Page 4 of Exposed

3

Growing from newbie to seasoned pro seemed effortless for Madison. People at D.G.I. recognized her as if she’d been there for years. And though the hustle and bustle might weigh others down, she thrived on it, the constant, happy-go-lucky energizer bunny everyone had come to know and adore. She was up for any challenge, and willingly volunteered for additional work whenever she felt she could bring value to the task. Part of her eagerness stemmed from a deep-seated insecurity—that it could all disappear. She knew from experience that nothing in life was permanent. But the other part of her determination was derived from loving what she did. She had real passion for the work. The Defense and Tactical Training courses grew from an off-the-cuff inspiration to an enterprise in and of itself, catapulting her reputation by leaps and bounds.

Working with so many vets gave her a unique sense of purpose, and a peek into the world of the closely held struggles they endured day in and day out. She cherished their solidarity, appreciating their trust as they regularly confided in her. Through their casual camaraderie, she believed she was carrying on Jack’s legacy in some way.

Madison, herself, took beginner classes twice a week, but seized every opportunity to stroll by the advanced courses to catch glimpses of Alex in his element. Here, despite always being on guard, he somehow seemed most relaxed.

These classes opened a door for connections and esprit de corps among the D.G.I. workforce, and Alex contributed by teaching. Although he originally started instructing beginner courses, he shared with Madison that he’d longed for a bigger challenge, moving to the advanced classes. But she suspected that, true as that may have been, the root cause of his swift departure lay in his adorable discomfort at the overabundance of women who signed up for his class. By Madison’s count, there were forty in each class—and a waiting list. Some of them didn’t even work at D.G.I., and were escorted in by friends. “And besides,” he’d said, “it’s not like there aren’t women at advanced levels.” Though accurate, to Madison’s recollection, the ratio for men to women in the smaller advanced classes was about twenty-to-one.

So, today, she was elated to see him going no holds barred. There were no seats in the classes and the doors were closed, but determined as ever, Madison found a way. She discovered a discrete place to peer through a small strip of the glass wall that hadn’t been frosted. And, if anyone found her loitering about, she could simply pretend to inspect the thermostat, or scrutinize the unsightly, albeit invisible, lifts of the wallpaper.

As he and his opponent staged to go toe-to-toe, her heart fluttered. In unison, they bowed in white gees, black belts, and bare feet. Their actions were executed with such reverence and ceremony, Madison knew she was witnessing something special; a private event open to those select few whose invitation was extended only through years of diligent practice.

___

Alex looked forward to these one-on-one spars more than he’d imagined. He had skills to share, and teaching was the perfect outlet to up his game on giving back; he didn’t make his company a global presence on his own. Any way he could better connect and show his appreciation to the men and women who’d helped him take D.G.I. higher was the least he could do.

But these classes helped him too. He was able to refocus his energy, and exercise better techniques to thwart the unrelenting demons that haunted him. He took in a meditative breath as he and his opponent slowly rose from their bows. But all his mastery suddenly fell by the wayside. He spied Madison’s adorable, prying eyes. He glanced at her for only a moment, but it disarmed him just enough to give his opponent an unusual advantage. Before he knew it, he was pulled into a roll, landing him in a magnificent full-body flip, right onto his back.

Madison jumped to the glass, pressing her palms against it in alarm, when Alex quickly looked over and reassured her with a wink.

“You okay, boss?” his contender asked and extended her massive arm to help him up. Sharon was a beautiful and very well-built advanced martial artist and semi-professional body builder. She was good, damn good in fact, but that one had been too easy. Alex took her hand and let her pull him up.

“Good one. Yep, never been better,” he said, now back on his feet. He grinned as he watched Madison’s foggy silhouette conspicuously scurry away. Oh, you can run, butI’ll be seeing you later, my little spy. Alex collected himself and turned back to Sharon. “How about a rematch?”

Madison made her way back to her office with just enough time to catch up on a few emails before prepping for that afternoon’s Global Innovation Challenge. Every six months, VPs from throughout D.G.I.’s international operations jetted to the NYC headquarters to lead hard-charging members of the team through brainstorming sessions to flesh-out opportunities in untapped markets. There were several sessions throughout the day, and Madison and thirty-five colleagues had been selected for the late afternoon session.

As the herds corralled themselves into a small banquet facility, everyone quickly found a seat. Delegates from eight countries led the forum, describing some of the concepts from previous events and how these ideas had transformed their global presence, translating into hundreds of millions in additional revenue. As they talked, Madison’s mind wandered to a concept. She leaned over to Burt Schumer, a co-worker she knew from self-defense class who worked on the R&D side of the house.

“Burt, you know our access cards? What if we—”

“Excuse me, miss?” One of the VPs on stage interrupted and smiled at Madison. He then proceeded to tell her something in a foreign language. Possibly Chinese. Madison warmed over with a flush, realizing it was eighth grade English all over again, where she was no stranger to getting called out in class for talking. The only way it could be more of a nightmare would be if she were buck naked.

Madison gushed out, “I’m so sorry, I—”

And, again, she was interrupted, but this time from behind. “No need to be sorry, Ms. Taylor.” She turned back to see Alex, all suited up, strolling through the aisle with his hands in his pockets. Just like he owns the place, she sweetly mused before her anxiety set her straight.Though his presence normally raised her pulse, in a good way, his sudden appearance struck worry through her. Had her public faux pas been a double disaster, also embarrassing him during this premier event? Alex cut in. “Mr. Cheng was just saying, and correct me if my translation is off, that there are no secrets in collaboration.”

“Yes, exactly, Mr. Drake. Your Mandarin is as good as ever,” Mr. Cheng shot an enthusiastic finger his way, his thick accent cheerily conveying his jubilance. “Everyone, we are here to brainstorm. If you have an idea, don’t be afraid. Shout it out.” His eyes danced back to Madison. “So, what were you saying, miss?”

Without thinking, Madison rose to her feet. “Well, I—I was thinking of something, but it might be too trivial for such an esteemed venue.”

Mr. Cheng started, “Tsk-tsk,” and continued in Chinese again. He darted a look to Alex, eyes brightly lit having just thrown the linguistic gauntlet. Everyone turned to him as well, on bated breath for the translation.

He took a minute to consider the syntax, then it came to him. “Ah, yes! There are no wrong answers in innovation.” Alex looked back to Madison, the glint in his eye sparkling just for her. “Ms. Taylor, I believe the floor is yours.”

Madison, still standing, started. “Well, as long as there are no wrong answers, I’ll give it a go.” Her colleagues laughed with her, encouraging her to continue. She took a deep breath, realizing that was the first time there had been so many eyes on her at once.

“I was just asking Burt, a brilliant engineer in R&D, about our access cards.” She held hers up. “He mentioned the leaps they’ve made in their department. As you know, D.G.I. sells roughly ten million of these a year, all as part of security suites with compartmentalized access capabilities. But what if we could increase the margins on these cards by offering a highly customizable brand unlike anything that exists today?

“And not just by the company. We could customize each product by individual needs. Credit cards have tried to dabble in this arena, but can’t max the profits to make it worthwhile. But because we do all our own manufacturing, and with pioneering just-in-time production advances, we have this capability today.”

She pulled Burt to his feet to stand next to her. “And it doesn’t just have to look like a credit card. From what I’ve seen, we can offer a broad range of unique configurations, like pens and jewelry, all with the same access chip embedded, except much smaller so it can fit in virtually anything. We could cater to our customers’ desire for a specialized security experience while focusing on the profit margin. Right now, we take a loss on these cards because we consider them the price of doing business. But, when offered the opportunity, people can be upsold on colors, styles and logo appearance and placement on just about every item under the sun, and all at a premium.

“Customization is a strong value proposition and translates to quick upsells in an untapped market. There is a potential to increase our margins in this area to eighty-percent because our manufacturing is so agile.” Madison suddenly felt she’d droned on a bit and tapered off to gage the audience.

Mr. Cheng considered the facets of her spur-of-the-moment presentation, then called out, “Burt, is it? Can you do what she says you can?”

Burt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d only casually mentioned it to Madison two days ago during their basic self-defense class, and asked her thoughts on where it could go. “Yes, sir. We’ve had a recent breakthrough on the R&D side, and we were looking for an opportunity to exploit it.”

---