“You rich assholes,” said Joe. “Playing Wall Street games. Hundreds of us, you ruined our lives, and that was just at Fulmont. I figure you have thousands and thousands to answer for, all the deals you’ve done.”
“I told you, we followed every single law, every single regulation.” Valiant didn’t look at the pistol.
“That’s kind of not the point, which you still don’t seem to understand.”
“We kept that business alive.”
“By screwing every single guy who worked there.”
“At least they’re working.”
“Is that why you did it?”
“What?”
“To put us all on minimum wage? Take away our retirement? Force us to work until we die?”
Valiant breathed hard. “Why are you doing this?”
“I just want to understand.”
“Understand?”
“You.”
Cool forest air drifted through the open window, bringing a smell of earth and fallen leaves. Far away, the sound of traffic on the state road was barely audible.
“Was it just money?” Joe said. “I really want to know. You can’t possibly need another million dollars.”
Valiant said nothing for a long moment.
“Well?” Joe moved his pistol slightly, bringing it back into the conversation.
“You just want me to explain myself?” Valiant seemed uncertain. “That’s all?”
“If I wanted revenge, I’d have shot you already.” Joe shrugged. “I thought about it. But what’s the point?”
“So put the gun away!”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Joe said. “Self-defense cuts both ways.”
Not actually true, but Valiant nodded.
A minute later he was talking, talking, talking.
“You worked at Fulmont a long time, didn’t you? The rolling line, right? Not just pressing buttons, turning cranks. You think I don’t know anything about the industry, but you’re wrong. I study every detail before I make a deal. Everything. So I know about your job. It takes skill. Years, maybe, to get good at it.”
Joe raised an eyebrow.
“That’s the reason Fulmont’s not in Mexico,” said Valiant. “Or Indonesia, or Poland. Skills. You guys know what you’re doing, and that can’t be yanked up and dumped in some cheap, overpopulated free-trade zone.”
“Thanks.”
“Not my point. Look, you were good at your job, I bet. Spend years learning a craft, there’s satisfaction in performing it. Real satisfaction. Doing a job and doing it well — that’s what makes people happy.”
Joe stared at him. “So why —”
“Because what I do is, I make deals.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Valiant shook his head. “I find value to unlock, synergies to realize. Ways to bring people together, so everyone comes out ahead. And I’m good at it, just like you’re good at the milling press.”
“Good at destroying lives?”
“Good at two-plus-two-equals-five. Seeing possibilities where no one else does and bringing them to life.”
Not a single car had passed by. The sun was descending into a bank of purple.
“But you walk away with seven figures,” said Joe. “And I have to eat day-old bread and government cheese.”
Valiant frowned. “That’s not my fault. That’s how the world works. You make strap steel. I create billions of dollars of value. Billions! Of course I get paid more.”
They fell silent. Valiant looked away. Time passed.
“I should tell you,” Joe said finally. “You’re on tape.”
“Huh?” Valiant swung back.
Joe kept the gun steady but used his left hand to pull the camera lens from concealment in his shirt placket. He held it up, thin wires dangling.
“All recorded, picture and sound both.”
“So what?” Valiant grimaced. “Take it to some prosecutor, he’ll just laugh. I keep telling you, there’s nothing illegal going on here!”
“I know.” Joe let the lens fall. “I was thinking I’d put it on the internet. YouTube? Get some attention on what you’ve done. What you are.”
After a moment, Valiant’s face cleared. “Go ahead,” he said. “Sure, post it. My lawyers can get a takedown notice in an hour. And even if they don’t, who cares?”
“The rest of the world cares.”
“I don’t think so.” Somehow he’d recovered every last sniff of self-confidence.
“You want yourself seen like this?”
“Sure.” Valiant laughed. “All you’ll be doing, really, is proving that I know how to find a bargain — and capitalize on it.”