At 7:10 a.m. the following Monday, Chris, Wes, Patty, and John are again all seated with me in the boardroom. While we’re waiting for Steve, we talk about the aftermath of the second Phoenix deployment.
Erik is in the back of the room. In front of him is a bowl, an emptied instant oatmeal packet, and a French press full of greenish water, with leaves floating in it.
Seeing my puzzled expression, he says, “Yerba maté. My favorite drink from South America. I never travel without it.”
Steve walks through the door, still talking on his cell phone. “Look, Ron, for the last time, no! No more discounts—even if they were our last remaining customer. We’ve got to hold the line somewhere. Got it?”
He hangs up, exasperated, ...