Part 1
Damien was a creature of habit, a discipline he felt was largely essential to his success as a CEO. Having had been traveling for most of the past two months, including the past four days, the steady routine he normally adhered to had been disrupted by anything from jet lag to late night phone calls necessary to bridge time zones. Damien had gotten in from Denver in the short hours before sunrise, and his morning ascent in the elevator up to the pinnacle of the HuGES corporate empire was heavy-laden with morning grogginess, a grogginess the city below shared and was just starting to stir from in the stillness of the fading dawn.
Damien wasn’t always the first one in the C-Suite penthouse, but this morning he was and the floor was silent as the elevator doors opened onto it. He wasn’t even halfway up the building by the time he was immersed in his smartphone, his fingers dancing across the touch screen with his years of practiced precision. Damien’s life, both personal and professional, was largely encapsulated within the rose gold and glass machine; with already close to a hundred that had accumulated in the last eight hours, all of the latest emails and notifications flooded his screen, each one screaming for his attention.
The C-Suite was a sleek modern space, adorned with the abstract artwork and minimalist decor stereotypical of penthouse office suites. Damien fit into and moved through the corporate scenery seamlessly, and in his tailored three-piece suit, classic comb over, and assured gait exuded an air of unparalleled power and sophistication. His office in its southwestern location was lit up with the first bright sunlight of the early spring’s day. As to be expected, it was a spacious room with all of its details once meticulously considered by a skilled interior designer, from its carefully-placed couches and coffee tables with colorful coffee table books, light fixtures, and wet bar to its commanding modern wood and glass desk. It was a sanctuary where many so many of his deals were brokered, decisions were made, and his energy empire punctiliously cared for. It was also a space of self-expression and pride for him; alongside his mounted diplomas were various framed photographs and blueprints of Beverwijck Tower’s construction, as well as beautifully captured abstractions of company nuclear reactors, wind turbines, and solar farms. On one shelf stood an autographed team ball from one of the UAlbany men’s basketball teams’ rare tournament wins. Despite never having played basketball himself, its mate, a purple and gold jersey customized with “Wilson'' adorned across the back was hung as a small token of appreciation from a past team for a generous alumni donation. On the windowsills along the long bank of tall windows stood a vast collection of completed complex LEGO builds, among them was the 4.5-foot long Titanic, the elegant Concorde on its stand, the ISS, the Eiffel Tower, the Space Shuttle Discovery, the Vestas wind turbine, and a row of supercars. The bright colors of the sets glowed in the morning light, casting colored reflections and long shadows on the marble tile floors.
Damien popped a pod into the espresso machine and set the electric kettle to boil some water at the same time, anxiously awaiting the moment where he could bring the two brews together to make his morning cafe americano, and swirl in just a little cream and a sprinkle of salt, a habit that many thought was somewhat curious but to him, made the coffee just perfect. He sipped it from a dark blue mug, a gift, playfully emblazoned with the text “Plead Here” with a shimmering gold arrow.
Behind the massive glass windows, far below the top of the tower, the city began to stir; commuters began to speckle the highways and flood the streets. The hum of daily life began to murmur faintly within the penthouse space.
Damien found that as much as he enjoyed the busy hive that surrounded him during the rest of the day, and despite the fact that he was far from a morning person, the silence of these quiet mornings really helped him get the day off to the start he often wanted. In the undisturbed silence, reviewing key financial reports, charts, and performance metrics was just slightly easier for him to absorb. These seemingly infinite numbers were the lifeblood of Hudson Gateway, and Damien took their analysis seriously. With his coffee in hand and the window sunshades lowered, the first thing he always tackled was going over the financial reports on the paper print-outs that were left in his mailbox the night before, a habit he recognized was somewhat contradictory to the company’s ultimate goal of sustainability and independence from fossil fuel, but the numbers always just made more sense to him in ink form than in pixel form. The digital displays on his massive desk were filled with other forms of data that revealed the intricate workings of the company's operations, but he’d take a closer look at those later.
At 8:30am, Damien’s executive assistant Cathy, a black woman with more than twenty years on him, stuck her head into his office and greeted him. “Looks to me like you’ve already gone halfway through your cup of coffee, Damien. That kind of morning?”
He looked in it, and then raised it a little in her direction. “More like I’m trying to keep that kind of morning at bay for now,” and gave her a warm, groggy smile. “How’s yours?”
“Hun, any day I don’t have to do your job is a good day.”
That elicited a hearty laugh, even for the morning hour.
Damien carried on, embroiled in the daily intricacies of managing his world, all while his office’s panoramic view of the Albany skyline offered him a constant reminder of all of the heights he had scaled and hard work he had done to attain this point in his career. Damien’s world most often operated in the realm of numbers, statistics, and patterns. But his job was so much more than just understanding the intricacies of the energy market, the regulatory challenges, and the perpetually-shifting tides of public and political perception. Sure, his mornings were often full of high-level conference calls with executives across the HuGES branches, the banalities of quarterly reports, revenue projections, and strategic initiatives. But Damien was more than keenly aware of the vast human element that made the whole thing run. It was important to him that he recognize the names and faces of employees and peers who had dedicated years of their lives and careers to the company and helped elevate him to where he stood now. He valued honesty, feedback, and especially honest feedback about the ways he could help not only power the world, but power his employees and company to be better. He wanted his employees happy; happy employees made for productive and long-staying employees. He had been truthful to Anne Neuman that day in the elevator. He liked to believe that as hard as he worked hard in manipulating and understanding the numbers of his company, he worked harder to foster a company of good morale, quality and competitive benefits, and a healthy culture that cultivated talent. All of those things made for a better economy, local and otherwise, and that made for a better life for everyone under his purview.
He pressed the button to connect with Cathy. “Hey, Cathy, before I lose track of time,” he inquired, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s get a recap of my itinerary for the day. At least for the first half.”
There was clicking as she looked through his calendar. “At 9:15 you have a call with Mr. Garfield.”
“He not coming in today?” Damien asked, not moving his eyes away from a line of numbers on a spreadsheet.
“No, he’s in Munich for the week.”
Damien looked up, searching his mind for the reason his CFO was in Germany. He had just seen the man yesterday morning, but did remember him shuffling out in somewhat of a hurry with a suitcase. “Remind me why that is?”
“He’s helping transition in the management team for the new turbine plant.”
The memory clicked into place. God my eye hurts today. I can’t think straight.
“Because of the call, you pushed back the usual to a start time of 9:45. The only other solid thing you have on your calendar today is at three.”
“Which is?”
“Honestly, Damien, I don’t know. You told me to only mark it down as ‘AN Meeting.”
“AN meeting? Was my knowledge of the English language on holiday when I asked you to make that notation?
“AN. A-N.”
A-N. Anne Neuman. “I need more coffee,” he sighed. “I know what that is. Anne from Domestic Marketing. Keep that meeting between us, though.”
“I’ve never known you for being one to keep secrets, Damien. That was always Erik’s thing.”
“That’s because I’m so good at keeping secrets you don’t even know I’m keeping them.”
At 9:15 on the dot, the chime of his office phone interrupted the email he had been drafting, but Damien seamlessly transitioned into the expected conversation with his Chief Financial Officer, dosed with the right amount of small talk about the spring weather in southern Germany for the week. The CFO’s voice crackled through the speakerphone, occasionally being interrupted by a string of undecipherable German conversation.
“You’re looking at the PDF I just sent over?” Tom Garfield asked.
Damien was. PDFs full of spreadsheets, graphs, and charts was a language Damien had mastered long ago; it was a code that held the secrets to his company’s fiscal health. It was another document in a long line of documents of revenue figures, profit margins, and expenses that would be meticulously analyzed and then analyzed again. He listened attentively, his mind a well-oiled machine of strategic thinking.
“I agree, everything looks healthy,” Damien confirmed, his discerning gaze still sweeping across the columns and rows of data. He paused to jot down notes, encircling specific figures that he wanted someone else to spend a little more time investigating. “But I hope you’re going to bring me back some pretty solid financial projections and investment opportunities from that side of the pond.”
“Damien, you’ve known me long enough now. Complacency is the enemy of progress, my friend. I am like a chipmunk—
“I swear to God if you compare growth opportunities to nuts…”
“...with growth opportunities, profitability strategies, and avenues to optimize efficiency stuffed into my cheeks like nuts…”
Damien groaned. “I could have done without that mental image.”
“Anyway, part of my plan while I’m in Munich is to talk to some of our other German offices and outline how we can better allocate resources over here for some cost saving.”
A whole lot of buzz words and financial stability assurances later, Damien concluded, “Thanks for the update, Tom. Safe travels and I look forward to whatever you bring back, and I hope that includes some nice dark chocolate.”
“You got it, Boss. Auf Wiedersehen."
While Damien spoke with Tom, the other executives, minus the CFO, slowly filtered into the penthouse, each with their own agenda and objectives. All of the necessary parties slowly gathered into a long conference room, the mahogany and glass table decorated with carafes of steaming coffee, and plates of fruit, bagels, and cream cheese from the canteen. There was hardly a day within the C-Suite penthouse where the pressure wasn’t palpable. The decisions Damien made every day carried consequences that moved through the company, and beyond it, like ripples, and they could either benefit the shareholders, employees, and stakeholders or lay waste to them. But Damien was the proverbial strong hand and outstretched arm, and his blend of authority and diplomacy carefully guided the morning proceedings towards strategic goals and corporate growth. Every morning Damien’s delicate balancing act of many spinning plates was a choice that held the potential to shape the corporation’s future, for better or worse. Throughout it all, Damien maintained a veneer of composure and control. In his own arrogance, he knew his demeanor was the embodiment of corporate excellence and the years he had spent honing his skills in this business.
As the sun climbed higher, the penthouse buzzed with continued energy and purpose, even once the daily morning report meetings had long since concluded. Intra-office mail came, went, and changed hands. Phones in their cradles rang in what was a seemingly endless barrage of phone calls. Damien's daily routine was a symphony of corporate orchestration, and he was a capable maestro with unwavering, precise choreography.
Damien’s office continued to buzz with activity, and as Cathy continuously fielded calls and scheduled appointments throughout the day, he methodically delved into stack of reports, after stack of reports, after memos, occasionally underlining or highlighting key points, each of them with pieces of the larger picture of vital information of how HuGES operated.
The closer his first update meeting with Anne drew, the more often his thoughts returned to it and her, and he began to wonder if he should have brought Tom Garfield into the fold from the get-go. A rebranding project would represent a significant financial commitment, and he was more than acutely aware that this would need to balance the innovation of the marketing team with fiscal responsibility, of which the many papers of numbers on his desk reminded him. But there was a part of him that was telling him to wait, and that bringing in the CFO immediately was not the direction to go, and he couldn’t quite put a finger on why he thought that.
He glanced at the clock on the wall, the minute hand having had inched closer to Anne’s appointed time. Five minutes to go, and he found he was surprisingly anxious for this meeting; anxiety was not an emotion that often went through him. Anticipation, sure. That he knew had been building within him. It had been some time now since he crossed paths with her in the elevator, and clearly that encounter had piqued his curiosity about her and her ideas enough for several hours worth of phone calls and email exchanges, where he had gotten to see her confidence, humor, and even defiance, a blend of qualities he didn’t often see of the lower tiers of corporate hierarchy as someone who sat at the very top.
When Cathy rang the buzzer on his intercom a few short minutes later, right on time, he jumped.
“Damien, Anne Neuman is here to see you.”
“Thanks, I’ll come collect her.”
He stood from his desk and entered the main space of the C-Suite, spotting Anne from across the room before she saw him. She was looking around, a frenzied and nervous look on her face that he admittedly found rather endearing. She was dressed in attire of stark contrast to the formal finely-fitted suits that typically adorned the bodies of the C-suite: Jeans, flats, a v-neck T-shirt, and a simple blazer. He could see across her features that she was chastising herself for not dressing up more. She stood rigid and pulled together, as if she wanted to shrink away and make herself as small as possible. An iPad was clutched in her hands.
As he approached her, she locked eyes with him, and he watched as something within her loosened. It was so brief, but to him, it looked like what entered her was a feeling of calm. She extended her hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson,” she greeted in a tone of formality. “Thanks for meeting me this afternoon.”
He accepted her handshake with a single gentle, but firm movement. “It’s nice to see you, Anne from Domestic Marketing Department. I appreciate your punctuality.”
“I wasn’t sure I was going to make it on time. I hit every red light on the way here.” She wore a playful smile.
Cathy gave Damien a curious look.
“If I get the elevator tech to change those button colors to green, you can’t use that excuse. Let’s go to my office, shall we?”
He led her through the busy corridor opening the office door for her and allowing her to step inside. “Are you okay with me closing the door?”
She looked a little taken aback by that question. “Yes,” she answered firmly after a moment.
He gestured to the pair of couches and grabbed her a bottle of water from the minifridge, handing it to her where she sat.
She twisted the top, took a swig, and then looked at the bottle, the plastic crackling beneath her fingers. “You know—
He sank down into the couch across from her, leveling his gaze. “If you say one thing about the bottled water, I will throw you out.” He hoped the ghost of a smirk he wore was just visible enough.
Anne didn’t break his gaze. “Bottled water isn’t very sustainable of you, Mr. Wilson.”
Oh, ho. She is a feisty one. He studied her expression, searching for any signs of apprehension or uncertainty towards him. Instead, all he saw was a bit of nervous confidence that mirrored his own. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the air pregnant with the weight of impending discussions. Damien decided to be the one to break it, because for whatever reason, he himself was not able to stand the silence. “Have you ever been up here before?”
He saw her look past him, looking at all of the different LEGO sets lined up along the windows. “No,” she said, “I haven’t had the pleasure until today. Cool office. Never took you for a LEGO man.”
Damien shrugged. “Once an engineer, always an engineer, I guess. You can relax about not fitting into the C-Suite dress code. For what it’s worth, it’s on me that I didn’t remind you to dress up a little. I know not everyone lives on my level of,” he paused to consider the phrasing, “arrogance and lifestyle. What may seem routine to me isn’t routine to you, and all that.”
She gave a solitary nod.
“And I don’t mean anything by that, either. It’s just a fact,” he added quickly.
Why the fuck did I say that? He thought to himself.
“So,” Anne began, the face of the tablet lighting up and handing it across the table, “here are some of the initial concepts. If you swipe, you can see some of the mood boards and word association maps that the design team is using as a frame of reference, or diving board I guess you could say.”
He listened attentively, his eyes flickering between Anne and the tablet as she spoke, evaluating each detail critically. This project certainly was a significant undertaking, but Damien couldn’t help but be impressed by her expertise, dedication, and deference to the designers for their decision making. She clearly and confidently trusted her team, and that carried through in her words and gestures. The fluid creativity and trust was very much a stark contrast to many of the corporate formalities he encountered on the daily, where it seemed that nobody else in C-Suite had a creative bone in their body and lived in the strategic mindset, but also in the sense that nobody in C-Suite completely trusted their subordinates.
His initial curiosity about her deepend. She had this tenacity to her that he saw was a valuable asset for someone who needed to navigate a corporate landscape like that of HuGES. It was a rare combination of professionalism, authenticity, and willingness to fight back and challenge ideas she disagreed with. That is how they got to this meeting.
Damien did not consider himself afraid of change. But he began to wonder how much of this endeavor was going to change not only the company, but change him. He had helped build this company to its status of what many considered to be a monopoly, and being so intertwined in its growth meant that its changing would shape him too. That made him nervous, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad kind of nervous. She continued to present a compelling case, and Damien was ready to embrace the challenges and opportunities that came with it. Her presence and perspective was a breath of fresh air in his corporate world, and he was increasingly eager to see what this future would hold. But being how much in control he always wanted to be, especially when it came to matters of Hudson Gateway…
“What are you thinking?” Anne asked, her finger hooked around the silver chain at her neck, playing with the starfish pendant attached to it.
He saw that nervousness again. He could tell she was afraid of a negative reaction, as anyone would be, but he could also see in that same expression she was prepared to face it head-on.
“This is certainly uncharted territory for us,” he said. He leaned back on the couch, spreading his arms against the back of it and crossing his legs as he thought. He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling as he thought.
“So be Shackleton.”
He looked back at her and expected her expression to have morphed into one of jest, but instead it was set firm in seriousness. In her eyes, however, he could see she was challenging him again, resoluteness coursing through her. There was a strange, unfamiliar clutch in his stomach.
“Carry on,” he said, hesitantly deciding to take a page from her book. He took a deep breath, fighting every bone in his body that was trying to hold control over everything. It was surprisingly hard to relinquish that. “I trust you…” He handed the tablet back to her, but he did not let go when he had it in her hand, their fingers brushing each other’s as he held it steady. He looked at her intently. “...to keep this the Shackleton expedition and not the Franklin one.”
Then he released the tablet into her grasp.
“I’ll be your Terror in other ways,” she said, a smile breaking across her face.
Cute, he thought. “Cute,” he said at the same time, and a moment of panic flitted through his mind.
“One more thing I’d like to ask about,” Anne said, “and this is a dangerous question.”
“You did just say you’d be my Terror in other ways, but I didn’t think it would happen so fast.”
“How do you feel about just calling us ‘Hudson Gateway?”
“I—
“Let me finish.”
He clamped his mouth shut, showing his palms indicating she should continue.
“Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions is a mouthful. You know that and I know that. Everyone knows that, and nobody calls us that. I’m not asking you to change the DBA or anything, but from a branding perspective, just calling ourselves ‘Hudson Gateway’ is a lot easier to say, and rolls off the tongue even better than HuGES does. So all official documents would still have us as Hudson Gateway Energy Solutions, but any advertising and consumer-facing materials would have us as Hudson Gateway. A logo does not have to match the DBA.”
He volleyed that idea around in his head, unable to come up with any compelling negatives of such a move. “I think I can get on board with that.”
After their meeting had adjourned and he had finished escorting Anne back to the elevator down to her floor, he returned his attention to his other daily duties. Rather, he tried to. Instead, he couldn’t shake that returning feeling of something new and exciting, and he found himself reflecting again and again on their meeting and the way she smiled when she said “I’ll be your Terror in other ways.”
As his day was beginning to wind to a close, the last minute meetings, conference calls and decision making dwindling until the C-Suite was mostly empty, Damien found himself back in the quiet solitude of his penthouse office. He was reviewing his notes from his meeting with Anne, and contemplated the bold possibilities ahead. His world was so often characterized by hierarchy and formality, but Anne’s determination to push boundaries was beginning to demonstrate that innovation and creativity could thrive in the highest echelons of the company. He was beginning to see, with enough persistence, how big of a wave one person could make, even when they weren’t in the same kind of decision-making capacity that he was. He opened a blank email.
From: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
To: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
Subject: Same time next week?
He hit send, not even bothering to fill in any body text. Moments later, his email chimed.
From: Anne Neuman <aneuman@hges.com>
To: Damien Wilson <damienwilson@hges.com>
Subject: RE: Same time next week?
Happily.
Anne