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

<passage>:
the Robling Titanium Corporation. What could they do to 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. miserably, waving his fat paws in the air as he paced back and forth in front of the spokesmen for the striking managers. "Perhaps we were a little demanding, I concede it! Overenthusiastic within reason. Perhaps we can even arrange for better company houses." Walter Towne stifled a yawn. "Perhaps you didn't understand us. The men are agitating for a meeting of the board of sick— Bailey was not sick. The administrative offices were humming so large—the men will have to get used to that. That's it, we'll put it through at the next executive conference, give you—" "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. morning Western yet. He was busy glaring, first at the clock, You know those crowded strips—" "So it's "Walk out in front of those men after what you've done? You're fools! Well, I've given you your chance. You'll get your board Everyone who owned stock in Robling Titanium was automatically 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 have 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 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 line?" "What's the trouble now?" too. The boss seems to have a lot of questions." Walter rose slowly from his seat. This was it, then. Torkleson Do what you want with him." The hall exploded in angry thunder. The first wave of men rushed onto the stage as Walter stood up. A tomato whizzed 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!" of ten little shares of stock had thrown the Robling burst to his feet. "It's a trick!" he howled. "Wait 'til you hear their price." "We have no price, and no demands," said Walter Towne. Walter could almost remember those days with Robling, before the switchover, before that black day when the exchange Daniel P. Torkleson, Secretary The secretary flipped down the desk switch and eyed Walter with pity. "Mr. Torkleson will see you." "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. Walter swallowed. "I'm production manager of the corporation." "And just what does the production manager "You think that since you own the company, times have changed. Well, have they? Are you any better off than you do "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." " Walter nodded as he struggled down with a moose head. "Yes, a pity, but you know the boys when they get upset." 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." screwy world like this—" He shrugged, and tossed down the "Still, I didn't think they'd elect you secretary of the union. 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 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 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 house, no more weekly pay envelope. He spread his hands weakly. "What do you want?" he asked. 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 we've got them strapped." "For what?" asked the lawyer. 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 with frantic activity as Walter glanced down the rows MANAGEMENT SABOTAGES ROBLING MACHINES ROBLING LOCK-IN CREATES PANDEMONIUM On the Robling production lines the workmen blinked at 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 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 malignancy, the hungry howling of the union bosses for more and higher dividends, year after year, moving steadily toward the inevitable crisis. "It won't do any good, sir. They've got their own management troubles. They're scared silly of a sympathy strike." 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?" robling titanium unfair to management 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?" sabotage of the company's machines, conspiring to destroy the Walter yawned as the words went on. "Of course, if the defendant will waive his appeals against

<question>:
Why were the reports for the Robling company bad?

<options>:
A Poor production and no innovation
B Too high of union dues and insurance fees
C Too much spending by the executives
D Walter asking for too high of a salary raise

<answer>:

A