Maps of Southeast Asia are up on the walls, and even covering the windows, lending a bunkerlike ambience to Avi’s hotel room. Epiphyte Corp. has assembled for its first full-on shareholder’s meeting in two months. Avi Halaby, Randy Waterhouse, Tom Howard, Eberhard Föhr, John Cantrell, and Beryl Hagen crowd into the room and pillage the minibar for snacks and soft drinks. Some of them sit on the bed. Eberhard sits barefoot and crosslegged on the floor with his laptop up on a footstool. Avi remains standing. He crosses his arms and leans back, eyes closed, against the endangered-mahogany doors of his entertainment center. He is wearing a brilliantly laundered white shirt, so freshly and heavily starched that it still cracks when he moves. Until fifteen minutes ago he was wearing a t-shirt he hadn’t taken off his body for forty-eight hours.