.

  “Mr. Joseph,” Rupert said, extending his hand. “I’m Rupert Jacobson. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”

  I stood, firmly taking his hand. “It’s my pleasure.” I turned to Simon, thinking he had changed even more than Rupert. “And you are?”

  “Simon Jacobson,” he said, extending his hand.

  I took his hand. The same hand that had given me the pen to sign my resignation. “Jacobsons. Are you brothers?”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon said.

  “So it’s a family business. Have a seat.”

  After they were seated, Rupert said, “You have a beautiful office.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “You should see the skyline at night. Last week the Empire State Building was lit green and black to celebrate the twenty-year anniversary of Wicked.” I sat down at my desk and leaned back in my chair, studying them. I wondered if, on a subconscious level, they recognized my voice. “You must forgive my glasses. I’ve just had my eyes examined. They’re dilated.”

  “Of course,” Rupert said, smiling nervously. “I just thought you looked cool. Like Bono.”

  Simon likewise smiled. “Me too,” he said.

  “As you know,” I said, “Leo Burnett is looking at expanding into the Rocky Mountain area and we’re interested in your firm. We’ve examined your books, but I’d like to hear about your agency from you.” I turned to Rupert. “You’re the CEO?”

  “No, sir. I’m the general manager.”

  “Oh,” I said, feigning disappointment. “This meeting wasn’t important enough for your CEO?”

  Rupert blanched. “No, sir,” he said quickly. “I mean, it was, sir. It’s just that our CEO hasn’t been well lately. He hasn’t been able to travel.”

  Even though Mr. Ferrell had told me this earlier, hearing it from my brothers made it somehow more real. I took a moment to compose myself. “Your CEO isn’t well?”

  “No, sir.”

  I hesitated, gathering my emotions. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “You might say we’ve suffered a loss in the family,” he said. “He’s not dealing with it very well.”

  This news frightened me. I wondered about my mother and Ben. What if something had happened to one of them? I struggled to remain stoic. “Has there been a death?”

  “No,” Rupert said. “One of his sons left home. He took it very hard.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said softly. “Losing a family member can be difficult. How about you two? It must have been difficult for you as well.”

  They were both quiet.

  “No?”

  “It’s been very difficult,” Rupert said.

  I eyed Simon. “Was it?”

  He nodded.

  “What is his name? This brother of yours.”

  Simon looked uncomfortable. “I’m not sure that this discussion is relevant to . . .”

  “Normally it wouldn’t be,” I said sternly. “But since we’re looking at purchasing a family business, I would think the state of the family would be extremely relevant to our investigation, wouldn’t you, Mr. Jacobson?”

  He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes, sir. My apologies. I just didn’t want to get too personal.”

  “The nature of this investment is personal. What is your brother’s name?”

  “It’s Joseph, sir,” Simon said.

  “And why did he leave?”

  Long silence. Then Simon said, “He wanted to try something new—a bigger agency. In fact, he was hired by your agency. Leo Burnett of Chicago.”

  “Then he’s with us,” I said. “Interesting. I assume he’s still employed there.”

  “We’re not sure,” Rupert said. “We’ve lost contact with him.”

  “I can check on that. Since he understands the Leo Burnett corporate culture, I’m sure that what he’d have to tell us about the compatibility of our two agencies will be helpful.”

  Both of the men looked anxious.

  I turned to Simon. “If I ask him why he left, he’ll corroborate your story?”

  More silence. Then Simon said, “No, sir. He probably won’t.”

  “What would he tell me?”

  “He would probably say that it was my fault he left. I forced him out.”

  I frowned. “Why would you do that?”

  Another pause.

  “This is very uncomfortable.”

  “Please continue. The more I know, the better prepared I will be to make a recommendation to our CEO.”

  Simon exhaled slowly. “I was jealous of him. He was more talented th
an me and my father knew it. I was afraid I would lose my job to him.”

  I looked at him coolly. “This concerns me,” I said. “A corporate culture that punishes success will never succeed.”

  “Clearly,” Rupert said.

  “Have you sought to make amends with this brother?”

  “We’ve wanted to,” Rupert said. I noticed the emotion in his eyes. “But we didn’t know how to reach him.”

  “You just told me he was employed with our Chicago office. Certainly you could have found him.”

  “The truth is,” Simon said, “we were too ashamed.”

  Rupert nodded in agreement.

  After a moment I exhaled slowly. “Okay. Enough of this matter.” I lifted a sheet of paper. “We had our accounting department conduct a detailed audit of the last five years of your financial books. They’ve brought something to my attention. There seems to be a discrepancy in your finances.

  “About three years ago there was a sizable nonitemized disbursement to one of your employees. If my memory doesn’t fail me, his name is Benjamin.”

  I noticed both of them squirm.

  “This Benjamin also has the last name of Jacobson so may I assume he’s one of your family?”

  “Yes, sir,” the brothers said almost in unison.

  “He’s our brother,” Rupert said.

  “Another brother? How many of you are there?”

  “Twelve brothers, sir,” Simon said. “And one sister.”

  “What a family,” I said, shaking my head as if in amazement. “But back to the company. The amount of the disbursement was thirty-six thousand dollars. What can you tell me about this?”

  “He borrowed the money,” Rupert said.

  “Borrowed from a public held company?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you a bank as well as an agency?”

  “No, sir,” Rupert said.

  “I don’t need to tell you that’s not good business practice. But, why then wasn’t this disbursement originally recorded as a loan? In fact, it would appear that there was an attempt to conceal it.”