"Hello, Sam."
His eyes swept over her appreciatively, and he nodded.
She tucked her purse under her arm. As she spoke, she tried to hide the fact that her pulse was racing out of control. "My father's not pleased about this, I'm afraid. He doesn't approve of family interference in business, and he probably won't be very receptive to you."
"I'll make him receptive."
His arrogance maddened her. How could someone who was only twenty-four have so much self-confidence? "I told him you were a friend of one of the new board members at the Exploritorium." It wasn't entirely untrue. She was a new board member.
"I won't lie to him about us."
She gripped her hands together. Why was he being so unbending? He had catapulted into her life without invitation and upset everything. "There isn't any us," she said stiffly. "And sometimes lies are a kindness."
He looked at her for a moment, and then the hard lines of his mouth softened. "Trust yourself, Suzie. Don't be so afraid of everything."
No other person had ever accused her of being afraid. Even when she was a child, people had told her how brave she was for surviving her kidnapping. How could Sam know these things about her?
Joel's secretary appeared and led them through paneled doors into her father's private office. He rose from behind his massive desk with its polished malachite top. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did he betray any reaction to Sam's long hair and informal attire. Yet even as he graciously extended his hand, Susannah felt as if she could hear his contemptuous, unvoiced scorn.
Sam took his time moving forward to return Joel's handshake. Susannah experienced an uneasy combination of dread and admiration. What kind of man wasn't intimidated by Joel Faulconer?
"Thanks for agreeing to see me," Sam said. "You won't be sorry."
Susannah inwardly winced.
"My pleasure," Joel replied.
Not waiting for an invitation, Sam began talking about Yank's design and the future of the microcomputer at the same time that he was tossing his sample case onto a chair and flipping open the latches. "I'd like to have been able to give you a full demonstration of the machine in operation, but apparently you didn't have the time." Did he linger on the last word deliberately, she wondered, or was that vaguely insulting emphasis accidental?
Susannah turned toward the wall of windows that overlooked the manmade lake outside. A series of seven stone fountains shaped like obelisks rose from the water. They represented the seven continents of the world, all of them part of the FBT empire. As she watched their spray shoot high into the sky, she wished she were anyplace but in her father's office. She hated being in a tension-ridden atmosphere. She always thought it was her responsibility to somehow make things better.
Sam took out the motherboard and pushed aside a neat stack of reports to set it on the desktop in front of Joel.
"This is the wave of the future. The heart and guts of a revolution. This machine will shift the balance of power from institutions to individuals."
Without waiting for an invitation, he launched into a technical explanation of the efficiency of the design. Her father asked a number of quietly uttered, overly polite questions. She retreated to a leather chair on the far side of the room.
"FBT has never been inclined to enter the consumer products market," Joel said mildly.
Sam dismissed this with a disdainful wave of his hand. "Haven't you been following the Altair 8800?"
"Perhaps you should fill me in."
Sam began pacing in front of the desk, filling the office with his restless energy. Even from her safe perch at the side of the room, she could feel his intensity. "A year and a half ago, Popular Mechanics ran a picture on its cover of the Altair 8800, this small computer about half the size of an air conditioner that can be built from a kit. The only way to get information out of it is by reading a panel of lights flashing octal code. The machine doesn't have any memory, so it can't do much, and all anybody gets for his money is a bag of parts that have to be assembled. But within three weeks the company that was manufacturing it went from near bankruptcy to having $250,000 in the bank."
Joel's eyebrows lifted, but Sam was so wrapped up in his enthusiasm that he didn't notice. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars! They got more orders than they could fill. People were sending money for add-on equipment that was only in the talking stages. One guy drove all the way to Albuquerque and lived in a trailer outside the company's offices while he waited for his machine."
"My, my," Joel said, shaking his head. And then he looked thoughtful. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, you say?"
Sam planted his hands on the edge of Joel's desk, then leaned forward eagerly. "In only three weeks. There's an incredible market, especially when you consider the fact that the Altair is primitive compared to what Yank has designed."
Joel gazed down at the motherboard in front of him with admiration. "Yes, I can see that. And how much are you and Mister-is it 'Yankowski'? How much are the two of you asking for this design?"
Sam sat down, hesitating. "We'd want some assurance that FBT would aggressively market the machine."
"I understand."
"And we'd like to be involved with the process."
"Ah, yes. Heading up the project team, perhaps? Something like that?"
Sam looked a bit surprised, but then he nodded.
"And the price tag?" Joel inquired.
Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over his knee. Susannah could almost see him pulling the number from the top of his head. "Fifty thousand dollars."
"I see." Joel picked up a stainless-steel letter opener. "And how much yearly revenue do you think your computer could generate for FBT once the product was established?"
"A few million, I'd guess," Sam said cautiously.
"Ah." Joel looked thoughtful. "Could you be more specific?"
"Maybe two and a half million."
"Two and a half million? Are you sure about that number?"
Sam had begun to grow wary. "I haven't done any research, if that's what you mean."
"Could it be less?"
"I suppose."
"More? Perhaps three million?"
"Possibly."
"Two point eight million?"
Sam stared at Joel for a few seconds and then slowly stood. "You're jerking me off, aren't you?"
Susannah made a soft, barely audible gasp and rose from her chair.
"Jerking you off?" Joel looked puzzled, as if he were trying to understand the meaning of the expression. "Now why would you think that?"
Sam's jaw jutted forward. "Just answer my question."
Joel scoffed. "Why would I be jerking someone off who wants to make this company two million dollars a year? That's nearly what FBT pays to have its garbage collected."
Sam's complexion turned chalky.
"You don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, Mr. Gamble. You have no idea of the value of what you're selling or of its worth to this corporation. It's obvious that you haven't done your homework, because if you had, you certainly wouldn't be wasting my time with this meeting."
Joel had been toying with a panel of switches set into the top of his desk, and now he began to press them. Slowly he turned his head to look out the window. Sam followed the direction of his eyes and watched as the seven columns of water rising from the stone fountains outside began to still, one by one. Like God, Joel Faulconer could command the forces of the universe. The show of power wasn't lost on Sam.
As the last column of water disappeared and the lake grew still, Joel resumed speaking. "I have no interest at all in someone who comes to me with a story about a bankrupt company making a profit of $250,000. I'm not even interested in a profit of two million dollars. Now if you had said you were going to make me a hundred million, I might have listened."