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An odd satisfaction pulses through me before I remember I don’t give a shit about how she sees what we do here.
This is about my vision for the company. Her opinions aren’t welcome beyond charity and positive influencer content.
“I know the security focus and our technology edge makes it seem like we’re involved in defense schemes. The truth couldn’t be more different,” I tell her. “We’re solely focused on domestic security for earning our keep. We want to make normal people feel safer, wherever they are.”
“You do purchase military technology,” she says carefully. “I did my homework.”
“We do.Oldtechnology,” I emphasize. “We take the existing tech and repurpose it. It’s a form of war-to-peace recycling, and because military-grade weapons and sensors are more advanced than you’ll find on the market, our products are always better.”
“But you’re careful about who you sell to, aren’t you?”
“Always. That goes from who we buy from, too. I have a long list of nations and NGOs I never accept as suppliers, and they’re not always the ones you’d think.”
Her eyes widen.
She nods politely and sends me a curious glance.
“So were you in the military then? You can guess I read a little about you... But there wasn’t much in your Wiki bio, honestly, not after—” She stops cold.
I feel the way my shoulders stiffen.
My past is no one’s business—especially not hers—even if my money and family make me a prisoner to human interest.
I just wonder which nightmare is hanging on the tip of her tongue.
After your dead wife?
After your meathead mobster fuck of an uncle almost got you killed?
She’s wise to shut it.
The very last thing I need today is this little streak of sunshine prodding me over shit that happened long before I ever founded Home Shepherd.
She waves a hand like she needs to physically clear the air.
“Let me ask you this—have you ever thought about using your tech for wildlife conservation? Like Carol suggested?” she asks.
“How?”
“Well, for starters, so many endangered species need surveillance that won’t disrupt their natural habitats,” she says. “A lot of conservationists can’t evenfindthem. That’s seriously like half the battle, sometimes. I’ve been on those ships. One time in Alaska, they spent eight of the twelve days just looking for the right pod of whales. I know it’s a niche market and probably not big money. But with lots of grants floating around, thereisa market, and it’s crazy underserved.”
For the first time, I stare at her without any irritation.
She makes a damned good point and it catches me so off guard I need a second just to process.
“You’ve done some research into this,” I say.
She flushes. “I’ve lived it. It didn’t exactly click that there was a solution until we were talking to Carol. It’s worth looking at, is all I’m saying.”
I nod, stopping just short of admitting this little firecracker might give me something more than grief.
“The technology in the field is good, but it could always be better,” she says, turning and looking up at me.
Baby-blue eyes and flecks of green, different from mine. They’re suddenly lit up and sparkling the way they do in her photos and video shorts.
I want to fucking hate it.
The way she looks, the easy enthusiasm that doesn’t feel like a soundbite, or some kind of clumsy olive branch meant to win me over.
