“When I’m gone, Ryan, this company will be yours. Yes, I want you to see my vision, but I can’t make you share it. I trust your judgment. I trust that you’ll take Avillage in the direction it needs to go – whatever that may be.”
That had sealed it. The only dilemma left was how to break it to Annamaria that he couldn’t go with her.
While she’d been disappointed on a personal level, she realized he had a unique opportunity to make a much bigger impact by staying in New York. And Panama was
her
dream;
her
home. She’d left a week later with no warning and no goodbyes, halfway through a shoot.
They’d both been so busy, they’d only spoken briefly a couple of times since they’d parted. The certainty that they’d never be together full-time separated them more than the distance.
Now, two months out, as Ryan walked to work in the quiet of the pre-dawn, he allowed himself a moment to consider what his life might have been like if Prescott’s invitation had come a few days later. He probably never would have answered it.
But as things stood, the first “emancipated” holding in Avillage history was about to take over the reins for good.
For the first time since the building had opened, Prescott had failed to show up for work.
Ryan opened his email shortly after arriving at his desk at 6:15. An urgent message from James Prescott topped the list with the subject line “Succession.”
Dear Ryan,
I composed this email the day after you accepted my offer, and I scheduled it to be sent to you automatically the following morning at 6AM. Every morning since, I have manually delayed its release by 24 hours. Today, I was obviously unable to do that.
My life’s work is now in your hands. Remember the mission of Avillage that I shared with you. You WILL have to make major sacrifices and painful decisions. Never delegate those. And always make them in the best interest of the mission.
A letter is being sent later this morning to all Avillage employees informing them of the change of leadership, effective immediately. I will not be returning, even if I feel I’m able to, in the future. This company needs a strong, consistent, unquestioned leader.
And they have one.
I’m asking that you be the one to make the announcement public today by ringing the opening bell.
Make an impact.
James
A chill raced through Ryan’s body as he read the familiar final sentence of the email. More goosebumps followed when he realized the date was June 18th – exactly eleven years since he’d watched the opening of The Exchange, huddled in the electronics aisle of a Cleveland Wal-Mart.
The realization that this was happening – today – was nearly overwhelming. He looked back over the letter, his eye drawn to the middle of the letter: “You WILL have to make major sacrifices and painful decisions. Never delegate those.”
He leaned back in his chair, let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, as Prescott’s words from two months earlier crept back into his head.
Let’s say I had. Would that change the fact that I’m offering you an immensely impactful job?
...There’s a reason you were the first IPO. It had to be you.
...I remember it was March 16th eleven years ago.
His eyes popped wide open as he shot back up to his feet. The clock on his desk still only read 6:30. He dialed New York Presbyterian on his cell phone as he ran toward the elevators.
“Do you have a patient by the name of James Prescott?
“What room is he in?”
~~~
Ryan burst into Prescott’s room, moist with sweat, to find him propped up in bed, alone, his eyes half open, concentrating deeply on each arduous breath he took. A pair of thin plastic tubes stretched from his right arm to the IV pole next to his bed.
He looked up and gave Ryan a weak smile. “Good luck today,” he managed, in an almost inaudible whisper.
“Thanks,” Ryan said, still catching his breath from his run through the hospital. “But there’s something I have to ask you! You said that you clearly remembered
March 16th
eleven years ago.
“James, that was the day my parents died. But I was in protective custody of the state until the
18th.
That’s
when I went to the orphanage.
That’s
when I officially became an orphan. Please, James. Tell me you just misspoke.”
As Ryan finished speaking, Prescott’s smile widened slightly as his thumb slowly depressed the red button on the top of the control in his right hand, sending a bolus of morphine into his system.
His eyes almost immediately drooped the rest of the way shut, and the world faded to black. When it reappeared, he could see himself, more than a decade younger, picking up an insulin prescription at a Seattle pharmacy. He watched himself overpower Ryan’s sickly grandfather who had come to answer a knock at the door, and then jab the fatal dose of insulin into his stomach.
Next he saw the screen of his old laptop, his hand on the mouse closing a window displaying the location of Ryan Tyler, Sr.’s cell phone. Then he saw the headlights of a Honda Civic getting closer and closer to the camera mounted on the Chevy Suburban he was controlling remotely. Then finally, everything went black again.
“James!” Ryan yelled. Prescott’s breathing was no longer audible. His chest motionless.
“Nurse!” Ryan called out, rushing into the hall. “He’s not breathing!”
“I’m so sorry,” the nurse said empathetically. “It was his wish that we provide only comfort measures. He signed an order last night that we not attempt to resuscitate him. Are you a family member?”
“No. I mean yes. Kind of.”
The nurse smiled. “You favor him.”
~~~
Ryan stood just outside the door to the floor of the exchange, expressionless and motionless, as an aide dabbed the shine off his forehead with skin-toned powder.
“Are you ready, sir?” another aide asked skittishly seconds before his first big public appearance.
Ryan nodded determinedly without saying a word.
At 9:27, he stepped through the door and up to a podium above a throng of tipped-off media members and a few dozen traders on the floor below.
“I was the initial public offering on this exchange,” he started in a quiet voice. “I lost both of my parents in one tragic night eleven years ago.” The content and the tone paralleled the speech Prescott had delivered from the same podium eleven years earlier, almost to the minute.
“I found myself languishing in an orphanage with no family, virtually no stimulation and, the sad reality was, no hope. But that changed when I became a part of the Avillage family!”
Again the room filled with applause, just as it had eleven years earlier.
“Today begins the second volume in the epic of Avillage. I will no longer be a character in this story. Today, I become its author.”
More applause.
“It still takes money to raise a child. It still takes morals, ethics and intelligence. It will always take love. And, sometimes,” he paused, almost choking on the words, “it takes Avillage.”
Just as the clock hit 9:30, he raised Prescott’s antique wooden mallet and struck the opening bell.
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to my brother Adam, whose input – from concept all the way through publication – was absolutely invaluable.
Thanks also to my dad, without whose encouragement I almost certainly wouldn’t have completed this novel.
A heartfelt thanks to my wife for supporting me and being nothing but positive when I got the crazy idea to write a book out of the blue.
Finally to my pre-readers and secret-keepers-in-chief: Mom, Sis, Chuck, Linda, Maya and Hubert, thank you. Every single critique was helpful.
Want more information about
THE I.P.O.
or its author, Dan Koontz? Have a comment or a question for the author? Be sure to check out www.dankoontz.net.