Within a year the boys were building as many computers as they could in Peter's garage. Towers remained in the background, working deals with parts suppliers through his electronic instrument company to provide the boys with what they needed for production. Eventually they had so many orders that they had to relocate to real offices in nearby Sunnyvale. Peter moved out of the orphanage and created a minimal living space for himself in one of the building's corner offices. Together, Hank Towers and Peter, then twenty-two, founded their new company, which Peter named Wallaby, which everyone knew was an animal that had a pocket in which it carried its joey…the little friend that Peter had always dreamed of having, and knew someday he would create.
He snapped awake to a high-pitched warble. The telephone. Reaching for it, he knocked over the bottle of Scotch, spilling its contents onto the hardwood floor.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end was anxious.
"Yeah," Peter said, pressing his fingers to his eyelids.
"Peter? Are you all right? Petey?"
"Kate." This came out as a moan.
She spoke very fast. "What's happened? I caught the tail end of something about Wallaby on the CNN, something about a reorganization, and called your office, Peter, and they said they had not seen you. Peggy put me on hold and called the boardroom and they told her you had bolted and that something happened but she wouldn't tell me what. What the hell is going on?"
"It's over," he slurred.
"What's over?"
"Me. Wallaby. Everything."