Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
So, this is what it feels like to be torn open by a hungry lion.
Whatever the hell happened, my parents had something special that will always escape me.
Something I could’ve had with Jenn if I wasn’t such a fucking dumpling.
I don’t say anything, just refill our glasses.
“Thanks again, Benson.” I try to give my words the finality they usually have when I’m dismissing him, but I don’t have the energy.
Not after what he told me.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks as he stands.
“Yeah. I just need to think.”
He nods. “I’ll be in my suite downstairs if you need anything, sir.”
I watch him as he walks to the door but doesn’t open it.
“Yes?” I look at him.
“If that kicked puppy look has anything to do with Miss Landers... I doubt it would hurt to call her.”
My lips pull tight.
“She’s not speaking to me. Not after what I pulled.”
“Women usually say that until you offer them a good reason to listen.” He winks at me and walks out the door.
Yeah. Benson speaking from experience with his own dead wife just brings back more memories.
My parents were separated by death for years, and Dad never quit loving her. That’s a hard pill to swallow.
What would he have given for one more day with Mom?
A memory pops into my head.
Jenn and I in bed with the dogs, the sun spilling in, layering everything in golden light.
She’s still asleep and softly snoring.
To anyone else, she’s the portrait of pure innocence.
Her whole body is tucked under the fluffy white duvet on my bed and her auburn hair coils like the halo of untamable hair I tried to paint.
I don’t deserve her.
I never did.
My father worshipped every step my mom took for the forty-eight years they were together.
Me, I didn’t even make it to six months before I pushed the woman I loved into the damned gutter and left her there to rot.
The next day at the office, after dragging myself in late, I sit down to a new email.
The weekly content report from Sarah Valencia and Smokey Dave.
I’m not sure I want to see it, but I open it anyway. It’s my job to know how fast we’re sinking.
Views are dogshit across all platforms, TikTok being the worst. No surprise.
Without my top consultant steering them to make steady improvements, the whole team seems rudderless, just running off sheer inertia.
The reports tell me everything I already suspected.
Engagement is down.
Subscriptions are down.
Ad dollars, down.
The only thing saving this company from a total meltdown right now is years of leveraged goodwill and recurring clients on ironclad contracts.
If I had to match last year’s revenue in new business or die, I’d be digging my grave.
My phone vibrates with a news notification set to my interests.
There’s a new mafia film shooting in West Vancouver, and a Pacific-Resolute funded blog about pop culture has the exclusive scoop.
The comments stretch into thousands from eager fans who love their crime flicks.
For the past few weeks, Pacific-Resolute has been dominating every entertainment market from Bellingham to Eureka.
I walk away from my desk and move to the massive window.
I can’t handle more reports, more proof of our impending fall staring me in the face.
Gazing down at the tranquil, rainy city below, I’m frozen. A feeling that’s becoming way too familiar.
I have to do something.
How did Simone Niehaus get this much control over my life?
Hell, not just my life but my company.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Cromwell?” Louise asks, standing in the doorway.
Her words shake me from my thoughts. I didn’t even hear her come in.
“No, it’s not.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You really want to know? I’m a drunk goddamned sloth who’s forgotten how to get up off his ass,” I snarl.
“Mr. Cromwell...even people who think that still choose to work here. You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“I’m not being hard enough, Louise. Truman hired three investigators weeks ago, and so far, nothing. I want you to reach out to them again, and have them send reports directly to me. Hell, find me a list of new PIs. The guys we have aren’t cutting it.”
She nods slowly. “I’ll get on it right away.” But she doesn’t move to leave.
“Is there something else?” I bark.
“Well, I’m not part of Legal, but aren’t there risks to breaking the usual procedures? I thought you said the investigators were reporting to Truman for a reason.”
“There are risks to doing nothing, and they’re compounding daily.”
Her eyes swell with sympathy.
“I sincerely hope this won’t be the case, but... what if the investigation goes the wrong way?”
“You mean, what if I wind up proving my father’s a monster? Do you think he’s guilty?”
“I can’t say. I wasn’t in this role during Royal’s tenure.”
“Have you heard anything?”
Her weight shifts lightly.
There’s something she’s obviously uncomfortable telling me.
“Be blunt with me, Louise.”
She meets my gaze. “Your father was from a different generation. It’s possible it happened, and the predatory nature of the relationship was only clear in hindsight. That’s a story that’s played out over and over, so it’s entirely possible you set out to prove innocence and find something dark. But once your investigator finds it, there will be no going back for this company.”