Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
All that has plunged my office into chaos. Analysts and interns are running around like headless chickens, and even my legal department seems to be acting as if the nuclear holocaust had just started. Amongst all the chaos and despair, only Cheryl seems to be keeping a cool head. Thing is, I know that she was just keeping a smile on her face for show, because she knows how much I need someone to hold onto in the middle of this storm.
“You can drop me here, I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I say through the intercom, leaning back against the leather seat in the limo. A minute later the limo parks close to the sidewalk and, without waiting for the driver to open my door, I step out onto the street. I’m just a block away from my apartment, and I need to get some fresh air. Maybe that’ll help me cool my head.
Buttoning up my jacket, I throw my overcoat on top of it and close it, sheltering myself from the light rain that has started to fall. People rush all around me like a river current, everyone going about their daily lives completely oblivious that chaos has been unleashed in the financial world. Some of them might've read about it, but it’s not like whatever story the newspaper has made up will have an impact on their daily lives. Just like every day, the world keeps on turning without giving a crap about what happens to anyone in particular.
I walk inside my apartment building as if I’m in a daze, my brain racing at one hundred miles per hour. I’ve tried to reach Derek and Eliza, but I can’t get through to them. That has me even more worried, but it’s not like I’m surprised, much like what happened to me all day, they’re probably swamped in meetings and phone calls, dealing with their own brand of chaos.
Stepping foot inside my apartment, I shut the door with the tip of my foot and throw my overcoat and jacket over the couch. I roll up the sleeves of my shirt and, still feeling as if I’m inside of a dream, I make a straight line toward the drink cabinet. I’ve never been a hard drinker and, even though wine is usually my comedown drink of preference, today is a good day to follow Derek’s footsteps. I pour myself a hearty dose of a 40-year-old Glenfiddich and, without even blinking, I down the whole thing at once. I grimace as the aged malt burns its way down my throat, and then I pour myself one more.
I feel my phone buzz inside my pocket and I fish it out in a hurry, hoping to see Derek or Eliza’s number on the screen. Instead, it’s a text message from Cheryl. I tap the screen with my thumb, and two simple words glare back at me: “TV. NOW.”
Sitting down on the couch, drink in my hand, I grab the remote and turn on the flat screen over the fireplace. I’m ready to run through a lot of channels before I find whatever it is Cheryl wants me to see, but the moment the TV lights up I realize why she only told me to turn on the TV: almost every channel is broadcasting the same thing.
A few talking heads are babbling about the scandal of the day, but what draws my attention is the headline underneath them: Derek STACKFORD PRESS CONFERENCE IN A FEW MINUTES.
What the hell is Derek thinking? Talking to the media at such a time is like pouring gasoline into a fire that’s already out of control. Grabbing my phone, I try to call him once more, but to no avail.
Fuck.
Gripping the glass in my hand so tightly it might just shatter, I look at the TV with wide eyes and a racing heart, anxiety kicking in as I wait for Derek to show up. It doesn’t take long; just five minutes after I turned the TV, and the image pans to Derek entering a press room, a dead serious expression on his face. The whole room is abuzz as he walks in, but then the noise dies down as he assumes his position behind the mic.
“Good evening,” he starts, giving one passing glance over the crowd of reporters and then focusing on the cameras in front of him. “I came to you because I think it’s time the world knows the truth. As we all know, Eliza Seymour has returned to the US to manage the Seymour estate. As everyone also knows, Eliza is my stepdaughter, and she came to me soon after arriving in the United States. She had partnered with Carter Blake, and they pressured me into helping them embezzle a large sum.” He reaches for the glass of water on the side and takes a deep gulp, and I notice that he’s sweating.