AllFreeNovel
Share Us
See…that’s the kinda shit that’ll have me BAP—barefoot and pregnant.
“It’s just shitty that this is the way I become rich, you know? I’d rather have him than—I’m sorry.”
Jonathan chuckled and tightened his grip around me. “It’s okay, Kierra. You would rather have him than the money. It’s normal to feel that way. I can’t say that Eliza would say the same. She’d probably do a backflip.”
We laughed, knowing he was right on the money. The woman probably wouldn’t shed a single tear at the funeral. She’d be too preoccupied wondering how soon she could liquidate his assets.
“I hope I’m not being too forward, but from all the stories you told me about Rory, it’s clear that he wanted to provide for his girls. Death won’t stop him—let him provide, Kierra.”
Tears trickled down my face, and all I could think of was that I was kinda sort of in love with Jonathan Baker, Esquire.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Burgess is here. Are you ready?” Cara asked. Jonathan glanced at me, and I nodded.
“Yes, send him in.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jonathan
“Afternoon. Let’s make this quick. I have a tee time with the mayor in an hour,” Walter Burgess announced as he entered my office. If I wasn’t sure the man was a pompous ass before, then my mind was made up then. He wore his country club finest to our meeting—gaudy blue plaid pants and a light blue polo shirt. I was shocked he wasn’t wearing gloves. Clearly, he wasn’t taking us seriously, but we’d have the last laugh.
“Of course, there is no need to prolong the inevitable. Please have a seat,” I offered, motioning to the conference table. “Would you like any refreshments?” I asked, pulling out a chair for Kierra.
“None that you can offer. Nice suit, Mrs. Houston. It makes you look professional.”
“I wish I could say the same to you,” Kierra drawled, not impressed by Mr. Burgess’s lack of professionalism. He hmphed and opened his briefcase, pulling out a pen and a few blue file folders. He opened one, and I already knew it was a settlement agreement. However, I didn’t get excited because I knew whatever offer was typed on the page wouldn’t be sufficient for my client and lover.
“We’ve doubled our last offer. Vance Oil is prepared to issue a check today in the amount of $100,000.00,” he said, sliding thedocument to me. It was the standard settlement write-up—if you accept the funds, don’t come back for more, an NDA to keep the nature of the case and the compensatory amount confidential, and finally, a warning of how they could potentially destroy your life and bankrupt you if the rules were broken.
My eyes ticked to Kierra as I flipped through the pages. I hoped to get a read on her; however, she wore a poker face that even I couldn’t decipher.
“No, thank you,” I said, tossing the folder back to him.
“Mrs. Houston, this is a lot of money. Mr. Baker will attempt to convince you that it isn’t because $100,000.00 is a drop in a bucket to him.”
“Really? Last time you graced us with your presence, you were certain I was a pauper,” I huffed.
“Pauper? What’s with the hyperbole? All that I’m insinuating is that someone living in a multi-million-dollar house has a different outlook than someone with a modest upbringing. Mrs. Houston, Vance Oil deeply regrets Mr. Houston’s death, and we understand how grief can be debilitating—”
“Mr. Burgess, have you ever lost the love of your life? The person youknewyou would spend the rest of your life with? The person who believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself? The person who’d do whatever they could to make you smile when times were rough? The person who loved you through your many flaws and was quick to forgive you when you were a little bitchy? From the way you carry yourself, I doubt you can relate. Debilitating? You have no fucking idea. I’m past debilitating. I’m angry, Mr. Burgess. Rory was just some…some disposable person to you—someone you wouldn’t look twice at on the street. He was a name on a file that came across your desk—a piece of lint that clung to your designer suit that wouldn’t just seem to go away. You can cut me this measly ass check and never have to think about Rory Drew Houston again—oh, to beso fucking lucky. I lost a life partner. My daughter lost her father. And the most you’ll lose behind Rory Houston is your fucking tee time with the mayor. The crazy part is, if Vance Oil would’ve done right by me from the beginning, or if you would’ve offered me the slightest empathy, I would’ve taken the check, but I’m sorry, $100,000.00 isn’t going to cut it!”
I swallowed roughly. Kierra’s words hit me in the chest like a kick from a horse. I looked to my right, and surprisingly, she was holding it together.
The show must go on.
“Mr. Burgess, you’ve heard my client’s impassioned speech. I think we both know how a jury would react to such a statement.”
“As impassioned as Mrs. Houston’s statement was, it doesn’t deny the facts that her husband was negligent, which ultimately led to his death.”
“We accept the explanation and evidence that Mr. Houston did not follow the correct lockout/tagout procedure.”
“Then what is your argument?” he pressed.
I smirked and tossed a file at him.
“Our position is that Vance Oil was not only negligent with hiring Mr. Houston but also negligent when it came to on-the-job training, specifically OSHA-required lockout/tag out training. I received the subpoenaed evidence from your human resource and training department. The application that Mr. Houston filled out specifically stated they wantedexperiencedriggers with two-plus years of experience; however, Mr. Houston didn’t have any experience. On his application, he also indicated that he had zero rig experience; however, your company hired him anyway. Your training is dismal, for lack of a better word, and there is nothing indicating that Mr. Houston was trained on lockout/tag-out procedures compared to the other functions of the job where trainees and trainers signed off. I received your training guide—there were no quizzes to see if the traineegrasped the knowledge, no videos, nothing. You donotwant this to go to court. Mrs. Houston would leave averywealthy woman.”
Mr. Burgess’ face slipped into a mask of rage. I’d be deeply concerned if he turned any redder.
