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2
Scandals, Solutions, and Stubborn Men
Theo Rojas, Nassau, The Bahamas
“Welcome toBusiness World Weekly.I’m your host, Barry Butler, and tonight we take a deep dive into exactly what is going on at Meta this quarter.” The handsome suit-clad newscaster smiles at the camera. “But first, will a Hollywood superstar’s misstep bring down liquor giant Rojas Rum? Some say yes. Here with a detailed report is Candy Higgs.”
“Thank you, Barry. It’s not only one of the oldest liquor companies in the Caribbean, but it’s also one of the largest family-owned corporations on earth. I’m talking, of course, about Rojas Rum. The company was started in 1852 in Havana, Cuba, by Alvaro Bembe Rojas—a man with a dream of becoming one of Cuba’s best names in the business. He started with one small distillery, and over the past 170 years, he and his family have turned Rojas Rum into one of the best-known, bestselling liquor brands on the planet, with over 200 premium spirits on their shelf. The company is run by Theo Bembe Rojas, the great-great-great-grandson of Alvaro Bembe Rojas, and employs over 8000 people in more than 160 countries.
“Rojas Rum made headlines last year when they partnered with James Prescott, known to most people as Matalyx from the famedClash of Crownsseries, for a new venture—Rojas Emerald Gin. Unfortunately, that partnership came to a swift end three months ago, when James Prescott was arrested for driving while under the influence.”
The feed cuts to video footage of James Prescott attempting to walk the line on a road while giggling, stumbling, and swearing, all the while holding a bottle of Rojas Rum. The scene ends with James lying on the street, shouting, “Leave me alone, God! Leave me alone with my Rojas Rum!”
When the camera cuts back to Candy, she’s wincing visibly. “The incident landed Mr. Prescott in rehab for the past twelve weeks and turned the Rojas brand into a meme that caught on like wildfire. Merchandise popped up around the globe featuring the words, “Rojas Rum. When you’re done with God for good.” Despite the fact that the memes and merchandise were not authorized in any way by Rojas, it sparked protests in front of Rojas Distilleries in over twenty-six countries, the largest of which were held at the headquarters in Nassau, where dozens of windows were smashed and the building was vandalized.”
The feed cuts to footage of hundreds of protesters chanting, “We’ll never be done with God! We’ll never be done with God!”
The sound on the footage ends, but scenes of people throwing bricks at the large building continue as Candy says, “Sales all over the world plummeted, and Rojas had their worst quarter in history. Swift action on the part of Theo Rojas seemed to be righting the ship, but with James Prescott being released from the facility to start his trial for driving under the influence, it appears a resurgence of the bad press is already underway. Will the Rojas family survive this latest chapter of the biggest scandal in their history, or will James Prescott bring the rum giant to its knees?”
“Such a shame really,” Barry says as the camera pulls back to include him in the shot. “I used to love their dark rum. After a long day on set, pop some ice in the glass and ahhh… But now…” He shakes his head.
Candy nods. “I know what you mean. I just can’t bring myself to buy their stuff. Feels weird.”
“Up next, is the world ready to go Meta?” Barry stares directly into the camera and then a commercial for Bud Light Hard Soda starts.
“Mierda.” I shut the television off and lean back in my chair, tapping my fingers restlessly on my Lignum Vitae desk. After twelve long weeks of sleepless nights, working until well after two in the morning most days, and calling in every favour my family was owed—and there were a lot of them—we’re going to end up back where we started. I’ve managed to avoid layoffs and closures in our distilleries and warehouses, but another massive drop in sales means I’m going to have some awful decisions to make. Come Monday, when I’m sitting at the table with the board of directors, I better have a solid plan in place, or I’m going to face a vote of no-confidence.
“Screw it. I’m going home.” I’m done, for today at least. I need a long dip in the pool, followed by a cold drink and a soak in the hot tub. Tomorrow I can start over in my quest for a way to scrub the steaming turd that is James Prescott from our company’s reputation.
I power down my computer and gather my things, hoping to find the office empty when I open my door. The last thing I want is to have to put on a cocky smile and pretend I’m not worried. I need to be alone, which, in my case, is not an easy feat.
I live at our family’s seaside estate—a massive twenty-six-bedroom house with far too much staff for my liking. All of whom will have seen today’s news. My idiot brother Markos also lives there. He’s the cause of our current dilemma, having convinced me to let his “good buddy James” become the shit-faced face of our brand.
We often go weeks without seeing each other, which is odd since we live and work together. Well,Iwork. Markos has an office here on the executive floor that sits empty, as he’s usually off somewhere in the world, following the roving party of trust-fund babies.
I grunt, anger searing my veins when I think of my little brother: irresponsible, reckless, a total burden on me ever since our father died and passed the reins, and responsibilities, onto my shoulders. It’s been a long six years, and even though I’m only thirty-six, today I feel like I’m ninety. I need a night off.
Before I can make my escape, there’s a knock at the door.
Because it’s after six, my assistant, Jaquell, has gone home. I stay silent, hoping whoever it is goes away. After a few seconds, I hear Markos’s voice.
“I know you’re in there, and I brought an old friend.”
Mierda. “Come in.”
The door swings open. Carolina Armas is with him. She glides into the room, followed by Markos, who glances at the big screen TV on the wall. “Hey, bro, how’s it hanging?”
“I already saw it,” I tell him, noting that it’s been far too long since his black hair has seen the sharp end of a pair of scissors. He looks like a shaggy surfer dude instead of an executive of a global corporation. But I suppose it makes sense, since he spends most of his time surfing.
Carolina, on the other hand, is as polished as ever in her Chanel skirt suit. Her makeup is subtle, but I’m sure there’s a lot of it, and her long dark hair is pulled back in a low bun. Our families have been friends for generations—the rich and powerful of the Caribbean. Her Uncle Luis has sat on our board of directors since I was a teenager. Her family owns Armas News Corporation, which in turn owns thirty-two television networks, five newspapers, and two movie studios. She’s got that old money confidence that floats around in our circle, and she smells exactly like every other woman I know—rich.
I rise to greet her, and we give each other the customary kiss on each cheek, only she holds her second one a little too long, as she’s been doing lately. “Carolina, lovely to see you.”
“There’s no way I would abandon you in your hour of need.”
Perching on the corner of my desk, I offer her a polite smile. “That’s kind of you.” Turning my attention to Markos, I add, “Our family can use all the friends we can get right now.”
