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graphics, to name a few.”

Hank was slowly nodding. “We’re following you, go on.”

The room fell silent, and Matthew placed his next graphic on the overhead.

“We’ve got a window of opportunity, and if we can act quickly and bring compatibility products to market in the next quarter, Wallaby would enjoy the rewards of major penetration within a year.”

The attendees were leaning to one side or the other, whispering back and forth. What Matthew was able to discern sounded positive, and, sensing no opposition, he placed the next slide, a proposed schedule. Midway through the his timeline breakdown, Graham Stevens, vice president of personnel, spoke up.

“Pardon me for the interruption, Matthew.” Stevens removed his glasses and folded his hands on the table. His face bore the troubled look of a professor deliberating a complex formula. “There’s one thing that concerns me. Something that does not appear on the schedule.”

Matthew took a step away from the projector. “Please, go on.”

“This company, as you pointed out when you started, was trained to think of ICP as the enemy. Do you really believe we can get the employees to support a strategy that slants us toward our biggest competitor?” His question was supported by contemplative murmuring throughout the room.

“That’s a very important question,” Matthew said. He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Perhaps the most important of all.”

In fact, it was. He had asked himself the same question a thousand times. And he knew he had to be very careful with his response. Both the reason and the solution had come to him when he had asked himself why, all along, ICP had never simply threatened Wallaby with a hostile takeover. The reason was simple - ICP could not acquire Wallaby and hope for the company to succeed without support from Wallaby’s highest-level executives and employees. This was precisely where Matthew fit into the whole plan. He was the horticulturist who would graft the sapling Wallaby onto the deeply rooted, sky-high tree that was ICP. He would nurture the company into accepting that this was the right thing to do, this second phase of providing compatibility with ICP’s systems. He would convince them that while maintaining its personality, Wallaby would also grow vigorously in size and sales. Later, in the final phase - the plan’s ultimate goal - after Matthew’s compatibility strategy had proven successful and thereby gained the employees’ trust, the process for merging the two companies would begin.

He seated himself casually on the edge of the table. “When Peter and Hank started Wallaby,” he said, dropping a nod to the cofounder, “they had a vision of placing into people’s hands their own computing power. Naturally this was perceived as competition to ICP because it is also a computer company, which quickly brought to market its own all-in-one computer. But what I’ve come to understand is that we have a valuable product that can make greater headway by coexisting with ICP’s computers rather than try to overtake it directly. And if we carefully educate our employees that it’s our vision to keep building great portable computers for individuals, which can also connect to other systems, then yes, we can pull it off.” His voice was piping with conviction and enthusiasm. “Joey, with its innovative mobile and expandable design, becomes the dynamic key that opens doors to other systems and other markets around the world.”

“It would be tough, Matthew,” Graham said, curling his index finger against his chin, “but if we were to get you out there, talking to our people about this strategy, I think you’re right. We could pull it off.”

Did this first agreement, from the man who raised the most difficult question of all, presage the entire team’s vote? Had he just persuaded them to place in him their faith to change the lifeblood vision of the entire company?

He switched off the projector and brightened the room’s lights. “Before I go on, it may be good to get an idea of how many of us agree on this strategy.”

“Right,” Hank said, helping him along. “I think it’s smart, mature. Clearly a direction in which we should consider moving. However,” he cautioned, sweeping the group with his serious eyes, “only if we can handle the perception aspect of it with the employees. Only as long as we make them understand that we’re not selling out and building a clone, that we are actually making our Joey the best choice of portable computer on its own, and in tandem with ICP’s computers. If we can accomplish that, then I think we could eventually come out ahead of the game.”

Matthew experienced an epiphany. Hank had just explained Matthew’s strategy exactly as he wanted them to see it. Furthermore, Hank’s approval signified a point that was especially penetrating to the people seated there - higher stock prices. For each of them, this translated to even greater personal wealth.

Matthew quickly took advantage of Hank’s definition, while the carrot still hung in the air. “Does anyone disagree with the concept?”

Heads turned, searching for dissent.

None.

He felt a powerful thrill wash though him like the one he had experienced at the last quarterly board meeting, when his organizational design had flexed Peter Jones out of his way. In the last meeting he had been given the opportunity to prove himself. Now, with the new strategy revealed, they had become his followers. They believed in him. That was what it all came down to. They trusted him with their future.

“Very well,” Matthew said. He switched off the overhead lights again and returned to the projector. With his finger on the switch, he bade farewell to the old Wallaby, farewell to Peter Jones. He flicked the machine on, and alighted the screen with his next slide: “The Whole World In Your Hand: Wallaby’s Future.”

 

*

 

“Thanks, Hank,” Matthew said, gripping Hank’s arm with one hand, the other locked in a firm handshake.

The board room door silently swung shut, and Matthew dropped himself heavily into one of the chairs and let out a long satisfied sigh.

He’d done it. From here on, it would be smooth sailing. With the executive’s support in the bag, he was now free to turn his secret plan into reality. And what did it translate to for him personally? The power and the rewards would be astronomical.

“How’d it go?”

He had not heard anyone enter the room and, startled, he turned to find Laurence Maupin. For the briefest moment he just sat there and admired her in her finely tailored light linen suit. Her soft and flowing honey-colored hair framed her fresh intelligent face, and in her delicate hands she clutched a small bundle of budding branches, held together by a blue ribbon.

“It went great,” Matthew said, blinking with exultation at the sound of his own pleased voice. Then, unable to contain his satisfaction, his smile broke into a broad grin. “Really great,” he spilled, feeling remarkably comfortable in revealing his joy in front of her.

“That’s wonderful, Matthew. Wonderful!” she said, closing the space between them. “These are for you,” she said, holding out the bundle.

“Pussy willow,” he remarked. He felt a tingling sensation in his finger, where it had brushed hers. “Where did you get them?”

“Believe it or not, I found a bush of them in Woodside. I stole some for you,” she said with a mischievous chuckle.

“Thank you,” he said, able to meet her eyes only for a second. Her unanticipated arrival and the gift she had brought made him suddenly feel awkward and boyish. It was as if the room, his heart, had all at once changed seasons, going from the promise of spring to the all-out heat of summer. He watched her flip through his collection of slides, and he felt the light tingle return, this time in another place, as she keenly examined his illustrations.

She beamed at him and tapped the topmost slide. “Matthew, it’s brilliant. Just three months, and you’re already making important changes.”

“Thank you. But you deserve some of the credit. Your coaching has been a great help.”

“That’s my job,” she said. “Eileen said you have no other meetings this afternoon.”

“None. I didn’t know how long this would take.”

She returned the slides to the manila folder, then circled her hands around the neck of the overhead projector. “Then how about lunch?”

“Good idea.”

“Great. What do you say to San Francisco? I’ve got to run a few errands, and you can drop me off at home later in the afternoon since I don’t have my car. It’s being serviced.”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Why not. I think I deserve the rest of the day off. And I haven’t been to the city for lunch in a long time.” He had forgotten that she lived in San Francisco. Lunch, then a ride home.

They gathered his materials and in a few minutes were on the highway and heading for the city.

He felt relaxed in the car with her. With absurd clarity it occurred to him that while they had worked together almost constantly for several months, everything they had discussed pertained to business. How could he have been so focused on his work and not gotten to know her better? Now, he decided, was as good a time as any.

“How are you adjusting? This being your first full-time job and everything?”

“Excellent. Of course, working with you has made it all worth it.”

He had hired her fresh out of school, graduating with a communications degree from Villanova. The previous summer she had been an intern, working in the public relations department as an apprentice speech writer. On two occasions she had assisted Matthew in preparing his speeches. The impression she had left him with was so positive that he had had his secretary contact Laurence as she neared graduation, to ask if she would be interested in working for him as his personal press assistant. Although she was inexperienced, she really had helped him. Enormously. Not only where his public image was concerned, as when she had smoothly handled the press for him after Peter Jones’s departure, but also with his self-image, the hours they spent together in coaching sessions, counseling him on his manner and style, reinforcing his self-confidence. He felt as though some transformation was about to happen between them, some new level of communication.

“…right there,” she said, pointing to the high hills and valley a half-mile in the distance, to the east.

He had been daydreaming. “I’m sorry?” he said.

“My horse. That’s where I keep my horse.”

“At Woodside Ranch?”

“Yes.”

“That’s where my wife keeps hers, too.” He remembered Greta for the first time since leaving the house that morning.

“They have a new trainer who recently came to the States to start a new polo club. He’s fabulous.”

“Maybe that’s Greta’s trainer.”

“It is,” Laurence said, then, quickly: “I mean, he knows her, mentions her horse. He said Mighty Boy is the most beautiful horse he’s ever seen.”

“He’s something, all right,” Matthew said, changing lanes.

“I’m happy to be riding again. I’ve missed it so. In school I rarely got home to see my parents in Los Angeles. My father sponsors polo players, did I already mention that? I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Not at all. I want to know more.”

“Well, a couple of years ago my father spent a year in North Carolina, opening a new company. While he was there he got hooked on polo. That was just when I had gone east for school. I felt like I needed a break from La-La Land, and Philadelphia seemed like as good a place as any, and the school was one of the best for liberal arts. Anyway, I’d fly down to see dad every now and then while he was in the