William spent the next two days barricaded in the conference room, enduring a parade of presentations that blurred together into one long litany of excuses and dysfunction.
One by one, the Heads of Department marched in with their binders and charts, looking like reluctant schoolchildren summoned to the principal's office. They explained their organizational structures—pyramids of names and titles so convoluted it was a miracle anything happened at all. They recited their budgets and deficits with the mechanical precision of accountants reading obituaries, listed the same equipment failures and supplier delays that had plagued the company for months.
Each presentation followed the same dreary pattern. Manufacturing complained about late deliveries from Procurement. Procurement blamed supplier quality issues. Quality Control pointed fingers at Engineering specifications. Engineering criticized Production for not following procedures. Marketing acted as if they operated in a completely different universe, designing campaigns for cars that barely functioned and scheduling launches for vehicles that existed only on paper.
They complained about labour shortages while simultaneously describing redundant layers of management. They spoke of union grievances with the weary resignation of men who had long ago stopped trying to solve problems. They detailed machinery so old it should have been preserved in the Smithsonian, yet somehow expected William to be impressed by their resourcefulness in keeping these mechanical dinosaurs limping along.
William let them talk, scribbling observations in a thick notebook, watching the parade of middle-aged men in identical grey suits deliver their practiced speeches. When the final presenter left and the door clicked shut, he set down his pen and leaned back in the chair, massaging his temples against the dull ache that had been building for hours.
When you boiled away all the corporate jargon, all the defensive posturing and carefully crafted excuses, all the problems shared the same root causes. It was like examining a patient with multiple symptoms and discovering they all stemmed from the same underlying disease.
First was the suffocating silo mentality that had turned the company into a collection of warring fiefdoms.
Every department worked in complete isolation, as if Harrow Motor Company was a loose confederation of independent contractors rather than a single organism working toward common goals. Procurement never coordinated with Manufacturing about delivery schedules or quality requirements. Production rarely spoke to Engineering except to trade blame when things went wrong. Marketing might as well have been located on Mars for all the communication they had with the factory floor.
Even within departments, information moved through so many layers of management that by the time it reached someone with actual decision-making authority, it was a distorted echo of reality. A machine breakdown on the shop floor would be reported to a line supervisor, who would tell a production manager, who would inform a department head, who would eventually mention it to a vice president. By that time, the original problem had been filtered through so many perspectives and agendas that the solution bore no resemblance to what was actually needed. It was a game Of Chinese Whispers happening in real life.
And in the gaps between all that miscommunication thrived the most useless strata of management—people who had spent decades protecting their sinecures and doing nothing of substance. They were the barnacles on the ship's hull, creating drag while contributing nothing to forward motion. William had counted at least fifteen positions that seemed to exist solely to justify other positions, creating an endless cycle of bureaucratic redundancy. Managers had assistant managers, associate managers, senior assistant managers, junior managers and more. He would bet a million dollar that majority of these positions had no clue about what their job entailed.
Second, and perhaps more damaging, was the pervasive complacency that had infected every level of the organization.
Their processes weren't obsolete by the standards of American automaking. That was precisely the problem: the bar was pathetically low. Detroit had grown fat and lazy on post-war prosperity, content to churn out the same bloated, inefficient vehicles year after year while the world changed around them.
Everything was stuck in the same comfortable rut: fat inventories that tied up millions in working capital, slow changeovers that wasted precious production time, endless paperwork that documented problems instead of solving them. Meanwhile, Toyota was already rethinking the very philosophy of manufacturing—reducing waste, tightening feedback loops, standardizing relentlessly to eliminate variation and error. WW2 had left Japan with a destroyed economy, scarce resources and not much land. But their companies had taken that as a challenge and turned it into opportunity. They would go on to revolutionise how companies work.
They understood something that American manufacturers had forgotten : efficiency wasn't about working harder, it was about working smarter. They were developing systems that could produce better quality at lower cost with less waste, while Detroit's executives congratulated themselves on quarterly earnings that masked fundamental structural problems.
Oh, the executives knew that the Japanese were supposedly working on radical new approaches to manufacturing. But very few in America took them seriously. Most executives dismissed reports from the Far East as exaggerated or irrelevant to American markets. But William knew better. These same exaggerated and irrelevant methods would go on become the holy grails of total quality management and manufacturing.
And all the while, Harrow's plant managers bragged about production targets met last quarter, as if they couldn't see the entire system hemorrhaging money through inefficiency and waste. They celebrated maintaining the status quo while their competitors were revolutionizing the game.
Then there was the complete lack of production control and coordination.
Every department scheduled its own work, ordered its own materials, tracked its own shipments according to their own priorities and timelines. Nobody agreed on what was most important or when it needed to be done. The result was organizational chaos that would have been laughable if it weren't so expensive.
Assembly lines would stall because a single crate of fasteners had gone missing in the labyrinthine warehouse system. Finished engines piled up in corners with no chassis to drop into, while workers in another building waited for powerplants that were sitting fifty yards away. Workers clocked overtime while production lines sat silent, waiting for parts that were gathering dust in some forgotten storage bay.
It was the kind of dysfunction William would expect in a disorganized machine shop run by amateurs, not a national automaker with decades of experience and thousands of employees.
The final cancer eating away at the company's effectiveness was its dangerous dependence on tribal knowledge.
Everything truly essential—how to finesse a temperamental die press, how to recognize a flawed casting by sound alone, how to diagnose engine problems by the colour of exhaust smoke—was locked inside the heads of a shrinking cadre of old-timers who were approaching retirement age.
Nothing was documented systematically. Nothing was taught through formal training programs. The company's most valuable intellectual property existed only in the memories of men who could walk out the door at any moment, taking irreplaceable knowledge with them.
When newcomers arrived, they received a thin packet of outdated manuals that bore little resemblance to actual procedures, then learned by trial and error—or not at all. Young engineers stumbled through processes that veterans could perform blindfolded, making expensive mistakes that could have been prevented with proper documentation and training.
It was a ticking time bomb. Within a decade, retirement would strip away the institutional knowledge that kept the company functioning, leaving behind a generation of workers who had never been properly trained to replace them.
After two days of this depressing parade, William had filled half a legal pad with an outline of his priorities. Many of these processes or methods were not still in development or not yet invented. But thanks to his foreknowledge he could implement them right away. The solution was clear, even if the execution would be brutal:
Start with foundational practices: Just-in-Time inventory management, standard work instructions, error-proofing mechanisms.
Train managers to identify and eliminate waste in all its forms.
Build a central coordination system to manage production flow. He colloquially called PC&L – Production Control and Logistics. The whole purpose of this department was to ensure the right material got to the right person at the right time.
Capture the tribal knowledge before it vanished forever.
Create a quality culture built on fishbone diagrams, root cause analysis, and process mapping.
Later, move to advanced statistical tools: Statistical Process Control, Failure Mode and Effects Analysis, Measurement System Analysis, Production Part Approval Process etc.
He was also thinking of training employees on the Six Sigma Process. In his previous life he had been a Six Sigma Master Black Belt. He was sure he could train these people.
Overall, It would be a brutal, thankless process that would require dismantling decades of entrenched habits and comfortable assumptions. There would be resistance from managers who had built careers on the current dysfunction. There would be skepticism from workers who had seen too many failed improvement initiatives. There would be political battles with executives who preferred familiar problems to unfamiliar solutions.
But it would work. William had seen these methods transform manufacturing operations from basket cases into world-class competitors. Plus, the cost savings would be immediate and enormous. The question wasn't whether the approach was sound—it was whether Harrow Motor Company had the courage to endure the painful transition.
And yet, for all that dysfunction, for all the depressing evidence of institutional decay, there was one place in the company where he felt ambition still lived and breathed.
The R&D Center.
Patterson had told him in hushed, almost reverent tones that his father had personally sunk a fortune into transforming the research labs. He'd turned the place into a secret kingdom of experimentation, quietly pulling talent and budget from other divisions to fund projects that wouldn't show returns for years.
Some of the board members grumbled about the expense, questioning whether the company could afford such lavish spending on unproven technologies. But his father had been adamant: if Harrow was going to survive the coming decade, it would need to innovate or die.
William needed to see if his father's gamble was worth saving, especially what he knew about in terms of the technological breakthroughs happening in European research facilities or everywhere ot be honest.
It was nearly seven in the evening when he pulled up to the Tech Centre's entrance, the sky a bruised purple with parking lot lights flickering to life like stars. The building itself was a sharp contrast to the rest of the complex—modern glass and steel instead of aging brick, with clean lines that spoke of function over tradition.
He expected the building to be silent, the researchers and engineers long gone for the day. Instead, he stepped inside to find it humming with activity that reminded him of the best laboratories he'd visited in Europe.
The air smelled of hot oil, solder, and the sharp tang of fresh-cut aluminium. Sparks drifted from welding booths behind thick safety glass. A rolling cart of prototype components squeaked past, trailed by two young engineers in blue coveralls who were discussing stress analysis calculations with the intensity of medieval scholars debating theology.
A man detached himself from a workbench covered in electronic components, wiping his hands on a rag stained with grease and metal shavings. He was tall and lean, with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses that magnified pale, restless eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.
"Mr. William," he said, offering a callused hand that spoke of someone who still worked with his hands despite his administrative title. "Arnold Kessler. Welcome to the one place in this company where the future is being born."
"I've heard a lot about you," William said, noting the firm grip and the direct gaze. "Some of it even sounded true."
Arnold's grin was weary but genuine, the expression of a man who had fought too many battles for resources and respect but hadn't given up the war. "Let's see if we can impress you before the night's over. Fair warning—once you see what we're working on, you'll never be satisfied with the status quo again."
He led William into the main Powertrain Laboratory, a cathedral of internal combustion engineering that gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights.
Rows of engines in various stages of development filled the space—some partly disassembled to reveal their internal workings, others wired with sensors and thermocouples that fed data to banks of monitoring equipment. The air thrummed with the sound of test engines running on dynamometers, their exhaust notes ranging from the familiar rumble of V8s to the higher-pitched whine of experimental designs.
"We're working on a completely new generation of powerplants," Arnold said, his voice carrying the pride of a craftsman discussing his masterpiece. "Lighter aluminium blocks, higher compression ratios, more precise manufacturing tolerances. The goal is better fuel efficiency without sacrificing the horsepower that American buyers expect."
William traced a finger over an aluminium cylinder head, noting the precise machining and the careful attention to port geometry. "Have you experimented with fuel injection systems? I've heard Bosch is working on some interesting approaches in Germany."
Arnold's expression sharpened with interest. "We've been corresponding with some European engineers about direct injection concepts. Most suppliers here think it's too complicated for American production, but..." He paused, studying William's face. "We think it represents the future of engine management."
"Good," William said, feeling the first stirring of genuine optimism he'd experienced since arriving. "Stay ahead of the curve. When the competition finally wakes up, we'll already be there."
Arnold gestured toward a test bench where a young engineer looked up from a console that bristled with dials and gauges. "That's our experimental variable valve timing mechanism. Right now, it's purely mechanical—centrifugal weights and springs adjusting cam phasing based on engine speed. But we're researching whether electronic controls might someday make this more precise."
William felt a thrill of recognition, "You're thinking electronic valve control could work?" He knew for the fact that future was electronic valve control. Whether it was the famous VTEC engine or BMW's Valvetronic.
"It's still theoretical," Arnold admitted. "The electronic components would need to be much smaller and more reliable than anything available today. But we're developing the mechanical foundations now, so when the electronics catch up, we'll be ready."
He filed this in his mind. He would need to personally guide the team towards ECUs.
They moved through a maze of test equipment and prototype engines, each one representing a different approach to the fundamental challenge of converting chemical energy into mechanical motion more efficiently. William saw experiments in combustion chamber design, intake manifold optimization, and exhaust flow management that wouldn't appear in production vehicles for years.
"We are trying new engines type. This is a Wankel Engine recently made in Germany. It is more compact, has higher power to weight ratio, very smooth operation…We are experimenting with this on cars and whether it's worth our efforts."
William couldn't help but grin. His mind immediately went towards the famous Mazda rotary engines which would basically be discontinued by 2012-2013. These engines were amazing and held great prestige among enthusiasts despite their flaws. (A/N : Listen to this : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=az39eqLIbyU . Its glorious.)
The Electronics Laboratory was their next stop, a bright warren of workbenches covered in vacuum tubes, simple circuit boards, and spools of insulated wire in every color imaginable. The contrast with the mechanical precision of the engine lab was striking—here, the future was being explored one component at a time.
"Two years ago, this was just a corner of the main Engineering building," Arnold explained as they walked between workstations where technicians worked with soldering irons and basic test equipment. "Three guys fixing AM radios and troubleshooting ignition systems. Now, we have fifteen people working on automotive electronics."
On one worktable, a sedan's dashboard lay open like a patient on an operating table, its interior exposed to reveal a experimental arrangement of vacuum tubes and relay switches that looked more like something from a telephone exchange than an automobile.
"This is our prototype electronic ignition system," Arnold said, pointing to a metal box about the size of a toolbox. "We're using transistors—they're new semiconductor devices that might eventually replace vacuum tubes. The system can provide more precise spark timing than mechanical distributors."
William leaned over to study the arrangement of components and wiring. "What about monitoring engine conditions?"
Arnold's face showed cautious excitement. "That's the ultimate goal. We're experimenting with simple sensors—temperature, pressure, basic engine speed detection. Someday, we might be able to automatically adjust ignition timing based on engine conditions, but the electronics aren't sophisticated enough yet."
"It's the future," William murmured, recognizing the early stages of what would eventually transform the automotive industry. "Don't let anyone talk you out of it."
They passed a smaller group of engineers working with what appeared to be a radio chassis, its components spread across a work surface.
"We're researching in-car entertainment possibilities," Arnold said. "Right now, buyers are limited to AM radio and whatever the local stations broadcast. But we're looking at FM radio integration, and there are rumours that companies are developing portable music players using magnetic tape."
"Interesting direction," William said, thinking of the cassette tapes which would change how people listened to music. "Young people will want more control over their music."
The Materials Laboratory was their final stop, a spacious area lit by skylights that revealed workbenches covered with experimental components and new materials that represented the cutting-edge of 1960 materials science.
Technicians in white coats worked with fiberglass composites, testing different resin formulations and reinforcement patterns. The aerospace industry was pioneering these materials, and Arnold's team was exploring their automotive applications.
"We're investigating advanced materials," Arnold explained. "Fiberglass reinforced plastics for body panels, different aluminum alloys for weight reduction. The aircraft industry is showing us what's possible when you move beyond traditional steel construction."
He gestured toward a brake disc mounted on a test fixture, its surface showing the telltale signs of high-temperature testing. "And this is our experimental disc brake system. We're using different friction materials and cooling designs to improve stopping power."
William examined the disk brake. It was very different from disk brakes in the future. "Performance compared to drums?"
"Significantly better heat dissipation, much less brake fade under repeated stops. European sports cars are already using disc brakes, but we're working on making them practical for American family cars."
"Cost for mass production?"
Arnold's expression sobered. "Still working on that. The materials are expensive, and the manufacturing processes are complex. But if we can develop the production methods, it could give us a significant advantage in performance."
They walked past a long drafting wall covered with blueprints and technical drawings, each one representing a different vision of what the automobile might become. One sketch caught William's eye—a low-roofed coupe with clean, purposeful lines that bore no resemblance to the tail-finned monsters currently filling dealer showrooms. But his eyes were more drawn to same chassis with different car designs over it.
"Modular platform architecture?" he guessed, recognizing the engineering philosophy behind the design.
Arnold nodded approvingly. "Single chassis design that can support multiple body styles—sedan, coupe, wagon, maybe even a convertible. We save millions in tooling costs and development time while offering customers more choices."
"The aerodynamics looks advanced."
"Yes. The Aston guys suggested it. The wind tunnel testing shows a thirty percent reduction in drag coefficient compared to current production models. Better fuel economy, higher top speed, less wind noise. We're thinking of it as a halo car—something that showcases our technical capabilities while establishing a new design language for the entire lineup."
"Aston Guys?" William asked hearing an unfamiliar term.
"The Aston Martin team. They have moved their development base here." replied Arnold.
In his previous life Aston Martin had been acquired by David Brown Limited in 1947. This time rich with wartime cash he had basically forced his grandfather to acquire both Aston Martin and Lagonda. But it had been almost fourteen years since this, and he had completely forgotten about it.
William studied the blueprints more carefully, noting the attention to detail in everything from the suspension geometry to the interior packaging. "This," he said softly, "is why I'm here." Introducing an automobile platform had always been one of his goals. It was basically the car sharing similar components like chassis, transmission, engines etc. But outwardly the design was different. This was very common in Volkswagen cars fron 1980s onwards. There was a reason why Audi looked very similar to Skoda and Volkswagen especially from the sides.
They paused near the exit, the laboratory quieter now as the evening shift settled into their work routines. Engineers clustered around whiteboards covered with equations and sketches, their discussions animated by the kind of intellectual passion that William had rarely encountered in the corporate conference rooms.
"I'm going to be making changes," William said, his voice carrying the weight of decisions already made. "Big ones. Some of them will be painful. Some of them will hurt good people who've been doing their best with what they had."
Arnold didn't blink, meeting William's gaze with the steady confidence of a man who had been waiting for this moment. "Good. This place has been dying for someone willing to make the hard decisions. We've got the talent and the technology to compete with anyone in the world, but we need leadership that understands what we're capable of."
William felt something ease in his chest, a tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. "I'm not here to shut you down," he said. "I'm here to bet everything on you. The production problems, the organizational dysfunction, the financial troubles—they're all solvable. But innovation is what separates winners from has-beens, and you're the only part of this company that's already thinking like winners."
Arnold extended his hand again, and this time the handshake felt like a pact between conspirators. "Then let's build something worth building."
As they walked toward the exit, William caught glimpses of other projects in various stages of development—a turbocharged engine experiment that promised increased power from smaller displacement, a suspension system using different spring and damper combinations, and even early research into what Arnold called "occupant protection systems" that would better protect passengers in accidents.
"How much of this research is currently practical for production?" William asked already knowing the answer.
"About half represents near-term possibilities," Arnold replied. "The rest is longer-term research, but we're building actual prototypes to test our theories. Your father insisted that we prove concepts with real hardware, not just theoretical calculations."
When William finally walked out into the night air, he felt something he hadn't experienced since arriving at Harrow Motor Company—genuine hope for the future.
The contrast with the morning's factory tour couldn't have been starker. In the production facilities, he'd seen the past slowly dying—outdated processes, demoralized workers, equipment that belonged in a museum. But in the research labs, he'd glimpsed several future technologies which would later change the automotive industry. But with his guidance they could revolutionise it. Things that would be developed 20 years or 30 years down the line could be released now. He could fast track the whole automobile technology timeline.
The question now was whether he could bridge the gap between those two realities, transforming a dysfunctional manufacturing operation into a platform worthy of the innovations emerging from Arnold's laboratories and his mind.
It wouldn't be easy. The cultural transformation alone would require years of sustained effort, challenging every assumption and comfortable habit that had accumulated over decades. There would be resistance from managers who had built careers on the current system. There would be skepticism from workers who had seen too many failed improvement initiatives.
But for the first time since accepting this role, William felt confident that the effort would be worthwhile. The foundation was there—brilliant engineers, advanced technology, and most importantly, a shared vision of what the automobile could become.
Now he just had to figure out how to build a company worthy of that vision.
As he drove back toward his guest house, William's mind was already working through the implications of what he'd seen and what he needed to do.
Tomorrow he would need to rush to Detroit to Zephyr's studio. Sit with the team and build an action plan. It would be long and time consuming.
But tonight, for the first time in days, William allowed himself to believe that success was possible.