This POV was originally written at the request of my amazing readers and appeared in the Goodreads Group: The Consequences Series Group Reads, Therapy, and Hugs. That version has been tweaked and edited for BHE- Consequences. The “Accident” scene in Consequences was tragic, difficult to read, difficult to write, and often resulted in my being asked, “What was Tony thinking?” I decided to share. This POV was in no way intended to condone abuse or physical violence, but was meant as insight into the troubled mind of a man who experienced pain and betrayal for the first time in his life.
Thank you for joining me on this dark and insightful journey.
~Aleatha
Chapter Seven
The Accident—September 2010
(Consequences—Chapter 19)
There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed.
—Napoleon Bonaparte
The whole damn deal hung by a thread. How many hours and millions of dollars had been wasted researching and reviewing this investment and securities firm to have it fall apart over some stupid disagreement about benefit buyouts? Sitting at the head of the long conference table, Tony listened to the debate until he couldn’t take it any longer. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke above the fray, “you have my offer. Your company won’t stand as it is another six months. You can either take the deal or file Chapter 11. With my offer your employees will receive appropriate compensation in exchange for their loss of benefits.”
“Mr. Rawlings, with all due respect, you’re offering pennies on the dollar.”
Standing, Tony adjusted his jacket and ignored the vibration of his private cell phone as he replied, “Yes, Mr. Collins, I am. I’ve also spent over a year learning the ins and outs of your company. You have no other prospects. I suggest you take the offer. The federal bankruptcy courts won’t be as generous.”
While the murmuring at the conference table intensified, Tony placed the documents and his laptop into his leather briefcase and nodded to his team. Addressing the assembly, he announced, “I expect an answer by tomorrow at noon, or I’ll assume that you’re taking your chances with the courts. Good day, ladies and gentlemen.”
The room fell into a stunned hush as Anthony Rawlings and his protégés gathered their belongings and walked away from the bargaining table. Once they stepped beyond the glass doors and neared the elevator, Tony heard Tom exhale. The team that accompanied him consisted of Tom Miller, his associate, Sharon Michaels, and David Field, one of Tony’s negotiators. Only their private assembly entered the small elevator. When the doors shut, Tom leaned toward Tony and spoke in a hushed tone. “I know you know how much it’ll cost if this falls through. We’re talking about—”
Remaining professional, Tony’s eyes met Tom’s, interrupting his words. Tony hissed. “I am well aware. We can discuss this further in the office.” The conversation was officially stalled. Tony didn’t care that it was still early in the afternoon and that their meeting was scheduled to last until much later. He could only present the same information in so many different ways. He had neither the patience nor the inclination to entertain the assholes in that conference room upstairs another minute. They wanted what he wasn’t willing to give. He knew that their company needed him more than he needed it. At this point, he needed a few minutes to decompress. If he didn’t, he’d be willing to take the whole damn thing as a tax write-off.
The silence continued as they entered the waiting car. They weren’t scheduled to return to Iowa until the morning, and they all knew that they’d spend the rest of the day and possibly the night dissecting every last document in their arsenal. Despite Tony’s comments, too much had been invested; somewhere there was a definitive piece of information that would insure this deal’s success. By all estimations, they had a long night ahead of them.
Just as Tony’s nerves began to calm, he again felt his pocket vibrate and reached for his iPhone. Touching the screen, he saw: TWO TEXT MESSAGES
Further investigation told him that they both were from his press secretary, Shelly. He read the first:
MR. RAWLINGS PLEASE READ THE ATTACHED PRESS RELEASE THAT JUST CAME ACROSS MY FEED. IT WILL NOT APPEAR FOR A FEW DAYS. IT HAS BEEN PURCHASED BY ROLLING STONE AND PEOPLE. I DON’T THINK I CAN STOP IT.
The car moved in jerky bursts. Tony hated New York City traffic. That was one of the reasons he chose to live in Iowa. Of course, there was traffic there too, but it wasn’t this stand-still shit. Instead of reading the attachment, he read the second text, also from his press secretary:
MR. RAWLINGS I’VE CONFIRMED THE SALE OF THE RELEASE TO BOTH MAGAZINES. IF I ATTEMPT TO STOP PUBLICATION IT MAY BACKFIRE. PLEASE ADVISE IMMEDIATELY.
“They’re bluffing.” Tom’s voice broke the silence within the car.
“I don’t bluff,” Tony replied. “I’d rather lose the preliminary costs than deal with those assholes. I won’t be at their mercy. We’ll find something that’ll make them beg for my offer, and we’ll find it tonight.”
Tom didn’t respond, nor did anyone else. Tony didn’t expect responses. After all, he wasn’t asking. There was a mission and it would be carried out. When the car stopped in front of the tall office building, Tony and his associates silently entered the building. It was another quiet elevator ride as they made their way to the sixty-second floor and the New York satellite offices of Rawlings Industries.
The pretty brunette receptionist immediately stopped her work as Tony and his entourage entered the lobby to the executive offices.
Before she could speak, Tony said, “Kelli, we’re planning a long night. Call for food. We’ll need sandwiches and coffee delivered.”
“I’ll get right on that, Mr. Rawlings.” Kelli handed him a small stack of papers. “Sir, Shelly has called multiple times. She’s very anxious for you to read a press release. I took the liberty of printing it for you.”
Taking the printed pages, Tony thanked her and walked into his private office; only Tom followed. He started to sit behind his desk when the title on the page caught his attention. Suddenly, his body ceased to move and the air left his lungs.
“Questions Answered—the Mystery Woman in Anthony Rawlings’ Life Agrees to a One-on-One Interview.”
His cheeks paled as the blood drained from his face.
“What’s the matter?”
Tony heard the concern in Tom’s voice. Although their relationship wasn’t just that of business, Tony didn’t feel like sharing. Prying his eyes away from the article in his tightening grip, Tony forced himself to make eye contact with his longtime friend. “I …” he hesitated. “I-I need a minute. I’ll call you when I’m ready to get started.”
“Are you sure? Is there something I can—”
“A minute—now,” Tony cut him off. It wasn’t the volume of his voice that demanded action; it was the authority.
Tom nodded and headed for the door. Within seconds, Tony was alone with the press release that Shelly had tried so desperately to share.
He scanned the pages. Words and phrases jumped out from each paragraph: Since May of 2010—Anthony’s special woman—she agreed to sit down—freelance writer—Meredith Banks—Claire Nichols—Tony’s blood boiled. The tips of his fingers blanched and lost feeling as his grip upon the helpless pages intensified.