Page 5 of Bad Situation

Sitting in the conference room, I look across the table at my brother-in-law, Robert. He joined Montgomery Industries recently and reports to me. When our long-time CFO retired and I stepped into the position, Robert convinced my father he wanted to contribute to the family business. After many months of discussion, I relented, but only for my sister’s sake, and he took over as controller. Not that she ever got in the middle of it—Ellie has no interest in MI, she’s set between her trust fund and what Robert makes.

But I was afraid she was catching shit at home from Robert—he’s difficult and that makes him somewhat of an asshat.

He’s not the kind of asshat who’d abuse his wife and child—I’ll give him that. If any of us thought that was the case, the Montgomerys would go guns-a-blazing and rip his balls off before taking him for a long walk to the north forty to never return. No, Robert Ketteman is smart. He worked his way up to the vice president position in his last company, but that company wasn’t in the same league as MI.

No, he’s the kind of asshat who’s a blowhard and thinks he’s smarter than everyone around him. But worse, he’s so wrapped up in himself, he pays little attention to his son and even less to his wife. If my baby sister thought having a baby would fix that, she was mistaken. As sweet as my nephew is, having Griffin hasn’t improved her stale marriage in the slightest.

Since Robert started, his know-it-all personality has blazed like a forest fire and it seems every answer I give him is nothing but fuel-soaked kindling. His newest point of contention is our latest acquisition. I need a team player who’s willing to offer insight and solutions as opposed to judgments and roadblocks. I was controller for two years before taking the CFO position in preparation for my father’s semi-retirement. It’s not like I don’t understand his job.

I lean back in my chair and cross my legs as I look straight at Robert, ignoring the rest of the principals in the room. “We’re not far behind schedule. Taking a publicly-traded company private isn’t done overnight. You know proposition letters have been sent to shareholders and we’ve been in contact with the SEC. Our offers are well above market value and, since Birmingham shares have done nothing but nosedive in the last six months, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

He steeples his fingers and his voice remains unimpressed. “I’m aware of the proposition letters. But Birmingham Refining is in the red, not to mention the negative press surrounding them for environmental infractions. The longer we let this go, the harder it’ll be to dig ourselves out.”

“This has been in the works for over a year. Enough Birmingham stakeholders have either already sold off or accepted our offer. Since we’re close to the shareholder threshold required for them to deregister on the exchange, we’re in a perfect position.” Birmingham Refining is in the toilet, but they have the infrastructure we need to expand in the southeast. We’re purchasing strictly for their assets but, in exchange, we’re getting most of their workforce who will keep their positions.

The phone in the center of the conference table rings but I ignore it and keep talking. My patience is wearing. “Your experience is in the tech and service industries. Refining is a different ballgame. Trust me when I say, their assets are well worth the cash we’re shelling out and our PR team is ready to inform the public of all we plan to do to clean up their messes. It’ll only make us look better.”

He just won’t stop. “All I’m saying is there are other refineries out there we can look at that aren’t the level of risk as—”

“Excuse me, Jen?” My assistant, Callie, interrupts over the speaker.

I wonder if I should be grateful for the disturbance even though I asked her to hold everything. “Yes?”

She clears her throat. “Um, can you pick up, please?”

I frown, but reach for the handset and press a button as I put the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”

Now that I have her off speaker, my assistant, who isn’t much younger than me, is hurried and unnerved. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Reception just called up. It’s the FBI. They’re here and security is keeping them in the lobby.”

What the hell? I look around the table at everyone eyeing me with the same curiosity that’s zipping through me. “Did they say why they’re here?”

“No. But they’re asking for you.”

I look down at my fingernails and lower my voice. “Excuse me?”

“I know!” she panics through the phone. “More like demanding to speak to you. And from the way reception described it, they’re not interested in waiting for you to finish your meeting. Jen, they have a warrant!”

“I’ll be right there.” Looking around the room, my eyes land on Rick Byrd, our long-time Chief Operating Officer and my father’s long-time friend. “Excuse me, something’s come up. Will you please update everyone on operations and the transition plans?”

Rick nods and I don’t look at anyone else. Smoothing my pencil skirt, I turn on my spiked heel, but instead of going to the elevator to do as the FBI has asked, I move straight for the office of our lead counsel. No way am I dealing with the feds without an attorney at my side.

*****

Eli

In life, there’s no state of right and wrong. Even in the legal system that I’ve been a part of for the last nine years, there’s black and there’s gray—which is another word for not guilty.

It’s how humans are wired. We’re sinful by nature—hell, it all started with Adam and Eve and that forbidden fucking apple. That first insidious, juicy bite set the rest of humankind on a path straight to hell and the only thing keeping us out is our own sheer will and determination to stay on a northerly course.

That’s the gray.

If we aim for what’s right, and, in the process, veer, hitting that murky area between black and white, we should smack ourselves on the ass and call it a good day.

I should know. After working undercover, I’m a poster child for living in the gray and had that shit tattooed on my skin the day I was done working in the depths of the mafia.

But Saturday night, while working surveillance on a case, I crossed the line, causing my compass to point straight south. From what I gathered after leaving the bar with my new co-workers that night and so far this morning, no one knows but me and the target of the white-collar crime case I was assigned to—Jensen Montgomery.

“I know we’re not busting down doors, but you could try to not look like you’re going to die of boredom,” Bree chirps. When I look over, she’s glaring at me while Dean just shakes his head.

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