53
Jeremy Welch tapped his black and gold roller pen on the crisp, unspoilt writing pad in front of him. The Chairman of the Board was doing the talking today. Usually, he listened until Welch or one of the board members had finished and offered a curt instruction in his gruff, cigar-smoker's voice.
The man was working his way through an agenda of issues—and the Rattlesnake fiasco was next. Welch felt his leg jig involuntarily under the table.
The room was pure ivy league. Old men who spent more time on a golf cart than they did anywhere near an office.
Welch was different. He'd started in the mail room and come up the hard way. Through sales, marketing and management, working ridiculous hours in the remotest corners. And handling the dirtiest jobs--hostile takeovers, mass redundancies
