Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
She pulled a face, accepting the papers. “You’re projecting, Rom. Dallas isn’t Morgan. She’s just a kid. A wild kid but a good one. She shouldn’t pay for Morgan’s sins.”
Shortbread wasn’t Morgan, all right. She would never be in a position to hurt me.
My walls were too tall, too thick, too cold for her to slip through.
Chapter Fifty
Romeo
If only I could see Madison’s face as I delivered this speech, I’d frame it in Zach’s gallery. As it was, I did, in fact, hire Alan to capture it, which was why I’d tacked on an extra hour before this press conference. The man needed time to find the perfect angle.
I settled behind the Costa Industries podium in our headquarters press room. I’d practiced this face in the mirror a few minutes ago, since it wasn’t one I had experience in using. Remorseful, dedicated, and somber. No hard feat, seeing as I’d spent the majority of the afternoon pep-talking myself into not murdering my father.
A bevy of reporters, journalists, and photographers from national and international media outlets sat before me. I deliberately took my time, careful not to unleash my satisfaction on my face. Well, the little gratification I possessed. Shortbread had ensured the thorough ruin of my day. And life.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Today, at approximately 10:30 a.m. Eastern Time, news broke that Licht Holdings Corporation, whom we considered colleagues, peers, and co-pilots in the effort to strengthen the U.S. Army, disposed of dozens of toxic PFAS chemicals in the water stream in Newsham, Georgia, a small blue-collar town in which Licht Holdings manufactures weapons.”
I paused, frowned, pretended to give half a damn. Enough to convince people I genuinely cared—and so they wouldn’t suspect me of tipping off reporters about the story. “Upon a detailed investigation, we’ve confirmed this has caused high rates of cancer, depression, suicide, learning disabilities, and asthma within this already struggling community.”
Another pause. “We are still in the process of discovering all the suffering and pain this thoughtless, reckless move by Licht Holdings has inflicted. However, I would like to assure you, right here and now, that Costa Industries condemns these actions. We are, and always will be, committed to serving the communities we are part of and not vice versa.”
A few journalists raised their hands. Photographers snapped pictures, buzzing with energy. You couldn’t tell a story like this without pictures, so I’d paid a hefty sum to the families affected by the toxic chemicals to share photos of their dying relatives, ruined lungs, infested limbs, and chemotherapy journeys. I didn’t feel half guilty about it. Not the part where I paid distressed people to share their tragic stories. And not about bringing this to light, preventing other companies from exhibiting this behavior in the future.
“While I share little about my personal life in public, I’d be remiss not to mention my wife is Georgian, born and bred. Thus, I am especially fond of the state.”
A ripple of giggles rolled through the crowd. At least complete strangers considered me a heartthrob. Too bad Shortbread’s parting words were a promise to bite off my cock if I got close to her again.
“I’ve met Madison Licht, the son of Licht Holdings CEO Theodore Licht, many times and considered him a peer in the industry. The Lichts both share deep ties to Georgia, so I am staggered, if not completely floored, to discover they would do this to their own people, their own state, their own beloved natural resources.”
I laid it on so thick, I was surprised my own eyes didn’t roll out of their sockets. Time to wrap it up before I sailed into overkill territory.
“As we face this new era of uncertainty, trauma, and dramatic loss of precious lives in this great nation, I would like to make a vow, on behalf of Costa Industries, to never fail the people of this country. Of the states that host us as manufacturers.”
More hands shot up, waving now. Journalists. So impatient.
“Furthermore, I would like to announce that, in light of the recent findings regarding the PFAS damage, Costa Industries has donated fifty-five million dollars to workers and residents of Newsham, who are currently suffering the consequences of catastrophic policy, irresponsible management, and a poor example of a defense company.”
Claps erupted across the room. Some people stood, particularly the ones I’d planted in the crowd to egg on support.
“Thank you for trusting Costa Industries. We promise not to betray your faith.”
I soaked in the applause, allowing photographers to capture every angle before I strode offstage.
Our public relations officer sauntered onstage, smiling big in her crisp dress suit. “Mr. Costa will not be taking questions. Understandably, he’d like to be with his loved ones today and make sure he shows support to his wife’s family.”
The Townsends lived nowhere near Newsham. And Shep Townsend was about as blue-collar as I was a Hooters waitress, but calling on my bluff didn’t fit the media’s narrative.