Page 64 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
RAND
God,I want Joe to ream me on this fucking table.
He started the meeting out sounding like he usually does—professional, with a little Brooklyn on the side. But there’s a bit of mobster creeping into his voice, and he has a room full of millionaires and billionaires shifting uncomfortably as a result.
It’s the sexiest goddamn thing that’s ever happened in this room. So far.
Speaking of shifting uncomfortably, as much as I want Joe to shove his hard cock up my ass and keep going till he finds Oz, he’s also why I’m hating life right now. My asshole itches like a motherfucker, and my cock is an achy, leaking mess.
“Mr. Portelli, we’ve listened to quite enough of your, frankly, immature ideas for how to steer our company to success. I’ve been doing this for forty years, and giving into employees’ whims isn’t what got me here. If they don’t like the way we do business, they can start their own company.”
He gets up to leave, and I hold up my hand, stopping his progress toward the door. “Father, the reason for bringing in Joe is to have a visible representation of our willingness to listen to our employees. May I remind you that we lost another half a billion dollars in value since then, and that has only slowed because we leaked that he’s working with us. Regardless of your opinion of his ideas, we must stop the bleeding, even if the cure is distasteful.”
Joe, picking up on my cue, nods and stands, equal height with my father. “If you want social media to stop attacking you, you’re gonna need a photo op. And you’re not getting one from me without at least one of the things that I talked about today. Raises are your cheapest option, but extended healthcare pays dividends in the end. Your choice.”
My father’s lips curl, his body language stiff and unbending.
Ford, my one friend on the board, clears his throat. “Mr. Portelli’s solutions are less costly than another night of stalling out at this lower stock value. It’s cheaper by an order of magnitude that I’d rather not admit out loud.”
Jackson, who managed to survive another day as VP of HR, shifts in his seat, looking at Joe. “None of this makes a difference without a strong statement in favor of work-life balance and employees’ rights, along with a commitment to making sure that our products are ethically sourced.”
“Won’t that just remind them of that slave-labor debacle?” my father asks. He’s definitely going to have Jackson fired before the end of the day.
Jackson, apparently, has started reading from Joe’s handbook. “Sir, they’re already making the comparisons on social media. So it’s helpful to remind them that we stopped those practices, though there is a large contingent wondering what we did to clean up the mess we left. I asked Ford to check with his people and run some numbers. Buying people out of their indentured servitude costs less than a hundred thousand dollars. Now, I know that the State Department doesn’t want us to do business with enslavers, but we created this mess, and it might be one of the faster options. Maybe even bring over someone, a manager perhaps, to demonstrate our commitment to making a difference.”
My father blinks at Ford. Before he can say anything, I cut him off. “Jackson, make it happen, take it out of my profit share. Do it now. See if we can pay mercenaries to free the people caught up in this instead of the people holding the chains. But do whatever needs to be done to make sure they are safe. We can work it out with the State Department after.”
Jackson excuses himself and leaves the room, stopping to nod at Joe.
“I’d like to ask everyone to leave the room, save for my son,” my father says, his voice so cold I can’t remember it ever being warm.
The boardroom clears out, with Joe at the tail end. He grips my shoulder as he passes me, a symbol of support I don’t think I’ve ever had in my father’s world.
As soon as the door is closed, my father stands in front of me, cool, as cruel words leave his mouth.
“We are men in charge of our destiny, and you can’t even handle one single employee. Did you hear him? He’s making demands of us as though he has the right.”
“The question is, did you hear what he said? He doesn’t care that we’re wealthy. Our wealth is so far beyond his existence that it doesn’t matter. I think it’s safe to say he represents a lot of people. People want decent benefits, a living wage, and some semblance of work-life balance.”
“People have always asked for handouts, Rand. You can’t let yourself be swayed by misplaced sympathy.”
“Father, these are basic human needs. Calling them handouts doesn’t negate that. You may be satisfied with doing the legal minimum, but the people are starting to notice. We’ve been greedy, and this is the reckoning.”
“You sound like Jackson,” he says, muttering beta under his breath.
“Not that it matters, but I looked up the study that Joe talked about. Did you know that this alpha-wolf theory is based on debunked science?”
“It’s not about the science, Rand. It’s about creating a structure that people can fall in line with. It makes it easy for people to listen to us and give us their money.”
I’ve always thought of my father as smart, cold, and cunning. I’m starting to realize that he is nasty and vicious down to his core. Fine, I’ll put it in a way he’ll understand.
“Father, do you know what happens when an alpha wolf shirks his responsibilities?”
My father’s thinly disguised disdain is awful, and I shudder to think about what I’d have become had I continued to follow his business model.
“When an alpha couldn’t or wouldn’t care for the pack, a beta would rise up and kill that wolf, thus becoming the alpha. Looking at our ledgers, social media, and sales…who do you think is winning?”
My father pales because, while he doesn’t care about the science, the numbers cannot be ignored.
