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“So, that’s what we’ll be discussing as our first agenda point.”
I surveyed the resigned gazes glaring back at me. “Now, I hate to say this but even though the entire place has burned to the ground, it doesn’t mean our problems have burned with it.”
Bertie scowled. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve become aware that Ossian was tampering with the formula. For the last few months, we’ve been shipping Bas laced with opioids.”
I didn’t know what kind of reaction I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t none at all. Blank, disinterested faces continued to glare. The only person who moved was Dexter Lamont, the man who’d made his daughter miserable enough to flee the island for good. His gaze dropped to the table.
“We now have a customer base of opioid junkies – people who’ve become addicted to this substance through no fault of their own.”
I stood and braced my arms either side of me on the table. I needed to get their attention. “With Ossian out of the picture, it’s our responsibility to fix this.”
“How is it our responsibility?” Miles Goldsmith said, monotone. “We don’t ask you to pay for any challenges we face in our businesses.”
“Maybe not,” I said, pointedly. “But your businesses are not as… high profile… should I say. Their failures don’t reflect on everyone else’s.”
More blank and idle stares.
“Look,” I said, trying a different approach. “I’m not proud of the fact this went under the radar for as long as it did. I shouldn’t need to tell you this is not how the Thorn family conducts business. We had a bad egg.”
A couple of heads nodded, thankfully. I was beginning to wonder if the Consortium had been filled by a bunch of emotionless robots.
“Cut to the chase Rupert,” Anthony Birkin spat. “What do you want from us?”
I straightened, pleased to have someone acknowledge I needed something.
“Money,” I replied.
Someone at the far end of the table let out a bitter chuckle.
“We all want money Rupert,” Dexter said. “Why do you think we’re here, keeping it all on the island?”
I ignored his rhetorical question. “I need to build rehab centres so we can support the people we’ve turned into overnight addicts. And not just any crappy rehab centres; they need to be decent. State of the art equipment, top medical specialists. This is the Isle of Crow’s reputation on the line. We need to own up to our mistakes and put them right.”
“We don’t,” Anthony said, waving a dismissive hand. “You do.”
“I’m not going to repeat myself,” I said, darting my eyes to him. At least he had the good grace to shrink back in his seat. “I want funding from the Consortium.”
“Why can’t you pay for it yourself? Thorn Pharmaceuticals practically printed money. Where’s it all gone?”
“I can’t pay for these centres with the money our customers paid us to become unwittingly addicted. That’s offensive.”
Miles shrugged.
“Look,” Dexter said, leaning his weight on the table. “Even if we wanted to support this, we can’t.”
I folded my arms, ready for a fight.
“Yes, you can. I’ve done the calculations. The Consortium holds more than enough to pay for three rehab centres in the southeast.”
“No,” Dexter said, slowly. “It’s not about the money.” His dark gaze burrowed into me as if he was trying to communicate something he couldn’t say.
“I’m the Chairman, now,” I said, my patience fast running out. “If I say we’re going to fund three rehab centres, then we’re going to fund three rehab centres.”
“Not without the Caretaker’s signature we can’t.” Dexter sat back again and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What Caretaker?” My mind raced trying to locate some memory of Sinclair referring to a caretaker. I drew blank after blank.
