Page 15 of Worth the Risk
Something flickers across his expression—uncertainty, or maybe concern. “I have authority to negotiate. Final decisions require board approval, but they’ve authorized me to explore collaborative solutions.”
Not a complete answer, and we both know it. “Your board authorized you to explore ways to make Highland’s opposition disappear quietly. That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s more nuanced than that.”
“Corporate nuance usually means ‘we’re lying but with plausible deniability.’” I lean back, studying him. “Why should I trust you?”
The question hangs between us like a challenge. Declan is quiet for a long moment, and I catch something unguarded in his expression.
“Because you’re right to be suspicious,” he says finally. “Because everything you’ve said about corporate damage control and managing optics is probably true to some degree. Because I can’t promise my board won’t override decisions that cost too much money.”
The honesty is more disarming than any sales pitch would have been.
“But,” he continues, “you’re also out of options. Highland can keep fighting and definitely lose, or take a chance on this collaboration and maybe find something that works. Those are your only choices.”
I hate that he’s right. Hate that six months of being ignored has led to this—trusting the enemy because it’s the only path left.
“If I agreed to this—if Highland’s board agreed to this—I’d need your word that it’s genuine. Not a PR stunt, not a delaying tactic. A real attempt to find alternatives.”
“You have it.”
“Your word as CEO Declan Pierce who answers to shareholders, or your word as...” I pause, realizing I don’t know who he is beyond the corporate title. “Actually, I don’t know who you are as a person. Which makes this conversation even more problematic.”
The observation seems to catch him off guard. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know if the man asking for my trust is someone worth trusting. Or if you’re just another corporate shark who’s gotten better at hiding the teeth.”
He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “Person Declan Pierce studied public policy before his father had a heart attack and he had to switch to business to save the family company. Person Declan Pierce has been wondering lately if there are better ways to build something meaningful than the methods his father used.”
“And which Declan Pierce would Highland be collaborating with?”
“Both,” he admits. “But if you’re asking which one would make the final decisions... honestly, I don’t know yet. That might depend on what we discover through this collaboration.”
Another honest answer that should probably worry me more than it does.
I look around my father’s office—at the photos spanning twenty years of community building, at the awards Highland has won, at the calendar that shows programming booked solid for months we might not have.
Papa always said that sometimes you have to take calculated risks to protect what matters most. The question is whether this is a calculated risk or just desperation disguised as strategy.
“I need to discuss this with Highland’s board,” I say finally. “And with our legal counsel.”
“Enrique de Leon. He has a good reputation.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“I try to know who I’m dealing with.”
Of course he does. Probably has a file on every Highland board member by now.
I stand, and he follows suit. “If Highland agrees to this collaboration—and I’m emphasizing if—I need absolute transparency. No decisions made behind our backs, no secret board meetings about Highland’s future, no using us as cover while you advance demolition plans.”
“Agreed.”
“And if we discover you’re playing games with Highland’s future, the gloves come off. This morning’s protest will look like a warm-up act.”
Instead of being threatened, he almost smiles. “I believe you’d make good on that promise.”
“Count on it.”
