The Five Times I Met Myself Read Online Free Page B

outside his bedroom window ushered him into morning. The dream wasn’t perfect—it would have been nice to stay in it and figure out how to subdue the thugs—but it gave Brock the belief he’d be able to do something the next time his dad invaded Brock’s dream world.

Chapter 4
    T he next evening, Brock pulled into the parking garage of the Sheraton hotel in downtown Seattle where his thirty-fifth high school reunion was being held, shut off the engine, and tried to push the meeting with Ron a few days back from his mind. Not easy. Something felt off. Even more difficult was ignoring the frustration he felt toward Karissa for making him go to the reunion alone. Wrong. She would have come. But he’d coerced her into too many corporate events over the years; he couldn’t blame her for bowing out on this one. In truth, he couldn’t blame her if she never joined him for another event the rest of their lives.
    Thirty-five years since graduation. As he stared out the windshield of his silver Lexus at the semi-familiar faces moving toward the garage elevator, he marveled at the fact high school had happened that long ago. Didn’t feel like it. The people going to their fortieth, forty-fifth, and fiftieth reunions probably said the same thing.
    Brock glanced at his watch. A gift from Ron on the day three years ago when Black Fedora had hit twenty-five million in annual sales. Last month they’d hit fifty-three. So why did they have to pull their worker-funding program? The business side of Black Fedora was certainly Ron’s, but the sense that storm clouds were gathering on the horizon made Brock wish he were more skilled at forecasting the proverbial weather.
    Time to get in there. Smiles, everybody. Smiles.
    The moment he stepped through the doors of the reunion room, he saw a face he hadn’t seen since the first reunion back in ’85; a face he could have waited to see till their class’s two hundredth reunion: Mitchell Green.
    “Whoa, baby!” Mitchell strode up to him in an Armani suit and a drink in both hands. “Brock Matthews, baby, I was going to die if you didn’t come. Perfect timing. Here.”
    Mitchell handed him one of the drinks.
    “Hey, Mitchell. Long time.”
    “Too long.” Mitchell flicked Brock’s shoulder. “We might not have been buds in high school, but times change and I’d like to propose a toast.”
    “To what?”
    “You and me, rocking the business world down to its foundation.” Mitchell raised his glass against Brock’s. “I’ve seen what you’re doing, you seen what I’m doing? Went public a year back, baby. You saw it, right? Score city. Yeah, I expected the IPO to jack up my net worth a few points, but fifteen million? Nah, didn’t think it’d be that high. We’re just a tiny little company, you know?”
    Brock didn’t know. Yes, he’d heard that Mitchell was part of a company that was doing well. And he’d heard the company was going public. But he didn’t know exactly what they did other than some kind of venture capital investing.
    “Talk to me. Time for your story.” Mitchell punched Brock in the arm. “I’ve been tracking Black Fedora. Amazing how a nine-hundred-year-old commodity can stuff such copious amounts of filthy lucre into a man’s pockets. But you guys know marketing, and that’s what it’s all about. Tell a good story, get the glory.”
    “We’re doing fine, thanks.”
    “Fine? Fine!” Mitchell turned around in a slow circle, lifted his glass again, and spoke loudly. “This man and his brother run a fifty-million-dollar company, one that Forbes says could be to coffee what Apple is to tech products if they worked a little harder. He says they’re doing ‘fine’? Watch out!”
    Brock waited till Mitchell spun a second time and finished the rest of his drink in one gulp. “Are you married? Kids?”
    “No, no. Don’t try to change gears while the bike is in motion. When are you guys going public? Crazy that you haven’t. The private