His name was Steven Herbert Greenlee II. Originally from the coastal area of Texas, Steven was 6’ 1â€? tall, 225 pounds with boyish good looks and a goofy smile. He never left home without a cowboy hat, a pair of shit-kickers, and a can of Copenhagen chewing tobacco. He was 35 and had a quick, unpredictable habit of punching people in the arm and calling them a “Chinese son of a bitch.”

His father, who had many Asian business associates, frequently chided Steven about it. “Stop saying that and act like a Greenlee,” his father would say. “People don’t want to hear your crap, Stevie!” Steven would roll his eyes and look around like a scolded little 35 year-old boy.

He was being groomed to take over his father’s company – a telecommunications consulting outfit that worked exclusively with Fortune 1000 clients. Steven had little interest in telecommunications, but he did like the perks of working for his Dad, including unlimited use of the company plane, which would frequently get him into loads of trouble.