TUNA LIFE (14 page)

He sold the dream so well that he almost believed it himself. It had always been his strength.

To talk to journalists scared him, however. What if they unmasked him? Exposed that he only recycled techno phrases he had picked up from the internet. That he wasn’t really a visionary founder; just a washed-up accountant in the middle of an early midlife crisis, who due to a string of coincidences had ended up becoming the CEO of one of the fastest-growing tech-companies in the world. He was a fraud, a phony, and it was only a question of time before they all would know.

He wiped the clammy hands on his trousers.

“I’m busy. Ask them to call back tomorrow,” he hollered to Yvonne. He gathered his car keys, and readied to leave Frank’s basement. It was buzzing with activity. Half a dozen heads, clad with headphones from Skullcandy and black hoodies, were hammering code on their keyboards.

Everyone in the office had a task.

Everyone except Andrew.

He was the only one who didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

He almost ran out of the basement.

It wasn’t difficult to find what he was looking for. Southport wasn’t exactly the best neighbourhood on the coast. It had traditionally been the CBD of the Gold Coast, but not anymore. In truth, no one really knew where the CBD was anymore. There were at least four other suburbs claiming the title: Robina CBD, Varsity Lakes CBD, Burleigh Heads CBD and Bundall CBD. The Gold Coast was too fragmented. It was a tourist place that had fermented in every direction, without any sort of town-planning. But there was one thing you couldn’t take away from Southport; it was still the easiest place to get hold of drugs. And Andrew needed something, something strong that could calm his nerves. Something that could quash the engrossing doubt he had in his own abilities. Something that could make him relax. He parked his old Mazda on Scarborough Street, and wandered down to the taxi rank outside the ANZ bank. He casually leant against one of the traffic signs, observing the road works for the new light rail.

“What are you looking for, mate?” A skinny and unshaven thirty-year-old in an Adidas jacket asked.

Andrew looked around before answering nervously; “Cocaine.”

“Five minutes,” the guy said before disappearing into an alley.

Andrew had no idea what he was doing. He had never tried cocaine or any other drugs before, but he had read that it gave your self-confidence a boost. And that’s what he needed now.

“Andrew!” In the corner of his left eye Andrew could see one of the partners from Avensis Accounting walking straight towards him. He turned around, looking for the drug dealer. But luckily he was still in the alley. Andrew raised his hand and walked briskly towards his old colleague.

“I’m hearing you’re doing well. We should never have let you go,” the Avensis partner said with a smile, before giving Andrew a good hug.

A hug!

He had barely said hi in the morning when Andrew worked there.

“So, what’s happening? Any big plans?” the Avensis partner asked.

“I’m sorry. Late for a meeting,” Andrew lied. “Have to run,” he said before continuing past the partner.

“No problem. We should catch up for a coffee one day, Andrew. I’ll call you,” the partner called out to Andrew’s back.

But Andrew didn’t turn around. In the distance he could hear the drug dealer swearing and kicking the traffic sign.

Andrew didn’t turn around.

31

“How do you do it?” Mark asked.

Scott looked puzzled. “Do what?”

“How do you get people to open up like that?”

Scott hadn’t really given it much thought. He knew he was good at what he did for a living. That he got people talking. But it wasn’t always deliberate. He never entered a home with an agenda, with a plan for how he could get the information he wanted. He simply let the conversation take its run. Like an author who instead of plotting his entire book just started writing to see where the story took him.

“I’m just respectful,” he answered. “If you treat people with respect, regardless of who they are and what they’ve done or not done, then normally they return that respect.” He pondered his own statement. If there was one thing he didn’t do – it was treating people with respect. He could be a complete arsehole, an arrogant fuckwit. Perhaps he had an agenda? Perhaps he just wasn’t willing to admit it, not even to himself. “People are tired of everyone always trying to sell them shit. They are tired of everyone having personal agendas. If you approach people without a personal agenda, then you create a bond between them and yourself, you invite them to open up.”

Mark appeared to soak up the wisdom, and Scott felt good. It was nice to get a confirmation that he still knew his stuff. Marissa Soo’s parents had been very frank about their daughter. They had told the unvarnished truth about a daughter who had had big dreams, and little time. She had been a smart girl, straight-A student at high school, but unwilling to sacrifice material goods or partying so university had never been a realistic alternative. Instead she had tried out a number of different TAFE courses, to discover who she really was and what she wanted to do with her life. She had worked part time in various clothing shops the whole time, something that had been quite convenient as clothing had been her biggest expense by far. She had, however, always struggled with depression. Her mum said it ran in the family. Both Marissa and her mum had low levels of serotonin in their brains, something that occasionally caused them to get depressed. With Marissa’s grand plans, and somewhat ordinary life, this genetic trait had always been a source of worry. Marissa had stopped using her medication a couple of months before she disappeared, as she had started to feel better. The police had therefore unofficially concluded that her death was suicide by drowning, something her mother categorically denied. She could at times be depressed, but she had been far too unselfish to ever consider taking her own life. And life had improved in the days leading up to her disappearance. She had seemed happier. Had more money to do things, and she had met a new man. Her parents didn’t know his name, only that he had made Marissa happier those precious last days. The mum expressed hope that the article would lead to her secret boyfriend making contact with them.

“It definitively doesn’t sound like a suicide,” Mark said. “She had twenty thousand hidden under her bed. Money and new boyfriend. Not exactly the best reasons to off yourself.”

“Money only provides a brief moment of happiness for girls like Marissa,” Scott said. “Did you have a look in her closet? I bet half her clothes still had the tags on. She buys something new to get a high, a second of endorphins rushing through her brain, and she mistakenly believes that feeling is happiness. But it doesn’t last. It doesn’t remove the insecurity or the feeling of inadequacy. A new boyfriend dumping her; it could have been just enough to tip the boat.”

“Who died and made you an expert on psychiatry?” laughed Mark.

Scott swirled around, but managed to hold back his poisonous reply. He knew everything there was to know about depression, and what it could do to a human being. His wife of fifteen years had lived with depression her entire life. Scott hadn’t noticed at all at first, he had always just assumed she was a moody person. But ten years into their marriage his wife had started taking antidepressants. Although it had improved home-life, he hadn’t been very understanding. In his eyes medication for mental disorders was a sign of weakness; it signalled that she couldn’t handle real life, that she had to numb reality to get through the day. Was life with him so terrible that she needed medication to get through the day? He had felt insulted.

Over time he had learnt to understand that everyone wasn’t equipped to handle life the same way. To blame one’s genes wasn’t just an easy-out. Sometimes one really had different genetic starting points.

“My wife ended her life when she was forty-five. Happy as a camper the day before. No warning signs. She was on the same medication as Marissa.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said. “I had no idea.”

Scott turned away his gaze, to avoid Mark noticing his eyes tearing up. “It’s ok. It happened a long time ago.”

They continued their walk to the car in silence.

As Scott reached for the doorhandle to the passenger seat, he turned to face Mark. “We need to locate this boyfriend. It’s odd that he hasn’t contacted the parents or the police.”

“Where do we start looking?” Mark asked.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to return to Crazy Kangaroo. You’ll get to see Felicity in action again.”

Mark laughed as he jumped into the driver’s seat.

32

“So you have a problem with large audiences?” Richard Smith asked.

Andrew Engels was sitting in his office, shivering, trembling. “I guess so,” Andrew replied. He was stooping, his head buried in his hands. He had driven straight from his failed attempt to buy cocaine to Richard Smith’s office. He was scared. It was the first time in years he’d had one of his panic attacks. The last one had been seven years ago, when his girlfriend dumped him and moved overseas. He had been inconsolable. He hadn’t understood back then, but now he did: He needed help. “Normally I don’t get stressed. But all this attention. All this pressure. It’s all so new. It’s all so different. My life has changed so much the last six months, and I’m not sure if I’m the right person to lead Tuna Life going forward.”

Richard glanced out the window. It was this situation he had seen coming. Of course Andrew Engels wasn’t the right man to lead the company. You didn’t need to be a recruitment specialist to see that; the result of the personality test had been conclusive. But Roman Bezhrev had been pretty clear; Andrew Engels was the CEO of Tuna Life, and it was Richard’s task to ensure that he succeeded in that position.

Richard quickly assessed the situation. It represented both a threat and an opportunity. If Andrew failed it could mean an out for Richard. He felt increasingly unsafe around Roman.

Yes, he had a good salary. But was the money worth it when he almost every week feared for his life? Roman always surrounded himself with bodyguards. There was a reason for that. He had powerful enemies. Enemies who could become dangerous for Richard as well if he got caught in the crossfire. The problem was that Richard had a beautiful wife, a wife who was used to the good life, a wife who was much too beautiful and smart to be with someone like Richard. How long would she stick around if she couldn’t holiday overseas four times a year, and have spa treatments and lunch with her girlfriends in Main Beach every second day. He had become a prisoner of her spending habits. He had become a prisoner of Roman’s much too generous remuneration. There was no way he would earn the same somewhere else.

“We all have self-doubts,” Richard said. “It’s perfectly normal to feel what you feel, Andrew. But you have achieved more in the span of four short months than most people achieve during their entire working life.”

“I’m not the right person to lead the company, Richard. I’m not the right person.”

“You are the right person, Andrew. You have the entire board behind you. You only need some assistance. Do you think rockstars don’t have nerves before a concert? Do you think an actor doesn’t fear failure before the opening of a new movie? Every person doing something important in life will at some point feel that they are lacking. It’s part of stepping outside their comfort zones. To succeed you sometimes have to bite off more than you can chew – and then you just have to chew as fast as you can.”

Andrew didn’t laugh of Richard’s poor attempt to be funny. “I’m so afraid of being ridiculed. I constantly feel that I’m going to get exposed for who I am. That some reporter starts digging and finds out that I’m not the person I pretend to be.”

“None of us are who we pretend to be. You look up to Roman. Thirty years ago he sold cars in Moscow for a living. I used to be a chef before I studied business. We create our own reality, Andrew. You have a Masters from Griffith University, you have started an immensely successful company. What you need to ask yourself is: Who has the upper hand in an interview? You, a successful businessman? You, who earn more in a month than the guy interviewing you does in a year, or he, who struggles to pay his mortgage and student loan? He, who works in an industry that is rapidly dying? Put yourself in his shoes. How do you think he would feel before that interview? Meeting a person, maybe half his age, who has achieved so much more. He looks up to you, Andrew. He doesn’t think you’re a phony. He thinks you’re a genius. That’s the reality we live in, that’s the world we live in.”

“I don’t know,” Andrew said. “I can’t think properly.”

“We have resources, Andrew. We can get you a mentor, someone who can get you through this phase. Why don’t you cancel all external appointments for the next two weeks, and I promise you I will get you prepared for that first face-to-face interview. You did well when you presented the Tuna Life pitch to me. You just need to find back to that.”

“I knew what I was talking about then. And there were only a few people in the room. It will be different when speaking to journalists, or holding presentations.”

“Well, let’s get hold of the best in the industry. Let’s get someone to teach you how to hold presentations. These are solvable problems, Andrew. It is this you are meant to do. You’re not meant to sit in a corner of an accounting office for the rest of your life, waiting for the reaper to come take you away.”

Andrew considered what Richard had just said. Even though he was stressed, and didn’t look forward to holding presentations or meeting the press, he never wanted to go back to his old life. A life without any future, a life filled with meaningless tasks and arse-kissing of people he neither liked nor respected. “Ok. I’ll give it a try. But can you do me a favour?” he asked.

“Of course,” Richard replied.

“Could you get me some pills? All I want to do is to get some sleep. One night of proper sleep is all I want.”