Page 2 of Forgotten Path
Reyes dropped his eyes and shuffled his feet on the scraped wood floor.
To his credit, Bickman soldiered on—or tried to, at any rate. “It’s possible that inadequate procedures at the development site and certain products—possibly the fertilizer being used on the lawns—are combining to result in some nutrient pollution getting into the groundwater and, conceivably, the waterways. As one piece of a larger, multi-faceted problem, it could be harmful.”
She stared at him, letting the seconds tick by. At the twenty-second mark, he began to squirm. At second forty-two, sweat dotted his brow.
After sixty seconds had elapsed, he swallowed audibly before continuing, “The chemicals could accelerate the growth of algae in the estuary and the Gulf, which in turn could harm the fish. And the, um, people. But if the development is the source of the problem, that’s on the GC. He’s responsible for ensuring the installers and landscapers follow the best management practices set out by the stormwater, erosion, and sedimentation control regulations.”
She seized on the argument he offered, slim though it was. “So the general contractor is equally at fault?”
“Equally, if not more,” he piped up, relief shining on his face.
“Who?”
“Who?” he echoed like an owl.
“Who is it—the GC?”
His shoulders slumped. “Fred Glazier.”
“Cheer up, Pete. At least now we have someone we can point a finger at. You know the saying: don’t fix the problem, fix the blame.”
Pete’s shoulders rounded even further like he was trying to curl himself into a protective ball. “I’m not sure that’s the best strategy. Glazier has a well-earned reputation as a renegade. He’s a serial violator—not just of the environmental rules. I’ve heard stories about worker safety violations, engineering code violations, you name it. Wouldn’t blaming him raise the inevitable question of why we hired him in the first place?”
“You worry about the science. I’ll worry about the rest of it.” She gave them a cool smile to let them know they were dismissed.
As they shuffled out of her office, Carlos whispered, “I think she’s got that saying backward.”
“Shut up, Carlos,” Pete griped, closing the door behind them.
Brianna waited until their shadows fell away from the frosted glass door, then leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and massaged her temples. Some days, days like this, she wondered how she’d ended up this way—as a cynical, hard-nosed public relations flack. It was a far cry from how she’d pictured herself while she was in college, studying sustainability. She imagined she’d be a modern-day Rachel Carson.
She laughed bleakly at the memory. She’d wanted to make a difference. But in the spring of her sophomore year, the career counseling office strenuously suggested she switch her major from Sustainability in Public Policy to Sustainable Business. She’d demurred, promising to think about it over spring break.
On her third day home, her parents made the decision easy for her. “Brianna,” her dad had said, “if you don’t switch to the business program, the money spigot’s cut off. You’ll need to take out loans for the rest of your degree.” Her mouth was still hanging open when her mother chimed in, “And don’t forget about sorority dues and off-campus housing. Maybe you can get a work-study job in the cafeteria to pay for your meal plan.” They left her room, pulling the door shut softly behind them but leaving no doubt the threat was real.
She emerged from her bedroom as a hardened version of her former self. Brittle and cold. But, she graduated with her business degree and landed a six-figure job as the Assistant Sustainability Officer at Gulf Paper Industries. Four years later, she was promoted to Chief Sustainability Officer. Now, she spent her days bullying scientists and polluting the waterways. It wasn’t exactly fitting work for the spiritual heir to the author ofSilent Spring,but itdid pay the bills.
Pete’s question was valid, though: Why the heckhadthey hired this Glazier person if he was so slimy?
CHAPTERTWO
One week later
Brianna gazed out over the water, still as glass and lit silver by the afternoon sun cutting through the haze. A lazy white gull swooped low and dove under the surface, setting off a slight ripple as it caught a fish in its bill. As the bird rose in the air, the conference room door opened, and Brianna turned away from the panoramic view of the beige sandy beach and the Gulf of Mexico beyond it.
Sharon Samovar, Gulf Paper’s chief real estate development officer, and Chad Hornbill, the CEO of the entire company, stepped into the room.
Brianna's breath caught in her throat when she spotted Chad. Was this an ambush? She shot Sharon a cool look, then fixed Chad with her warmest, broadest smile.
“Chad, I didn’t realize you were joining us. I would have ordered something more substantial.” She gestured apologetically toward the coconut water and fresh tropical fruit she’d had catering send up to accommodate Sharon’s latest eating regimen—raw fruitarianism, according to her assistant.
Chad waved off her apology. “Sharon and I just had a four-course lunch at Seafarer’s. I’m stuffed.”
So Sharon was a fair-weather fruitarian. Noted.
Brianna set aside the pang of hurt that she hadn’t been included in the lunch and shifted her attention to her colleague. She was pleased to see the other women at least had the self-awareness to color slightly under the weight of Brianna's gaze.
“I called to see if you could join us, but Leah said you had a meeting with your scientists.” Sharon flashed an insincere smile.
