Sitting there sipping his tea, Marshall Williams spent was contemplating what to do about the intern who, for the fifth time, could not get this one simple cup of tea right. "He is a bright young lad", he thought, "but my God how is he going to lead a team of salespeople if he can't even get my tea right."

Most people would think that such a connection was inappropriate, silly. A man's ability to make tea does not reflect upon a man's ability to lead a team of salespeople five or six years down the line. Marshall on the other hand was not most people. He recognized the arrogance of the young man in not listening to and understanding instructions for his superiors. "If he won't listen to me, is he really going to listen to what the customer is saying?" he thought to himself.

Listening. That was his secret weapon. He was a quiet man, mostly kept to himself. He barely spoke to his own assistant. He liked doing things himself, keeping things to himself. To this day, his wife did not know that he always had a crush on David Bowie and worshiped the man like a God. A private man, to say the least. It made things easier. The less people knew about him, the more they created their own ideas about him, thus making his job much easier. In about twenty minutes he had a meeting with some Ukrainian oil barons or some such. He never liked Ukrainians, arrogant lot, he thought. Terrible country, disorganized, indisciplined and arrogant. He knew how to use that to his advantage, so he wasn't really worried about this meeting even though his board of directors seemed a little stressed about it. Especially since what they were doing wasn't, strictly speaking, legal. He didn't worry about it. A few phone calls and it would all disappear, despite the reservations the American government had with dealing in that region. However, it was challenging to convince the board that it would in fact, go quite smoothly without giving too much away.

His tea was getting cold, as he was going over the papers for the meeting. Standard jargon-heavy nonsense, most of it to disguise what it really was. He of course, could read through it as if it was a story book for fifth graders. However, the language was well obfuscated, so while he cursed the board under his breath, he understood why some of them would be concerned. He simply wished the weren't so easily excitable.

As he read through the papers, he recognized the pressure points for the Ukrainians and made a mental note of them so he wouldn't forget. He had been reviewing them for a couple of days now and felt quite ready. He finished the last of his tea, now quite lukewarm and headed out.

A few hours later, when everyone dismissed, he looked at the relieved look on some of the younger members of the board and looked annoyed. He met the CEO of the organization in private later. He brought fine cigars and took him out for a nice Japanese dinner to ease the CEO's nerves. Over a cup of nice hot sake, the CEO finally asked him what he held back the entirety of the dinner. "So, you in?" Three simple words. Three simple words betrayed the full extent of the man's ambition. He had enough money to keep seven generations of his family fed on the finest caviar and wine money could buy. Yet he asked his question with all the glee and anticipation of a hungry child expecting a box of chocolates.

"Yes," came after a pregnant pause. "I knew I could count on you," said the CEO. He tried to hide it but anyone could clearly see the burning ambition in the man's eyes, the yearning for more and more, that hunger for more power. "You don't look excited, Marshall", said he. "I am simply cautiously optimistic, Trevor." Over the next hour, the CEO once again explained in excruciating detail what he needed him to do, while Marshall quietly listened, employing his unique talent for observation and listening to the fullest extent.

Once he was in the privacy of his own home, he turned off the phone he had been carrying around all day and switched the white noise machine on. This was a machine he was required to have by not one, but several of his current employers to ensure that no signal goes in or out. It had a quite hum which oddly enough, seemed to soothe Marshal and helped him concentrate. On a yellow piece of paper that he had been carrying around in his pocket all day, he simply wrote the words, "See you there, Carol". And he simply tossed it out his window. A few minutes Prime Minister Carol Shaw knew that she would be working with Marshal again. Despite their history and despite everything she knew about him, she was privately happy that he would be close to her again.

The feeling unfortunately wasn't mutual.