As the train came to a halt, the four men swayed in unison and reached for the overhead bar. Andrew would have found this odd picture amusing were he not so desperate for the conclusion of Charlie’s advice.

“You guys aren’t serious. You’re not going to just stop right there?”

Only Charlie answered. “It’s time for us to go, Andy.”

The four men moved toward the door, but Andrew stepped in front of it to block them. First the Tall Man, then the Bald Man, and finally the Stylish Man stepped around Andrew carefully, nodding their heads or tipping their hats to him as they passed.

As Charlie approached, Andrew held out his hand to stop him. With a sense of desperation he said: “Just tell me what it is, Charlie. You don’t need to ask me any leading questions or tell me any more boring stories about your father. Just give me the final temptation.”

For the first time in the evening, Charlie looked deeply hurt. Andrew apologized immediately.

“I’m sorry. But you can’t just leave me hanging.”

Charlie took a breath. “Come with me.”

Charlie exited the train as Andrew turned toward the seat where his briefcase was. At that moment he heard the hydraulic doors preparing to close. Andrew knew that he would not be able to get out of the train if he went back for his case. He ran to the door and leapt from the train just as the doors closed.

Watching the train carry his briefcase into the next tunnel, Andrew rubbed his eyes and smiled at the crazy night he was having. He turned around to an empty terminal. Everyone was gone, including Charlie.

Desperate again, Andrew ran to the escalator and up toward the street exit. Once outside, he looked up and down the street and saw no sign of Charlie.

Then he heard a voice behind him.

“Over here.”

Completely startled, Andrew jerked around and saw Charlie sitting on a bus stop bench. “Oh my God!”

“What’s the matter, Andy?”

“What’s the matter? I’ll tell you what’s the matter. First I thought you ditched me. Then you scare me to death.”

Charlie was calm, concerned. “No. I mean, what’s the matter with you, in general? Why are you so desperate?”

Andrew sighed, walked over to the bench, and sat down next to Charlie. After a few moments, he dropped his head into his hands and spoke.

“For the first time in my career I think I’m drowning. And I feel like I’m pulling people down with me just to keep my head above water.”

Charlie said nothing. Andrew continued.

“I’ve always been able to turn things up a notch when I needed to, but this doesn’t seem to be about turning it up at all.”

Charlie asked, “What’s it about?”

“I don’t know. It’s like an impossible balancing act, with everything constantly moving. So many subtleties. So many details. Too much stuff. All the stuff.”

Charlie patted Andrew on the back. “Let me tell you about temptation number five.”

Andrew sat up and took a deep breath. “Okay. Fire away.”

“My father—it’s alright if I talk about my father, isn’t it?”

“Sure, Charlie. I was being a jerk. Your father’s stories aren’t boring. They’re just painful. Go ahead.”

“Well, my father wasn’t the kind of man to brag, but he did brag about one thing.”

“What?”

“He bragged about the people who worked for him. He’d get unusually emotional when he talked about the people on his staff.”

Charlie smiled as he thought about it.

“And I remember that he always said he trusted his people with his career.” Charlie paused, then asked, “Can you say that?”

Andrew shook his head without hesitating. “Not even close. Some of those people probably wouldn’t care one way or the other if I stepped down tomorrow.”

Charlie seemed genuinely sad for Andrew. “Why do you suppose?”

Andrew stared off across the empty street. Gradually, he began to shake his head. “I don’t know. They’re all so focused on their own careers.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know, Charlie. I guess I’m as concerned about my career as the next guy. But I don’t think I’m any worse.”

“I’m not asking you that. I was wondering if they could trust you with their careers?”

Andrew stared out across the empty street again. “I don’t want to sound like I don’t care, but I don’t think it’s my job to hold these people’s careers in my hand.”

“That’s not the point, Andy. All of this is about trust. It’s about risking and building trust. And before they trust you, you have to trust them. You have to be vulnerable.”

“Wait a second. What does that have to do with conflict?”

“Well, why do you suppose people are afraid of conflict?”

Andrew shrugged. “I guess they’re not used to it. Or their feelings get hurt easily.”

“Maybe. But I think it has a lot to do with trust. People who trust one another aren’t worried about holding back their opinions or their passions. They say what they think and know that they aren’t going to be vulnerable if they do.”

“I don’t know, Charlie. I think a little tension between people is good. If you trust one another too much, you get soft. You lose your edge. I don’t want my people feeling too comfortable.”

“Why in heaven’s name not?”

“Because people slack off when they’re too comfortable.”

Charlie became a little impatient with Andrew now. “Come on, Andy. There’s a difference between people being complacent and being trustworthy. You’re smarter than that.”

“Maybe I’m just not a very trusting person.”

“Do you know why people don’t trust other people?”

“No. Why?”

“Because they’re afraid of getting burned. That’s what I mean by vulnerability.”

Andrew slowly nodded his head. “Yeah. That’s probably right.”

“And you know what the best cure for that is?”

Andrew shook his head.

“Opening yourself up to being burned. Sometimes it’s even okay to get burned, because you realize it’s not fatal.”

“So you’re telling me that I don’t like conflict because I don’t trust people, and I don’t trust people because I’m afraid of being vulnerable.”

Charlie nodded. “Being vulnerable. Being wrong. Being unpopular. Losing your status.”

“And you’re telling me that great CEOs like your father go around leaving themselves open to people stabbing them in the back?”

“As crazy as it sounds, they do. My father never worried about being vulnerable with his people. He trusted them. That is what allowed them to feel comfortable having healthy, productive conflict. No one worried about getting hurt.”

Andrew took a deep breath. “So the root of all this is vulnerability?”

Charlie nodded and checked his watch.

Andrew sighed. “This is getting too touchy-feely for me.”

“Touchy-feely? Getting results, holding people accountable, creating clarity for your people, engaging in productive conflict with them? If all those depend ultimately on vulnerability and trust, isn’t it worth tolerating just a hint of touchy-feeliness, if that’s what you think it is?”

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t know.”

At that moment, a bus pulled up in front of Andrew and Charlie. “That’s my ride.” Charlie stood to leave.

Andrew asked his final question. “So how do I get comfortable being vulnerable?”

The bus door opened. Charlie patted Andrew on the shoulder and stepped on board.

“You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself, Andy. Give it a try.”

The old man smiled as the door closed.

Andrew watched as Charlie greeted the bus driver like an old friend. As the bus pulled away, Andrew stepped off the curb, into the street, and watched it disappear.

The blaring sound of a horn startled him. He turned and saw bright lights—an oncoming bus. He screamed.

Again the horn sounded and again Andrew screamed, waking himself as the train pulled into the Walnut Creek station.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Andrew checked his watch. Just twenty minutes had passed since he boarded the train. It always amazed Andrew how much dreaming a person could do in a short period of time.

Grabbing his briefcase, which he was glad to know was still there, Andrew stepped from the train and moved toward the exit of the BART station. The next day’s board meeting wasn’t weighing on him quite as heavily as it had been a half hour earlier.