Thursday, June 23, 2011

Master of the Game

Pounding through the perpetually damp sand, he closed in on the halfway point of his daily six mile run. He craved the adrenaline rush that came from punishing physical exertion; pushing himself to beat his best time. The landmark boulder near the southern end of the beach drew closer, and closer...then he was there. Picking up the pace, he circled it and headed back the way he had come.

The fat-assed brainiacs who had only ever pushed a pencil didn't get it. Running kept him fit; sharpened his mental agility, helped him to go into negotiations with a keener edge than everyone else. That's why he was unbeatable. That's why the Skye Pointe snobs - the ones who had looked down on his family for generations - refused to meet him at the bargaining table.

Unfortunately for them, they had something he badly wanted. Something that would make his legacy far more valuable. They worked hard to avoid him; they had to know they would lose. He ticked through his options as he retraced his steps back up the beach. Nearing the northern end, he veered off and headed up the steep trail through the foothills.

Fiercely protective of his wife and children, he was absolutely convinced that every company he crushed, every deal he made or undermined directly benefited their welfare; and that of the generations to come. It didn't matter that the Skye Pointe assholes declined to step into his game. They have what I need. I'll just take it - by any means necessary.

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