Why." Prepared for more flailing, Peter's
reaction surprised him.
Without looking at Matthew, Peter came toward him. He picked up
the pen he had moments before used as a missile. He lowered
himself down onto the sofa and casually crossed one leg over the
other. He held the pen bearing the Wallaby logo by each end
between his fingers. Emphatically, yet softly, he explained. "You
don't understand. You just don't get it. You don't know the truth
about inventing products like Wallaby's. In the long run, it's
all that really matters. That the products are true to the
visions that inspire them." He gently placed the pen in his
pocket, shrugged. His glazed eyes drifted across the room to rest
on his docked Joey. "My visions are my products."
He remained there for a few moments with a rapt, slightly
smiling expression lighting his face, gone inside himself to a
place where, the way he saw it, everything was sharp and clear,
where he could see things no one else could see.
The only thing Matthew saw was a man gone. Gone mad, perhaps.
Although they'd had arguments in the past, Peter had never seemed
so unhinged. In a way, Matthew felt relieved. Having witnessed
Peter's distracted state, he was resolved to proceed with his
plan.
The young founder blinked. He looked at Matthew with clear eyes.
He was back. He bit his lower lip, and with an expression at once
sad and perplexed, he said, "What is it that you see, Matthew?
What is your vision?"
The car phone jingled, snapping Matthew out of his musing.
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