1984 July
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Jack didn't feel like returning to Glenn Canyon Drive anytime soon. His mind was already forming plans, evolving into something he hadn't ever fully considered before—leaving the company. Last night had made it clear: no matter what, it would always be his father making the critical decisions, with Graem backing him up. If Jack objected, he'd just be ignored, no matter how important the issue was to him. He thought about all the decisions that had happened in the past – where he had succumbed to his father's wishes already. The night when he'd had to risk everything to clean up the mess of Philip's and Graem's "project".
He could even live with the hydraulic fracturing, even stomach the idea of the fields turning into flowback water lakes. But the idea of spending his entire life under Philip and Graem's thumb? That made him sick.
Knowing neither of them would be home during the forenoon hours, Jack returned to Glenn Canyon Drive and packed a small bag—just some t-shirts, jeans, and underwear. His hand hesitated over his documents: his passport, his birth certificate, all the essentials one needed for life. Taking them meant committing. Making it final. The decision to walk away from everything, if it came to that. He grabbed the papers, then his pilot's license and charts. The full motorcycle gear stayed behind; his leather jacket and helmet would have to do. This wasn't the time for baggage. He didn't even have a destination. On the way out he took the picture from the wall that showed his mother with him and Graem, in the years when Philip had been in Vietnam. He removed it and hung the empty frame back to the wall.
With nowhere else in mind, Jack headed to Ron's house. Marilyn wasn't home yet, still in school, but her mother, Sharon, greeted him warmly. Of course, he could stay the night. Marilyn was thrilled when he picked her up from school—showing up on the bike, with her friends watching, made her day. They spent the rest of the afternoon together, though Jack could tell she sensed something was off. She asked twice if anything was wrong, but he brushed it off, saying he was fine.
The next day, Jack found himself aimless again. He dropped Marilyn off at school, but without the usual routines—school, chauffeuring Graem, or working at the company—he felt adrift. Normally, he'd spend his free time at the company or flying, but today, both felt out of reach. The thought of his bank account reminded him of how much he'd wasted this year on flying, landing fees, and other luxuries. If he was serious about walking away, flying was no longer an option. He'd need to find a job. University seemed like a distant dream now.
Marilyn and her family had no idea he was driving aimlessly through the city, weighing his options. Jack knew a lot of people—he was sure he'd find work eventually. There was one more thing on the list of possibilities – a major one. But asking Ron for a job at his company was a big decision, and Jack wasn't ready for that yet because it meant committing in a way to Marilyn, in a way he wasn't ready for.
That evening, they sat around the Williams' dining table when the doorbell rang. Sharon called for Jack—his brother was outside.
Jack had no desire to speak to Graem. But he also didn't want to explain things to Ron or Marilyn, so he played the part and went to meet him.
"What are you doing here?" Jack growled, shutting the front door behind him.
"I came to talk to you," Graem said.
"Bullshit. He sent you," Jack snapped, scanning the area for their father. Graem had no car, which meant Philip had to be nearby. "Where is he?"
"I took the bus."
Jack didn't believe him. He stared at Graem, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, but said nothing more.
"Come back," Graem finally said. "Please. I didn't mean to go behind your back with the whole fracturing thing."
"That's not why I left," Jack shot back. They hadn't even listened to him at all the night before. This was about the workers.
"Then why did you leave?"
"Have you fired the workers yet?" Jack asked.
Graem hesitated, and that hesitation told Jack everything he needed to know. He turned to go back inside.
"Wait, Jack. Dad really wants to talk to you," Graem called after him.
Jack stopped, taking a deep breath. He knew his brother would never understand what he was about to say. "Graem, do you really want to be his stooge for the rest of your life?"
Graem stared at him, confused. "Stooge? Hell, we're leading this business!"
Graem didn't get it. For Jack, leading meant having the freedom to make his own decisions. And lately it had become painfully clear that his father would always be the one making the decisions for this company. Shaking his head, Jack walked back inside, trying to mask his frustration with a forced smile.
The next evening, the Williams family grew curious about why Jack had stayed two nights in a row. They assumed it was just because his high school year was over. But then, Ron called Jack into his office, handing him the phone. "Your father," he said.
Jack didn't want to talk to him, but he didn't want to reveal the extent of the family drama to Ron either. Reluctantly, he took the receiver.
Philip's voice was unusually calm. He admitted to sending Graem the previous night, which wasn't a surprise to Jack. Philip had always known Graem had a vested interest in the company, and there had always been a tension between the brothers—Graem had been jealous of Jack's involvement, while he struggled with school. Graem would have never decided to get Jack back. Everyone in this household knew that Graem probably jumped for joy the moment Jack was out the front door.
Philip apologized for how things had unfolded, admitting he should have listened to Jack's concerns about the project. And the workers, too. He wanted to make amends. He hinted at a solution, mentioning something about shares. He didn't go into detail—probably because they were talking over Ron's phone.
Philip suggested they meet at his office tomorrow to talk it over. As convincing as his father could be, Jack found himself agreeing. 3:00 PM.
"Everything okay?" Ron asked as Jack hung up the phone.
Jack sighed. "Yeah, just some odds and ends." He shrugged it off, returning to his evening with Marilyn.
The next day, Jack stuck to his routine, dropping Marilyn off at school with the usual kiss in front of her friends. Afterward, he spent the morning driving through the city, thinking about the meeting with his father. He arrived in Burbank an hour early, parking across from the company's head office. Sitting on his bike, he stared at the glass building, trying to predict how the conversation would go.
Philip had mentioned shares. Jack understood enough about business to know that owning shares didn't mean much unless you owned enough to make a difference. His father might offer him 5%—a gesture that wouldn't change a thing. Jack would still be tied to the company, without real power to veto his father's decisions. He'd still be unable to prevent things like the mass firing of their most loyal workers.
As Jack sat there, deep in thought, a voice interrupted him. "Hi."
He turned to see a young woman standing on the sidewalk, holding a stack of flyers. He hadn't noticed her approach, but now he recognized the logo on the papers—Greenpeace. They were protesting down the street in front of the main office.
She handed him a flyer.
Jack crossed his arms over his chest, speaking through the open visor of his helmet. "No thanks."
"Okay," she replied, a little disappointed. She held the flyer out a moment longer, then slowly lowered her hand.
"I'm Teri," she said, introducing herself.
Jack turned back to her, surprised she hadn't left. She seemed friendly, and he knew he was being an ass, not even taking off his helmet. She had come over alone, walking the fifty yards from the protest just to talk to him. Finally, Jack pulled off his helmet and placed it on his thigh, resting his hands on top of it.
"Jack," he said, his voice low and his expression asking her to explain why she was standing there, talking to him.
"Nice bike," she said, giving him a quick smile.
"Runs on oil," Jack replied, teasing her, expecting a reaction.
But she just laughed. Teri had spent too many hours on street corners, protesting and waving signs, hearing all sorts of insults thrown her way. Dealing with a guy like Jack was easy. She leaned in a little, her eyes sparkling. "And it tastes like sand."
Jack chuckled, caught off guard by her response. "Really?" He had a pretty good idea of what she meant. She must've been out there by the driveway to the oil fields, right where he always used to kick up dust on his way past the protesters.
She nodded, pretending to be heartbroken, her lips curling into a playful pout.
"Sorry," he said, almost instinctively. He wasn't sure why—maybe it was because she didn't seem so bad after all. She was different from the usual picture of a protester he had in his head. Or maybe it was just that she seemed so comfortable talking to him, and he was fumbling for something to say.
She shrugged, clearly unfazed. "Don't worry, I've had worse. We've had people toss coffee cups at us. That makes sand quite okay, so thanks for that."
Jack laughed again, relaxing a bit. "I'll keep that in mind next time." He was curious about one thing. "You get anywhere with it?"
She laughed softly. "Depends on what you mean by 'get anywhere.' We've annoyed some people, that's for sure."
"I can see that," Jack smirked. "Think I was one of 'em."
Teri smiled, clearly unbothered by his comment. "Yeah, well, you don't seem so bad. Except for the dust shower."
"I'll try to be nicer next time," Jack said, with a grin that almost felt natural. He remembered that there was probably no next time. He saw no reason to drive out to the oil fields ever again, if he'd pull through with his plans.
It was time to go inside. Face his father. Listen to what he'd say. Make a final decision.
Jack got off the bike, taking the keys and helmet with him. As he walked towards the building, Teri matched his pace for the first part of the way.
"Nice meeting you," she said as she stopped near her group of friends, taking her protest sign back into her hands. The words "Hydraulic Fracturing Kills" stared back at Jack, sharp and undeniable.
"Likewise," Jack muttered, as he continued on towards the building.
Teri watched him walk away. She had pegged him as an asshole at first—the type who'd send dust clouds her way just to make a point. One of the guys who didn't have blood but rather crude oil running in their veins and dollar signs instead of eyes. But there was something about him. He wasn't who she thought he'd be. Maybe that was why she had crossed the street to talk to him in the first place. The people who acted the worst often needed kindness the most.
Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the building—disheveled blonde hair, black leather jacket, blue jeans, and his red and white helmet in hand. There was a weight to his walk, something serious that she couldn't quite place.
Inside, Jack stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor. No hesitation. He walked straight to his father's office and opened the door without knocking. It was 3 o'clock, and he was here. No pleasantries, no delay.
Philip noticed his son's mood immediately. He motioned Jack to take a seat at the coffee table, even offering him a cup of coffee, which Jack declined. Philip walked over and sat down across from him, waiting. Jack said nothing, letting the silence hang in the air until Philip broke it.
"Jack," Philip began, his tone calm, "I know why you left."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "You do?"
"You're upset about being a stooge, right?" Philip said, referencing Jack's exact words from two days ago, no doubt passed on by Graem.
Jack stayed silent for a moment before responding. "I've compromised too much. I won't back decisions I'd never make myself."
Philip nodded, as if he expected this. "So, it's influence you want."
Jack said nothing.
"I admit, I haven't given you the credit you deserve for your work. I had planned to wait until after you finished your degree, but why not now?" Philip pulled out a small envelope filled with cash and placed it on the table between them. "Use this to buy shares. Own part of the business."
Jack glanced at the money but felt no excitement. "You think owning 2% is going to change anything?" he asked, making an estimate on how many shares this money could buy, his voice heavy with skepticism.
Philip smiled faintly, knowing his son was too sharp for such an easy offer. "No. But I like how you're thinking. I don't want you to invest in our company."
Jack's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Philip leaned forward slightly. "Buy shares from Ron."
"Ron?" Jack asked, taken aback. "Why would owning 3% of his business change anything?"
Philip smiled wider. "You could be chairman of the board."
Jack almost laughed. "With 3%? I'm leaving. This is ridiculous."
Philip didn't back down. "Stay. You'll learn soon enough." He stood up and grabbed a folder from his desk, tossing it in front of Jack. "Open it."
Jack opened the folder and saw documents—annual accounts, commercial register reports, shareholder lists. But these weren't from their company. These were from Ron's.
"Ron and I have a longstanding contract," Philip explained. "We buy 50% of his yearly production at highly discounted rates. The problem is, his technology is outdated. He won't switch to hydraulic fracturing."
Jack remembered Ron's passionate arguments against it—the dangers, the ethics, the contamination. "How is 3% supposed to change that?"
Philip's smile turned into something colder. "Because I already hold 48%."
Jack's blood ran cold. "What?" He flipped through the papers again. There was no mention of Philip on the shareholder list—just the names of other companies. He recognized one: GCD Technologies, a Burbank-based company. Then there were two others: TGSH Holdings and West Coast Ventures. The remaining 5% were public float, which Jack suspected Philip owned some of that as well.
"How?" Jack asked, the word barely leaving his lips.
Philip leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment. "Simple. GCD was an early investor. I bought them, but Ron never noticed. GCD then paved the way for TGSH and West Coast to invest on my behalf."
Jack's stomach twisted. He saw it now—this wasn't just business. This was a hostile takeover. "You've been plotting this for years," Jack said, his voice low.
"No," Philip said with a laugh. "I've been using strategic options. Ron could have used them too."
Jack stared at his father, seeing the man for what he really was. "And you want me to buy the 3% you need for a majority?"
Philip nodded. "Exactly."
"Ron won't sell. He's not stupid."
Philip waved the thought away. "He won't sell to me. But he'll sell to you. I've got 48%, Ron has 49%, and with your 3%, that makes you the king. You'll be chairman of the board. You'll call the shots."
Jack leaned back in his chair, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. Philip needed him. He'd been planning this for months, and Jack had unknowingly become the key to finishing the takeover. But this didn't sit right with him. This wasn't just about business—this was about crushing Ron, forcing him to go against everything he believed in. Jack thought of Marilyn. Of how Ron, a man with principles, would be forced into a corner—either cave to Philip's demands or watch his company crumble.
The decision wasn't hard to make. "Keep your money," Jack said, standing and grabbing his helmet.
Philip's eyes flashed with frustration. "Think about it, Jack. Take your time. We can make this work. As long as you hold those shares, you're chairman of the board."
That would make him Ron's boss, formally. Ron, as CEO, would still handle the day-to-day business, but Jack would be in charge of giving direction. Philip's direction. Jack pictured it in his mind: if Philip pushed hard on switching to hydraulic fracturing equipment and Ron refused, Philip would stop buying from Ron's company altogether. It would drive Ron's business into bankruptcy. Philip had leverage, one way or another. Either Ron complied, or he'd be forced out.
Jack realized it wasn't just him caught in a dilemma—Ron was too. Philip had been playing them all like chess pieces, maneuvering them into positions where they had no real choices. He had a tight grip on each of them, and the only way Jack could escape was to stop playing the game entirely.
Jack shook his head. "No thanks."
"You're going to regret this," Philip warned, his voice hardening. "My offer won't be on the table forever."
But Jack was already heading for the door. His pulse was racing, but a strange calm settled over him. He'd made his decision. He heard the door close behind him as he walked down the hallway, and his father didn't follow.
Outside, the sun was bright, the warmth almost jarring after the coldness of the office. Jack put on his sunglasses and started walking toward his bike, a small smile creeping onto his face. He felt... free.
As he crossed the street, he saw Teri again, standing halfway between the building and his bike, still holding her "Hydraulic Fracturing Kills" sign.
He walked straight up to her and handed her his helmet. "Hold that for me," he said, taking the sign out of her hands. Teri was too surprised to protest, watching as Jack marched back across the street, the protest sign slung over his shoulder.
The other protesters noticed and started whispering among themselves, watching Jack as he disappeared into the building once more.
Five minutes later, Jack came back out, laughing to himself, without the sign. He took his helmet from Teri, who was still standing there, stunned.
"Thanks," he said, as if nothing unusual had happened, and began walking toward his bike.
"Wait!" Teri called, grabbing his arm. "Where's my sign?"
Jack pointed back at the building. "Fifth floor. Just outside the CEO's office, there's a nice palm tree in a pot." He had rammed the sign into the pot, clearly to read for everyone on the executive floor: fracturing kills.
Teri stared at him, speechless.
Jack decided to fill her blanks. "I used to work there.", he said, "used to." Then he mounted his bike, revved the engine, and raced off, leaving Teri standing there in stunned silence.
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