“Us.”
Time slowed down, seconds stretching into hours.
“Cartwright Media’s next leader needs to be a fierce predator. Someone strong enough to survive in unforgiving landscapes. I’ve disabled the electric fence separating you from the wild. A rescue crew will arrive at the marina in five days, once you’ve had the chance to prove your grit and determination in this harsh environment.”
Rescue crew?The room didn’t spin—it lurched with bone-crushing centrifugal force. Someone shifted in their seat. Someone else coughed. Fletcher didn’t see who because her eyes had gone tunnel-y. She was going to throw up and pass out, in that order.
On-screen, Dyer speared onward. Laughing like he hadn’t sentenced them to death. Or, maybe, laughing because he knew he had. The former CEO of Cartwright Media laced his fingers beneath his chin.
“If you can survive here, you can certainly handle a board meeting.However, only one guest will be able to take immediate ownership of my assets upon returning to the Cartwright Media offices in Manhattan. Choose wisely. All other guests must forfeit. This is what Lydell has always been: a hunting ground.”
A smile. His last.
“Good luck. You’ll need it.”
7
Silence fell like a guillotine.
The video ended, stalling on a screenshot of Dyer reaching toward the camera, and no one moved to change it. Fletcher’s fingers quivered, cortisol drumming through them. The rest of her went numb.
Retiring was one thing. Retiring meant Dyer would don a floppy sun hat, fly the coop to Florida, and live out the rest of his days as a snowbird. Conducting a company retreat to kill himself and maroon the guests with limited resources to see who would be the last one standing? That was something else entirely.
Fletcher couldn’t look at any of the others—afraid of what she’d find in the darks of their eyes. Once, at a Lunch and Learn, Bertram bodychecked an associate to get the last serving of tiramisu. What would he do for a company with a multibillion-dollar valuation?
“What a nightmare,” Molly howled, clearly in her own personal HR hellscape.
“He was always off, that Dyer,” someone grouched very loudly. Probably Bertram.
“Did he sayifwe survive, we get the company?” Brian, or maybe Other Brian, asked, as if either one of them stood half a chance at lasting five days without Wi-Fi. “What does he mean,if?”
They had to be missing something. Fletcher’s panic carved out Melv—a pinprick surrounded by webbed black. He was the attorney, the voice of reason. Used to courtroom squabbles and complicated paperwork, he’d be able to decipher the will’s legalese. He’d make sense of this.
Steeling herself, Fletcher asked, “Melv, what exactly is going on? Is the will legitimate?”
Melv sighed like it took a tremendous effort. Poor guy had probably been looking forward to a day or two without culling through fine print. “Settle down, everybody. Let’s take a look.”
Between stretching his shirt collar and huffing impatiently, Melv managed to click a few buttons and pull the digital copy of the will up, still broadcasting onto the projector screen. Through the legal jargon, Fletcher could hardly decipher anything. Headers and subsections blurred together as Melv scrolled down the seemingly endless document.
“Section C, Section D…Oh.” Fletcher could practically hear the lump in Melv’s throat. “Section E, subsection four. Survivorship will be determined on Lydell Island. Each invited guest is hereby considered a residuary beneficiary. This provision allows residuary beneficiaries to demonstrate leadership, resourcefulness, and confident decision-making in the kill-or-be-killed world of publishing.”
He glanced at his audience, the sanity of which hinged on his next word. The skin between his brows creased.
Melv kept reading. “Assets are not to be divided between the residuary beneficiaries prior to return to the Cartwright Media Legaloffices at 674 Fifth Avenue, 58th floor, New York, NY 10022, after my last departure to Lydell Island. At which point one sole beneficiary will herein receive the full reward, claiming ownership over all assets, including Cartwright Media, LLC, and its subsidiaries. In the event none of the residuary beneficiaries claim ownership in thirty days, assets will be divided by the acting chairman of the board.”
Fletcher heard every word Melv spoke. And yet.And yet.None of the sounds out of his mouth registered. A stringy, suffocating silence unfolded as she suspected the rest of them tried to parse out the true meaning, too.
The engine they heard this morning? Dyer said he sent the staff members away, but now Fletcher realized it didn’t just mean they wouldn’t get turndown service. They were trapped. On an island filled with vicious creatures. Because her billionaire boss resigned them all to fight for his inheritance in some heinous display of late-capitalist greed. No staff, no cellular data, no security from the animals.
It wasn’t just a matter of inheritance—but survival.
“So, that’s it?” Sheila squeaked. Could she even spellbequeathment?
Melv’s exhausted stare cut toward the intern. “No, there’re sixty-six more pages. But that’s the gist of it. At the end of the week, only one of us will become the proud new owner of Cartwright Media.”
Deepti took to pacing. “So, now we’re supposed to—what?—just pick someone to inherit the company? Obviously, I’m picking me.”
At that, dissident voices roared around the room. No one believed they were any less deserving than the person sitting next to them. The Lydell guest list suddenly made a lot more sense—the C-suite’s seniority, Melv’s cool-tempered problem-solving, Molly’s ability to successfully navigate company politics, and Joplin’s creativity. Marketing and Sales were wild cards, but Fletcher had seen them all sacrifice something for the company. Skipped lunches,missed parties, late nights. Any one of them could argue their spot for the helm. But…stranding them in the Indian Ocean to work out the details? That was overkill, even for Dyer.
