Melv quieted the room. “We have until the rescue crew comes to decide.”
“Assuming any of us live that long,” Jackie sulked.
Every head in the room swiveled toward her. Reproachful.
Jackie only shrugged. “Don’t look at me. Dyer’s the one who abandoned us here, and this island is teeming with predators on the hunt for easy prey. You heard the same will reading I did. If my options are kill or be killed, I know which one I’m choosing.”
Fletcher’s mind spun, a run-on sentence.What on earth is going onandhow do I get out of hereanddo all company retreats devolve into a ritualistic sacrifice?
Waylon laughed. The humorless sound soaked up the room’s lingering conversations.
Melv clasped his hands in front of him. “Something you’d like to share?”
Wiping beneath his eyes, Waylon mopped up unshed tears. “No. Please, go on. If you want to kill each other to entertain my dad’s final fucked-up wishes, be my guest.”
“No one is killing anyone,” Raul countered. He leveled Jackie with a hard glance. “We can hold a civil discussion. It doesn’t have to be anarchy.”
“You heard Dyer. Lydell’s a hunting ground. Always has been,” Jackie said like it was obvious.
Joplin, the voice of the people, said, “You’re talking about murder. Murder is illegal.”
“That’s enough, everyone. The will doesn’t specify how the beneficiary is decided. But…” Melv’s mouth flattened. “Nothing is illegal on Lydell.”
Theo had said something similar in the truck. Fletcher hadn’t thought it would matter so much. The truth of it settled over all fifteen of them, itchy and uncomfortable. Dyer had left them to determine the inheritance of the company by any means necessary.
But he couldn’t have intended for anyone to die over it.
“This is ridiculous.” Waylon shoved himself off the couch. “You’re all pathetic, you know that? My dad’s dead, and he’s still finding ways to pull your puppet strings.”
Unrattled, Melv said, “Waylon, please. I know you haven’t been with the company for quite some time, but people’s livelihoods are on the line.”
“And people’s lives,” Jackie echoed.
Waylon’s stare hardened. “You’re right. I don’t work at Cartwright Media now. I don’t want to work at Cartwright Media ever. Do what you want, but leave me the hell out of it.”
No one stopped him as he stormed out, vanishing down the hallway.
Joplin sniffled once. Twice. The harbinger of an ear-piercing wail. The sound was a fissure in the dam, holding back the grief, the fear, the fury inside the rest of them. Voices rose to the rafters, each one louder and more volatile than the next.
“Great. We’re just supposed to sit around arguing about who becomes a billionaire while we wait for some crew to get us off this godforsaken island?” Opal sagged to the couch, exhausted by the thought alone.
Opposite her, Theo jerked upright. The poor man’s skin stretched red and thin, like a balloon seconds away from popping. “Sounds like the lot of us will be dead by then.”
Raul tugged him back to the cushions. “Hold on. No one is dying.”
“Except Dyer,” Molly brooded.
Asshole Rick butted forward. “And now we’re all fucked.”
For once in her life, Fletcher agreed with him. They were all totally, completely fucked.
“This is barbaric! No one is inheriting the company like this,” Joplin tried. Her gaze wandered back to Melv, and Fletcher’s followed. Waiting for him to step in. Waiting for him to say they were wrong.
“Someone has to,” Rick said, woefully unhelpful.
Never mind, she still hated him.
“Stand down, Rick.” Theo pushed himself off the sofa with a grunt. Paced toward Rick at the head of the room. “I’ll meet with the rest of upper management, and we’ll decide who takes over. This doesn’t concern you.”
