Chapter 3

• Amelia's expression is a frown. I felt you should read that before you went down with someone from Florida Capital, but I'm sure Miguel is unaware that you approached them. If you'd still like to have a conversation with a corporate representative."
• I take a few deep breaths and nod. "All right. Alright. Yes. He has no idea, I'm positive. "We're just small changes to a business like his, do we?" My voice sounds strained and constricted.
• "Hmm. Hopefully."
• I'm almost breathing too much. I attempt to swallow, but the swallow gets stuck in my throat and my mouth is dry. My tummy is burning from the coffee.
• Miguel Perez Gomez. I give the newspaper another scowl. My hands shake. This is how I feel when I see his name in black and white.
• "I'm sure everything'll be fine." Her voice lacks conviction. She turns to look at the pirate and into the early sun.
• "Yeah." I extract the word. "Just. Peachy.
• For some minutes, we remain silent and anxious; Amelia rubs her tummy and stares at the inebriated person while I fan my face with the paper. I've lost the will to take the drunk pirate away. Whether a dozen drunken people are passed out and sleeping in front of the building is irrelevant.
• Miguel cannot possibly—if he now owns the private equity firm.
• Amelia breaks the monotony of my thinking. "After the parade, the same old overweight people with eye patches and puffy shirts show up at our building every year. There is never a guy that resembles Johnny Depp."
• She's attempting to reassure me now with a joke.
• My fingers are covered in newspaper that has gotten into my perspiration. I give her the paper and wipe my black pencil skirt with a damp, dirty palm. "It would be appropriate to draw and quarter everybody who believed that the St. Augustine Pillage the Village Fest was a decent idea a century ago, or forced to walk the tightrope, or fired."
• "How long do you think the cops will take?" Amelia queries.
• "Who can say? Not quickly enough. I suppose I ought to have planned this meeting for after the festival. perhaps didn't plan it at all."
• We're skirting the underlying problem with our words.
• Miguel.
• It's alright. The fact that a guy is sleeping off his buzz on the pavement is not your fault. It's not like we never pillaged the community before. Do you recall when I donned a glittering pirate princess outfit?"
• I sigh. She's now making a great effort to cheer me up by talking about our wilder teenage years. God bless her heart.
• I plant my hand firmly on my hip and tap my foot more quickly on the pavement. Not because it's ridiculously, abnormally warm for February in Florida, but rather because I'm sweating profusely right now. I can't even begin to fathom that the most significant individual in my past could one day lead both my company and me." This is the reason I'm perspiring."I suppose the vice president of Florida Capital, or MPG, or whatever the corporation is currently named, will review our company's operations, flaws, and all. We are a publication. Truth is what we deal in. "Why attempt to hide the ugly?" I shrug nonchalantly as anxiety builds in my belly.
• Amelia gives me a pointed glance. "Go ahead, please. We're not a particularly poor investment.
• "There's a lot of ugly right now at the St. Augustine Times." I laugh out loud. "I wish I'd stayed a reporter."
• Amelia sighs. "I understand that being a brilliant reporter was easier for you than being a publisher. However, what did you say to me after your father passed away? This is what you left behind. You adore this. defending the morally upright. serving as the community's spokesperson. preserving the First Amendment. It runs in your family."
• Muttering, "Lofty, ivory-tower crap,"
• "Stop being so negative. You have faith in this document. Why try to rescue it if not?"
• I sigh. She is correct. Notwithstanding all the issues, I adore this location and this company. We still have the power to change this broken planet, in my opinion. One of my favorite dystopian comic book characters, once said, "Journalism is just a gun." This quote usually comes to mind when I'm having a rough day. It only holds one bullet, but that should be plenty if you aim correctly. If you aim well, you can destroy everything."
• The problem is that my rifle has been kicked, dropped, and covered in dirt. It could blow my head off if it even manages to fire.
• Amelia softens her gaze. "The building alone is worth what you're asking for the loan."
• I scoff. What's tragic is that the building is the only valuable item. Amelia is aware of this. She knows how bad things are, being the CFO. This meeting is crucial to everything. My profession. my journal. my whole life. For almost 150 years, my family has inherited the Times from the city, but its future is uncertain; at most.
• Miguel is currently preventing me from succeeding.
• The sheer magnitude of it all makes me feel both unsteady and detached as if I had been taken from my familiar surroundings and thrust into an alternate reality devoid of common sense and reason.
• With a loud voice, Ryan peers out the door once more and says, "Victoria, the police said they'd be here in five or ten minutes."
• "Thanks, Ryan." I wave and give a toothless smile. He's only a few years away from retirement, having worked at the Times for longer than I have been alive. Ryan, a charming man with white hair, used to buy my brother and me Rocket Pops from the ice cream truck during our elementary school days when we had to spend our afternoons at the paper with Dad over summer vacation.
• What would happen to Ryan's pension if this transaction fails? Inside, he vanishes. It might be me who ruins Ryan's pension. My stomach's hole grows into a crater.
• I check my thumbnail after pulling my form-fitting pencil skirt past my knees. My red lipstick is still intact. Still. Amelia nuzzles my forearm as I stand with my back to the street.
• "Stop worrying. Victoria and Miguel won't be here today. He is likely unaware of the existence of this meeting."
• Yes. He probably doesn't keep track of every funding request because the company is so large, especially given how soon after the acquisition it happened. In addition, he seems to own God knows what else in Miami in addition to managing a real estate investment company. When I applied for the loan, I wish someone had warned me that this would happen."
• "Maybe it'll even work in our favor."
• I shrug, but my shoulders continue to hunch in the vicinity of my ears. "Possibly. In any case, Miguel probably doesn't even realize I'm here. We haven't seen one other in, what, ten or twelve years?" I periodically calculate the exact amount of time it has been because I know exactly how long it has been.
• Eleven years, two months, and three days.
• Not that I'm monitoring anything.
• Amelia looks at the inebriated man and clears her throat. When the pirate scratches his stomach while he sleeps, I wince.
• Merely "Figures," I murmur.
• There were exact footsteps on the pavement behind us, and my heart pounded against my chest. There's a beat of silence and a pause in the footsteps just as I'm about to turn around. The pounding pain in my head is matched by a pounding heart. Can a 34-year-old woman have a heart attack and a stroke at the same time? "I've heard the news industry is going through some difficult times. But I wasn't prepared for skid-row drunkards. Hold on. Is that a pirate, please?
• My body begins to feel hot suddenly, and my breath catches. That voice. sultry and seductive. It's been a while since I've heard it, but it's as comforting and alluring as the muggy wind that encourages the Spanish moss to sway on trees throughout the city.
• Miguel Perez Gomez.