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“I know, I read it.”

Tom read aloud, making his point. “‘Hjalmar Schacht. Reich minister of Economics and president of the German Reichsbank. May 1937: attended secret “War Economy” games at Godesberg. July 8, 1937: issued written report to General Werner von Blomberg, commander in chief of the German Armed Forces, laying out “measures for the preparation of the conduct of war.”’”

He stopped reading, looking his father in the eye. “When did Schacht give you Hitler’s medal for world peace?”

Watson didn’t answer.

“When,Father?”

“At that time, how was I to know what was coming?”

“Whatdaywas the award?”

Watson was silent, but his secretary replied, as if it were a day he would never forget. “July third, 1937.”

Tom slapped the desktop. “Five days,” he said in quiet but angry disbelief. And then his voice erupted. “Five daysbefore Schacht’s written report to the commander in chief of the German Armed Forces, you let him double-kiss your face and decorate you with the Nazi Merit Cross.”

“You’re linking events that have no connection. No fair-minded person is going to tie this together the way you are.”

“Most fair-minded people don’t work for you, sing silly songs in your honor every morning, and worship the ground you walk on.”

“You have no idea what it means to be a CEO, do you, son?”

“Stop it! Stop that tap dance right now! You are not going to make this aboutme!”

“Do you think it just happened by accident that IBM never lost a single company to the Nazis? Entire countries fell. German custodians took over our factories. Still, hardly any IBM employees lost their jobs overseas. And now that the war is over, there’s a good chance our lawyers can unfreeze profits tied up in Nazi bank accounts. And you know who benefits the most from this? My shareholders. Many of whom are Jewish.”

“So, it’stheirfault? Your shareholders?”

“It’s not aboutfault. It’sbusiness. And sometimes business is a matter of survival. When you finally come to terms with that basic fact, you’ll be ready to step up and lead my company. Because then you’ll know there’s a world of difference between a CEO who is trying to protect the interests of American shareholders in a foreign country that has lost its bloody mind, and a traitor to his own country who wants to help the Nazis.”

Tom turned sharply and headed for the door.

“Tom!”

He stopped, but his back remained to his father.

Watson checked his anger and spoke in an even tone. “You know something, son? Charles Lindberghneverreturned his Merit Cross. Not even after we entered the war.”

Tom turned slowly, facing him, and breathed out his response.

“Charles Lindbergh is not my father.”

“Hold, please!” shouted Sean.

His words stirred Kate from her creative zone, and then she held her breath. Whenever a director’s assistant shouted “hold, please!” at a table reading, it meant the director had changes.

“Cut page thirty-four, line one, to page forty-one, line eight,” said Bass.

The actors marked their scripts in red ink. Kate checked her copy to see how much damage Bass had done, and her blood was about to boil. “That’s the entire scene we just read.”

“It’s out,” said Bass.

“That’s a critical scene. Clearly, Tom Junior loves his father, but Watson measures his worth not by the love of his son, but by how he compares in the public arena to people like Charles Lindbergh.”

“That’s not the story we’re telling,” said Bass.

“Thatisthe story.”

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