Danica Incorporated. A dream come true. After years of hard work, late nights, weekends, and some overnight hours my dreams of being the number one seller of sheet metal and steel were realized. With the takeover of Nucor Industries, Danica Incorporated is the number steel manufacturer in the United States.

               “Mr. Danica, I’m not sure that . . .”

               My personal assistant wasn’t used to stumbling over her words. She gave orders to all those underneath me, even if her position was below them. She told CEOs of my other enterprises what to do and when to do it. She never showed weakness. Finding it challenging to find the right words? I knew something was wrong.

               “Monica. Just stop,” I said. She stood next to the antique oak desk I obtained in one of several acquisitions. After straightening my suit, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

               She took off her glasses. After rubbing her eyes, Monica said, “The Stanhopes are waiting for their wire transfer. It’s been three months, and the government isn’t releasing the transfer.”

               “Isn’t that part of your responsibility? To take care of these issues?”

               “Yes, Mr. Danica. It’s just. Well.”

               I crossed my arms, sitting down on the edge of the desk. “Spit it out, Monica. This isn’t like you.”

               She plopped down in the chair facing the desk. It was a big squared-off leather chair, comfortable but not cozy. You could sit in it for hours and feel relaxed, but it wasn’t that comfy anymore after three hours. “Mr. Danica, these are arms dealers.”

               “Yes? And?”

               “And? Well, sir. They scare me.” She got to her feet, starting to pace around the room. Now I was beginning to worry. “And they should share you too, sir. I do not like Mr. Stanhope or his associates. They all scare me. I’ve seen these same types of guys on wanted posters in the post office.”

                “Monica. When was the last time you stepped foot in a post office?”

               “Yesterday, Mr. Danica. To check your four post office boxes. Which, I might add, have not had so much as an invoice in them.” She stopped pacing long enough to refer to the day planner in her hand.

“As of yesterday.”

               “So we’ll have our security in our next meeting. Will that make you feel better?”

               “No. I want our business with Stanhope concluded. The sooner, the better.”

               “You wouldn’t quit on me, would you, Monica?”

               Regaining her composure, Monica stood her ground, staring into Mr. Danica’s eyes. “Bret, I’m not joking. Either you conclude your business with Stanhope, or I quit. That simple. And it’s not like I’ve not had offers from other CEOs. Leaving you would hurt,” she said, knowing the compensation was unmatched by any other corporate role, “but I cannot work with these men.”

               She was serious about her threat. Either I concluded my business with Stanhope, or she would walk out. And losing a personal assistant with her work ethic was hard to find. It must’ve been why she had offers from some of the other CEOs I worked with. They could see what an asset she was to me. I couldn’t afford to lose her, so I told her what she wanted to hear.

                “Okay.” I held up both hands in surrender, walking back to my side of the desk. “I promise our dealings with the Stanhope will be concluded by the end of the business today. Fair enough?” I hoped her response would be a resounding yes, but Monica was difficult to read. And right now was no different. “Set up a meeting with Mr. Stanhope this evening. Make it 5 p.m. at his favorite restaurant and spare no expense. I want him to know how I will conclude our business before the end of the week and to feel that he’s the most important person in the world to me.”

               Immediately Monica went into business mode, turning off the emotional side of herself. Scribbling inside her planner, she took notes, making sure nothing I said was missed. “Yes, Mr. Danica. Anything else before your 11 o’clock meeting with the executive leadership board?”

               “Yes. Ensure an assortment of live rounds at the table, every shape and size. I want each place to have ten rounds of munition for each type of weapon we cater to.”

               “Yes, sir.” She strode out of the room, ready to prepare the day for me. Monica was my gatekeeper and confidant. Professional as they come, Monica wasn’t one to cross the line between a platonic friendship and a romantic relationship. Sure, as a personal assistant, she saw the rawest side of me, but she kept it professional. And I did my best to keep that boundary intact. After seven years of working for me, she knew her role, knew what her personal boundaries were, and never, I mean never, crossed them.

               “Mr. Danica.” The doorman opened the door, greeting me. “Your car will be here in a moment, sir.”

               “Thank you, Gerald.”

               “My pleasure, sir.” He shook my hand warmly. Gerald worked for the Belmont Tower for over twenty years, starting as a valet and quickly moving up the ranks to doorman. He enjoyed the work, regardless of the weather. Many short conversations with the man over the years taught me that people were too important to be neglected, no matter their station in life. Rich or poor. Didn’t matter. In Gerald’s eyes, everyone was important.

               “Mr. Danica, if I may have a word?”

               “Certainly, Gerald.”

               “Sir, it’s not in my heart to speak ill of anyone.”

               “Yes, Gerald. I know.”

               “But, Mr. Stanhope is not a good person.”

               “Is that right, Gerald?”

               “Yes, sir. I had a bad feeling after I met him. I haven’t seen you long enough to express my concerns, sir. Again. It’s not my place, but I felt it was too important to ignore it. I needed you to know.”

               “Thank you, Gerald.”

               “Where are you going tonight, Mr. Danica?”

               “Luchini’s.”

               It was rare to see Gerald frown. But I saw it come over his face before it returned to his customary smile.

               “A date, Mr. Danica?”

               “Business,” I said.

               “Mr. Stanhope?”

               “Yes.”

               “Be careful,” he said, looking down at his feet. His eyes met mine, the smile back, “Have an excellent evening,” Gerald said, opening the door to the Lincoln Towncar.

               “Thank you, Gerald.”