Someone leaked a prototype.
Our product hasn’t been announced to the public yet. It started production only recently. We haven’t gone into testing or beta phase yet.
I keep my face neutral, hiding all the rage that’s boiling deep down, not wanting any of my employees to think I’m weak and can’t keep myself together. Explosive anger is a sign of weakness. Anger is a normal emotion, but there are healthy ways of showing it. There’s no need to over react.
The room is deadly silent—I can’t even hear anyone breathing. All I hear is the blood rushing through my ears as the anger and adrenaline courses through my veins.
Control is strength. Reaction is weakness.
I am not him.
Breathe.
“Who had access?” I ask, my voice even and smooth.
It allows me to breathe easier, knowing that I do have control. That I can handle this. That I am not my father, and I can be in control and not a raging lunatic who demands respect by making people fear him.
One of the designers, Bonnie, I believe her name is, answers, “Well, a few of us did, but… there was this junior designer. David. He quit about two weeks ago. Stopped showing up and never called.”
“Then there was the reporter who called,” my PR director, Sam, adds.
“Called and said what?” I ask.
“They were asking weird questions. Very specific about this watch. I’d assumed it was because they caught wind that we were releasing a new model, but with all this, I’m not so sure.”
I flip through the photos again, then make eye contact with my head of security, Filipe. “Start an internal investigation and be quiet about it. No one knows about this but us.”
“Of course, Mr. Stone.”
My attention then goes to the head of my legal department, Gerard.
“Prepare a cease-and-desist and do whatever you need to get those watches off the market. This is our design, and we will take all measures to ensure no one uses it but us.”
“Yes, sir.”
I look around the room, taking in the serious faces of all involved. I have an amazing team. I’ve always known it. They like their jobs and they take it seriously. Without them, my company would fall apart. They will handle this. We will get through it.
“I want this all handled by lunch. Let’s make no mistakes here. This is important. I have faith in us. We will get past this.”
I leave the room and go back to my office, shutting the door behind me so I can take a moment to breathe.
Drinking at work is a rare thing for me, but I keep a decanter of whiskey and glasses in my office for a reason. In the corporate world, it doesn’t matter if it’s nine am. If you need a drink, you get a drink, or else the rest of the day is going to be trash.
After a smooth rest of the day, I’m eager to go home. I left myself enough time to make sure everything is set for Cassius before he arrives—if he arrives.
We texted yesterday a couple of times. I checked in to make sure he was still on board and that I would see him tomorrow. He responded short and precisely, and I think that’s more to do with him trying to be professional, rather than avoiding me. But we will see in an hour and twelve minutes if he was serious.
I park under the car port and go through the portico to get to the front door. I let myself in with my thumb print and loosen my tie the moment I’m through the door. I take my shoes off, but leave them by the door, and go down the hall to Cassius’s room. His uniform is laid out on the bed, along with a copy of his detailed schedule for the day. The room is decorated in calming blues and light greys, as it’s meant for him to relax and recuperate in, if necessary. This sort of thing takes a lot of mental will, and I’m not sure how often he will need a break. But he will have a safe and comfortable place to do it whenever he needs.
Everything looks in its place, so I head to my home office to look over some reports while I wait. The chef is surely preparing dinner at this time, and it’ll be ready like it usually is. Today will be a training day, but I can’t help but be eager over what this means.
Nothing has ever been such a release than what this gives me, and going without it for so long is a struggle mentally.
I lose myself in work and before I know it, there’s an alert that someone is at the gate. I glance at the clock—he’s nine minutes early.
I open the app and hit the button for the gate to open, then go to the front door. I slip my shoes back on and tighten my tie, making sure it’s straight in the mirror by the door.
Through the frosted glass window on the side of the door, I see his shadow walk by and stop in front of the door. The image of him pops up on the security screen. It’s four seconds before he rings the bell. He’s either over thinking and trying to be more “on time” or he’s nervous.