The universe, it seems, isn't finished with me yet.
28
BAGPIPES AND BAD DECISIONS
CALLUM
The first week of September arrives with Seattle's typical meteorological identity crisis.
Bright sunshine one moment, threatening clouds the next, all wrapped in a peculiar end-of-summer melancholy that matches my mood perfectly.
It's been exactly seven days since the engagement party disaster, and I've cycled through every emotion in the Scottish repertoire.
Fury.Betrayal.Followed by righteous indignation, and finally…a reluctant creeping doubt about my own inflexibility.
I'm nursing these conflicted feelings over a perfectly seared sea bass at Altura, one of Seattle's most exclusive restaurants, where I've agreed to meet with a reporter from the Financial Times.
The ostensible purpose?
Damage control for the MacTavish acquisition.
The reality?
A desperate attempt to redirect public attention from my personal life to Abernathy Corp's business fundamentals.
"So you're saying the viral campaign has actually increased brand awareness?"asks Sheila Donovan, the silver-haired journalist who's been covering tech acquisitions since before I had my first computer.
"Our metrics indicate a 47% increase in brand recognition," I confirm, keeping my tone neutral in the face of the absurdity of discussing how my thighs going viral has benefited shareholders."More importantly, our customer retention has improved by 12% quarter-over-quarter."
"Fascinating."Sheila makes a note."And what about the recent revelations regarding your Marketing Director?Has that affected the MacTavish negotiations?"
I take a careful sip of water, buying time."The situation with Ms.Peters is a personnel matter that we're handling internally.It has no bearing on the acquisition."
"Yet Duncan MacTavish seemed to think it significant enough to mention publicly," she persists."And I understand your board called an emergency meeting?—"
"The board routinely meets to discuss corporate governance.As for Duncan's comments…I find it interesting that he chose to focus on a credential verification issue rather than the substantial value Abernathy Corp brings to the table."
Before Sheila can follow up, a familiar voice calls my name from across the restaurant.
"Callum!What a coincidence!"
My stomach drops as I turn to see Richard approaching our table, wearing the self-satisfied smile that has preceded trouble since he was five years old stealing my toy cars.
He's dressed in a casual elegance that suggests both money and leisure—neither of which he's earned honestly.
"Richard," I acknowledge stiffly."I wasn't aware you were still in Seattle."
"Just tying up loose ends before Anka and I settle permanently in Copenhagen."His eyes gleam as he spots Sheila's recorder."Oh, an interview!How delightful.The Financial Times, if I'm not mistaken?"
Sheila straightens, journalist instincts clearly sensing a story."Indeed.Sheila Donovan.And you are...?"
"Richard Abernathy.Callum's brother and former COO of Abernathy's West Coast operations."He extends his hand with practiced charm."Mind if I join you?I'd be happy to provide some family context on the current...situation."
Before I can object, he's pulled up a chair, signaling a waiter for champagne.
I notice several diners surreptitiously lifting their phones to capture the Abernathy brothers' reunion.
"Actually," I begin, "we were discussing?—"
