The Other Side of Greed
Page 3
“You’re not going to tell her who you are?”
“Do you think she’d want to listen to anything I have to say if she knew who I was? This way is better. She won’t know me, or why I’m there.”
“Won’t she hate you when she finds out? When they all do?”
“Do I care? I’ll have secured the land by then. I don’t care what happens to any of them after that.”
“Why not leave it to Neville and your usual sleazy tricks?”
“Those things take time. He’s on it. That’s the back-up plan in case this doesn’t work.”
“I don’t see Kyra Lewis falling for your charms.”
“I’m not planning on seducing her, Emma. She’s not my type. Besides, she’s young and not fully experienced when it comes to business matters. I’ll convince her that it’s a bad idea to stay where she is. I’ll make suggestions to relocate. Who cares?” I stand up, feeling rather proud of myself and adjust my cufflinks.
“You have no soul.”
“And I consider myself very lucky.”
I’ve done my due diligence, and I plan to build condos and luxury apartments, and have an upscale shopping mall filled only with designer boutiques. The area will abound with restaurants and bars. I’m looking at insanely, filthy profits from this development, and nothing or no one will stand in my way.
Not even Kyra Lewis.
“What if she recognizes you?”
“Who, aside from the people who work here, know what I look like? I don’t do the celebrity, paparazzi circuit. I don’t court publicity.” I’ve avoided the limelight for years. Many in my position wouldn’t, but I have more to hide than most.
“This will get you only so much publicity, and when you’re found out, it won’t be good for the company.”
“No one’s going to find out. I’m not going to force her out. I’m going to gently persuade her. The choice to leave will be hers.” My persuasive skills are legendary, as Kyra Lewis is about to find out.
Emma heaves out a sigh. “You’re making a mistake.”
“This is a business proposition for me. Not a date.”
“Then send someone else to do your dirty work. There’s no reason for you to go. You’ve got far more important things to do here.”
I sit back and examine my clean fingernails. “Because if I find some dirt on her, I’ll soon knock that Florence Nightingale crown from her head.”
Emma’s school-teacherly look is highly condescending. The firm press of her mouth tells me she’s holding back from giving me her true opinion but I’m intrigued. She’s my compass. She lets me know when I’ve strayed too far from levelheadedness. “Say it, Emma. Don’t hold back.”
“What you’re doing is pure evil.”
“I’m not a saint.”
She folds her arms together, her body posture spelling defiance. “You won’t find any dirt on her, because she doesn’t have any. Have you read about the things she’s done?”
I flick my hand in an air of defiance. It’s wearing on my nerves, how everyone blows this woman’s horn. Talking about her as if she’s the best thing to happen to the city. “No one can be that good.”
I should know.
Emma eyes me in surprise. “Yes, they can.”
I shake my head, refusing to believe such bullshit. “It will give me extreme satisfaction to prove to the world that Saint Kyra doesn’t exist. No one is that selfless. She’s up to something.”
“She has lots of corporate donors clamoring to donate to her cause.”
I disagree. “She’s a media darling, but she’s not an angel. People aren’t squeaky clean,” I tell her. I can find dirt on Kyra Lewis, if I put my mind to it.
And then, it won’t look too bad, when the truth comes out that I, and Hawks Enterprises, developed the land for our own gain. More than that, taking her down will give me a sense of satisfaction.
Emma eyes me with more contempt than a school principal would show to kids smoking weed in school.
“You’re going to lie and cheat your way into their lives, and steal their land from beneath them?”
I open my mouth to protest, but my PA’s appraisal of the situation is accurate. I can’t fault it. “Correct.”
“I don’t know how you can face yourself in the mirror each morning.”
“I can, and quite easily, too, I might add.”
She blows out an exaggerated huff as she walks away, everything about her screaming scorn for my idea. She can’t fully see or appreciate the brilliance of it.
“You have to help me.”
She turns around. “I will do no such thing. I’m your PA. I won’t be a party to your evil crimes.”
I stand up and slide my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “Emma. I pay you to do as I say. And for the record, I pay you very, very well.”
She mumbles something under her breath as her hand grips the door handle. It amuses me to watch this battle of conscience playing out before my very eyes. She glares at me. “Help with what?”
“I don’t know how to do ‘poor’. What to wear, what to drive. I have no idea.”
“‘Poor’? You want to know how to do ‘poor’?” Her tone scalds like hot water. “These people aren’t ‘poor’. They have heart and history, they’ve worked in those businesses for decades, and all they’re trying to do is earn a living.”
“They can earn a living, just not on my real estate.”
“What do you need my help with?”
“Advice. A resumé, a new wardrobe of clothes. A car.”
She scoffs. “Yes, you won’t be able to cruise over in your Tesla.”
“I’ll need something old. Something with a stick shift.” I rub my hands with glee. “This is going to be a lot of fun.”
Chapter Five
KYRA
* * *
Yvette is a fast learner and its clear to me that she wants to do well. My experience has been that every person who comes to us, who has made that decision to get off the streets, or to walk away out of an abusive relationship and go into a women’s shelter, all of these people have a reason to live; they want to prove themselves.
They want a better life. They aren’t homeless because they’re lazy—which believe it or not, some skeptics have said to me—but because of life’s circumstances. Either they were by life’s cruel twists and circumstances, or lost their jobs, or lived paycheck to paycheck and a huge calamity blindsided them. Or women fell in love with men who became monsters, beating them to within an inch of their lives, until they found the courage to flee.
“Nice work.” I stop by one of the workers and examine the jacket that she has just finished making on the industrial sewing machine.
“Thank you.”
“How are you finding it?” I stare into the eyes of a relatively new worker who joined a little over a month ago. She looks happy, pleased with herself, and so she should be.
“I like it here. I like it a lot. It takes a bit of getting used to, using these big sewing machines, but I reckon I’ve got the hang of it now.” I return the jacket to her now that I’ve finished taking a good look at all the seams. “I’d say you’ve definitely got the hang of it. Keep up the good work.”
I walk around the factory floor, something I do a couple of times during the day, just to see how everyone is getting along, and to find out if there’s anything that’s not working.
Simona waves at me from the other side of the floor, beckoning me over. A man is by her side, someone I don’t recognize. My face tightens. I didn’t have a meeting planned, and I’m not expecting anyone.
I hope it’s not someone wanting to do a cover story. Recently, Redhill has attracted a slew of donors as well as interest from the media.
“Hey.” I nod at Simona first, then the stranger. His blue-gray eyes lock onto mine.
“This is Brad Hartley.” Simona’s eyes bubble with excitement.
“Hi.” He confidently holds out his hand.
“From?” I loo
k at the guy then back at Simona, unable to figure out why she’s so excited. “I’m not expecting anyone today.”
“Brad’s looking for work—”
“That’s right. I’m looking for work.” With his hand still held out, I have no option but to shake it.
“We’re not hiring.” I notice that he’s dressed way too neatly, even in his ripped jeans and shirt, and the jacket he’s got on, his clothes don’t have that weathered, beaten, years’ old hand-me-down look about it which I’ve become accustomed to. Something doesn’t feel right. I wonder if he’s from a newspaper and is snooping around for information.
“Will you at least give him a chance?” Simona insists. “We took on someone last week who didn’t come through our usual channels.”
He slides a finger inside his shirt collar, as if it’s too tight and uncomfortable, and I note that he’s not wearing a tie. “I’ve got experience. I was involved in a couple of start-ups in San Jose, before I got burnt out.”
The lever on my bullshit-o-meter turns to max. San Jose? Start-ups? Tech? “What are you doing here?” I ask him.
“I didn’t like where I was so I took a break and I went traveling around the world.”
I glance at my watch. I don’t have any meetings, but I have a lot to do. I don’t really want to hire this guy, and I find my interest waning.
“I have lots to offer,” he says eagerly.
“Shall we step somewhere where we can talk?” I lead the way upstairs to our shared office. Fredrich is inside. Simona introduces them both, but she introduces the new guy as ‘someone looking to work here and help us out.’ She’s already made her mind up about this man. She already likes him.
“Do you want me to leave?” Fredrich gets up as if he’s ready to go.
“No, stay put. This won’t take long.” I sit at my desk, and Fredrich gives the guy his chair, and I could be wrong, but I’m sure the guy made a face, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to sit down on it. It’s plastic and has splotches of paint all over it. Updating the office furniture isn’t a huge priority of mine yet.
This isn’t the cleanest of offices, nor the most comfortable, because the paint is peeling off the walls, and our tables, chairs and the computers are second-hand. We don’t need Macbooks or designer furniture to do our jobs. The business is doing well, and everything we make goes back into it, so that we can help more people. I have an eye on my five-year plan and so far, things are progressing accordingly.
The new guy catches me looking at him, then mumbles a ‘thanks’ to Fredrich before sitting down. It’s like he’s sitting on a cushion of pins, pointy ends upwards. Fredrich disappears, presumably to get another chair for himself.
“Is this where you all sit? Together? In here?”
“Is it not to your San Jose start-up standard?” I make no effort to hide the barb in my voice. He smiles uneasily. “What sort of start-ups?” I cut to the chase. I don’t have the time or patience to put up with his patronizing attitude.
“Software mostly, but I got bored. I wanted more, so I went traveling.”
I notice that he didn’t elaborate.
“Traveling?” Simona rubs her hands together. “Anywhere nice?”
“All over Central America. I saw how local communities banded together and worked and had success in their endeavors.”
“And what do you want with Redhill?” I ask. He talks a good talk, but the cynic in me finds him too smooth, too practiced. More than that, it doesn’t make sense that someone who’s worked where he claims he has now wants to work here with us because he suddenly became enlightened on a trip.
He clears his throat, then sits up, straightening his back, his interlaced fingers resting on his stomach. He looks very business-like, even though he’s in casual clothes. He has an air about him which I can’t pinpoint.
“I only got back a few months ago—”
“To where?”
“Excuse me?”
“Got back to where?” I play with a paperclip, straightening it out so that it is a straight wire.
“Here, to Chicago.”
“I thought you said you worked in San Jose.”
He laughs uncomfortably. “I relocated to there from here. I’m from Chicago, through and through.” He eyes me for a second longer, as if he’s appraising me, as if he doesn’t trust me. “I didn’t want to get back into tech, and I’m looking at ways of helping the community. I liked the way people came together in poorer countries and I want to see if I can help in any way here. I read about your company.”
“Kyra’s everywhere lately,” Simona announces proudly. “She seems to get requests for interviews almost every week.”
“Not every week,” I say, dismissively. New guy laughs, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “I can see why. It’s impressive, what you’ve done here.”
“What is it that you want from us, Mr… Mr?”
“Hartley. Brad Hartley, but please, call me Brad.” He tilts his head. We hold gazes, before I find myself staring at the dusting of stubble across his face.
A rogue thought strays into my mind. He could be an undercover journalist wanting a story, but there is no story. This is nothing interesting, in regards to gossip for magazines. There is also nothing for me to distrust him about. Maybe the fact that he’s easy on the eye has put me on guard. Maybe Simona being smitten about him has furthered my reluctance to hire him.
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Hartley, but we don’t need anyone and we’re not looking for anyone at the moment.”
“Even working for free?”
That there, working for free, for a tech guy who used to work for start-ups, that doesn’t make sense. “Why would you want to work for free?” I can see Simona in my periphery, and I can feel the heat of her stare.
“If he’s offering,” Simona says. “We need all the help we can get.”
“I can bring you experience. I’ve run start-ups before. I know how to make a profit, and turn a business from failing to—”
I put him in his place. “This business isn’t failing.”
“I’m not talking about yours.” He holds his hand up by way of trying to placate me. I’m riled up, and I don’t get riled up. I usually have the patience of a Grandma but my gut instinct tells me not to take everything he says at face value.
“I can see that you’re obviously annoyed about something—”
“I’m not annoyed about anything.”
His tone turns a tad harsh. “I don’t understand why you would turn down a perfectly good offer. You could do wonders with this business.”
“We already are, believe me.”
He looks over at Simona. “I sense that this is a bad time, how about I leave my …” He gets up and slides his hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “My, uh …” He pulls out a cell phone. For a moment there, I thought he was going to pull out a business card.
“If you want to give me your contact number,” he says to Simona. That makes sense because he must know by now that I’m not so easily pleased. He seems to think he’ll have better luck appealing to Simona than to me. He’s right. “Or I could give you mine. You never know when you might need my help.”
He and Simona exchange numbers, then he bids us goodbye and leaves. I turn my attention straight to my computer, but Simona stands in front of me, her arms folded as she gazes down at me with her disapproval in her eyes.
“You weren’t very nice to him.”
“He’s arrogant.”
“Arrogant?” She gives a mirthless laugh. “Were we both at the same interview?”
“It wasn’t an interview.”
“No?” There is a shedload of questioning behind that simple question.
“I don’t trust him, Simona.”
“Pffffft. You haven’t trusted anyone since that man cheated on you.”
I bend the paperclip back into shape, my insides tightening as she talks about my ex.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” she continues.
“Don’t turn away a perfectly good candidate, Kyra. Don’t let the other stuff cloud your judgment.”
“We don’t take people off the street,” I protest.
“He didn’t look like someone off the street. You took Yvette on.” Simona’s brow creases. “You don’t like him because he’s too much like you.”
I laugh at that absurd accusation.
“He wants to do good in the world, like you,” she continues. “He doesn’t need to be homeless or in difficulty to work here.”
“We don’t need anyone else. We have our team and we’re doing well.”
“He offered to work for free.”
I scrub a hand against my cheek. This is my point exactly. I look up at her. “Doesn’t that raise alarm bells?”
“He sounds exactly like someone we need.”
“Not really.”
I start to type away on my keyboard.
“He’s young, and good-looking, and wants to help, and you’re doing your damndest to push him away.”
I have to laugh. “And that’s why you wanted him to work here?”
“Here.” She taps away on her cell phone. “I’ve sent you his number.”
I can’t pinpoint what it is that grates on me about this man. I barely know him, but I sense trouble. Working for a start-up, then traveling around and helping out in less advantaged countries means he would be perfect for Redhill.
He also sounds too good to be true.
Chapter Six
BRANDON
* * *
“What happened?” Emma asks as I enter my office.
“With what?” The weekend has flown by and I have no idea what she is referring to.
“I want to know how your ‘undercover’ visit to Redhill went.” She air quotes ‘undercover’.
“She didn’t hire me.” I walk into my office wishing to be left alone. But, of course Emma isn’t one to let this slide without wanting further elaboration.