He swung through the software testing lab. Several test engineers, each seated before a prototype Joey Plus, were running system software programs through their paces. The inhabitants were oblivious to his presence as screens rolled and flashed, styluses scribbled and tapped, speakers chirped, and printers printed.
Satisfied that all was rolling according to plan, Peter exited the building and climbed into his BMW coupe. His natural appreciation for simple and beautifully designed products had prompted his decision to make BMW the company car for senior executives. When Matthew had gone out and ordered the exact same style and color coupe for himself, Peter was flattered. Until their friendship curdled. Now he'd begun to wonder if Matthew had only chosen the car because he was trying to prove to the executive staff that he and Peter were in some way equal.
As he drove down Clyde Avenue he passed the many single-story stucco buildings that comprised Wallaby's international headquarters. Eventually he passed the larger and more corporate-looking three-story sales and marketing building, where Matthew and the other senior executives resided.
Peter preferred to have his office among his engineers rather than on the third floor of the larger corporate building. Though his title was chairman, his job was to create Wallaby's computers, and to do that, he wanted to be right in the trenches with his team. Especially lately. The last thing he wanted was to have to sit near Matthew Locke. If he had been any closer, he might have taken pity on the man he'd hired, and not gone through with his new plan to remove him from the company.
Leaving the complex, he headed for Highway 280. Waiting for the traffic signal to change, he looked in his rear-view mirror at the main corporate building with its Wallaby banner. The Wallaby logo featured a sketched pocket with a baby kangaroo, a joey, poking its head out.
He felt a small gush of pride whenever he looked at the company logo, at the thought of how many pockets he had filled with riches, in how many lives. And though tomorrow he would have to essentially sew shut one of those pockets, he was already beginning to feel the sense of relief that would come very soon, when he regained complete control of the company he had built.
Chapter 2
She stood and admired the bowl from different angles, marveling at how the spotlight shining down on it created rainbow effects and prismatic distortions. She had displayed the object on a simple, waist-high pedestal finished in black lacquer. Maybe I should not have rewarded myself so soon, thought Greta, since the board meeting that would take care of Peter Jones was not until tomorrow. What if something went wrong?
Of course, nothing would go wrong. She knew that Matthew had no choice but to pitch Peter from his position at Wallaby, and not only because she couldn't stand the precocious young founder. She smirked when she thought about the blow Peter would feel after the ax dropped at tomorrow's meeting.
The minute Greta had met him, she knew she was not going to like Peter Jones. He had taken to Matthew instantly, tugging on his arm like a child when he was excited about something, or when Matthew's observations and comments would harmonize with Peter's own thoughts. He would listen intently when Matthew talked about business and buying psychology, things she did not understand and had no desire to know more about. But what she loathed most about Peter, which led to her involvement in his destiny, was that he managed to spend more time with Matthew than she did. Matthew would practically ignore her in Peter's presence, so exhilarated was he by the young man's company. When Matthew arrived home from work, especially in the beginning, it was always "Peter said this," or "Peter did that," so full of marvel was her husband at young headache's braininess. And every Saturday, like clockwork, Peter would be at the door before she was out of bed, asking Matthew to come out and play. One morning, while Peter was waiting within earshot in the entrance hall, she loudly protested from their bedroom upstairs that she and Matthew never got to spend time together on Saturdays, as they used to when they lived in Connecticut. Afterward, Peter stopped coming to the door and took to waiting outside the gate, like a mongrel. Not a bad description, she thought to herself. Greta had once read an article about Peter that told of his life as an orphan. Obviously he saw Matthew as a father figure. Well, too bad.