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

<passage>:
was Vice President-in-Charge-of-Production of the Robling Titanium Corporation. What could they do to him, really? He had rehearsed his sick— Bailey was not sick. The administrative offices were humming with frantic activity as Walter glanced down the rows "The board meeting," Walter said gently. "That'll be enough for us." The union boss swore and slammed his fist on the desk. 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—" "Walk out in front of those men after what you've done? You're 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, too strongly of the old system of corporate organization to suit the men. The solution had been simple, if a trifle ungainly. Everyone who owned stock in Robling Titanium was automatically a member of the board of directors, with Torkleson before the switchover, before that black day when the exchange pay envelope on Friday. Ten cents an hour off for each demerit." 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 of ten little shares of stock had thrown the Robling " 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 The door was of heavy stained oak, with bold letters edged 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 meant something to be vice president of a huge industrial firm like Robling Titanium. A man could have had a fine house of 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 grabbed the microphone. "You want the code word to start the machines again? I'll give it to you before I sit down!" Titanium Corporation into the hands of strange and unnatural owners. Walter could almost remember those days with Robling, in gold: TITANIUM WORKERS OF AMERICA 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 you're doing with this company, Towne?" Walter swallowed. "I'm production manager of the corporation." "And just what does the production manager do Walter reddened. "He organizes the work of the plant, establishes production lines, works with Promotion and Sales, integrates Research and Development, operates the planning "And you think you do a pretty good job of it, eh? Even asked for a raise last year!" Torkleson's voice was dangerous. Walter spread his hands. "I do my best. I've been doing it 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 haven't met a production schedule in over two years. No plant 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. six years. What can two starved engineers and a second rate chemist drag out of an attic laboratory for competition in the titanium market?" Walter took a deep breath. "I've warned you time and again. Robling had built up accounts over the years with fine products and new models. But since the switchover every six months to the men who own the stock, the men working on the production lines." Walter nodded bitterly. "And every year the dividend has to be higher than the last, or you and your fat friends are likely to be thrown out of your jobs—right? No more steaks 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 in dividends in the next six months. And you'd better move fast, because I'm not fooling." Back in his cubbyhole downstairs, Walter stared hopelessly 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 striking against its own labor. It—it isn't done. Oh, there have been lockouts, but this isn't the same thing at all." Walter nodded. "Well, we couldn't very well lock the men Walter turned on him sharply. "For new contracts. Contracts to let us manage the company the way it should be managed. If they won't do it, they won't get another Titanium product off their production lines for the rest of the year, and their dividends will MANAGEMENT SABOTAGES ROBLING MACHINES OFFICE STRIKERS THREATEN LABOR ECONOMY ROBLING LOCK-IN CREATES PANDEMONIUM violation of management contracts and illegal fouling of managerial processes." Ben Starkey, President of the Board of American Steel, expressed "shock and regret" the Amalgamated gradual undercutting of the managerial salaries, the tightening up of inter-union collusion to establish the infamous White list of Recalcitrant Managers. The shift from hourly wage to annual salary for the factory workers, and the change to the other pole for the managerial staff. And then, with creeping the inevitable crisis. bit. You put the program through, and give those electronics men three more hours to unsnarl this knot, or we throw them out of the union." He started for the door. "What were the blueprints for?" "Trash cans," said Bailey. "Pure titanium-steel trash cans." It took Robling Titanium approximately two days to convert its entire production line to titanium-steel trash cans. With the total resources of the giant plant behind the effort, production glutted. Within two weeks, at a conservative estimate, there would be a titanium-steel trash can for every man, woman, child, and hound dog on the North American continent. The jet engines, structural steels, tubing, and other pre-strike products which hovered over the plant entrance carrying a banner with a plaintive message: robling titanium unfair to management The third day, Jeff Bates was served with an injunction ordering Towne to return to work. It was duly appealed, legal 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?"

<question>:
What is ironic about the story’s ending?

<options>:
A Torkleson becomes the production manager.
B Walter replaced Torkleson as the union leader.
C Walter becomes rich.
D Walter is demoted to a titanium worker.

<answer>:

B