Unconventionally Wolf, Julie Steimle [red scrolls of magic .TXT] 📗

either way.”

Rick wished that made him feel better. But he still worried. Their employees were some of the most loyal out there, which made their difficulties so much more painful for Rick to bear. The fact that the Alabama factory manager had left the company after the summer fiasco, then went off the deep-end crazy with talk about hick wolf cults and murder to any person who would listen to him—well, that felt more like what he deserved.

Carl steered Rick to the wings of the room where the moderator greeted them. He was a tall man who reminded Rick a little of Tom Hiddleston. Not so much his smile or even his build, as the way he held his head and walked.

“Good morning Mr. Waite. Are we too early?” Carl asked.

“No. Not at all. Early is better. Plenty of time to prepare.” Shaking Rick’s hand, Mr. Waite smiled with relief, confusion, and also pleasure. It was an odd mix, yet Rick had a feeling he would see all three in most people all day. They were relieved someone had come. Confused it was an eighteen-year-old college boy. But pleased it was the heir to the company.

Mr. Waite looked anxiously on Rick. “Are you fully briefed on the issues at hand?”

“If I am not, this will be a short question/answer session,” Rick muttered.

Mr. Waite’s eyes went wide.

Carl cleared his throat, gazing pointedly at Rick to remind him that humor in this instance was not a virtue.

“I’m sorry,” Rick apologized to Mr. Waite. “Uh, I studied everything my father felt was pertinent to pass on to me. Mr. Webb here will be assisting me in case something needs to be brought to my attention.”

The moderator nodded, mostly to himself probably thinking ‘This will have to do.’

He led Rick to the center of the small stage to a set of two chairs in talk show style where he gained a round of applause mixed with murmurs and whispers. Again, relief, confusion, and pleasure. Problem was, the kind of pleasure varied between the attendees. Some were pleased by who had arrived. Others by what they could wheedle out of him—or at least what they assumed they could get from him.

The staff made sure Rick’s microphone was working, hooking it in his shirt, while Mr. Waite settled into the opposite chair. Thing was, Rick, on stage didn’t look as nervous as many of his onlookers had hoped.

“Good morning! And welcome to Geo-Verdigris Con!” Mr. Waite had a radio announcer’s voice. It was smooth and apparently he had done this sort of thing many times. He turned to Rick with a smile and said, “Today we have Mr. Howard Richard Deacon the Third here for questions and answers. Howard—”

“Uh, it’s Rick,” Rick interrupted, surprised the man didn’t call him Mr. Deacon as expected.

Grinning wider, Mr. Wait nodded. “Sorry. Rick.”

Carl shook his head behind stage, hand covering his face. Tommy sighed, knowing it was unavoidable.

“This is your first time to the Con, right?” Mr. Waite asked.

Rick nodded. “Yes. It my first time representing Deacon Enterprises at a convention.”

Carl nodded, glad Rick was remaining professional.

Mr. Waite nodded, and followed suit, straightening up a little more. Apparently he had thought to bring things down to a more buddy-buddy chat, considering Rick’s age. But he changed his mind. “I suppose several people in our audience are thinking that you are too young. How do you respond to that?”

Chuckling, Rick replied, “As intimidating as it is, my father took over the company when he was nineteen. That was just a year older than I am now. And he expressly said to me that I was ready to start representing the company now. So, here I am.”

A murmur passed through the crowd. Perhaps people didn’t know that detail about his father. Then again, any hunter in the room probably did. Rick could smell them. The garlic odor was on the air along with the smell of honey. He was resisting a sneeze.

Almost on instinct, Carl stepped out of the wings and went to Rick, handing him some tissues and small jar of balm which could clear his sinuses.

“Thank you,” Rick mouthed to him.

Nodding, Carl walked off again.

Seeing Mr. Waite’s facial expression, Rick said, “Allergies. Uh, can we start with the first question, please?”

“You have the same allergies as your father?” Mr. Waite chuckled, yet curious.

With the tiniest shrug, Rick said, “Inheritance. Anyway, first question.”

“Yes, first question,” Mr. Waite said. But he looked a little rattled as quite possibly in the past, Mr. Deacon the Second had most likely had an allergy attack while on stage with him previously. “Uh…” he looked down at his cards. “Right, we have a few that were sent in previously. Then we will take questions from the room.”

Rick nodded, opening the small balm jar and just held it in his hands. Whatever was on the air was chased away by the fumes from the jar. It smelled strongly of clove oil and mint.

“Several of our attendees have questions about the pipeline currently being built on Deacon-owned wildlands. The first of which is why did your father, who is a major proponent of leaving wildlands untouched by human traffic, make a deal allowing the pipeline to be built?”

Nodding sympathetically, Rick said, “To be frank, I heard about it the first time yesterday.”

A general murmur went through the crowd.

“I was as surprised as you were,” Rick said. He shook his head. “And I inquired about it. And what was told to me was, uh, a little disheartening. But, first off, I need you to know that my father was not happy about it. However, the board of Deacon Enterprises insisted on it as a compromise for all the concessions they gave my father for keeping our Alabama factory open after losing, uh, a large number of the workers to a walkout. The factory had become a source of profit loss as it attempts to regain, um, lost production time and, well, disappointing those we were supplying.”

The moderator looked surprised that Rick could answer so thoroughly. And he followed up with a question Rick was sure was not on the cards. “How come the workers in the Alabama factory walked out?”

Rick’s face felt hot as he answered. “Actually, that was my fault. Long story. Only that the workers were actually walking out in protest to our manager and not Deacon Enterprises. We actually offered them jobs in another factory—it’s just that, uh, they felt the working conditions under that particular manager was no longer acceptable.”

“Was the manager fired?” Mr. Waite asked.

“No.” Rick shook his head. “He quit.”

“And how is this your fault?” the moderator asked.

Rick’s face grew even hotter. “I… was supposed to train at that factory for a month, mostly in process manufacturing experience so I could see how our workers went about day by day.”

The crowd murmured, mostly in approval. He could hear some people say they wished other rich men made their kids do that.

But then Rick said, “However, the manager had rearranged the schedule, and I… uh, climbed out the window, and uh, ran to the nearest town.”

The crowd broke into laughter.

Blushing, Rick shrugged.

Mr. Waite was also laughing. “You couldn’t handle a small schedule change?”

Shaking his head, Rick was about answer, but Carl came out then whispered to Mr. Waite that Rick had a health condition that resurged on a monthly basis which was connected to his allergies—all true, though omitting the werewolf detail.

“Can I reveal that?” Mr. Waite whispered to Carl, covering his microphone.

Moaning, Rick said to be heard, “I know this sounds stupid, but I actually have a medical condition which comes and goes. You know, cycles. And at that particular, um, time of the month, I needed a work schedule that had regular daytime hours. He had shifted me to night, thinking it would teach me a lesson about the working my way up. But I knew that if I didn’t sneak out, something really bad would have happened.”

A gasp of sympathy went through the crowd.

Carl leaned up and looked to him. His eyes were questioning if this was wise to talk about.

“Is it fatal?” Mr. Waite asked.

Chuckling, Rick said, “Not exactly. If I am allowed some space and regular sleep, I’m usually good after three days.”

He heard a loud huffing laugh in the room.

Rick looked that way. But the lights were so bright he could not see the hunter who had emitted that noise. However, it definitely had to have been a hunter.

“You know, I think we got sidetracked,” Rick said, shifting in his seat. “We were talking about the pipeline. What other questions do you have about that?”

Mr. Waite looked at his cards then said, “Let’s get back to that in just a second. How does your condition and sneaking out the window relate to those workers walking out of your family’s factory?”

Sighing, Rick shrugged as he said, “I went to their town and stayed with a family there. And when the whole thing spilled out, they decided to leave the job in protest.”

“Did they not realize the effect it would have your father’s business? And therefore your business…” Mr. Waite asked.

Rick shook his head. “I am sure it only barely crossed their minds.”

“Did they find other work?” Mr. Waite asked.

“I would assume so,” Rick said, “though I don’t know where. They didn’t apply to any of our other locations, though I do know a lot of them relocated and moved away.”

“Moved away?” Mr. Wait gazed curiously at him.

“Look, they were mobile,” Rick said, chuckling. “Uh, can we please get back to the topic of conversation?”

Nodding Mr. Waite went back to the cards.

But honestly, there was little else he could ask, considering Rick had explained well enough that he and his father did not approve of the pipeline. So, tossing out two of his questions, Mr. Waite asked, “What would you do if you found out the pipeline leaked and damaged the aquifer, the groundwater, in the area?”

“Actually,” Rick said, “I just signed a permission form for a grad student to study that issue specifically. She intends to track locations where industry clashes with nature—specifically the groundwater and rivers—and we gave her permission to go into that area also. In fact, I requested that she give us a copy of her research to keep us updated.”

That satisfied Mr. Waite. And the audience clapped.

He went onto the next topic.

“Recently, there has been a clash between ranchers in Colorado with the wolves on your wildlife reserve. Considering the wastefulness of cattle ranching in general, methane emissions, and the like, why is it Mr. Deacon, your father, refuses to sign in with the UN’s Agenda 2030 for sustainability?”

Chuckling low, shaking his head, Rick smiled at him. “My father’s stance on Agenda 2030 is the same as mine. I think the average citizen ought to go to their website and actually read it themselves. I have.” And looking Mr. Waite straight in the eye, he said, “And there is more to that agenda than just preserving the earth, much of which I don’t agree with.”

“You are not for sustainability?” Mr. Waite asked, which was a loaded question.

“The word sustainability is a catchphrase people use to guilt citizens into giving up their land to an all-controlling government,” Rick said.

Mr. Waite stared. “It is not. It is about keeping the earth green and using renewable resources.”

Laughing, Rick smiled at him. “Not really. If you read the actual document, it has sections about limiting population, giving a limited education to certain citizens in society, and shifting people into mega cities, which I think is a huge mistake.”

“That’s conspiracy theory,” Mr. Waite replied.

Shrugging, Rick replied, “Not a theory. Anybody can read it. It is still online and open to public.”

Mr. Waite shook his head. He then looked to the cards. “So, which side are you on in the debate between ranchers and wolves?”

Rick shook his head. “Wrong question. You should be asking: which ranchers are having the trouble? And is the damage caused by local wolves? To which I