263After all their hypocritical hoodoo around the application, I really didn’t like the fact that these guys thought they could exact retribution on my daughter just because they didn’t like what I did for a living.

Mindfulness had done me good by helping me get my problems with Dragan under control. I wanted to continue down this path. So I didn’t have the slightest inhibition against going over there with Sasha and tearing these self-righteous arseholes some new ones. In fact, I was looking forward to it – for Emily, for me and, yes, for Katharina too.

Of course, I had mentally prepared for the appointment.

My mindfulness guide was very instructive when it came to communication:

If you want to optimise your own communication skills, the way to get there is through emotional intelligence. This intelligence can be trained by targetedly training your attention: develop a better impression and understanding of your interlocutor by gaining insight into what they need.

So I trained my emotional intelligence by considering what my counterparts might need. I knew they were self-righteous bleeding hearts. They spent a lot of time in 264front of the mirror and in front of their Apple devices, using social media to weave a lovely set of lies around their tyre-wear company. First and foremost, they needed to see themselves reflected, specifically in some utopia of peace and harmony.

So the main question was how much peace and harmony we’d need to offer them in exchange for their utopian preschool.

Of the three innovators, one had a business management degree and considered himself a financial genius. Another had a law degree and considered himself a lawyer. The third had dropped out of first a business management and then a law degree, and therefore considered himself a creative. In all their narcissism, none of them had felt they needed any external support in this conversation. I had.

We were meeting in the preschool’s administrative office. Sasha and I had brought a sixty-something gentleman who was so inconspicuous that he could quietly sit on a children’s chair outside the office without raising any enquiries. The atmosphere was frosty. Unconventional as these three bros were, they waived the handshake customary everywhere else, even among adversaries. Instead, we were offered an espresso from a 5,000-euro portafilter. It was a sign of their tendency to blow their own trumpet that these three bros wanted to show off their innovative preschool was able to afford an espresso machine with a 5,000-euro portafilter.

The five of us sat at a small meeting table that had really only been designed for four. Everything in the office was contrived to show off. It looked like an advertising agency 265specialising in design products for children, not a space where children’s needs were ever discussed. While bro number three lit an honest-to-goodness electronic pipe by pressing the ‘on’ button in the pipe’s bowl, I took the floor and started the conversation.

‘We asked for this meeting to clear up a few misunderstandings. You already know who I am, but you might want to get to know this man over here.’ I pointed to Sasha. ‘This is Sasha, Little Fish’s new managing director.’

Irritated disbelief showed on all three faces. Bro number one spoke.

‘I see. Since when?’

‘Soon. I guess in about … twenty minutes.’

‘I don’t know what you think you’re on about.’

I tried to understand his need to understand what was happening and, in simple terms, explained to him what would transpire:

‘What’ll happen next is this: we will offer you one and a half times the face value of your shares in Little Fish. Those shares will then be transferred to a different company, Sergowicz Preschool and Fishing. The preschool will continue to operate and every child will retain their spot. For your part, you’ll have a little more money and considerably more free time. That little guy outside is a notary, and he will wrap up the formalities. In ten minutes, my friend Sasha will be the new managing director, and then we can all go home.’

Bro number one asked about the only bit he’d apparently grasped.266

‘Didn’t you say this would all be over in twenty minutes?’

‘Right, I took into account a certain amount of time for questions.’

Sasha stepped in. ‘Any other questions, or can we call in the notary?’

The notary had come to Sasha’s attention a few years earlier when he found the man upside down on a St Andrew’s cross in the basement of one of Dragan’s brothels, completely naked but for a red ball-gag in his mouth. Sasha was there to warn all customers they were about to be raided. Since then, the notary had been grateful to him for not having to be put right-side-up by the police. He felt a little indebted – also because Sasha had documented the man’s before-and-after states on his phone.

None of these bros wanted to wrap things up quickly, however. Bro number two took the floor.

‘What are you on about? You need to turn our preschool into a brothel for your gungy boss and now you want us to sell our shares to you?’

‘No, as I have just explained, my client will continue to operate the preschool. So this is no longer about the children, only your egos. And I just made you an offer for those.’

It was bro number three’s turn.

‘Listen here, we were under the assumption you were here to apologise for your behaviour. Threatening us with eviction, turning this children’s paradise into a brothel – that’s not on. But if you want trouble, go for it. You obviously have no idea how well connected we are on social media. We’ll start a shitstorm you’ll never forget.’267

Though I had planned to keep the conversation at a friendly and not overly emotional pitch, it appeared I’d have to take it there.

To me, a social-media shitstorm was and remains so insignificant it’s not even worth ignoring. The concept is neither meaningful nor measurable. Yet for those who worship at the altar of all things online, even just waving the word around is proof enough of its validity. A statement like ‘Don’t do that, otherwise there will be a shitstorm!’ should be taken as seriously as someone telling their child: ‘Finish your plate, otherwise a child in Africa will die.’ Children die every second, all over the world. And every second, some idiot posts shite on the internet. None of this will improve if you just ignore all causality and threaten to lay the blame on someone else instead.

The shitstorm bro apparently felt the need to start a brawl. Mindful as I was, I’d make sure he’d get one. Once that need was satisfied, he might find he had a need for peace after all.268