Chapter 18: The Entrepreneur

I was not acquainted with Greg Masterson, either at a personal level or through my business dealings as a slaver, but I knew of his activities as a very successful entrepreneur who had built an international business as a supplier of parts and subassemblies to the various automobile companies around the world. He had been a pioneer in the development of the new GPS guided smart cars that could now be seen on most big city streets. These were the ones that could be given a destination and drive themselves, with no grid embedded in pavements, safely avoiding all obstacles. His company was one of only two firms making the guidance and collision avoidance system for these cars. He was widely known as a visionary, advocating that all smart cars eventually be equipped with magnetic levitation capability for use in those cities willing to make the investment in embedding maglev rails in their streets.

Last I heard his corporate empire spanned 4 continents, had more than 7,000 free employees worldwide and perhaps as many as 1,000 slaves located in Capitallia, the only nation where slavery was legal. Many nations were courting his business and encouraging him to set up a plant in their country. Through the grapevine I heard that two African countries, one Arab country in the mid east, and one banana republic in South America had even offered to "look the other way" if he wanted to use slave labor in such a plant. But I had also heard he had declined to do business in such countries — preferring to use slave labor only in countries where it was 100% legal and above board. For the present that meant only in Capitallia. I had no way of knowing if he had rejected those other opportunities out of moral scruples or based on the pragmatic consideration of not wanting to be in a position where he would forever have to bribe local and national officials to continue 'looking the other way'.

I wanted to see if Masterson would agree to a meeting with me. I hoped the fact that I had been in the news as a proponent of the new legislation to promote the "kinder and gentler slavery", and was also a well-known slaver in my own right, might be considerations that would intrigue him enough to meet with me. Of course if I got such a meeting with him I would try to turn the conversation to the need to pursue further reforms to prevent unjust enslavements and to prevent inhumane conditions. Maybe then I could lead into Stephanie's situation and appeal to him for his help in reaching an amicable solution to her problem.

One thing I did know about Greg Masterson was that he was not the typical big corporation executive. He had built his business from nothing — relying mainly on his technical skills as an inventor, hard work and also his entrepreneurial gifts. As his business grew it began to demand professional management skills that were not his forte. Accordingly he had brought in a series of General Manger CEO types to handle that for him, while retaining his own position as majority stockholder and Chairman of the Board. According to news reports some fellow called Mel Zigler was his current CEO. I did not know much about this man.

Mr. Masterson had reportedly been spending most of the last 6 months trying to negotiate for a new plant in one of the South American countries. But I had heard an item in the news just yesterday that he was back in New York City. So I rehearsed my approach and finally made the call. He had indeed heard of me and of my activities and said he would be pleased to have a meeting to discuss the future of slavery in Capitallia.

The meeting was set for a restaurant he favored on the Upper East Side.

I had an hour or so before the meeting and it was a beautiful fall day so I fancied a walk from my West Side office through Central Park to our appointed rendezvous. After a time I was approaching a large open meadow where there was an amphitheater. I could hear the sounds of maybe a few thousand people who had gathered there in the meadow and were listening to some fellow holding forth on the public address system.

"This meeting was called", the agitated voice continued, "by 'Residents for a Fair Jobs Policy' to present our grievances to the Capitallian Federal Congress. We know the bastards are rationing the total number of jobs that will be available for free workers!"

"Here Here!" someone in the audience shouted. "Right on brother!"

I rounded the bend and could see much of the crowd now. Many were carrying signs decrying the shortage of good jobs. Others signs complained of low prevailing wages in many of the trades and crafts. Still other signs decried the poverty and social ills — including child prostitution — that were caused by the job shortage and the low wage levels.

"Two years ago the Congress setup a Federal Labor Board that has the authority to decide on the total number of free employment jobs that we all can have, my good friends! They don't set a number that would let all of us work. Oh no! They set a number that makes all of us scramble, covet our neighbor's job and work for next to nothing just to have a job! Are you with me brothers and sisters?"

"When are we going to do something about it?" A man in the third row yelled.

"We voiced our grievance last year and they still haven't listened!" Another voice in the fifth row cried out.

"What do we want!" the speaker on the podium called out.

"More jobs!" A dozen or so voices responded.

"I can't hear you!" the speaker called out at the top of his voice. "Again, what do we want?"

"More jobs!" A few hundred loud voices responded this time.

"Again, what do we want?" the speaker repeated.

"More jobs!" This time it was a roar of thousands gathered in the meadow.

"When do we want it?" The speaker intoned.

"Now!" hundreds replied.

"I can't hear you. When do we want it?"

"Now" Was shouted by thousands.

"OK. I think I have it now. We have asked for a meeting with the Federal Labor Board. So far they have not responded. We need to keep up the pressure. We are exercising one of the privileges in our Original Charter in seeking redress for what has become the greatest grievance of our time. I don't think they will be able to shut us down!"

"Right on! Keep up the pressure! Fight the good fight!" many yelled. Then the crowd spontaneously broke into an old union solidarity song dating back to the twentieth century. I could see TV cameras from more than one network covering this event. Probably some of it would be shown on the evening news. Everyone was feeling pretty hyped up and I could see sales of beer and pizza were doing very well.

What I had witnessed was the freedom of speech, freedom of assembly and freedom to seek redress of grievances that was guaranteed as a right to citizens of Capitallia and also extended, but more in the nature of a privilege, to the legal residents.

I kept on walking and the sounds of the crowd gradually faded away and I heard new sounds — those of taxicabs and horse drawn carriages on Fifth Avenue. Soon I reached the Upper East Side restaurant for my fateful appointment. When I came in I spotted Masterson at once and he interrupted the animated conversation he was having with the hatcheck girl to greet me warmly.

"Mr. Steelforth", he said, vigorously shaking my hand "We have heard so much about your efforts to reform labor standards."

Then he excused himself for just a moment to finish the conversation with this woman he obviously knew well, inquiring about her family and other things in her life. She was a non-citizen of course, and in a fairly low ranking job. I was impressed that he treated her with the same openness and friendliness he might extend to someone more on his own social level.

Soon the maitre d' was ushering us to Masterson's favorite table in a rear alcove of the restaurant. As soon as we were seated he began again.

"Let me say that I value the slavery reform work that you have been doing, as do my business partners. We all recognize how important it is to keep the system honest."

"Thank you sir", I replied "Actually that is more or less what I wanted to talk about".

A pretty waitress in an extremely short skirt came to take our drink orders and left. I could not help but admire her long lean legs that any dancer would envy.

"Mr. Masterson", I began "there are some current..."

"Please! Call me Greg. Let us talk of small things for a while and relax over our drinks for a bit before we get to the real purpose of this meeting. I like to get a feel for where a man is coming from before I talk business. Have you been to South America Bill?"

"I can't say that I have sir."

"I just came from Rio. Fascinating country, Brazil! I have been combining a certain amount of sightseeing with negotiations with various partners down there for a new site for a plant."

"Are the labor and tax conditions favorable there?" I asked.

"Favorable enough, though of course I would prefer to have slave labor there as we do in our Capitallia plants. But I think Brazil will eventually come around to that. Taxes are higher than here but they seem willing to cut us some breaks for the first ten years. Do you smoke Bill?"

As he asked this he was pulling out a couple of expensive cigars.

"Never started sir. But you go right ahead. A little cigar smoke never bothered me."

Just as he was lighting up the waitress returned with our drinks and proceeded to take our dinner orders. Masterson obviously knew the cuisine here so when he ordered the prime rib I indicated I would have the same. As soon as she left he began again.

"Do you engage in any sports or outdoor activities Bill?"

"Well I do play tennis when I have the time. And I have been known to go on mountain hikes and rock climbing trips in the Adirondacks from time to time." I replied.

"Great activities. All that fresh air clears the mind wonderfully don't you agree?"

"Absolutely sir!"

"Please! No more of that 'sir' business. My name is Greg."