we have got to be careful.”
“I can do that,” she promised, clapping her hands. “Be discreet and careful, I mean.”
“I’m serious, Kathleen. You have to go in under the radar and if—and that’s a big if—you find anything, then we will bring in the cavalry. I know you’re a professional, but you have to make sure your personal feelings and family history of dealing with bad chemical companies don’t interfere with you getting the job done...the right job.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“Now, how do you propose to do that?”
“I can go in as one of our policy trainers. Offer them our free services. That always works and will give me access to one of the areas he’s complaining about too, not to mention free rein with their staff.”
Simpson shook his head. “They train their people themselves. Hell, we even sent some of our trainers to their sessions.”
Kathleen tapped her fingers on the desk. “They don’t have the new regulatory updates yet. I could offer to go in specifically to talk about them and help update their training materials.”
“That might work, but I still need to sweeten the tea.” Simpson reached into his pocket, pulled out a Kleenex and wiped his forehead.
“‘Sweeten the tea’?” Kathleen held back her laughter. She always found Simpson’s use of colloquialisms amusing. “Why?”
“The Kingsleys have been through hell this last year, and if we’re wrong we both could be out of jobs,” he informed her, concern written all over his face.
“I’m not wrong, and if I am, I deserve to lose my job.”
“Easy for you to say, Kathleen. You’ve been here seven years, and you come from money. I put in over fifteen years at this agency, and I can’t afford to lose my job,” Simpson stressed.
Kathleen came from around her desk and leaned against its edge in front of him. She reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “You won’t. I promise. Mr. Silva has no connection to Mr. Perez. There have been a couple of recent changes in their senior management team and policies that have been altered that raised a few eyebrows in the industry. All these changes could be legitimate, but we won’t know that for sure unless we check into it. Now how do we sweeten the tea?”
“I’m going to offer our services as a form of an apology for all the false accusations they’ve had to endure from government agencies as a whole. Show it as a positive PR move on both our parts.”
“Do you think that will work?” Kathleen asked, feeling hopeful.
“I guess we’ll see.” Simpson stood. “I’ll let you know after I give their company’s chairman of the board and family matriarch, Victoria Kingsley, a call on my way to the doctor’s.”
“Great. I hope you feel better.”
“Talk soon,” Simpson said, walking out the office.
The moment the door closed, Kathleen stood in the middle of her office and did a happy dance. “I’m coming for you, Kingsley.”
Morgan Kingsley, the twenty-nine-year-old VP of field operations for Kingsley Oil and Gas, walked into the plant’s cafeteria, rubbing his hands together with one thing on his mind: food. It was a room designed to make the Kingsley employees feel at ease and have a sense of home. With all the hours they all spent there away from their families, the Kingsleys felt the least they could do was make sure their employees were comfortable doing their downtime.
He walked into the brightly lit tan-and-white room, which offered various types of wood-and-steel tables paired with large cream leather folding chairs, to find his plant manager, Adrian Jones, standing in the buffet line.
“What are you doing here so early on a Friday, boss?” Adrian asked.
Morgan picked up a tray and plate and surveyed his choices. “I’m about to have breakfast.”
“I can see that,” Adrian replied, accepting a plate with an omelet from one of the craft service members.
“Lately you’ve only been around for lunch or dinner.”
Skipping the special-order omelet line, Morgan filled his plate with eggs, bacon and pancakes. “Yeah, well, now that all those bogus investigations are over and that bastard Perez is behind bars, I can stay at my own place here and come right to the plant every day and enjoy some of the best breakfast in town.”
After spending a few moments at the juice-and-coffee bar, both men made their way to a vacant table. “Cool,” Adrian replied, pouring syrup over his stack of pancakes. “You’re wearing overalls and work boots. Where are you working today?”
“Maintenance is shorthanded, and I don’t want my welders falling behind.” Morgan reached for his glass of juice.
“I can pull a couple of people from the south bins to help out.”
“That’s not necessary. Ernest and I can handle it.” Morgan popped a piece of bacon in his mouth.
“Someone call my name?” Ernest Walker, the plant’s maintenance director, asked, approaching the table, holding a tray of dirty dishes.
Adrian and Ernest shook hands. “I hear you got the boss doing some heavy lifting today.”
“He can handle it,” Ernest insisted.
“Damn right,” Morgan agreed, diving into his food.
“There you are,” a small, gray-haired woman called out as she approached the table, wiping her hands with her apron.
Morgan and Adrian rose from their seats. “Good morning, Ms. Monica,” all three men greeted. Ms. Monica, as everyone called her, was the sixty-year-old craft service manager and head chef who had worked for the Kingsleys for nearly thirty years. She was like a grandmother to all the Kingsley boys and pretty much everyone else too.
Ms. Monica was just one of the many reasons Morgan was so happy to have the Perez fiasco behind his family and their business. The plant, located just outside of Port Arthur, Texas, and their oil rigs were his safe haven. The death of his father and uncle were beyond difficult, but his extended family at their plant made growing up without them a bit more bearable.
Often, their mother’s love could be suffocating, so when she finally allowed them to spend time at the plant with a few people she trusted who weren’t bodyguards, Morgan relished those moments. The plant became his second home and he was fiercely protective of it too.
“We need to talk about the menu that nutritionist lady sent over the other day.”
“What’s wrong with the menu, Ms. Monica?” Morgan pulled out a chair for her.
Ms. Monica took the seat. “Nothing’s wrong with it. Your mother was right. Healthier, balanced diets are something we should all strive for. None of us are getting any younger, you know. In fact, nearly half the folks working have been here since the doors opened. It’s just going to be too much money buying so many organic vegetables from that company they recommended. I know where we can get everything we need for much less money. I know y’all rich and all, but it never hurts nobody to save a little money.”
Morgan laughed. “You are so right, Ms. Monica, and I appreciate how you look after us—”
“But...” She crossed her arms.
“We have some pretty solid agreements with a number of vendors. Agreements that my mother negotiated personally.”
Ms. Monica laughed. “Well, in that case, I’m sure Victoria got you a rock-bottom price.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure she