Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
It probably wouldn’t even have made the news if not for the size of Newcomb Textiles—but news coverage or not, Wotkiss had been fired before Vic had even finished breakfast. He’d spent the rest of the morning in meetings with the top-level HR team, reviewing Wotkiss’s personnel file and existing company policies, discussing what they could do for the victim and if there might be more who hadn’t spoken up. He didn’t like that the harassment victim hadn’t felt safe coming forward until after she’d moved on to another job at another company. And he wasn’t happy that the damned people he’d hired to make sure this didn’t happen were falling so short that he had to step in to micromanage. To hell with whatever PR fallout this might have; he just wanted it fucking done right, and if people couldn’t—
“—comb. Mr. Newcomb?”
He jerked from his blank staring out of the executive conference room window, lifting his head from idle contemplation of the sun sinking behind the city skyline, melting colors like ink into water. The entire table full of geriatric stuffed suits, the Board of Directors and every member of the chief executive team save for Wotkiss’s conspicuously empty chair, was watching him with a sense of waiting expectancy and, in several cases, subtle disapproval, jowly mouths turned down and rheumy eyes skeptical. He glanced about the assembly, then landed on Geoffrey Schuyler, one of the senior members of the Board who’d been a part of the company since before Vic had taken over the reins. His hard gray eyes drilled into Vic, as if weighing him in comparison to his father.
Vic sighed, forcing his attention back on track. “Apologies. What was that?”
Someone at the table snorted, while Schuyler sniffed. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”
Vic narrowed his eyes. “Do you have something you want to say to me, Schuyler?”
The old man held his gaze for several moments—then cleared his throat, looking down at the bound report open on the glossy table in front of him, flipping back a few pages. “I’d asked if you had an idea of your timeline for signing off on the final greenfield strategy for the Italian factory expansion.”
“I’d thought that was tied up in legal for another few months. Negotiating with the locals over permits and zoning.”
“If you’d read the report,” Schuyler said in tones dripping with snotty condescension, “you’d know the foreign administrators we’ve been working with have communicated a willingness to expedite the process if we pay appropriate fees.”
Vic never took his gaze away from Schuyler. Never bothered looking down at the report open in front of him. He was not in the mood for these power plays from the old boys’ club whose only problem with him was that he was under sixty and not his father, and someone always had to get his dick in a knot over whatever ego posturing was going on today. He held his silence until Schuyler began to shift uncomfortably in his chair, gaze darting away behind his rimless glasses, then back to Vic, then away again, his scowl deepening with clear irritation but his tongue silent. Until he opened his mouth—then immediately snapped it closed hard enough for his dentures to clack when Vic lightly lifted a hand and smiled a smile that felt more like baring his teeth.
“You’re right,” he said calmly. “If I’d read the report I’d know you were proposing paying a bribe. Was this our esteemed business partners’ suggestion, or yours?”
No answer. Suddenly everyone had somewhere to look other than at him, little rustlings and shufflings like the whole room was a flock of birds poised on the verge of taking flight. He steepled his fingers, propping his elbows on the arms of his chair, looking at each one of them for measured seconds before returning to Schuyler.
“I’m waiting for an answer.”
Schuyler huffed and muttered weakly, “It’s not abnormal to lubricate the process a bit.”
“Pull the deal.”
While the rest of the table erupted into mutters and startled sounds, Schuyler blinked, his eyes bulging. “Excuse me?”
“Pull it,” he repeated firmly. “We’ll find another site. If we go through with the expansion at all.”
The CFO, Natalie Andrews, piped up in a strangled voice. “We’ve been working out the logistics and budget on this for a year—”
“And we’ll work on it for another year if we have to.” Vic pushed his chair back and stood. A pointed move, when it forced them all to look up at him, to remember that no matter what fucking games they wanted to pull, they still answered to him and they had no hope of voting him out if he kept catching them in these little stunts. He swept the table with a look, not bothering to hide his contempt. “Do better than wasting money on undue process, ladies and gentlemen. That’s not how we operate. What you would waste on a bribe could be put to better use.” He could almost hear Amani in his head when he said that, that husky-sweet voice mocking him and his wastefulness, his wealth, asking what it was all really for. And despite himself, he smiled, as he swept his suit coat up from the back of the chair and slipped his arms into it, shrugging it over his shoulders and already turning away. “Keep me updated. With full transparency.”