Monday, 7:25 a.m. EST Richmond, VA

David Centrelli, Director of Business Development, stepped into the CEO’s office at Medzic Pharmaceuticals like a rookie into the batter’s box determined not to let the veteran pitcher intimidate him. He stayed focused on keeping his 6’2” frame posture perfect. Slightly adjusting his new navy Peter Millar suit jacket with a tug on the lapels, he tried to project confidence and belonging.

On the inside, he felt weak, out of place and a nervous wreck.

“Good morning, Mr. Patera. How are you, sir?” It was all he could

muster.

Seated in an exquisite fine leather chair at the head of a beautifully polished granite boardroom table, the 58-year-old CEO of the 44,000- employee, global powerhouse pharmaceutical company that did over $60B in revenue last year smiled with a mouthful of half-chewed apple.

“Just fine for a Monday.”

Alvin Patera accomplished more in one day than most people did in a week. While David made an honest effort to get to ProFitness Gym once a week, Alvin ran five miles before getting to the office by six-thirty and usually worked until his eight o’clock evening racquetball match.

Overachiever.

Not afraid to flaunt his wealth, Alvin employed a private barber who groomed his graying hair each morning as he read The Wall Street Journal and shaved his face every night while he listened to the latest broadcast from The Met Opera. His strict adherence to an egregiously expensive diet seemed certain to ensure that Alvin would never need the drugs that made him so rich.

The door opened and the final two members of the meeting, Medzic’s COO and CFO, entered the room. Martin Richardson, the CMO, was already seated. Checking his watch, Alvin said, “It’s seven- twenty-nine gentlemen. Let’s get started.”

Just like that, David thought. Right down to business.

This meeting, his first of every week, always made him feel like the little kid who had somehow wandered over to the grown-ups’ table at the Christmas Eve party. It was comprised of the company’s top-level executives … and him. Every one of these gentlemen had thousands of people reporting up to them, more money than David would know what to do with, and twelve-hour daily calendars filled with sixteen hours of meetings.

“David, how’s Previséo coming?” asked Larry Bonnelson, the Chief Operating Officer. He said it with a slight shiver, perhaps because Alvin kept the corner office’s thermostat set to sixty-five degrees.

Previséo was slated to become the next wonder drug for Medzic Pharmaceuticals. And the men in this room stood to gain or lose the most, depending on whether or not it actually did. Administered in three equal doses over six months, its promise was to fully cure Type 1 diabetes. If successful, the drug would likely end up being responsible for sixty percent of Medzic’s sales. With a wave of generics ready to flood the market and cut into other revenue streams, pressure was mounting for Previséo to realize its potential.

Larry, forty-six years old, was short and stout. Already on his fifth ultra-caffeinated espresso to wash down the daily apple fritter, he glared at David through thick, black glasses so big that they rested dangerously close to his bushy mustache below. One inch lower and they’d be in the mealtime splash zone. Larry was tough but fair as well as notorious for ensuring targets were hit and deadlines met.

“It’s still on track,” David replied.

“We’re going to need more than that, David,” Larry said. “We’ve got forty percent of our revenue coming off patent protection this year and Previséo’s the only real winner in the pipeline.”

“I have the charts ready to review.”