The couches held two people each. On one couch sat Micah’s head of Legal, with his jet-black hair and John Lennon glasses. Next to him slumped his VP of Mergers and Acquisitions, thirty-one years old but looked fifty with his premature gray hair. On the other couch perched his VP of Marketing, looking more every day like a young Oprah. Next to her sat his chief financial officer. Two of Micah’s software development VPs sat in the chairs.
Shannon also sat in a chair; Micah paced in front of his.
On a table in the center of the room sat a steaming pot filling the air with the aroma of Seattle’s Best Coffee. Clumped next to it were mugs from Disneyland, the University of Washington Huskies, and cups with RimSoft’s logo on them.
Good. All the pieces were in place. Time to check out the condition of the chessboard.
“All right,” Micah said, a slice above his normal volume. “Let’s roll. Where are we with the i2-Rock alliance?”
“Done,” his Mergers VP said.
“We love their hardware; they still love our software, right?”
“Madly.”
“Excellent, great work.” Micah focused on Oprah’s twin. “Is the ad layout done for Wired?”
“Yep.”
“Last one you did was a home run into the rafters, so let’s keep the hits coming.” He turned to his right. “Beta testing on version four is done, right?”
“Finished Wednesday.”
“Very nice work. I can’t believe you already have it almost bug free.” Micah looked at the head of his legal team. “You’ve finished the docs for the Bay-C buyout?”
“Not quite.” The man glanced up at Micah. “We’re almost there.”
Micah stopped pacing. What was this guy’s problem? Everyone else knew how to fire on all cylinders. He couldn’t afford to have the guy keep playing with his B game.
Micah whipped his pen around on his yellow notepad like a poor man’s Picasso, then held it up for everyone to see. “This is a sketch of underwear. But not just ordinary underwear; it’s asbestos underwear.” He turned to the head of Legal. “You need a pair.”
“Why?”
“Well, you said your team would be done on Tuesday. It’s now Friday. So since it isn’t done, your team falls into the category of ‘liar, liar, pants on fire.’ I would think the asbestos underwear would help squelch the flames a bit.”
The head of Legal squirmed and mumbled, “We’ll get it done by the end of the day.”
“When?”
“End of the day.”
“When?”
“By two o’clock.”
“What comes out of a toaster?”
Legal Guy frowned and shifted in his chair. “Toast?”
“You’re not sure?”
“Toast.”
“Positive?”
“Yes.”
“It’s nine thirty now. What will you be if your docs aren’t finished by noon?”
Legal Guys’s face flushed. “Toast.”
“A little louder please so the whole class can hear.”
“I’ll be toast.”
One of Micah’s team coughed. The rest kept their eyes glued to the agenda.
Micah turned and looked out the conference room windows overlooking Puget Sound. One breath. Two. Wow. Not the way to win friends and influence stock splits. He turned back to his team. “Okay, let’s move on.”
A half hour later Micah glanced at each member of his team. “Thank you. For two things. First, for being good enough at what you do that this company could no doubt survive without me. Second, for not being so good there’s no room left for my input.” He grabbed his notebook and strode toward the door.
Too harsh in there on Mr. Always-Late-Legal? Probably. Micah sighed. Definitely. Where did that stuff come from? He rolled his eyes. Micah knew precisely where it came from. Cannon Beach.
Shannon stepped into the hallway just ahead of him and clipped down the hall like a speed walker.
In two bounds Micah caught up to her. “Hey, slow down.”
She walked faster and didn’t respond.
“You’ve got that Micah-was-a-jerk look again.”
She looked up at him with a thin-lipped smile. “It’s only the first time this year. You’re improving.”
They walked seven paces in silence. “I was trying to make a point with a little humor. That’s not who I really am.”
“Oh?”
Four more paces.
“You’re right; I was a royal, platinum-certified jerk in there,” he whispered. His face grew warm as he fingered the scar on his left palm. “It’s just . . . some realities about life have stuck with me whether I wanted them to or not.”
“So you weren’t this way from birth?”
Not always. Only since he was nine.
He looked down as he gave his head a tiny shake.
“Zero! Zilch! Nada! That’s what you’ll always be, kid!” The rest of the scene—the torn jersey, the humiliation, the message—tried to surface, but Micah slammed the vault to