Matt Reisinger knew what he needed and when he needed it.
It was the key to his business success. Most executives on his level would credit some business mentor, or perhaps a parent, or maybe a business school professor, as the person who most helped them along the way.
Not Matt. Without question, in his mind the individual most responsible for his professional achievements was Mother Nature.
Twice a year Matt would drive from his Cincinnati home to the mountains of North Carolina. He always chose to drive, though as the CEO of a company that supplied private planes to wealthy clients, he obviously could easily and comfortably have traveled by air.
Driving was part of the mental cleansing; it was the time in which he made the transfer from his high-pressure job to his period of freedom. By the time he arrived at the mountains, his head was clear and he had put the real world behind him.
These trips had an irony that always became clear to him afterward, yet always surprised him. Even though he almost never thought about business or his job while he was there, he always returned with a bunch of ideas and new strategies.
Obviously, clearing his mind left space to think in fresh ways. He even thought about mandating these kinds of outings for the executives under him, but decided that it was impractical, and also that not everyone was likely to react in the same way.
He always stayed up on the mountains for four days, hiking and camping. He brought all the supplies he would need with him in the car, since it was not the kind of place where you can run in to a Walmart. He never varied this routine, which had served him well over the years.
Matt’s life was privileged; it had always been. He was born into a reasonably wealthy family, had been taught the value of money and ambition, and had done what he needed to maintain his lifestyle. But up on the mountain, none of that mattered; he was like everyone else, dealing with the elements and the difficulties that the wilderness presented, and that appealed to him on a basic level.
He was in the third day on this current trip, which was typically the day when he started dreading his return to the real world. That dread usually peaked on the fourth day and then started to wane, and by the time he’d driven back home he would always be refreshed and enthusiastic.
But this trip and this time were different. He was dealing with business and personal challenges he had never before faced, yet he had resolved to confront them. It might change his life, but he could not turn away from these challenges.
Matt always slept on the inside of the trail, away from the ledge. He didn’t have a fear of heights, but he did have a healthy respect for them. He was not prone to walking in his sleep, but there was no sense taking any chances.
Matt woke up and, as he had on the previous two days, made a fire, cooked himself breakfast and made coffee. Every day in North Carolina breakfast was the same … bacon, eggs, and oatmeal … and plenty of coffee. That was true of Matt both on the mountain and in the office: he required copious amounts of coffee.
“Is that real coffee? Or am I dreaming?”
Matt looked up to see another hiker. This big guy was obviously in good shape, and he carried a large backpack with ease. He had a smile on his face and made eye contact with Matt, though the stranger occasionally glanced eagerly at the coffeepot.
“It’s real,” Matt said. “I’m guessing you’d like some?”
“I’ll trade you two protein bars and an apple. If necessary I’ll throw in my firstborn. I forgot to bring coffee with me, the first and last time that will ever happen.”
“Well, I can’t make you a nonfat, no-foam venti latte, but I can definitely give you some black coffee. No trade necessary.”
Matt didn’t tell him his name or shake his hand. Those were unnecessary courtesies up here; they knew they would never see each other again. But Matt was happy to supply coffee and make this guy’s time on the mountain easier and more pleasant; that was the way that things were done in this world.
The way they should be done in every world.
He poured the guy a cup of coffee and handed it to him. The stranger reached for it with his left hand and punched Matt in the face with his right. The punch traveled less than a foot, but was tremendously powerful.
Matt quite literally never saw it coming and was never able to reflect on it because he instantly lost consciousness. His face was badly bruised and starting to bleed, but the stranger was not concerned about that because plenty of bruising and bleeding was to follow.
No one would ever be able to determine that this blow was the first damage to Matt’s body. No coroner in the world was that good.
The stranger looked around to make sure that no other hikers were within sight, though he had already scouted out the area. He quickly put on gloves, so as not to leave fingerprints, then gathered all of Matt’s stuff and repacked it, leaving it not far from the ledge.
He almost effortlessly picked up Matt’s unconscious body and tossed it over the ledge. There was no way to tell when Matt actually died from the impacts he made along the way, but that wouldn’t matter to anyone, least of all the stranger.
There would be no reason to suspect foul play, and certainly no way to prove it. Matt was a hiker who for a horrible moment was not careful, and who had paid for it with his life.
In everyone’s eyes, it would just look as if Matt had lost a battle with Mother Nature.
“Mr. Carpenter, this is Rachel Morehouse. I don’t know if you remember me.”
My memory seems to fail me every day; for example, I should start walking my cell phone on a leash to remember where I’ve put it. But I definitely remember Rachel Morehouse.
“Of course I do. How are you, Rachel?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”