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.
“Is it a holiday that I forgot about?” The usual whir of the machines is missing. Looking past Nat and through the window into the warehouse, the place is a ghost town other than the few guys cleaning and locking up.
“I wish,” she says. “How’d things go with the lawyer?”
“About as badly as you could dream up. We’re screwed,” I sigh, plopping all the paperwork back down on my desk. “Well, I’m screwed. You can head out if you want. Looks like everyone else has,” I say, gesturing toward the window to the warehouse.
“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you that the bad news doesn’t end there. I had to send everyone home, Ava.” She announces it as if it were news, waiting for my surprised reaction like I’m not staring into the nearly empty warehouse through the window behind her.
“I don’t understand? If that engine fell again, I swear to God.”
“No, the engine is fine. The problem is everything else. Some guy came by while you were gone.” She picks up a piece of paper and stares at it with intense focus, avoiding eye contact with me. “An inspector from the Occupational Safety and Health Administration.”
Shit.
“The Mark incident must have been reported to them and I was required by the state to let him survey the place,” she explains, finally looking up at me with sympathetic eyes. “And I guess he didn’t like what he found. He commanded that the place be shut down effective immediately for lack of compliance with safety regulations.”
“Which safety regulations?”
She nervously hands over the document she’s been holding. The whole page is completely marked up with red ink and highlighter, documenting every loose screw and dusty vent in the building. There has to be at least two dozen violations here. How did I not know about any of these? Factories may not be my area of expertise, but I’m not dumb. Was I so caught up in my Barrett fantasies that I didn’t manage to notice that this factory I’ve been running is a giant mess?
“He said once all the highlighted violations were corrected that they would come back,” Megan says, as if it’s supposed to offer me any solace. “They’re willing to reassess the property to determine whether or not you can reopen your doors. But until then, the factory has to stay closed, Ava. I’m so sorry.”
“So, I’m just shut down?” I snap, the tears already building in my eyes. “I’m done? Just like that?” My voice has escalated to a yell, but I don’t care. Let the handful of employees left in the warehouse hear me. It’s not any secret that things are falling apart.
“There’s still hope,” she offers, getting up from behind my desk to try to calm me down.
“Where? Where is there hope?” My throat twists and tightens as tears start to spill down my cheeks in quiet rivers. “I don’t think I saw a line item in the budget for hope.”
“I’m just trying to help.” She puts up her hands in defense and takes a step back from me. I’m derailing and she’s taking the brunt of it, but I can’t hold myself together. How could so many disasters hit back to back to back?
There’s a knock on the door—probably one of the few guys still on site coming to find out if he needs to start looking for a new job. I try to deep breathe so I can preserve some of my dignity in front of my employees, but when the door creaks open, the familiar grating voice that greets me belongs to no employee of mine.
“Ava, I hope I’m not interrupting.”
I snap my head around to meet Roland’s beady eyes as he slithers into the room.
His timing is impeccable.
“I just thought I might swing by before your end of day...although it looks like maybe everyone’s called it quitting time already.” His greasy smirk replaces my sadness with pure anger. How dare he show up again, completely unannounced.
“What do you want, Roland?” I bark.
“I just wanted to stop in and see if you were ready to sign that agreement,” he says it as though it were some innocent suggestion. Could he know about the health inspector, or is this just some crazy coincidence? Either way, I’m still not going down without a fight.
“Over my dead body, Roland.” My voice wobbles as I say it, but I’ve never been more secure in my stance. I’d sooner let this company land in the dumpster before laying it in Roland’s hands.
The few lingering workers wander into the doorframe, drawn to the commotion.
“Well, no matter,” he says, waving me off and turning to address what’s left of my staff. “Gentleman, I hope you’ll spread word to the rest of the employees that Roland Enterprises will be hosting a meeting this coming Saturday in our main conference room. An open panel, if you will. I hope you’ll all attend to hear what I have to say about the future of this business and our intentions.” The men shoot me “we’re so sorry” looks, but give Roland a nod. Clearly this is coming as no surprise to them.
“I’d just like to handle things in a reasonable, professional manner,” Roland says, pivoting back to address me. “I don’t want anyone getting laid off any more than you do.”
That is such bullshit. I heard what he said in Barrett's office.