Page 77 of I Think Olive You

The article hits the internet like a bomb, and coupled with the news of Alan’s arrest and fraud allegations it blows up even more. Palmer Enterprises seems poised for freefall. Stocks aren’t looking great and the board members are panicking. I’m so close to being done with it but I can’t leave while this mess hangs over me.

I call a meeting, the second I’ve initiated in days if you count the one just prior to Alan’s arrest. Men and women in stuffy suits sit around the oval table in my father’s largest conference room, talking. The din of disagreement carries from down the hall but it quiets when I step into the room. When I slide into my father’s seat at the head of the table it’s so quiet, I can hear the acid gurgling in my stomach.

“Thank you all for joining me. I know there’s a lot of turmoil going on right now and I appreciate you taking time out of your day to attend this meeting.” Injecting as much authority into my voice as I can, I hope they’ll take me seriously. At least this one time.

“I’m sure you all have a lot of questions about the state of the company now that Alan’s been arrested. I’ll try to touch on the main points first. He’s being held for now. Bail is set very high so we’re hopeful he won’t be able to get out right away. Especially now that his accounts have been frozen for investigation.”

My back muscles ache from trying to keep my body still and stop my feet from bouncing against the floor.

“Which leads me into my second point: as of right now Palmer industries is under audit. We will cooperate fully with police and investigators to make sure the full extent of the duplicity is uncovered. While I can’t fix what’s already happened, I can make sure that we weed out any wrongdoing to minimize further damage to the company.”

Dozens of eyes are watching me—trained on me—and I fucking hate it. But it’s not forever. I just need to keep it together for a little bit longer, until the meeting and press release are over. I can do this. I have to do this.

“There’s been a lot of concern over the company since my father’s death and worry over whether I have what it takes to step into his role. Especially now that the ‘mentor’ who was helping me transition into CEO is behind bars.”

Some of them tense, trying not to lean into every word I’m saying, but there’s fear in their eyes.

“I’m here to say that I don’t have what it takes to take over this company and I’m fully aware of my shortcomings. So, because of that I’ll be selling my majority share back to the corporation and it will be distributed between whichever board members remain to buy it out. The board will elect a new CEO from the remaining pool. Personally, I’d like to throw my vote behind Graham Renner, but I know my say doesn’t count for much.” My mom’s inside-man who helped us look into the will and exposed Alan’s forgeries would be a far better replacement.

It’s at this point that the room erupts again, voices carrying over others. Some argue they can’t stay on a sinking ship; others are pleased to have the millstone of Matt Palmer removed from the situation.

Rising from the seat, I clear my throat behind the near-choking top button of my shirt. The tie is like a hand around my neck. Almost done. I’m almost done.

They quiet when I hold my hand out.

“I’ll be holding a press conference highlighting the same points I just mentioned, and that will be my last measure as my father’s heir. We all know Palmer Enterprises is better off without me and I have full faith that it will survive. Thomas Palmer built an empire. It will not fall because of the greed of one man.”

I wait one breath, two, for the words to sink in. I see a few nods before leaving the room and the chaos inside of it. It’s not perfect. I could have given them some warning but there’s been no time. In the long run this is the best solution. They’ve served on the board for years—some for as long as I’ve been alive. The business will survive. But I won’t if I’m forced to stay inside of it.

Stepping out onto the same sidewalk I’d praised not too long ago; a small podium is set up and a bunch of reporters lie in wait. Flashes of light slash over my face and dance across my vision as I settle behind the microphone. Despite the fact that my hands are balled into shaking fists at my sides, hidden behind the podium, my voice is steady.

My fingernails dig divots into the soft flesh of my palm but I speak with conviction, laying out the same discussion points as in that meeting room.

“I have full belief that Palmer Enterprises will survive this. We are ready to face this blight on our name and eager to cooperate with investigators to make sure this company is again above reproach. My father was one man, a looming shadow, but one man nonetheless. There are countless employees who’ve worked hard for this company, from the custodians and receptionists, and all the way up to those who worked closely with my father to make it a success. I will not give Alan Becker—one man—the satisfaction of destroying what my father and so many others worked hard to build.”

Questions are launched at me from all sides but I’m too exhausted to formulate responses. Looking beyond the crowd, I check for my mother’s town car and Clyde. I play it off, slathering a smile onto my face despite the cold sweat crawling up the back of my neck.

“No further comment. Any questions can be fielded to the governing board of directors. They are currently hard at work inside. And me… well, we all know Matt Palmer was never CEO material.”

A few of them chuckle along with me and their questions shift from business to personal.

“What’s next for you, Matt? Another party? Another girl?” one reporter shouts and something inside my belly shrivels. But I spot Clyde, and work my way through the crowd, smile in place.

“I need to take a nap, man. Corporate overhauls are no joke.”

I push past shoulders and elbows, surrounded by smothering body heat. In a way this is no different to those parties I drowned myself in before Italy. A press of bodies who want something from me. Something I don’t have to give. Cameras go off in my face.

“What about that Italian girl, Giuliana? We saw your article. Was that the real deal? Did the Palmer Playboy finally meet his match?” a young woman yells from behind me and my feet fail me. I’m stuck, my body trapped, my brain begging me to keep going but I’m frozen at the mention of her name.

It was only a matter of time.

I turn to face her, the female reporter impeding my desperate exit. There’s two ways I could play this. Matt Palmer could lean into what she’s saying, crack another joke and make a smooth exit. But he’s gone—left in the skyscraper behind me, the glass coffin of greed and poisonous ambition.

Instead, I give a sad smile with my heart in my eyes. “My match and then some.”

Shoving my way through the last of them, I sag into the car. Clyde shuts them out with the thud of the door closing. Tension melts away under exhaustion. It’s finally done. My body relaxes after the pressure of the day—the tension and friction keeping me up for two days straight. Somewhere between the financial district and Bryant Park, exhaustion pulls me under. The car rocks me into a state between everything and nothing.

Sometime later Clyde slams his car door. The sound echoing through the concrete parking lot under my mother’s building pulls me from my nap. I’m going to sleep for the next week, I swear to god. No wonder my dad croaked under the pressure of it. Thank fuck I don’t have to deal with it anymore. My mom and her lawyer will see to it that the real will is enacted. The funds my father set aside will be tucked away to gather interest, and when I find my feet again, I’ll put it toward something worthwhile.

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