The thing about bridges—
Sometimes you cross them.
Sometimes you burn them.
And sometimes you stand there and watch the whole damn thing collapse under the weight of its own lies.
That’s what happened to Big Stream Marketing.
No bombshell, no scandal. Only the slow, inevitable rot catching up.
Turns out Laurel had been playing a longer game than any of us realized. Apparently her and Thatcher had a little something back in the day. Which he fucked up.
Guess it’s true what they say:Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
And Laurel went full scorched earth.
At the mixology mishap on the island, friendly drinks led to a little harmless flirting, which led to some late night fuckery in his cottage. Add in a conveniently placed laptop. And phone. Throw in a dash of the perfect timing, and Laurel didn’t just blow the whistle—she derailed the train then blew up the station, handing the Feds everything they needed.
Stolen client lists. Cooked reports. Shady contracts buried under mountains of NDAs.
Thatcher didn’t see it coming. Arrogance rarely does.
By the time the smoke started rising, Big Stream was already on fire.
Internal audits.
Missing funds.
Clients fleeing like rats off a sinking ship.
Jackson tried to play dumb. He acted like he didn’t know the paperwork he was smoothing over had teeth.
And maybe he didn’t.
It’s possible he was just a fool happy to cash a check and look the other way.
But I doubt it.
Regardless, the fall didn’t spare him.
Big Stream’s golden nephew is currently neck-deep in depositions, clawing for a life raft that doesn’t exist.
And if I’m being completely transparent, I thought Tammy and Imogene were behind it all. Not Laurel. I was sure those reports they pulled for me had something that helped the whistleblowing along.
I asked Tammy about it once, a few months back.
She just smiled innocently and said, “I don’t know a thing about what you’re talking about, Boss.”
Mhm. Sure.
I asked her to pull shit on Thatcher while we were still on the island. I’m pretty sure she did, but kept me far away from it. She’s always been so protective of me. Love her.
Even with the satisfaction of hearing Thatcher’s about to get what’s coming to him, the thought of Big Stream crumbling still stings.
I built that company like it was mine—fighting for every client, every deal, every inch of respect.
And even though Big Stream’s fire died out, we forged something stronger. Rhodes and Co.—born from the burn.
