Lacey’s gaze flicked across the table to Sam and Mei, who shifted subtly away from each other. Further up the table, an associate’s gaze tangled with his boss’s before they quickly looked away.
The place contained more fraternization than a frat house. And going by the glimmer in Meredith’s green eyes, she knew it.
“Second. As some of you may know, you have a sister company in the UK called Wyndham House. Unfortunately, while some of you can’t keep your hands to yourselves, some of your compatriots over the pond have been busy greasing the wrong palms. The result is I currently have two misbehaving children, not just one.”
Lacey had known Wyndham House was part of the Langham Holdings stable, but the two companies had nothing to do with each other.
“So, I’ve decided to merge you.”
Guy jumped behind her. A startled hop like a baby rabbit. So he didn’t know. Lacey forced air into her lungs. A merger might not impact her. People did mergers in name only all the time. A bit of rebranding. A bit of PR gloss. Like a new coat of paint. But nothing changed underneath.
“The Boards and executive teams will be combined.” The Chair checked her watch, perhaps checking to see if she was breaking her previous record for destroying an empire.
Combined. The word rang in Lacey’s ears. Combined meant fewer seats at the table. Combined meant there wouldn’t be enough senior positions for the people who were already in them, let alone space for a newcomer. Combined meant the promotion she had worked her guts out for, that she had earned, was no closer than it had been five years ago. Lacey bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from physically reacting.
“I will be making other decisions about restructuring in due course. You are, of course, free to provide input.” She said input like she’d just bitten into a sour lime. So that would be a definite no.
“Don’t you think this is a bit drastic, Meredith?” Halfway up the table, a young associate whose skull was clearly a lot larger than the brain it contained leaned back in his chair. Next to him, his manager turned a shade of white similar to the color that Lacey had once considered painting her ceiling.
The woman turned her gaze on the clueless man-boy like a praying mantis zeroing in on her soon-to-be dinner. “I’m sorry. You are?”
His chest puffed up. “Zen Holden. Sports advertising. You may have seen—”
“Your cleared desk. Yes, that’s exactly what I expect to see when I leave this room.” She snapped the words out. “Are there any other questions?”
The room was as silent as everyone held their breath as if hoping this was some kind of mass hallucination.
“I didn’t think so. Further information will be forthcoming. In the meantime, carry on.” The woman swept out of the room, carrying Lacey’s future with her.
Victor Carlisle had been responsible for—and gotten away with—a lot of havoc in his life. The irony that the one time he had nothing to do with anything might be his undoing was not lost on him.
“Can you accept how far-fetched it sounds that you had absolutely no idea this was happening?”
Across the table, the bobby leaned back in her chair, seemingly indifferent to the fact that they had covered and re-covered the same ground for over an hour.
“We’ve covered this, Sergeant.” Ann-Maree, one of the company’s lawyers, tapped a staccato on her legal pad with her pen.
“No, I told you. I thought Garrett had great networks. I had no idea he had members of Parliament on the take.” It had been a month since his boss had been caught in a cash-for-access sting. He’d boasted to a journalist posing as the chief executive of a Russian pharmaceutical company that he could get her access and influence right up to Downing Street if the price was right.
Their conversation could have been passed off as the bragging of a stupid man trying to impress a beautiful woman until a phone tap caught him negotiating with two MPs about the price for their votes on an upcoming trade bill.
The policewoman flipped a page in her notebook and scratched something with her pen.
This was Victor’s second interview in two weeks. The police pretty much had a permanent presence in the building now, interviewing and re-interviewing everyone in an attempt to uncover some kind of company-wide conspiracy.
It didn’t help that most people perceived lobbyists as lifeforms just one step up from amoeba.
“Let’s talk about your previous involvement with the law.” The bobby looked down at her pad. “Public drunkenness, assault, in charge of a vehicle with excess alcohol, careless driving causing damage to public property.”
Victor didn’t so much as blink. He’d known this would come up and already prepared his response. “None of those are dishonesty offences. And, as I’m sure you also have there, I completed all the requirements of my conditional discharge two years ago. I haven’t had so much as a parking ticket since.”
She looked at him, stone-faced. He couldn’t blame her. The old Victor probably would have been up to his neck in Garrett’s shenanigans.
He took a deep breath. Clearly, he was going to have to give her more. “Yes, there was a period in my life where I was not exactly a model citizen. But that’s not now. It hasn’t been for years.” Rehab. Twelve steps. Therapy. All the meetings. He’d done it all. And just when he thought he was finally starting to make some headway with his family, this happened.
Victor’s throat tightened as the policewoman regarded him with narrowed eyes. He was good at his job. For once, he had gotten somewhere not because of his connections or ability to schmooze and charm, but because he had worked his butt off to prove himself. He had done nothing wrong. Surely God wouldn’t let it all get ripped away from him now.
“Sergeant, we’ve been more than generous with our time. If you don’t have anything more, this meeting is over.” Ann-Maree stood. “Let me show you out.”
The bobby reluctantly rose. “I’ll be back if I have more questions.”
“You know where to find me.”
As the two women left his office, his phone buzzed. Peter.
He swiped and put the phone up to his ear. “Hi. Is Mum okay?” His brother rarely called unless there was a parentally associated reason. The two people who still bound them together.
“She’s fine.” Fine was relative since their mother’s multiple sclerosis continued advancing, but he’d take it.
“Okay. Great.” Victor paused, waiting for Peter to get to the reason for his call, but his brother didn’t take the hint. “How can I help?”
There was a pause. “I just wanted to see how things were with you. With everything happening at Wyndham House.”
He could imagine his brother’s knowing expression if it came out that Victor was under suspicion of aiding and abetting corruption. Once the family screwup, always the family screwup.
“Fine. Well, obviously not fine. The company is in turmoil.”
“But you still have a job?”
“Don’t worry, Peter. I’m not coming back to Oxford to cramp your style.” The sarcastic quip was out before he’d even thought it.
This was how it was for them. They couldn’t even manage a simple phone conversation without decades of enmity rising to the surface. Most of which was his own fault. But in the four years he’d been doing his best to travel the straight and narrow, it felt like all he’d gotten from his brother was an expectation of inevitable failure.