Bro Code(51)
She shakes her head, taking a step toward the door. Her voice comes out cool and confident. “I'm not going to stand here and listen to this anymore. I know whose side you're on now.”
“It isn't like that.” I'm gripping the edge of the doorframe so tight my knuckles feel like they're going to pop. I know the second she walks out of here, it's all over.
“I hate you.” She looks me in the eyes as she says it, the anger in her gaze driving the words that much deeper. “I hate everything you've done. Don't even try and come back to see us in Indiana, because you're not welcome anymore.”
Before I can respond, she storms out of my office, yanking the door shut behind her so hard the glass rattles. I'm left standing alone with that damn contract, wanting to flip my desk over and watch all the pages go flying. She knew exactly how to cut me to the bone, and she used everything in her arsenal to do it. The idea of her parents shutting the door in my face is almost more than I can take.
I was so close to getting everything I wanted. It felt even better than I dreamed, and it just walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-five
Ava
I’ve been pacing the fifteen square feet of this lawyer’s office for the past half an hour. I brought in any bit of paperwork that could possibly be relevant—the contract from Mr. Roland, the summons papers, and every printed off spreadsheet of the company’s finances that I could find—and am waiting as patiently as I can while he scours every number and every word. There has to be something in there I’m missing, some unaccounted for fund or legal jargon I missed. Something that will help get me out of this parade of disasters.
The second I stormed out of Barrett’s office in Chicago, I called Megan and proceeded to sob into the phone for almost the entire three-hour-drive home. She listened as I totally fell to pieces, relaying the entire train wreck of a day, then did what only best friends do: she completely saved my ass. Through some friend of a friend, she referred me to this lawyer who offered to help. Sometimes, I think maybe Megan should be running my factory instead of me. She's so cool under pressure.
“There has to be a loophole, a get-around of some kind, right?” I chomp at the thumbnail on my left hand, the only nail yet to be chewed down since this meeting started. It’s been years since I kicked my nail biting habit, but old habits tend to rear their ugly heads when the man you’re completely in love with turns out to be the one running your company into the ground. I wave the thought of Barrett out of my head.
The lawyer, whose name has been pushed out of my mind by the million and one things I have to worry about, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Your hands are really tied here, Miss Saunders,” he says sympathetically, shaking his head. “The plaintiff has an airtight case against you here, and you simply don’t have the surplus to keep this business going in the midst of all this. It’s economically more viable for you to sell.”
“And what if I won’t sell?”
The lawyer scoffs as if I were joking, but when he sees the serious look in my eyes, he clears his throat. “Well, then, you run the risk of going bankrupt in nine to twelve months, based on your current expenses. It’s that simple.”
My head is spinning at warp speed, the office around me blurring together. Nine to twelve months. In under a year, I could completely destroy the decades of work my father put into this company and come out on the other side with nothing to show for it. Or I could sell the business for a beautiful profit and demolish the livelihoods of dozens of men who practically raised me. Being caught between a rock and a hard place sounds comfortable compared to the spot I've been squeezed into.
“If you have any further questions or need additional legal counsel…” the lawyer starts, but trails off as I begin scooping up the paperwork off his desk with trembling hands.
“Th-thank you for your help. I have to go. I’ll be in touch.” Clutching the stack of paperwork to my chest, I half sprint, half stagger out the door. I can’t listen to any more of this. I have a failing factory to get back to.
My foot is heavy on the gas pedal the whole drive back to work, easily exceeding the speed limit by a good fifteen miles per hour. What’s the worst that happens, I get a speeding ticket? Just add it to the stack of paperwork. What’s one more expense or run-in with the law at this point?
The money, the legal stuff, none of it matters nearly as much as my staff. I wonder how much they know? I haven’t been transparent about everything with them, but with unfamiliar men in suits coming into the factory unannounced and my constant sneaking out, the warehouse has to be buzzing with talk of a takeover by now. And I wanted to be able to put an end to the rumors. Some deep gut feeling in me was so sure that I’d get to strut back into my office and tell Megan that this lawyer saved the day, that I didn’t need Barrett’s help or stupid Mr. Roland’s money, that the solution was as clear as day and everything would work out just fine. But that deep gut feeling was wrong as hell. It would take more than a lawyer to help me now. It would take a friggin' miracle.
When I arrive back at the factory, the parking lot is surprisingly empty. Did I forget about a half day or something? My mind has been in at least fifty places at once lately; I wouldn’t be surprised if today was a holiday and it totally slipped my mind. I check my phone for the time—it’s only 3:30, a little early for everyone to have already called it a day. I enter through the side door to avoid making eye contact with any lingering employees and find Megan sitting at my desk, waiting to be relieved of her duties. I feel the slightest bit relieved when I see her, and count my blessings that I have a friend good enough to take time away from her job to come and look over the plant while I was away.