Free Russell Wiley Is Out to Lunch by Richard Hine Page A

key revenue drivers and the performance metrics he’ll be building into his model. I pretend all this is new to me, paraphrasing back what he says so he knows I’m not intimidated by his B-school jabber.
    “Maybe we can take some time now,” says Judd. “Get started. I’d love to pick your brain. Jack speaks very highly of you. Henry tells me you’re the smartest person in the building.”
    I look at my watch to camouflage any reaction to the news that Judd has already had face time with Jack. I haven’t talked to Jack since he moved up to the thirty-fourth floor.
    “You know, I’d love to,” I say. “Trouble is I’m cranking on a Livingston Kidd proposal for Henry. I’ve got a lunch I really can’t get out of. Then we’ve got that big budget meeting this afternoon. Maybe I can swing by at the end of the day. If not, call Barbara and have her slot you into my schedule.”
    I stand up to let him know the meeting is over.
    “It’s great to have you here,” I tell him. “I’m really looking forward to working with you. Whatever you need, I’m here to help. My department is at your disposal.”
    I don’t tell him that he’s wasting his time, that the project he’s been asked to work on was ludicrous when I started at the company four years ago. Today, unless someone somewhere comes up with a whole new approach, it’s even more certain to fail. Knowing Henry as I do, I’m not optimistic. So far, the only thing I can see different is the code name he’s dreamed up for the project.
     
     
    The day I started at the company, Henry Moss met me at the elevator.
    “Welcome aboard, Russell,” he said. “We’re excited to have you on the team.” He walked me to a small interior room, which I thought at first was a supply closet.
    “This is not your office,” he said, switching on the overhead light. “But I think you’ll find it has everything you need.” He left and closed the door behind him.
    I walked around the desk, looked at the computer, the telephone, the tape dispenser and the stapler. The room was small, the walls undecorated. There was a swivel chair behind the desk and a straight-backed chair with fraying upholstery on the other side. Two vertical filing cabinets stood against the wall. Beneath the desk were a short, circular wastepaper basket and a tall blue trash can with a recycling symbol on its side.
    I sat at the desk and swiveled in the chair, noticing the pinholes and pockmarks on the beige colored walls.
    I picked up the phone. There was no dial tone.
    I switched on the computer and waited for it to boot up. A window appeared asking for my name and password.
    I pulled off a strip of scotch tape and dabbed for lint on my blue suit jacket.
    I rolled the tape into a tiny ball and flicked it toward the wastepaper basket.
    I bent down to pick up the tape from where it landed on the floor and placed it into the basket.
    I checked my watch.
    I stood up from my chair and looked inside the filing cabinets. Each drawer was empty, save for one or two paper clips and the dust and human hair that had gathered in the corners.
    I sat back down and pressed the button to adjust the height of my seat. The chair made a whooshing sound and I sank gently toward the floor.
    Henry walked back into the office and closed the door behind him. He placed a stack of files on my desk and sat down opposite me. In those days Henry was the director of sales development. His hair was thick and brown, with flecks of gray just starting at his temples. He was the boss of my new boss, Ann Stark.
    “Listen,” he said, “I hate to do this to you on your first day, but I’m heading out to brief our Chicago, Detroit, Dallas, Atlanta, LA and San Francisco offices on a new product launch we’re planning for the third quarter. It’s top secret and I don’t have time to tell you about it. The details are in these files. Everything’s completely hush-hush. We won’t even announce it internally till the twenty-ninth, so