Рождественский список

Throughout his life Kier had always been good at fixing things. When he was thirteen the gas-powered lawn mower broke halfway through a cutting. While his father called Sears to yell at the clerk who sold them the machine, Kier tore apart the Briggs & Stratton engine. He dissected the block, pulled out the valves, and scraped the ash from the piston. When he put it all back together it ran.
Relationships were something else. Long ago, in college, he thought he was good with people, but not anymore. Too many variables. Too many nuances. Too much unpredictability. He once told Brey, “The more I know people the better I like my car.”

“That little fiasco with you—and in the grand scheme of things it truly was little—was devastating for me at the time. But it was exactly what I needed. You gave me two gifts of wisdom that have influenced everything I’ve done since. First, you taught me to trust no one. Everyone is looking out for themselves, so you better do the same.
“Eat or be eaten.” Kier mumbled, as if conjuring up a spirit from the past.
“That’s right. Second, winners don’t follow everyone else’s rules. There are no ‘shoulds’ or ‘oughts’ or even right or wrong in business, only what you can get away with and what you can’t, nothing more. A lion doesn’t give its prey fair warning before it pounces. It doesn’t search out the strongest or fastest impala to even the odds; it searches for the weakest, then feeds. It’s survival instinct. The greater the mismatch, the better the feast. I took that lesson into the business world and it’s rewarded me well.”