John knew as soon as he entered the boardroom: this crowd was his. He stepped confidently to the end of the table opposite the imposing Mr. Davis. In between John and Mr. Davis sat twelve yes men and women, their necks spring loaded in anticipation, their marble pens locked in place with kung-fu grip.

He swept through the PowerPoint presentation, watching as their heads bobbed in unison with Davis’s. Numbers ticked and tied. Each header was crisp, efficient. Not a pixel was wasted. Smoke and mirrors lined the hallways of the path he was leading them down.

Few in the crowd even stopped to smell the toner as they leafed through the pamphlets and outlines. Many notes were taken, but questions were few and far between. Apparently, if you resolve to know nothing, there is less for you to ponder. This is the finest collection of wool that the company has to offer.

After the perfunctory handshakes and business card exchanges, John gathered his things and left the boardroom. As he stepped through the smoked glass door, he gave a look and a nod to Mr. Davis, who shook his jowls in reply. With a “whoosh” the door closed, and John walked to the elevator with purpose.  Success smells the same as defeat; it depends on who eats the meal.

He sat at a table. Chez Louis. The duck looks fine.

“The duck will be fine.”

Mr. Davis sits down in the chair opposite John. He’s holding two glasses of champagne. Martinex, Inc. won’t realize that they’ve been had for at least another two months.