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I still had that thought on my mind a few hours later when I went to bed. And as I closed my eyes, I also considered my conversation with Oliva. Maybe she was right. It would be interesting to interview Landon Sparks. Perhaps more than that, even. Of course, a guy like him would never say yes to a sit-down with me. I was still too obscure, and my newsletter was too new.
Or was it?
CHAPTER TWO
LANDON SPARKS
It was good to be king.
No, great. It wasgreatto be king.
A Sparks Innovation, that’s what I was—king. CEO, founder, and chairman. It didn’t get any better, and the status came with a large office on the second floor of SI’s main headquarters in Melbourne, Florida, a tiny town on the state’s Space Coast. Since moving from California two years earlier, SI had become the largest employer in the city, and my company was responsible for an economic boom that included real estate and commercial development. Melbourne was on its way to becoming a major tech hub for the East Coast, even more so than in the heyday of the 1960s Apollo program.
All thanks to me.
And I liked having that kind of power. Exiting Silicon Valley had been the right decision and getting away from the West Coast had refreshed my focus in several unexpected ways. People were right, California was another country underneath all that endless sunshine, a country I no longer recognized. In the last few years, I’d found it hard to focus there, hard to maintain the hunger that kept me succeeding in business. Florida was more my speed. Besides, Melbourne was a lot closer to my estate in Palm Beach, the place Itrulyconsidered home.
A knock at the door shook me out of my daydream, which I’d had while surveying the bullpen that made up SI’s main floor. The employees looked like ants, scurrying around the large robotic arms, tracks, and computer workstations. I had a view of them from my office, and I liked to spend time staring, envisioning myself as a conductor in a beautiful symphony, one where the music came from scientific breakthroughs.
“Come in,” I said, reluctance in every syllable. Interruptions in these precious few minutes of unstructured quiet time frustrated me. These days, my schedule was dominated with thirty-minute meetings happening back-to-back, from seven in the morning to seven at night, six days a week. Moments alone were few, and more valuable than gold. “It’s open.”
Robert Yates, vice president of communication at SI, strode through the door and closed it behind him. “Good, you’re not busy.”
“I’malwaysbusy.”
“Well, you’re not on the phone.”
“I can be.”
Laughing, Robert crossed to the open chair near the bank of windows and sat on it. He carried an embossed leather folio and a pen, which he balanced on his lap. “Nice meeting earlier today.”
“Thanks, went well. The rest of the board also liked your marketing ideas for next year. Already got a few emails about that.”
“We need to switch it up. Sparks gets a lot of mentions on social media, and plenty of write-ups with legacy, but I still think we’re coming across as a little stale.”
“No one wants that.” I turned my attention back to the view. Downstairs, almost one hundred high-level employees toiled behind cubicles, at workstations, and around conference tables. Beyond this room lay a large hangar and the rest of the campus, which took up most of the acreage next to the Melbourne Regional Airport. “What else can I do for you, Robert?”
