Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
It was going to be a bad day. As he pushed his way nervously through the crowds toward the Exit Strip, Walter Towne turned the dismal prospect over and over in his mind. The potential gloominess of this particular day had descended upon the strike broken in another few hours. Tell them anything." this seemed hardly worthy of concern this morning. The reports waiting on his desk were what worried him. The sales reports. The promotion-draw reports. The royalty reports. The anticipated dividend reports. Walter shook his head wearily. The shop steward was a goad, annoying, perhaps even infuriating, but tolerable. Torkleson was a different matter. He waited until Bailey was gone. Then, with a trembling hand he lifted the visiphone receiver. "Get me Walter Towne," houses." Walter Towne stifled a yawn. "Perhaps you didn't understand us. The men are agitating for a meeting of the board of directors. We want to be at that meeting. That's the only thing stock market reports before they changed from their neat gray sick— Bailey was not sick. The administrative offices were humming with frantic activity as Walter glanced down the rows of cubbyholes. In the middle of it all sat Bailey, in his black-and-yellow checkered tattersall, smoking a large cigar. His feet were planted on his desk top, but he hadn't started on his morning Western yet. He was busy glaring, first at the clock, then at Walter. "Late again, I see," the shop steward growled. Walter gulped. "Yes, sir. Just four minutes, this time, sir. You know those crowded strips—" "So it's Walter sighed and shuffled back to his desk. Oh, well. It could have been worse. They might have fired him like poor Cartwright last month. He'd just to the stage, and hanging from the rafters. They overflowed into the corridors. They jammed the lobby. Ten thousand men rose with a howl of anger when Walter Towne walked out on paced the stage, his fat body shaking with agitation, pointing a chubby finger again and again at Walter Towne. He pranced and he ranted. He paused at just the right times for thunderous The reports were on his desk. He picked them up warily. The reports were worse than he had ever dreamed. " Walter jumped a foot. Bailey was putting down the visiphone receiver. His grin spread unpleasantly from ear to ear. "What have you been doing lately? Sabotaging the production boss wants to see you. And you'd better have the right answers, too. The boss seems to have a lot of questions." Walter rose slowly from his seat. This was it, then. Torkleson had already seen the reports. He started for the door, his knees shaking. teeth-grating, bone-rattling screech. The men froze, jaws sagging, eyes wide, hardly believing their ears. In the instant of silence as the factory whistle died away, Walter Walter could almost remember those days with Robling, of ten little shares of stock had thrown the Robling before the switchover, before that black day when the exchange grabbed the microphone. "You want the code word to start Amalgamated Locals Daniel P. Torkleson, Secretary The secretary flipped down the desk switch and eyed Walter with pity. "Mr. Torkleson will see you." Walter pushed through the door into the long, handsome office. For an instant he felt a pang of nostalgia—the floor-to-ceiling "Well? Don't just stand there. Shut the door and come over here." The man behind the desk hoisted his three hundred well-dressed pounds and glared at Walter from under flagrant eyebrows. Torkleson's whole body quivered as he slammed a sheaf of papers down on the desk. "Just what do you think Walter Towne was talking their language. "You think that since you own the company, times have changed. Well, have they? Are you any better off than you They listened. Not a peep came from the huge hall. Suddenly, Walter reddened. "He organizes the work of the plant, establishes production lines, works with Promotion and Sales, integrates Research and Development, operates the planning He swung around to point a long finger at the fat man sitting there. "The code word is TORKLESON!" Much later, Walter Towne and Jeff Bates pried the trophies Walter spread his hands. "I do my best. I've been doing it Then how do you explain these reports? " Torkleson threw the heap of papers into Walter's arms, and paced up and down Walter nodded as he struggled down with a moose head. "Yes, a pity, but you know the boys when they get upset." for thirty years. I should know what I'm doing." impossible. Big orders canceled. The worst reports in seven years, and you say you know your job!" "I've been doing everything I could," Walter snapped. "Of course the reports are bad, they couldn't help but be. We Walter Towne chuckled. "Doesn't it? I don't know. Everything's been a little screwy since the switchover. And in a haven't met a production schedule in over two years. No plant It just doesn't figure." and spend half their time changing and the other half on Koffee-Kup. No company could survive this. But that's only half of it—" Walter searched through the reports frantically. Torkleson's eyes glittered. His voice was very soft. "I've always liked you, Walter. So I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that paper on the first of next month, you are out of a job, on grounds of incompetence. And I will personally see that you go on every White list in the country." Walter felt the fight go out of him like a dying wind. He knew what the White list meant. No job, anywhere, ever, in management. No chance, ever, to join a union. No more fast, because I'm not fooling." Back in his cubbyhole downstairs, Walter stared hopelessly at the reports. He had known it would come to this sooner or later. They all knew it—Hendricks of Promotion, Pendleton of Sales, the whole managerial staff. It was wrong, all the way down the line. Walter had fought it tooth and nail since the day Torkleson had installed the moose heads in Walter's old office, and moved him down to the cubbyhole, under Bailey's watchful eye. He had argued, and battled, and pleaded, and lost. He had watched the company " Pendleton sighed. "You're sure you didn't let them suspect anything, Walter? They wouldn't be watching the house?" "I don't think so. And you all came alone, at different times." He nodded to the window guard, and turned back to "Pity about Dan Torkleson. Gruesome affair." "I suppose so." The lawyer stopped to rest, panting. "Anyway, Walter turned on him sharply. "For new contracts. Contracts to let us manage the company the way it should be managed. having managerial troubles Development. At first—until that fateful night when Daniel P. Torkleson with hardly a fight, and as the unions began to feel their oats, the changes grew more radical. Walter Towne remembered those stormy days well. The gradual undercutting of the managerial salaries, the tightening up of inter-union collusion to establish the infamous White machinery began tying itself in knots, and the strikers still struck. By the fifth day there was a more serious note. "You're going to have to appear, Walter. We can't dodge this one." "When?" I don't know what to tell them." Walter was there a half hour early. Torkleson's legal staff glowered from across the room. The judge glowered from the bench. Walter closed his eyes with a little smile as the Walter yawned as the words went on. "Of course, if the defendant will waive his appeals against

<question>:
What is wrong with the reports?

<options>:
A Production and sales are down.
B Walter forgot to do them.
C Walter put in false information to make it appear as though the company is thriving.
D Walter did the reports the late.

<answer>:

A