Chapter 2: The Crucible

The letter had been penned on a plain, crisp sheet of paper. No letterhead, no signature. One solid paragraph detailing a proposed merger between Brian Energy and a smaller, more innovative company by the name of 'GeoCore Solutions.'

Davidson read the details. The numbers were staggering, the potential domination of the market absolute. It was a predator devouring its prey, stunning and brutal.

"Good?" Joe Brian's tone cut through his concentration. He hadn't moved, his gaze still fixed on the city. "First impression."

Davidson's mouth felt dry. It was a test. His brain, half still in the grime and bellow of the rig, struggled to keep up. He reached for the technical lingo he'd read in the reports. "The acquisition metrics are strong. The synergy value with GeoCore's shale extraction technology could boost our output by.

"Stop." Brian didn't scream, but the one word was a whip crack. He turned, those blank eyes pinning Davidson where he stood. "I didn't ask you to recite a prospectus. I asked you for an impression. Your impression. What does your gut tell you about the guy behind this proposal?"

Davidson stumbled. The man? He'd been studying the contract, not the vendor. He looked down at the page of paper again, seeking a clue. The tone was angry, the conditions strongly weighted in Brian Energy's favor. It was a document from a position of absolute control.

“It tells me…” Davidson started, slowly, thinking aloud. “It tells me the CEO of GeoCore is desperate. Or arrogant. The concessions he’s offering… no one would agree to these unless they were on the verge of collapse or they believe their technology is so invaluable that we’ll overlook their impending bankruptcy.” He looked up, meeting Brian’s gaze. “He’s betting everything on a single hand. It’s a reckless move.”

A silence clung between them, heavy and oppressive. Davidson braced for dismissal. He'd blown it. He'd spoken out of turn, without information, without—

"Good," Brian said, a small, barely perceptible nod of approval. "Alan Price wrote up that proposal. The GeoCore CEO, a man named Robert Evans, wept in my office yesterday instead of signing it. His company is his life. He's not irresponsible. He's trapped."

He tore the paper out of Davidson's grasp and tossed it down on the desk like trash. "The numbers are perfect. The package is perfect. And it is utterly wrong. Never confuse the map with the territory, Ekon. The information will tell you what is happening. It will never tell you why. That," he gestured by touching his own head, "is something I require."

Before Davidson could process the lesson, the penthouse doors hissed open. Alan Price stood there, a cohort of sharply dressed men and women behind him. “The board is ready for you, sir.”

“Postpone it,” Brian said, his attention returning to Davidson. “We’re observing a different meeting today. Come.”

He strode out of the room, not glancing back to see if Davidson was behind him. Davidson trailed behind him on autopilot, a minnow following a shark. They traversed a labyrinth of quiet, carpeted corridors to another elevator, which descended one floor to a pristine conference room.

They observed through a massive one-way mirror as they gazed into an equivalent room in the next room. A tousled-suited man—Robert Evans of GeoCore, Davidson surmised—sat agitated at a table, opposite two of Brian's suave executives.

"Observe," Brian told him in a low tone. "Listen. Report back what you see."

The session began. The Brian Energy bosses were serene, detached, knocking the supports from under Evans's arguments with brutal precision. They cited market trends, liquidity ratios, and risk assessments. Evans grew more and more upset, his shoulders crumpling up. He was an engineer, a builder, lost in this world of pure finance.

Davidson watched, his rig-tuned senses sifting out the words and picking up on the smaller cues. The sheen of sweat on Evans's forehead. The flick of his eye toward the door. The quiver in his hand as he poured a glass of water.

"They're going to break him," Davidson breathed, more to himself than Brian.

"That is the intention," Brian replied matter-of-factly.

No, I mean… they'll obtain his signature, but they'll destroy him. He'll sign, but he'll hate you for it. His core staff will resign. The innovation you're buying… the soul of it will be gone. You'll have a shell and a portfolio of patents."

Brian didn't look away from the glass. "And what would you do differently?

The question was another question, a deeper one than before. Davidson's mind went racing. He considered his men on the rig. You didn't receive respect through intimidation; you received it by demonstrating that you were capable of getting the job accomplished and that you respected the worker.

"I'd give him a lifeline, not a noose," Davidson explained, the vision coming to him as he spoke. "Don't buy his company. Invest. Take a majority stake, but don't take him out as CEO. Give him the capital and the distribution network he needs. His pride is intact. His employees are still there. You still get the technology, and you get a leader who is committed, not defeated. You get the heart and the shell."

The next room fell silent. The executives had delivered their sales pitch. They shoved a pen and a contract down the table to Evans. His hand shook as he accepted it. He looked like a man heading to his own execution.

Joe Brian turned away from the mirror. For the first time, Davidson saw something other than calculation in his eyes. It seemed to be genuine curiosity.

Quietly, Brian opened the door to the side conference room. The executives looked up, startled. Evans flinched, the pen dropping from his fingers.

"Gentlemen," Brian said, his voice echoing off the walls. "Thank you. That is all."

The two executives exchanged confused stares but gathered their things and left without a protest murmur. Evans stared after them, dumbfounded.

Brian walked over to the table and took the contract in his hand. He did not read it. He just tore it in half, then in half again, and let the pieces flutter onto the glassy surface.

"Mr. Evans," Brian said, his tone shifting, becoming almost colloquial in tone. "It appears my initial offer was. shortsighted. This gentleman," he gestured toward Davidson, who stood stock still in the doorway, "has another plan. I'd like you to hear him out."

He spun and fixed his blue eyes on Davidson. "Present your proposal to Mr. Evans. Do your best to arrange a deal that doesn't leave a good man in pieces on my floor."

He then spun and left, closing the door behind him, leaving Davidson standing alone with a stunned CEO and the crumbling pieces of a multi-million dollar deal.

The breath was driven out of Davidson's body. The weight of the task paralysed him. He was no executive. He was a Texas roughneck who had been in a penthouse for less than an hour.

Evans glared at him, a flash of desperate hope in his eyes. "Who are you?

Davidson breathed deeply, fighting down the panic. He sat down in a chair, but not at the head of the table, next to the man. "My name is Davidson Ekon. And I think that maybe we can find a better way for both of us."

He opened his mouth. Not words of the boardroom, but of realities. Of production levels and operation efficiencies. He asked about Evans' technology, actually listening to the answers. He saw the passion flare up in the man as he spoke of his life's work.

An hour passed, and they had a crude plan of an alliance on a legal pad. It was rough, crude, but it was there. Evans's grip was firm as he shook hands with Davidson.

Alan Price was waiting outside the room when Davidson emerged. His expression was unreadable. "Mr. Brian would like to see you before you leave.".

Davidson followed him back to the penthouse, his mind in a whirl. Joe Brian stood at the window again, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in his hand.

"Well?" he asked again.

"We have an agreement," Davidson said, his tone firmer now. "He'll have his lawyers draw up a joint venture offer within seven days.".

Brian took his drink slowly. "You cost me fifteen million in initial capital and a five percent higher share of the market."

Davidson's assertiveness started to waver. "I know, sir. I—"

You also negotiated for me the rock-solid commitment of a superb engineer and the sustained loyalty of his entire R&D team," Brian interrupted. "You saw beyond the quarter's profit and to ten years' worth of innovation. That's a deal I'll make over and over again.".

He finally turned away from the window. "The helicopter will take you back to the airfield. A car will meet you. It will take you home. You have forty-eight hours to arrange your affairs."

Davidson blinked. "My affairs?

“You didn’t think this was a single consultation, did you?” A faint, dry smile touched Brian’s lips for the first time. It wasn’t warm, but it was potent. “You passed the test. The education begins on Monday. Be ready.”

He turned his back, a clear dismissal. The conversation was over.

The return trip was a surrealistic reversal of his arrival. The silent elevator, the bullet-shaped car, the shrieking helicopter above a city now ablaze with night lights. His mind replayed each moment, each word.

He came back to the rig at dusk, when the dust was painted orange and gold. His truck remained in the same spot where he'd parked it. The world was still the same, but he was altered at its very center.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached in and pulled it out. Melissa's name lit up on the screen. He sat there, staring at it, the weight of the day bearing down upon him.

He was given forty-eight hours to tell his wife he was leaving. To account for the unaccountable. To choose between the life he'd always known and the terrifying, exhilarating fate a gray-haired king had just offered on a silver platter at his feet.

He took a deep breath of the accustomed diesel-laden air and answered the call.