Morgan stepped out of the elevator on the main floor and made her way to the manufacturing area. As expected, she located Wiley Hartman wandering through the production line, adjusting machines, examining products, and talking to the workers.
“Good morning, Wiley. How’s production going this morning?”
“
Mornin
’, Ms. Hunter. I don’t know if I should be flattered by all the visits we’ve gotten down here during your first couple weeks or if I should be nervous,” he replied as he led Morgan up a flight of stairs so that she could overlook the entire process from a higher vantage point.
Morgan chuckled. “From what I can see, you do an excellent job on the manufacturing end. Most companies would be satisfied with the profit margin in the Healthy and Delicious Foods division. However, I understand Mr. Hoyle has exceptionally high expectations, and the line has slipped a bit in the overall market share as of late. I’m looking into tightening overheads, finding better supply sources, and developing a new marketing campaign coupled with some new entrees and desserts. Customers want variety, and I haven’t seen where that’s been evolving. Though I don’t envision personnel reductions, we need to keep a rein on any wage increases for a while as well.”
“That’s a relief. Every time we get a new boss the first thing they want to do to cut costs is lay off employees. We’re streamlined down to a well-oiled machine. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”
For a moment, Morgan just watched. Wiley was correct. Everyone was busy, and the process moved along smoothly and quickly. She couldn’t help but notice a number of nervous glances shot her way. She hoped Wiley would reassure the employees there would be no layoffs, but she hated to make public promises until she dug a little deeper and was certain she could keep her word.
“I’ve already looked into a few new suppliers for fresh produce, poultry, and fish. I think we can cut raw product costs substantially without compromising quality. I’m having a little more difficulty with some of the additives. In theory, we shouldn’t be using many since our products are billed as ‘healthy,’ but in reality, a certain amount of preservatives, dyes, and other additives are needed to make food more appealing and ensure a reasonable shelf life. I can source some of those out, but MFHG3 is going to be the biggest challenge since it’s expensive even though it’s produced in-house. So far, Dr. Chen in Research and Development hasn’t been very helpful when I’ve tried to ask him about the sweetener.”
Wiley’s eyes darted around. He stepped closer to Morgan. His voice lowered to barely above a whisper. “I’m not all too certain I trust those guys in R & D. They give us just enough of the stuff in large plastic jugs each day for the day’s run. They do all the testing and develop the nutritional information for the labels. It’s just their word.”
“Doesn’t GCF verify safety and nutritional claims in its additives developed in-house through an outside testing and analysis firm?”
“Not required to if the product is made from natural ingredients.”
“Like hoodia and monk fruit?”
Wiley cleared his throat. “I’d better get back out there, or the workers will start getting nervous. If I’m huddled up with the new boss too long they might let their imaginations take a trip down the wrong path. When it comes to R & D, it’s best not to ask too many questions or get in their way.”
“Thanks, Wiley. I can’t make any promises yet, but you can assure everyone personnel cuts are not on my agenda. I plan to avoid lay-offs if at all possible. I don’t like making people feel uncertain about their futures. It’s not right.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Wiley said as he smiled and returned to the floor, leaving Morgan standing alone on the catwalk overlooking the production line.
Morgan wasn’t sure what to do next. Wiley had only increased her suspicions about the sweetener. Apparently, GCF didn’t have its in-house-developed additives analyzed by an outside source, so why was Stan Jacobson corresponding with an analyst from Smith & Brown?
If Stan was acting on his own, maybe
Preston
doesn’t know about the possible issues with the product.
The thought eased her mind somewhat.
She glanced at her watch and realized she was late for her meeting with the marketing team. Hopefully, they would understand that spending time in the plant helped familiarize her with the many products manufactured and sold under the Healthy and Delicious Foods label in grocery stores across the country and produced for three other companies under different labels, exclusively for their members.
Morgan had requested the meeting to get to know the marketing team and to discuss past and present campaigns along with their varying degrees of success. Being late for her own meeting would not endear her to those waiting.
Picking up her pace, she rushed down the hall as quickly as she could in heels. Rounding the corner, she caught a glimpse of a man with short, dark brown hair wearing a dark blue suit slipping into the stairwell. The suit looked very much like the one Aaron wore that day to the office. She could think of no reason why he would be in the manufacturing facility instead of at his desk, manning her phones. If he needed her, she always had a cell phone on her and she could be paged.
The doors of the elevator opened and she stepped inside. Her finger paused for a moment, deciding which floor to push. She debated about going to her office to see if Aaron was at his desk and out of breath. But she was already late, so she pressed the button for the fourth floor and tried to clear her mind for the next meeting.
Sofia strode into the sparsely furnished yet elegantly decorated lobby of Buyer’s Choice Foundation. Glancing around, she was relieved to find it devoid of human activity. In no mood to make idle chit chat, she hoped to escape the attention of her staff and find refuge in her office.
Her weekend was a blur. She was exhausted, and her self-loathing had reached a whole new level. It was nearly midnight before she had arrived home, and despite getting a few hours of sleep and grabbing some strong coffee on the way to work, her head throbbed.
She felt like a college co-ed making the walk of shame across campus as she peeked around the corner to ensure the coast was clear before dashing the short distance to her office. Relieved that Justine hadn’t been at her desk for a change,
Sofia
straightened her skirt and reached for her doorknob. She slipped inside, shut the door quietly behind her, and turned to find Justine grinning at her and holding a giant bouquet of roses.
“Spill it.” Justine beamed. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“I’m not. I must have impressed a donor. That will be all.”
The hurt look on Justine’s face didn’t affect
Sofia
in the slightest. This was a job, not a pajama party. She didn’t want to be friends with any of her staff, and she had no intention of sharing anything personal with any of them.
The last time she had taken a special interest in an employee, it ended in disappointment. Her protégé was ordered to a new assignment, leaving her feeling abandoned. He had reminded her so much of herself when she was young and angry. She had felt compelled to show him how to utilize his special talents, and had taken him under her wing. The bond they’d developed gave her a sense of satisfaction, like mentoring a younger brother.
The loss of her understudy was still difficult to accept. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was really needed elsewhere or if J.R. resented the time and energy she invested in turning a troubled youth with few prospects into a fruitful adult.
Sitting at her desk,
Sofia
stared at the two dozen long-stemmed red roses. Even though she knew who they were from, she pulled the card out of the bouquet.
You’re quickly becoming my favorite club member, and well worth the short flight to
Miami
—J.R.
She never mixed business with pleasure, but one time, she had let her guard down, probably from drinking too many glasses of wine. Now, she wasn’t sure if she could get out, even if she wanted to.
Sofia
certainly didn’t need a man for financial support, having amassed plenty of wealth to live comfortably for the rest of her life. She was perfectly happy with her own company, so why had she let it happen? She wasn’t naïve enough to think he cared about her, much less loved her.
It had to be her ego. J.R. was one of the most powerful men in his industry, and very influential in his community. Men respected yet feared him. Women sought him. The fact that he wanted her, even though only on his terms, was flattering. He was the only man she had ever feared and craved at the same time, and the combination of the two was exhilarating and frightening.
Even as a young girl, Sofia had no respect for a woman, including her own mother, who became so dependent upon a man that she had to compromise her principles. It wasn’t easy earning one’s own way, a lesson Sophia learned the hard way, but at least she was in charge of her own destiny. Lately, though, she felt that control slipping away and feared she was no better than her mother. The woman had always needed men in order to survive and had eventually paid with her life.
Sofia
shuddered as she wondered if her uncharacteristic attraction to J.R. would end the same, continuing the vicious circle of dependency and death.
The timid knock on her door brought
Sofia
out of her thoughts. “Come in.”
“I just wanted to let you know that we received, by special courier, a large check from
Arevir
Pharmaceuticals out of Puerto Rico. Here it is.” Justine set the check on
Sofia
’s desk and backed out of her office.
Sofia
picked up the check, tempted to rip it in half, but knowing she wouldn’t. She had wanted to be a member of Coterie, amused by their games of manipulation and awed by their power, but now they owned her.
Devyn read through the autopsy report on Dexter
Fowler
,which
was waiting on her desk when she and Nick returned from the County Unified Police Department. Everything supported the reported findings that the cause of death was from trauma, a broken neck consistent with hitting a tree head-on at a high rate of speed. The only fact that struck her as odd was the brief notation about significant bruising on the soles of both feet. The report stated that the bruising was recent, but an exact cause or date of the injury could not be determined.
Picking up the phone, she dialed the extension to the lab.
“Agent Nash. Did you get a chance to analyze the substance in the ski boots and bindings I just dropped off?”
She listened and rolled her eyes. “I know you’re backed up and it’s only been a few hours, but put a rush on it.”
“A ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ might have helped.”
Nick’s voice drew her eyes up to him, and she gratefully accepted the cup of coffee in his extended hand.
“Thank you very much for the coffee, Agent
Melonis
.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I’ll teach you a few social graces yet.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. You’re looking mighty smug. What did you find?”
“I had the ski resort send us security footage from all their cameras, which aren’t many, from the morning of the incident. Guess who was captured on film buying a lift ticket?”
“I’m not in the mood for games. Just spit it out.”
“None other than the deceased gentleman known in our small circle as ‘Frank.’”
Devyn nearly spit out her coffee as her eyes widened and she gasped at the news.
“The autopsy report shows massive bruising on the soles of the victim’s feet. If the lab can confirm that the substance embedded in the grooves in the bottom of the ski boots and bindings is residue from an explosive material, probably some kind of plastic, add Frank to the mix, and there is no doubt in my mind that Dexter Fowler was murdered by the same man hired to kill the Uinta Vitamin and Nutrition researchers.”
The phone rang. Devyn looked down and saw the
Wyoming
area code. With Nick sitting directly across from her, she debated about letting it go to voice mail, but she really wanted to hear Gage Harris’s voice.
“Agent Nash,” she stated as professionally as possible while her heart raced in anticipation of hearing his deep, confident tone.
She listened while the sheriff gave her an update on the status of the case against the two survivors in the Uinta Vitamin case. Clicking a few icons on her computer, she pulled up her calendar. “Do you need both of us at the hearing?”
She tried not to smile as Gage explained what he needed and the time and address of the hearing.
“Okay, see you then,” she said and hung up the phone.
She looked up at Nick. By the grin on his face, she had no doubt he had guessed who she was talking to.
“So you and the sheriff got a hot date?”
“You’re such a jerk sometimes. For your information, the grand jury date has been set right away and they need one of us to present the FBI’s evidence leading up to the massacre.”
“Want me to go?”
Devyn glowered at Nick until he couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer. “I think I’m busy that day.”
“I didn’t even tell you what day it’s scheduled.”
“I’m pretty busy every day.”
Devyn slid down in her chair and leaned back, twirling her pencil between her fingers and studying her partner.
“Okay, maybe you’re not a jerk.”