-/-/-Chapter 8-/-/-
In a land populated by skyscrapers and corruption, a meeting of the top elite executives of yet another conglomerate was beginning to take place. The luxurious boardroom was swathed in all of the usual luxuries – wood panels that cost five-thousand dollars per panel to install; leather lined reclining office chairs; a clear floor-to-ceiling window that reflected the beauty of capitalism in all of its glory. Several assistants unobtrusively worked their way around the boardroom table, carefully refilling the glasses of the old, elite men with their usual drinks.
Despite all of the overwhelming luxury that came with being in the top ten percent tax bracket, the men shared the same look of concern. For them, luxury was a given.
"George, we told you last week that the stocks aren't going to automatically jump up in value if you go crazy and dump them," an executive sighed. He was tired of having to repeat himself to the conservative men. "You're concerned for your personal interests in the sugar plantations, which is understandable. But doing something as rash as what you're suggesting is ridiculous."
One of the executives sitting on the far side of the table shook his head in disagreement. "The only reason you're so willing to sit and wait these prices out is because your stock hasn't been hurt by this depression. George is looking out for his best interests and I can't blame him. We've all got over 150 million tied up in this mess. Instead of coming together with a plan, all we have been doing is sitting around twiddling our thumbs, looking like a bunch of undergraduate business students fresh out of college. We need something or we'll lose everything."
Several supporters nodded their heads in approval, slight voices of muffled agreement echoing through the boardroom. An equal amount of older men who stood opposed to the executive's beliefs made their own motions toward disapproval. Things were, as usual, at an impasse between the men who were used to having their own way.
Self-isolated from the continuous, nonsensical arguments coming from both sides, sat a lone woman, her attention focused on the night landscape beginning to develop outside the constraints of elitism within the room. Her position at the front of the boardroom table was mostly ignored by the bickering greedy men before her. Despite her slim figure, power radiated from the woman in constant waves, impossible to ignore.
With a bored expression, the woman moved to adjust the long bleached blonde ponytail threatening to come undone. The severe cut of the masculine, black pantsuit she had decided to wear made even this small task impossible, bringing a slight frown to her full lips. She hated dressing up in this costume, almost as much as she hated these men sitting before her.
"I should cut this nonsense," she muttered to no one in particular, playing with the strands that had managed to work their way into her face. "It's such a hassle."
Quiet steps coming near her alerted the blonde to a young assistant coming to refill her cup of coffee. She smiled warmly at the help as he approached with a scared expression.
"Your usual, Ms. Grey?" the assistant whispered shakily, the elaborate teapot clinking in response to the man's clear fear of the woman.
"Yes," she nodded disinterestedly, already turning her attention elsewhere. "A long black with a spoon please."
The assistant quietly set out her drink, all but running away when finished. Ms. Grey sipped the drink with a smile, enjoying the strong flavor of the espresso. Drinking it like this was usually too strong for most people, but she had never had a problem with the strength. In her experience, she had learned that strength, power, and wisdom were forever linked, one begets the other.
As her eyes took in the fuzzy images of New Yorkers walking on the sidewalks below, Grey remembered that, as a naïve child, all she had ever wanted was to find her spot in this man-made world of money and privilege. Thirty-four years later and she still found herself wanting, wanting ever more from the world around her. Her precocious wish of years past had been met yet it wasn't good enough.
All these idiots in their eight-thousand dollar custom made suits want is more money to increase their greed to further heights. Money, money, money…is that all that it comes down to?
Suddenly, the familiar sounds of the executives sitting before her rose to her attention. It was time to take care of this nonsense, the woman thought, turning away from the dark, night sky reflected in the glass to stand up before the men. As if a lightning bolt struck the room, every man went mute in respectful silence.
"Everyone here is concerned about the state of the economy and the subsequent results that it will have on your interests. It understandable to be scared of the unknown but money has never been made by being conservative." Grey took off her constraining coat, flinging it off to a large, mahogany desk in the corner. "Capitalism is not a game for the weak. I can assure you that money will be made by following my suggested line of action concerning your stocks, George. But I can also assure you money will be lost. That's just the business we work in."
"So you're saying my company will lose money? We've already seen our middle market shrink in the last decade-"
Grey closed her amber eyes tiredly. "George, please…stop reinforcing the same concerns over and over and over again as if I lack the cognitive abilities to understand the words coming from your mouth. If you want to sit on your ass and play chess on the porch while all of the big boys are inside playing Texas Hold 'Em, then by all means. This is a risk. I know. But it's a risk that several other prominent confectionaries here are willing to take for new product investment. New product means new potential demographics to exploit for more money. You want to keep selling your Swiss chocolate as your great-great-great-grandfather did back in the early 20th century?"
George, the cautious executive, visibly deflated in the cutting gaze of the blonde. "No…it's just that my company has been relatively untouched by all of this American global nonsense until you got me invested in the sugar plantation in Brazil. I'd like to keep my profit at a high for this quarter, but that damn mess of risk you got me in doesn't seem to be paying off."
"Because sugar is a crop, George," she said. Her eyes narrowed icily. "It takes time to grow."
"You told me it would be ready by now!"
"And it is," Grey frowned, snapping her fingers to an assistant to hand her the laser-pointer for the PowerPoint displayed on each of the executives' iPads. "In the last three quarters, your profit for the new chocolate released with the Brazilian sugar from the plantation has raised your profit margin by 25%."
"Then why haven't I gotten the shipment in to continue selling the chocolate? I can't sell stock that I don't have," George whined. He muttered a German curse under his breath. "Listen, Oscar. I didn't want to do this in the first place. Now I feel stuck in a hole that I shouldn't have been in."
With a slight frown at the use of her personal name, Oscar walked over to where the man sat and pushed his chair from out of the desk. "Then leave."
"What?" George asked, looking at his fellow executives in confusion.
"Leave," Oscar commanded. "I have no patience for men like you who want to be coddled. You wanted a profit and I have given it to you in spades. Yet you still find something to whine about."
One of the executives stood up from his seat in shock, staring at the statuesque blonde. His attempt to challenge her supreme authority was lost in the wavering way his eyes searched for a way to escape the woman's gaze. "Oscar, you can't do this. We need Lindt in this deal. He's a nuisance, sure, but he's got a large share of the chocolate business in European markets."
"Sit down and shut-up," Oscar snarled. "Don't you dare tell me what I can and can't do. The only reason you're here today is because your brother was unavailable. At least he's man enough to stick to a decision." She turned back to the stunned older man still sitting in his chair before her, an eyebrow raised in confusion. "Why are you still here? I told you to leave."
"I never said I wanted to leave."
"But you implied, George. Implication reflects intent. We're here to finalize and you're still sitting on the sidelines. People like that get left behind." Oscar leaned in close to the man's personal space, smiling at the sound of his slight, rapid heartbeat. He's scared, just like all the rest of them. Good. "Do you want to get left behind? Lose out on all…that…money."
And as she expected, he rapidly shook his head, enraptured under her spell. Oscar had learned at an early age that men and women couldn't resist logic with a two healthy sides of charm and intimidation. Her father had taught her to fake it until you make it, but her mother had reinforced the concept of hard work comes great rewards so she never had to.
"No."
"Then play by my rules and trust my instincts," she commanded. Oscar trapped the dumbfounded man in his seat. "Or get left behind to fend for yourself."
A heavy silence descended upon the room as George kept his wavering gaze upon Oscar's burnt amber glare. She knew the weak little man would crack and tumble before her feet. They all did. The blonde knew from ample experience that she was hard to resist. Money, beauty, power, and intelligence, the four things you wanted in the ideal man but never in a woman. Can't let women think they're on the same playing field and all that misogynistic nonsense spouted out on regular basis in the elite world of business.
What a bunch of poor, foolish boys. Your world is changing, and I'm the nexus of all of that change.
Suddenly, a polite knocking came from the large wooden doors behind Oscar. Just as the blonde was lifting herself back up to her full height to greet whoever was at the door, it opened to reveal the reserved face of the same scared assistant from earlier.
"Ms. Grey, you have a phone call marked urgent from a Mr. Bone."
After raising her brown eyebrows slightly, Oscar motioned for the man to come forward. "Thank you," she took the phone from his hand, "you can leave now."
With a nod, the man left, leaving Oscar with her board of executives. She turned back to the still frozen executive, an apologetic smile on her face. "I have to take this. Don't each other until I come back."
Taking the phone up to her ear, Oscar walked toward the small casual area in the boardroom, ignoring the muffled sounds coming from the executives. At the moment, her main focus was on Bone's unexpected phone call.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Oscar whispered angrily into the phone, releasing the frustration onto the caller's ears. "You know the rules. The last thing I want is these old mothballs learning about things that don't concern them."
Bone sighed on his end in response. "I know, Oscar. We've been together for far too long for me not to know the rules."
Oscar sat down in exhaustion, taking in the view of the New York cloudy skyline. They really had been together for far too long. Bone knew her thoughts just as much as she knew his. There was too much history between them for them not to.
"So…why call me?" she asked, playing with the elaborate jade ring on her left hand.
"Being back in Boston is risky. We nearly got burned last time," Bone said. His voice was next to emotionless. "Every big name looking for more territory is here to get hold of the territory Paddy left wide open, meaning the feds will be keeping a close watch on shipments coming in and out via planes, cargo ships, trucks, basically any transport method you can think of."
Oscar frowned at the reference to the events that happened ten years ago. Back then, she was still a relative unknown taking over her father's affairs. Stupidly, she had assumed that Boston was a good first step to proving her skills to her peers; but, because of a rare unforeseen error on her part, Oscar had to bring in her best legal team to get Bone out of the mess she had created.
Things could have gotten ugly if it hadn't been for that overzealous prosecutor fucking things up on his end. They had caught a lucky break that time. Never again, she pledged. Never again would she count on luck. Relying on luck would get you in trouble every time.
"And that's why I have you working this for me. No one else can handle this complicated operation like you. Boston is just like all of those other cities we've captured. Rio De Janeiro, Los Angeles, Paris, Istanbul…those hubs were just as hard to catch and we managed with far less resources than we have now," Oscar reassured just as a strike of thunder in the distance interrupted her focus. "Our previous mistake gave us the wisdom to succeed in the future. He isn't there to screw us up this time. Boston will be mine."
"Yeah, easy for you to say, you're at work dealing with a bunch of old men and their confectionary empires while I'm down here in the trenches. I wonder who's got the harder job," Bone said sarcastically. "I've got the feds all over me while you get to take baths in temperature controlled, luxury bathtubs."
Oscar laughed as a lightning bolt streaked across the sky, a ghostly light filling the boardroom. "I have a contingency plan for them. Are things getting out of hand?"
"Not yet," Bone replied. "But they're starting to sniff around more than I'd like."
The sounds of muffled complaints echoed even louder at the boardroom table, causing Oscar to shake her head in annoyance. As usual, the men couldn't sit quietly to themselves. Their default was arguing and grumbling at anything and everything. A meteor could be hurling toward the Earth and they'd be too busy complaining about who has the biggest bunker to actually get around to saving themselves.
"Keep following the plan. They can't touch us without potentially causing a mess on their end," she whispered after standing up with a sigh. "I'll call you back at the scheduled time to discuss this matter in more detail."
"The children need tending to," Bone joked. He promptly hung up to let his boss get back to work.
"As always," Oscar smiled.
