Sample Chapters from
The Invisible Heart: An Economic Romance
by Russell Roberts
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Chapter Two: BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
The car hugs the curve of the road like a speed skater taking a corner. The man at the wheel, who looks younger than his fifty years, likes the feeling of control. The Virginia pine forest flashes by and the sunlight, coming just over the horizon, darts in and out of the spaces between the branches, dappling the hood of the BMW with patches of deeper silver here, a flash of light there. Frank Sinatra's voice singing "My Way" fills the space of the car so completely that you wonder if there is room for the man's thoughts. At the final verse, the man raises the volume a notch and savors the voice, world-weary yet triumphant.
Thirty miles to the north, in Washington, D.C., a woman pounds away on a stair-stepper in a health club. Her headphones weave the harmonies of the Indigo Girls through her thoughts. But it is hard to imagine that she is thinking of little else beyond the driving and pumping of her arms and legs. Her red hair is pulled back tightly in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. Without stopping, she towels the sweat from her face and neck and redoubles her efforts as she finishes the workout. Soon she is showered and dressed, striding through the front door, headed for the Dupont Circle Metro stop, wading through the swarm as the sidewalk comes to life with people hurrying to work.
Back in the Virginia countryside, the man rolls the car into the parking spot labeled "Charles Krauss, CEO." The building is all chrome and glass, corners jutting out at odd angles, giving the building a jagged look, as if it had been thrust upward from below the ground or hewn from some massive rock hidden in the heart of the forest. The company name, HEALTHNET, is a deep metallic blue embedded in one of the facets in the front.
Krauss takes the steps two at a time and glides through the front door, past the security guard behind the imposing desk who greets him by name. Heading for his office, he is pleased to see the corridors busy with early arrivals. A steady chorus of greetings accompanies him. He hardly notices. His mind is busy churning through the day's agenda.
On a street corner in Washington, D.C., the Metro's escalator coughs up a steady stream of workers who scurry under the looming dome of the Capitol. The woman is swept along with the crowd and after a short walk, climbs the gray concrete steps of a standard-issue Washington government office building. There is a brief wait as the security guard rummages through the briefcase of a visitor ahead of her. Then she walks through the metal detector and heads down a dingy corridor. She turns a corner; another long corridor and then a glass door-stenciled in white on the door it says: OFFICE OF CORPORATE RESPONSIBILITY, and just below it, ERICA BALDWIN, DIRECTOR.
On the other side of the door there is light and activity. Workers are setting up brightly colored partitions, creating new office space. The receptionist greets her with "Good morning, Erica." She heads to the corner office.
To the south, Charles Krauss reaches the executive suite. The receptionist at the entrance to the suite looks up briefly to greet him with a brisk "Good morning, sir." She hands him a cup of coffee and a sheaf of papers. He smiles, grabs them without stopping and enters the office, a sanctuary of steel, chrome, black marble, and leather. He turns on his laptop and a spreadsheet comes up, a green labyrinth of cells and numbers. His hands fly across the keys.
As Erica Baldwin enters her office, the phone is already ringing. "Erica Baldwin," she says, as she takes out her schedule for the day, cradling the phone on her shoulder. She settles into her chair, and with her free hand reaches for a yellow legal pad. If she listens hard enough, she can still hear the fading rhythms of the Indigo Girls ringing in the air.
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