In the fall of 1984, however, with Murphy running operations in Columbiana and Brothers out on another successful selling spree, it looked as if the company might begin to fulfill its promise. Since the summer, 54 franchise units and four master territories had joined the system -- that despite the fact that the franchise fee had been raised to $12,500 and Murphy was screening prospects herself, "so I'd know they didn't have too rosy a picture of things." Murphy added additional approved suppliers to the system, removing a major bone of contention. She improved the training, teaching much of the course herself and hiring one of the successful franchisees to teach "speed cleaning." As more franchisees began to make money, cash flow improved, and the list of creditors began to shrink. Morale had never been higher.
Then, suddenly, Brothers stopped selling. By Thanksgiving, she had retreated to the privacy of her office, seemingly dispirited. "It got to the point where everybody said how wonderful Anne Murphy was, and she couldn't handle it," Murphy says. "Somebody else had made her successful, and she had to assert herself."
Murphy had a more serious concern than Brothers's ego, however. She had begun to worry about her legal liability for Pop-Ins' aggressive sales policy, as details of negotiations with specific franchisees filtered back to Columbiana. Brothers had sold a franchise territory that extended into Virginia, where Pop-Ins had not yet registered. There was a similar problem in California, where registration had been allowed to lapse in the wake of the Jim Kane fiasco. In Illinois, Murphy discovered, Brothers had taken money from new franchisees without waiting for the required "due diligence" period to pass.
Disillusioned, Murphy resigned after Christmas, tired of working for less than full pay for a CEO who she felt wouldn't tell her the truth. Her parting shot was a lawsuit, filed in the hope of recovering at least part of the $24,000 in salary she had never been paid.
For the staff and franchisees of Pop-Ins, Murphy's departure came as a shock. Bookkeeper Eversman recalls the steady stream of calls from franchisees, begging for the truth. Had Murphy been fired? Were they going bankrupt? Once again, some of the stronger franchisees considered breaking away and running their businesses independently, as Lynn Karp had done with Mopettes. Others, having spent two or three years making the Pop-Ins name known in their communities, vowed to hang on, convinced Brothers would have to sell the company soon.
But Brothers had no intention of selling. She'd come too far and fought too hard to give up, and she still believed she could turn things around. Murphy had been trying to steal her company, she decided, just like Bolles and Crawford had before her. She instructed the vice-president, Larry Callaway, to hire a Chicago private detective to keep a watch on Murphy.
"Carol got real strange after Anne left," remembers regional franchise coordinator Sherry Henderson. Henderson's assignment was to visit potential troublemakers among the franchisees, searching for violations of the franchise agreement that would allow Brothers to terminate their contracts before they, too, became a threat. "I was told to get them, any way I could," Henderson recalls, "or else I'd be out of a job."
The search came up empty-handed. Instead, what Henderson found were franchisees struggling to stay in business, most of them tired of the constant battles with the embattled entrepreneur in Columbiana, Ohio.
OF MEN AND MONEY
PUBLICLY, THE CORPORATE RELOCATION TO PALM Beach in May 1985 was painted as a major step forward, a "class move" for "The Maid Service with Class." Pop-Ins had outgrown its Columbiana roots, Brothers told the press. It would be easier to attract good employees in Palm Beach, franchise professionals who could make their "Polly Pop-Ins" logo as familiar as McDonald's golden arches.
In fact, Brothers says now, she left to escape problems with her husband. Carol estimates that Don Brothers had put some $300,000 into Pop-Ins, and after six years, he was coming to the end of his rope. Century Industries, the family chemical business, had loaned Pop-Ins more than $100,000, unsecured. In addition, he'd provided office space, set up a print shop, leased cars, and loaned his airplane. Contrary to the allegations made by franchisees, Don says he had never made money selling chemicals to franchisees -- there was never enough volume, and Carol had not always been careful about paying the bills. Don had tried to give her advice, to head off the disaster he saw coming. "But if you knew Carol Brothers," he said later in a court deposition, "you would know you don't tell her much." By the spring of 1985 advice had turned to demands -- Carol would have to start paying for the office space and cars, or lose both.
Carol didn't tell her husband she was leaving, exactly. One Saturday she just had the movers pull into their driveway, load her belongings in the van, and head south.
Former employees remember the move to Palm Beach as the most organized event in corporate history. In less than a day, they packed and shipped the entire business. The trucks left Columbiana 48 hours ahead of the posse -- auditors from the Ohio tax office, anxious to review the company's books and collect several years' worth of unpaid sales taxes.
