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“You’ve had a good long run, Christian. Twenty years.”
“That’s it, then? Buck just finds itself a new CEO?”
Peel didn’t answer.
“Might that new CEO be you, Jeremy?”
“If I’m asked by the board, I’d consider it.”
“So that’s your angle? You want to be both CEO and chairman of the board? The boss and the boss’s boss?”
“It’s not unprecedented. Zuckerberg did it at Facebook. Gates did it for a time at Microsoft.”
“Have you spoken to David Walker about this?”
“David Walker is a venture capitalist. He’ll bless whatever is necessary to protect the CIA’s investment in this company.”
“You ungrateful prick. After all I’ve done for you.”
“Oh, that’s rich. We would have been out of business twenty years ago if I hadn’t brought David Walker and BJB Funding onboard.”
“BJB and the link to the CIA has been the bane of our existence. Foreign governments think we’re the CIA’s pawn.”
“Yes, and who had to pull the strings behind the scenes to smooth things over? Me.Alwaysme. But you were more than eager to step up and accept the National Medal of Technology and Innovation, the Stevie Award, the Bower Award, and all the other awards that put you on the cover of every publication in America.”
“So that’s what’s going on here? Payback’s a bitch, and this is all a long-overdue personal power play on your part?”
“No, Christian. What’s going on here is called business. And yes, it is long overdue.”
Peel walked away, leaving the CEO alone in the lobby.
Chapter 12
Kate’s first day at Buck ended early, with assurances that Day 2 would be her “real” first day of work. Rather than head straight home, she redid her research trip for her play—this time with Patrick.
It was probably the old babysitter in her, but she was worried about Patrick, fearing he might walk over to HR and turn in his resignation for his slip of the tongue on Project Naïveté. She tried to remember the name of that video game he used to play, the one where his avatar looked like a blond GI Joe. Call of Duty: WW II?Or maybe Fall Out?Whatever it was, she knew the Nazis’ use of technology would fascinate him. They spent two hours at the Hollerith machine exhibit, and knowing Patrick, he would be up all night researching it. By morning, Patrick the sponge would know more about Hollerith machines and the Holocaust than Kate could ever hope to learn.
“You’re going to talk to your dad, right?” asked Patrick.
She’d taken his mind off his mess for a couple of hours, but not completely. “I promise I will. I’m meeting him for a drink in twenty minutes.”
They said goodbye, and Patrick headed toward the Smithsonian Metro station. Kate walked south toward the river. To tourists, the Tidal Basin conjured up images of cherry blossoms and the National Mall. To Washingtonians, it also meant the revitalized Wharf District on the southwest waterfront. Kate met up with her proud father at the rooftop bar at the Mandarin Hotel. He was seated at a comfortable outdoor armchair near a flickering gas firepit.
“There’s my future general counsel,” he said, as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Not so fast, Pops.”
She was barely seated when the waiter brought two preordered glasses of champagne. Her father raised his in a toast.
“May you fall in love with the transactional side of the law,” he said.
“Dang. Now what am I supposed to do with my ‘Have You Been Injured?’ billboard?”
“Burn it,” he said, glancing at the flames. He drank, then shifted gears. “How do you like this neighborhood?”
Kate took in the view of the glowing Washington Monument in twilight. “What’s not to like?”
“How’d you like to live here?”