Chapter 1

"Kenny!" Ray yelled. "Kenneth!"

The tenth-grader threw his duffel down the stairs. "Just a minute!" he yelled.

His father noticed boy's IPaq sitting on the kitchen table -- an older model without keyboard. Ray recalled Kenny ordering it from eBay using some leftover allowance money. He picked it up and began poking the screen. Up came an image of a nude woman.

Kenneth pounded down the stairs. "Where's my IPaq?" he asked.

"I have it. Ken -- where'd this come from?" He showed the screen to his son. Ken stared at the floor and made a nervous shuffle. "Come clean."

"I downloaded them from Jason's laptop."

"Delete them." He handed the device to the boy.

"All right..." Kenny tapped the screen with the stylus.

"All of them."

"All right, Dad..." He poked the screen more, showed it to his father and set the device on the counter.

"Aren't you taking it?" Ray asked.

"No point, now."

"Are you packed?"

"Yeah..."

"Put your duffel in the car then."

Ray pressed the button for the elevator. He stepped inside and selected the fourteenth floor. "Hold it," came a voice and footsteps on a quick trot. He pressed the door hold button.

A silver-haired man in a business suit joined him. Ray pressed the button for the twelfth floor. "Good morning, Kirk," he said.

"Ray-boy -- you're in late today!"

"Yeah -- I had to drop my kid off at school."

"School? It's the second week of August."

"He's going on the annual sophomore retreat at Camp Phantom. It's an overnight orientation ... a bonding thing."

"I need to talk to you about our new org chart," Kirk replied.

Ray whipped out his Blackberry and poked it. "I'm booked all day."

"How about we go to Farley's tonight for a beer and look at it then?"

"I suppose -- with Kenny at his retreat I've no reason to be home at five."

"I'll come up for you." Kirk pounded his fist on Ray's shoulder. "See ya around five, Ray- boy." The elevator stopped on twelve and Kirk stepped out.

Ray rode it to fourteen and headed for his office. "Good morning Lyla," he said to his receptionist. "Can you make sure you block four-thirty on? I need to review Kirk's org chart."

"Certainly, Dr MacNeil," she replied.

Ray reviewed his calendar. He had half the morning remaining to prepare for two afternoon off-site appointments before his happy-hour meeting with Kirk. He pulled his laptop from its case, plugged it in and powered it up.

Ray sat across from Kirk at a table in Farley's. Before him was a pint of Guinness and a manila folder. "According to conventional wisdom," he said to his tablemate, "you are headed for trouble. Your span-of-control is twice what's considered maximum and three times what's considered optimum."

"It's the principal of top talent," Kirk replied. "We're doing with a team of fifty what any other firm our size would need a hundred if not more."

"I understand. I'm just concerned how it'll scale." He handed the folder back to Kirk. "Add two or three managers and un-flatten the structure. It'll give everyone a bit more headroom. You can't double your book of business while increasing your headcount on the margins, Kirk. Even then, you're running leaner than the book says is possible."

"I hear you."

"Have I steered you wrong, yet?" Ray asked.

"Not so far." Kirk chugged the last of his Sharps. "It's what I pay you the big fees to do." He picked up his folder and headed for the door. "Later, Ray-boy."

The server brought the check and handed it to Ray. He looked up at her. "It figures. The guy's a billionaire, he invites me to have a beer with him and then he skips out and leaves the check with me."

She shrugged. "Maybe that's how he gets to be a billionaire," she replied.

Ray pulled out his wallet and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill. "Here..."

"I'll be back with your change."

Ray packed papers into his case. The server returned with a tray containing some bills and coins. He counted the bills, left a couple as a tip and scooped up the change. A quarter slipped from his fingers and rolled along the floor, coming to rest under another table, occupied by a thirty- something woman. She had dark-blond hair, blue eyes, and enough eyeliner and shadow to require application with a trowel.

"Excuse me," he said to her. "My quarter rolled underneath..." He ducked under the table, retrieved the quarter and began to stand up.

He caught the edge of the table with his shoulder. He heard a shriek. "You knocked over my drink!" she exclaimed as she got to her feet.

"Oh, my God," Ray replied. "Did you get any on you?"

"No -- my reflexes are pretty good."

Ray ran to the men's room and returned with a stack of paper towels. "Here," he said as he righted her glass and mopped up her table. "I'll buy you a replacement drink. What were you having?"

"A mimosa," she replied.

"I'll sit here 'til the server comes by and order another mimosa for you." He extended his hand. "I'm Ray, by the way."

"Becky."

"Is that short for..."

"Rebecca," she replied. "Folks call me Becky."

"I've always liked the name Rebecca."

"Can you by any chance tell me where the Westmar building is located?"

"It's just down the street -- the only thirty-story building in this part of town. You can't miss it."

"Thanks," she replied. "I'm here for a job interview. I'm staying at the Hampton and the desk clerk doesn't know it."

"My office is in the Westmar building," Ray replied. He took out his wallet and handed her a business card.

"MacNeil Associates," she read, "industrial psychology." She looked in his eyes. "What is an industrial psychologist? Someone who helps industries with their personal problems?"

Ray suppressed a chortle. "We help companies develop their organizations. A business is a social enterprise, with personal interactions. We come up with ways to develop and exploit them."

She continued to regard his card. "Raymond MacNeil, PhD."

"I have a doctorate in psychology," he replied. "I don't have a license for private practice. Like I said, I specialize in corporate psychology." She began to return his card. "Keep it. You never know when you'll need a corporate psychologist."

The server approached the table. "A mimosa for the lady," Ray said.

"And for you?" she asked.

Ray glanced up at Becky. "Go ahead," she said. "Maybe talking to you will tame the butterflies in my stomach."

"A glass of Chardonnay," Ray said.

"Have you decided on the menu?" the server asked.

"What's good?" Becky asked Ray.

"The Reuben sandwich."

"I haven't had a Reuben in years," she replied.

"Two Reuben's," Ray said. The server nodded and left. "Where are you interviewing?"

"Walnut Street Capital."

"Yes, I know them -- excellent firm. They're a client of mine. In fact, I was just having a beer with Kirk Gregory himself."

"Was that the tall, silver-haired gentleman I saw leaving?"

"None other."

"I am so nervous about this interview. I've been out of work for six months."

"That's rough, Becky."

"I was working for Acorn Trust. Third National bought them and my office was eliminated. They set up an outplacement center but it's been so hard just getting an interview. It was a five-hour bus ride for me to get here."

"Why not fly?" Ray asked.

"This isn't an easy city to fly into."

"I suppose you're right. With check in delays, a connecting flight and waiting for your baggage, it probably is faster to ride the bus."

The server brought their drinks. "Your Reuben's will be right out," she said.

"Maybe you can give me some hints on how to make my interviews go better," she said. "From a corporate psychological viewpoint, that is."

Ray regarded her. "For what position are you a candidate?"

"Accounting supervisor."

"You did bring appropriate attire?"

"I brought a suit with a skirt ... gray."

"That sounds about right. Why don't we play-act an interview," he suggested. "Do you have a resume?"

She shook her head. "Back at the hotel I do."

"Then, let's wing it. How did you get into accounting?"

"That's a long story," she said. "I was a finance major in college. I dropped out during my junior year."

"Why did you do that?"

"I was foolish," she replied. "And, I thought I was in love with a foreign student -- from Turkey. Vadim was his name. We ended up getting married. I lived for a year in Turkey with him, then returned here. We had two children."

"Do you have pictures?" Ray asked. "That's not part of the interview -- I'm just curious and I can ask questions your prospective boss can't."

She dug her wallet from her purse. "Here."

"Two girls..."

"Kamelya and Sonay," she said. "Fourteen and twelve."

"They're beautiful, Becky. They have unusual names."

"They're Turkish names. Sonay was born with spina bifida -- a mild case, but she needed surgery."

"She looks well-adjusted. Does she have any complications?"

"Her left foot is partially paralyzed so she walks with a limp ... and she has internal problems."