“What happens when they find out?”

The board sat, waiting for the Chief Executive Officer, Donald Gershot, to reply. “Are you referring to Emulsion’s pay scale? The minimum wage in Missouri is $7.25 an hour. Isn’t it? We’re paying them above poverty levels for Missouri, correct?”

Looking around the table, Donald waited to see if any of the eleven board members would say a word. “I take that as a yes. Okay then. Let’s move on.”

“But if they find out,” she interrupted Donald, “won’t they go on strike? Or, at the very least, call the labor board? What repercussions will Emulsion Plastics suffer over the next three years, especially if the local news found out we did it intentionally?”

“But did we do it on purpose?” Scott Welch, a senior officer, asked Jennifer Dennison, a newer member and the first woman to sit on the Emulsion Plastics board. “How would anyone be able to prove it?”

“It’s a fair question,” said Marcus Goldwater. Marcus held the treasurer title for the last four years. “I believe Ms. Dennison is correct. It could haunt Emulsion for years. Maybe longer. You know that the minimum wage issue will be huge in Missouri. It’s bad enough that my Whopper meal jumped from seven bucks to almost seventeen.”

“Yeah, but Marcus. You can afford it, right?” Donald laughed. “What’s the big deal? It won’t impact us, and you like your house in Rancho Santa Margarita. And that’s a nice watch you’re wearing. What exactly is it? A Classique Complications Double Tourbillon 5347? Remind me again, that was a bonus for last year, wasn’t it?”

Marcus did his best to cover the watch and keep his face from reddening.

“What we aren’t going to do is dignify any of this with a response of any kind!” Donald shouted, pounding the shiny mahogany table and rattling a tray holding crystal water glasses and a carafe of ice water. “And you?” he pointed at Jennifer. “You will kill this gossip with all of your direct reports, explaining to them that a ‘bonus’ is coming. It will keep those people quiet and push them into a slightly higher tax bracket, making it impossible to leave and find a better-paying job because it’s just enough to not be enough.”

“Yes, sir.” Jennifer’s voice was soft before Donald’s tirade. Now it was even less than a whisper.

“A living wage is laughable! We’d never be able to profit more than seventeen percent from our business if we did that! It’s bad enough that we have to provide insurance to our workers. Now, our customers want attentive salespeople? For what we’re paying our staff? That’s ludicrous! I only pay our best people the best money. We can’t charge more for our plastics. That’s the only way we’d make a profit. How these fast-food places are staying open is beyond me!”

“Fast food is just different.” Gerald Travers, the former Taco Bell Vice President of Marketing, said. “People will always pay for fast food. The same isn’t true of plastics. Whatever we charge impacts the products you and I buy every day. That takes a bit more finesse. A lot more than fast food!” he chuckled.

“Just out of curiosity,” Scott asked Donald, “what is the living wage for Missouri? Shouldn’t we know what it is? What if we’re asked about it? It will look like we don’t care.”

The other board members nodded in agreement.

Donald shook his head no. “There is no such thing as liveable wage – unless you’d all rather make less than seven figures a year. Is that it?”

“I think that’s a ridiculous statement, Donald.” Dr. Frank Scott, the third-highest senior board member stood up, buttoning his suit coat. “A liveable wage for the state of Missouri, specifically in the case of our factory in Jackson, Missouri, is over nineteen dollars an hour for a single person. That would give that person enough money to live on, provide for their insurance, and help them secure themselves financially. I thought Emulsion was a business that provided for their customers AND their staff to better themselves. I, for one, am uncomfortable with taking a pay cut. But will it increase morale and productivity in the long run? I don’t know. But I stand with Ms. Dennison. We need to make this a reality and stop shortcutting people to make a profit.” After making his statement, he sat down. “We need a vote. All in favor of making a shift to the payscale from minimum wage to a living wage, say ‘aye.’”

Eight of the board members loudly replied, “Aye!”

“All those opposed?”

Four men said, “Nay!” doing their best to sound louder than those who said ‘Aye.’ It didn’t work.

“The ‘Aye’s’ have it. Mr. Goldwater, we’ll need a financial report detailing all the nuances of making this a reality.” He looked down the table at the CEO of Emulsion. “And Donald? If you try to interfere with the living wage plan anyway, I’ll see you at your new job at Taco Bell.”

A smattering of snickers could be heard in the board room. Donald didn’t look happy. “You don’t have the power to threaten me, old man.” The air was sucked out of the room at that very moment, and Dr. Scott stood again.

“Donald, you were never good at politics.” He turned and left the meeting, not waiting for Donald to dismiss the board. Those supporting Dr. Scott also stood without much as a word, walking out behind their leader.

“You can’t do that!” he shouted. The heavy wooden door thudded closed, leaving the CEO with his three supporters in the room.