Page 46 of The Session

“But easier said than done. There are a couple of critical parts to Summit. Everything we do—all of our training, all of our services—is based on ‘the tech.’ That’s what Max and my father created. The copyrights to that are held by one company, and the only way you get to offer a service related to the tech is through a license fee to that company. If you try to go rogue, you find yourself buried in lawsuits for copyright infringement. People have tried it, and it was expensive. If you ever so much as touch the tech and try to create a related service, chances are you’ve signed a bookshelf full of contracts that will keep you stuck in court for decades. This is one of the main areas of control, and the one thing Max has not let go of.

“Another one you’ll hear mentioned is the Archive. This is basically all of our records and research throughout the decades,” Tru explained. “While Max and, to a smaller extent, my father control the tech, the Archive is controlled by a board of trustees. This was done at the insistence of a number of providers who didn’t want Max having total leverage over them. Dad once explained it to me as the difference between publishing rights and performance rights when it comes to music,” Tru said.

“I’m going to keep nodding my head and pretend I understand any of this,” Mark replied.

“It’s a lot, but you’ll figure it out. The last factor we have to consider—the wild card—is Marnie Lightman, your father’s wife, Kevin’s mother. I’m not sure what she’s going to do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mark asked.

“She likes to project that she’s not all that involved in operations, but she very much is, and she’s very effective at getting her way. She’s not unreasonable; I think she’s likable, but a lot of Max’s decisions were actually hers, including ones that affected you,” Tru told him.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” Mark said.

“Just pay attention. If she decides she likes you, which I think she will, great. If she doesn’t, she’ll come at you. But it won’t be directly.”

“My mom said this was like jumping into a TV show in the ninth season,” Mark replied.

“She’s not wrong. In the meantime, enjoy the champagne and enjoy the ride.”

Mark took everything into consideration and thought back to his conversation with his mother, where she told him to take advantage of the opportunity before they took advantage of him. He needed to figure out if there was something for him here, or if things were even more convoluted and corrupt than Tru was letting on.

The only thing he was certain of was that everyone wanted something, and Tru was no exception.

Welcome Home

Mark opened the SUV door before the driver could reach it. From the moment he’d stepped off the plane the night before and into another vehicle, he’d had someone underfoot nearly every moment, seeing to it that his every need was met.

Tru had left him in the lobby of a company-owned condo tower in the hands of the concierge and bellhop, who took him to a penthouse with a view of Miami, the intracoastal, and the Atlantic.

Mark thought he’d have a hard time sleeping, but the moment his head hit the pillow—softer than a cloud—he fell asleep.

He woke in the morning to a gentle knock on his bedroom door. Breakfast was laid out on the dining table, along with a handwritten note that Tru would meet him in the lobby in one hour.

Mark wasn’t sure what life was like for an oil-rich Saudi sheikh, but he suspected it was something close to this.

Tru was waiting as promised. She wore a designer jacket and skirt Mark had seen on one of Holly’s Pinterest boards. “Sleep well?”

“Like a coma,” he replied.

“Ready for your first day in the office?”

“For better or worse.”

“I have to warn you, our social media campaign worked a little too well. Everyone at Summit is buzzing about meeting you, so don’t freak out.” She shrugged and smiled.

“What does that mean?”

“I take it you haven’t been online since yesterday. Just go along with things. It’s more about them than you.”

“Go along with what?”

“You’ll see.”

The last time Mark stepped into the lobby of 2500 Bayshore Drive, it had seemed like the largest room in the world. Sunlight poured in through massive glass windows, and the polished sandstone glowed with golden warmth. The five-story atrium loomed over a reception desk that stood out like an island in a sea of blue couches. Mark had felt small and overwhelmed.

This time the room felt equally big and awe-inspiring, but there was a critical difference: People lined the back wall and crowded the railings on each floor.

They were all cheering him.