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We spend two hours looking at drawings. I identify a few adjustments to the structure and materials that, in the right configuration, would solve the integrity problem with the dome. But nothing solves the integrity problem with even considering taking a consulting role on this project.
I don’t need the money. I don’t want the professional credit. But I owe Junfeng one. He was the guy who helped me adjust to life in Singapore when I was still wet behind the ears. I hate that he’s stuck in this mid-level career hell and since he believes this is the project that will be his break, I agree to help.
Junfeng leads me back to the CEO’s office.
“I’m not negotiating,” I say. “My terms are fifteen grand a day. Two weeks maximum. I work weekends. I am to be one hundred percent invisible on this project. If my name appears anywhere other than on my paycheck, I will sue this company. Do we have a deal?”
He pours two tumblers of scotch. Hands me one.
“We have a deal, son.”
We clink and drink.
3
CATHERINE
The testosteronein the boardroom is more potent than the pungent fumes from an open container of rubber cement. Though, if I wanted to compare the four Power brothers to something I’d find in my art studio, it would be rebar. They all wear the triple crown of power—they’ve got the genes, the wealth, and the family name coveted by millions.
Their mother, Maureen Power and I spent yesterday getting to know each other. We talked business and about the piece I’ve created for her building. She was also interested in how I came to be who I am. She filled me in on what I’d consider some pretty personal details about her four sons. When I joked, asking if she was trying to find one of them a love match, she looked utterly appalled.
“Absolutely not! In fact, my preference would be for you to have as little to do with my sons as possible.”
“Okay …” I muttered. Rich people. Even the apparent good ones need to keep their blue blood bloodlines pure. Whatever. I have no interest in dating, so it’s a non-issue.
Mrs. Power dialed back her horrified energy. “It’s not you. It’s them. They’re … well, just not the type of men a woman like you would thrive in a relationship with.”
Her eldest, identical twins Will and Colt, are thirty-nine, just two years younger than me. Will had inherited the role of world renown motivational speaker by birthright, being the first baby born into the family and the fourth William Power to take the stage. Colt, only minutes younger, was assigned the role of CEO once he finished university. Then Brian, two years later, grew up to become the Chief Financial Officer. And finally, Aiden, with another two-year gap, became the head of Marketing.
I’d researched the family and learned as much as I could about the brothers and their mother before coming, of course. And, as a long-time listener to Will Power’s podcast, I was well-versed in his efforts to support more female entrepreneurs in becoming seven-figure earners. I’d been fortunate enough to make my first million in my late twenties, and hit eight figures just last year.
“My sons are good men. But clueless, frankly. None are married. As a role model for female empowerment, I fear I failed them. Since their father died I rarely express my full thoughts on business matters, despite still having a controlling share in the corporation.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“I trust that they know what they’re doing. Or I have until now,” she told me over tea. “Their hearts are in the right place,” she continued, “but I think we need to shake things up so the whole corporate culture of Will Power & Brothers is injected or infused with living, breathing feminine energy.”
I stand at the head of a fifteen foot long, polished maple boardroom table feeling capable. Each of the board members, including the brothers, has introduced himself to me, shaken my hand and made polite small talk as we wait for one last man to arrive.
One of the three, non-family board members, a man I’d wager is in his early eighties, raises his voice above the murmur of the room. “It’s twelve past. Maureen why haven’t you brought this meeting to order? I have a golf start time at two.”
Colt answers. “We’re waiting for Eric Aspin, the structural engineer. His flight from Miami was delayed, but he’s—”
“Present and accounted for!”
A man wearing jeans, Doc Marten’s and a Foo Fighters T-shirt swings the door open and steps inside with a confidence that suggests he’s close to this family.
Mrs. Power, who’s seated at the head of the table closest to the door, stands and the two do a double-cheek kiss greeting.
The brothers say hello with fist bumps and a chorus of “Good to see you, bro.”
This is the culture I’ve been brought in to poke at, to soften, and it’s clear that to move the needle, my project might have to break a few eggs. I relish the challenge.
Eric greets me by way of a wink and a thumbs up. I maintain my smile, but with gritted teeth, imagining this display playing out in a slow-motion movie scene, with a cheesy song likeI’m Too Sexy For My Shirtreinforcing the bravado.
I’m far too familiar with men like him who walk into a room late, all charming and unapologetic. Yes, the world waits for you, Mr. Important. He may not be a billionaire like the brothers, but he oozes the cocky attitude of a man who demands what he wants and gets it without argument. Most days I wouldn’t care, but for the duration of this project, I’ll be working directly with him. And I hate him already.
My one-tenth scale model stands covered on a small table to my left. Mrs. Power has already seen it and loves it.
