Excessive. That's the only way to describe this place. 

The glossy Italian marble floors, the gold accents, the brassy ornamental fixtures, and the antique grand piano in the middle of the giant lobby. Wayne had met me there. Together, we walked past a stunning white sculpture and down a long passageway lined with Spanish tiles and hanging flower baskets. It led us to an isolated little cottage in the middle of a lush green lawn.

I felt like I had birds in my chest—fluttering and thumping against my rib cage—as we approached the beautifully spread breakfast table. Sitting there was Mark Hubert, himself. I didn't even know he was in Odile, much less at the breakfast I had been invited to just a couple of hours ago. 

His handshake was firm. He had grabbed my hand with both of his and said, "I'm glad you could make it."

I haven't been able to stop myself from nervously chuckling at everything he's saying. Why am I here? I bet they all know I leaked information to Emir or that he helped me at the station or that I stole Julie's file. I keep fidgeting with my necklace; my fingers twisting the delicate butterfly pendants.

"Would you like a drink?" Mark asks me. "Come on dear, it's a lovely morning. Frank, get her a Moët. Get the bottle. I don't think she'll mind me joining her."

"Oh of course not." I laugh softly. Frank, the waiter in a fitted uniform, scurries off immediately.

"Have you tried the honey roast ham here? It's to die for!" He exclaims. The other two people at the table—Jordan and Wayne—agree with him, and the former offers to serve him some more. 

"I've never been here before," I say, watching Frank as he walks up to our table with the bottle and pours the sparkling liquid into my flute.

"That's surprising. Don't you live around here?" he asks, gesturing with his fork.

"Yes, but my family doesn't really do weekend outings, and at some point, I just got too busy to do this sort of thing."

"That's a pity. Don't work yourself that hard." He says, sipping his drink. "Now it makes sense why you would answer your boss' phone call on a Sunday."

"It runs in the family, I suppose," Jordan adds, laughing along with him. They're sitting next to each other on the same side of the table, facing Wayne and me. 

I know enough about Mark to know that he wasn't someone who took weekends off in his younger days, but I bite my tongue and smile.

"London, I don't like beating around the bush. That's not my style." He says, leaning forward in his chair. Thank God. "So, I'll get this out of the way immediately—I have an opportunity for you."

"What do you mean?" I ask, a little too quickly.

"You know it's been tough the last few days. I hate having to fly down myself. Hate it more than anything. I hire very competent people, and I pay them well. I should never see my share prices fall, and I should never have to fly down myself."

I nod along. I can feel Wayne watching me.

"How many billboards did you cross on your way here?" Mark asks, pouring himself a little more.

"Just one."

"You know why?" He asks. His eyes flicker over to Wayne sitting in front of him.

"When the first few billboards showed up," Wayne says, realizing it's his cue to talk. "I immediately told people to track how many of them were unique or repetitive, where they showed up, and when." He pauses. "When did you see your first one?"

"I was going back from work at around eight. It was at one of the exits in the commercial sector. I saw about three unique ones," I say. "Oh, I see what you mean now."

"Exactly. Office hours, shopping avenues, worst traffic spots, and cherry-picked timings. It's so carefully orchestrated." He groans.

"Our team looked into them. Apart from a couple—I believe—they had all filed complaints. Right?" Jordan says, looking to me for confirmation and I nod. "Where are they even coming from?" 

"Emir." Mark grunts, jabbing a piece of ham with his fork. "I bet he found their file when he was a prosecutor. They had filed a civil suit against us, but it got dismissed. That fucker probably sat on it for eight years, waiting for his chance."

"Why was it dismissed? I don't think we came across this," I ask, puzzled at this revelation. 

"Insufficient evidence. We took care of it immediately after that. There is no need to get people talking about nothing," Mark replies, shrugging. 

In simple words, they buried their case against them. I shift the mushrooms around my plate, having lost my appetite. 

"If the case was done with, you could file a defamation suit against them," Jordan says. "They can't just broadcast anything they want to." 

"No, we can't do that," Mark replies. 

"If you're worried about looking like the bad guy, we can take care of that," Jordan smiles smugly, popping a cherry in his mouth.

"No, we just can't." 

That shuts down the conversation. There is a short moment of silence, and the clatter of silverware fills the air. 

"I've been briefed about your work in the last week," Mark comments casually, shifting some eggs around with his fork. "Wayne speaks highly of you, and I trust him." 

Without thinking, I look at Wayne with a surprised look on my face. He winks at me, and turns his attention back towards Mark who continues to talk.

"I do think you're more competent than the last guy in your place. I didn't care for him a bit. Not a fan of the correspondent at MediaNet either. He couldn't handle this. But you, I can work with. I like people who can dish it out. Someone needs to humble Wayne once in a while." Mark laughs. Wayne just shakes his head with a grin on his face.

"I understand that your interview went sideways," Mark continues. "Happens. It's show business. I know Jordan doesn't believe that Collin would be that careless but I'll believe you. You shut it down then and cleared the mess pretty well afterwards. If it wasn't for these billboards, I'd say we had come out on top. But now—I can't even believe I have to say this—I'm worried about Westside." 

Jordan doesn't seem too pleased with this conversation and rests back in his chair.

"Why specifically Westside?" I ask. 

"I've heard Cherry Devlin will be running for its seat. The prodigal daughter of the Westside parishioners," Mark replies with sharp, humourless laugh. What is that supposed to mean?  To my knowledge, the only messy part in Cherry's file is from her father's settlement with EniExon over a oil rig malfunction.

I decide to look into Mark's comment later. Whether I like him or not is secondary, I'm just not comfortable seeming uninformed in front of someone as powerful as him. Someone whose products contribute towards seven percent of the nation's excise revenue. He holds the ropes to a chunk of our economy.

"Zach has favored us in the past, and Westside isn't happy with us right now. By extension, they aren't happy with him. That puts both parties at risk. Digging up dirt on Cherry wouldn't matter, all her infractions have already been aired and forgiven." His lips twist as if he's tasted something sour. "Westside gives us the highest number of scholarship kids. Zach can't lose, it will cost me millions."  

"What about Bex?" I ask.

"What about Bex?"

"Big consumer base and the district is relatively better off, but most people there are not native to the place and have family back in Westside. Plus, it's a largely young population, they jump ship the fastest." I explain. For a second, I feel like the world breaks around me. Why can't I ever just keep my mouth shut?

Mark smiles and shares a look with Wayne. "You're right but I think I can handle them together. The thing about young people is that they're okay with it if it looks pretty. As I had said, I have an opportunity for you." 

As he puts down his fork, neatly arranging it on his plate, the waiter comes forward and takes it away. Wayne starts to rise.

"It was great to finally meet you in person, London. We should do this again," Wayne says. Looking at Jordan, he adds politely, "I'll drive you home, Sir." 

Jordan still has food on his plate. There is a pregnant pause in conversation as Wayne gets on his feet and waits for Jordan. I finish my drink just to keep myself occupied. A woman comes from behind me and immediately refills it before I can get a word in. Jordan gets the hint soon enough and puts his fruit spoon down.

Once they're nothing but specks at the end of the passageway, Mark begins to speak again.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just don't like people listening in without a good reason," He explains.

"I understand." 

"Anytime something good comes along, I always know that there is a little more to it," He says, with a small smile as he leans back in his chair. "Imagine my surprise when I found out that you were the one who got shot at Silver Valley. On top of that, someone painted you on my wall. I'm going to be honest with you, I don't believe in coincidences."

I sit rigidly. My blood has turned to ice, and I can barely breathe.

"Well, it isn't a coincidence," I chuckle nervously. "I wanted to interview Councilman Hamdi. I found out that he was organizing a donation and I do some charity work as well, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to approach him. I did. He didn't really agree, and well, you know how that day ended."

"So you aren't friends, I suppose?" he asks his lips in a thin line.

"No. I barely know him, and I am not sure what to call him. 'Friend' is too intimate, and 'acquaintance' sounds too formal for someone with who you've shared a traumatic moment," I say, trying to steady my hands as I take a sip of my champagne.

"Then, why did you take a bullet for him?" Marks asks, raising his eyebrows challengingly. I swallow the bubbly liquid down—almost choking. "I mean after the video, it was obvious who the gun was pointed at."

"Because you saw a bird's-eye view." I smile. "When it happened, I didn't take it for him. I was hot, dehydrated, and tired. There was a screaming crowd of people, and I saw the gun and just reacted. I didn't even know who the gun was pointed at. I mean—you've seen the video—the whole place was chaos."

Mark nods. His mood seems to lighten again. I remember feeling paranoid when I was cooking up situations in my head and planning my answers, but today, I feel so goddamn lucky.

"How did you finally get the interview?"

"Called in my chit, you could say." I shrug.

"And at the gendarme headquarters?" he asks, with a lopsided smile. My heart couldn't beat faster.

"I'm surprised you know about that." I maintain my smile, trying to play dumb. "I went in to give my official statement and was on the verge of a terrible panic attack. He basically calmed me down. It's just easier to talk about that day with people who went through it with you."

"He signed in as your lawyer," Mark pitches in.

"He couldn't sign in as 'neither a friend nor an acquaintance."

Mark chortles, straightening up in his seat. "Well then, London. I want you to call in your chit one more time—for me."

I sink into my chair and listen. Once Mark is done explaining, I realise I'll have to report back to him immediately so that Nutrien directors can deliberate over his decision, and it can hit headlines the next day. 

-----

A small purse with a long sturdy strap is a popular choice among women in Everton. Afraid of not blending in, I dug out an old purse of mine along with a faded pair of jeans. 

As people poured into the abandoned church, sitting down on the dusty chairs facing the altar, I had noticed a couple of people dressed exactly like me. However, it had all been in vain. Unsure what gave me away, I had politely asked the volunteer that had confronted me, if I could meet any of the ONA members present at the forum. Their mouth had twisted downwards apologetically but before they could refuse me, Cherry had appeared by my side. 

"Oh, she's good!" She smiled, and just like that I was cleared. 

If Emir was suspicious of me, he doesn't show it. Cherry and him, turned to ask the rest if they were fine with me staying. The 'rest' of them were people I had immediately recognized from the billboards—Aislinn, Samuel, and Nic.

It was Nic, who was the first to ask about me. After my introduction, he even asks to see my surgical scar and immediately retracts his words when I hesitate uncomfortably. Soon enough, I was free to roam about the tall pillars and looming arches. Slabs of light poured in through the magnificently carved windows—uninhibited by the lack of glass panes. Creepers climbed the high ceilings—a fresh green against the fading white stonewalls. For an old ruined building, the place was surprisingly lovely.

There are small bursts of chatter all around us as people recognize their friends, leaning over the chairs to embrace each other. Emir stands a few feet away, talking to a group of middle-aged men, with a smile that reaches his eyes. He keeps nodding his head from time to time. I look away when I hear something interesting.

"I'm just happy that the kids can see the billboards," A woman says to her friend, an arm's reach away from me. Her friend keeps bobbing the baby in her arms and saying 'mhm' in between to agree with her. "Winnie didn't understand the contracts when we were signing them. We understood them—at least most of it. But she was so young, she just knew this was for her education and that she would get nice hot meals. What else was I expected to have explained to her?"

Her friend hums in agreement. The toddler spots me watching. He kicks his legs excitedly and flashes a toothless smile. Instinctively, I make a funny face, and it's followed by a burst of giggles. I catch the mother looking at me and we share a smile. Knowing that I couldn't eavesdrop anymore, I decide to turn away. 

Stepping back, I meet Emir's eyes. I still have a smile on my face. I'm surprised to find that he returns it as he walks over to me.

"Heard about your promotion. How has it been?" he asks when he's close enough. I am not sure how to respond. 

"It's a great turnout," I reply. His smile deepens for a split second, but he quickly purses his lips and looks around him.

"Yeah. They're scared." He shrugs. "It's terrifying when you can't look away from it."

"A whole lot of them had filed a case against Nutrien some years ago, but it was dismissed and buried," I say, nervously tucking my hair behind my ears. "They should be afraid—there is a lot to be afraid of." I want to know if he knew about their case already, and if he did—how much does he know?

"Is Nutrien scared?" he asks instead, turning towards me. 'Obviously! Mark's in town!' is lying on the tip of my tongue. I bite back my words.

"I haven't slept in days." I smile. "From Jeremiah calling out the media coverage to the billboards to the 3% fall in shares combined with a whistleblower—they will take at least a week to find—I'd say they're terrified."

"It's still hard to believe." He sighs. "And don't worry, they're not going to find you. I have full faith in everyone in my circle—"

"Me? Why would they find me?" I interrupt. My blood freezes.

"You brought it up," He whispers, leaning closer. "The whistleblower?"

"I meant the accountant."

"There's no accountant," He softly laughs, standing up straight again. 

"But you knew about Julie and the payments—"

"Yeah, Julie told us all about it," He says, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He steps closer. His eyes turn hazel as a ray of light falls on his face. "You told us about her."

"Right." I nod. A loud gong sounds, catching us both off guard. People around us begin to scuttle away and take their seats.

"We should start in five. Stick with Cherry and the rest. They aren't fond of Northsiders here," He says in a rush, lightly touching my lower back before walking away into the crowd.

Cherry is combing her fingers through her golden hair when I reach her. The delicate necklace pronouncing her faith, shifts around, twinkling in the sunlight. She gives me a curt nod as I stand next to her, leaning against the cool stone wall.

"That's a beautiful necklace," I say when she catches me looking at it. She instinctively clutches it with her hand and smiles.

"Dakota gifted it," Her smile falters and an unsure one takes its place. "I heard what happened. Don't blame yourself, okay? We saw something like this coming. It's an intimidation tactic, but I'm not backing down—I can tell you that."

"I'm really sorry. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you," I say, hesitantly. "I heard you were to be married in the fall." 

"Yeah. That's my fault. I wanted a traditional ceremony. We shouldn't have ever mailed the invites. I just painted a target on her back." She sighs. "She's such an idiot. We should have known she'd try to see you at the hospital." 

"You couldn't have," I say firmly. "You can't keep finding blame. She's going to get out, and it's going to be okay." 

Cherry meets my eyes and smiles, tilting her head slightly. 

"I know they would never kill her in there. It would be stupid"—She turns her eyes back towards the crowd—"'cause then I'd have nothing to lose." 

The loud gong reverberates through the church again. Emir has taken his place in front of the altar, with Aislinn by his side. Soft murmurs ripple through the crowd and are quickly shushed by the volunteers. The silence that ensues is mystifying.

"We're all here for a reason," He says. His voice sounds deep and resonant, and he waits for a beat before he speaks again. "You may have been unaware of the abuse that was taking place in Nutrien's workshops and Jeremiah's interview was a jarring discovery. You may be here on behalf of your child. Either you want to make sure that something like this never happens to them or it already has and you wish to know if there is anything you can do now." 

"Or you know a workshop supervisor!" A guy shouts. I'm caught off guard by the heckler. I was expecting the forum to be more formal. 

But Emir isn't his usual self either. In news debates, he's more composed. His wit is acerbic, and every sentence feels handpicked to be able to communicate as much as possible in a short period of time. In interviews, he's completely at ease. He smiles more. At the forums that lawyers hold—the ones Inspector Johnson had claimed to have attended—he's more technical and articulate; speaking slowly and softly. 

Here, his posture is straight and alert. His hands stay free, gesturing to emphasize certain words. He wears a warm smile, never loses eye contact, and gracefully responds to hecklers. 

"Yes! That's a difficult position to be in. You want to believe in someone and you're afraid that they might exploit their powerful position to hurt others," Emir responds quickly, nodding at the man in the back. "No matter the reason, I'm glad you're here. Whenever something awful rushes up to the surface, and we hold a forum, I'm always moved by the sheer numbers you show up in, ready to fight in any way possible. I want to thank you for coming. I know it's not easy. Some of you had to bring your kids or pay someone to look after them at home, clock out of job early, leave behind the chores at home, take half a paycheck-"

"You're giving up your day too!" A woman from the third-row cuts in.

"No, I'm not." Emir laughs softly. "This is my job. To make sure you feel heard, to help you find solutions, to listen to you and present your problems to the rest of the Council. You chose me to do this." 

A soft murmur goes around, and the heckler leans back in her seat, with a playful smile, crossing her arms over her chest.

"So let's start already, right? I'm going to hand the rest over to Nic and Aislinn. For first-timers, we will be following the standard format. We'll spend the first few minutes listening to anyone who wishes to share something—thoughts, concerns, personal experiences, anything—it's totally up to you. After that Nic and Aislinn will be asking you some questions. They are counting on your input so please don't hesitate to participate. Finally, we will wrap it up with an open mic. You're free to comment on today's forum, our handling of the situation, sing a song, just anything—"

He looks briefly at Cherry who gives him a pointed look. He immediately nods and turns back to the crowd. "Uh, please refrain from saying a prayer during the open mic. It's wonderful to want to share your faith with others but let's avoid making anyone feel excluded. Thank you!"

As Aislinn's syrupy-sweet voice fills the church, thanking the Councilman and beginning to introduce herself, Emir walks straight towards us.

"I want you to close after the open mic," He murmurs when his face is just inches apart from Cherry's. She nods in agreement. He adds, "How was it? Too short?"

"No, I think it's fine. They were impatient today. I put Maria right at the back for notes. Nora is taking the count of how many would talk to Westsiders about this—some of them work in Westside but have their IDs linked to Everton," Cherry adds. I shift uncomfortably, keeping my eyes trained on Aislinn, pretending that I can't hear them. 

"Works for us," Emir adds. A phone vibrates. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Emir leave through a side door.

"Uh, I'm...Hi. I have a son who signed up for the ten-year Nutrien plan two years ago. I just wanted him to have a shot at college cause I never did. Um," The first speaker stammers for a second. He fidgets with the portable mic as his eyes trace the audience. "My family isn't very touchy and lovey-dovey. We don't have heartfelt conversations like in the movies, and I know it's the same for many of y'all. I just want to say talk to your kids. If it wasn't for this stuff, I would have never known. He's not happy there, and I'm just glad that at least he can talk to me about it. I guess that's all I have to say," He finishes, looking around nervously. The audience claps as he takes his seat again.

A toned thirty-something woman steps up.

"Hi, there! Uh, I'm an ex-Nutrien kid and now a mother. I haven't yet decided whether I want to sign my kid up or not. I guess I hope we can talk about alternatives today?" She says and it's followed by a hoot from an audience member. "Thanks. It's just...it feels like there is no other option for us, you know? Hell, I wish I had better options but they didn't have any forums back then." 

Her share is followed by someone advocating for better first aid in the workshops. It involves a gruesome story about the time they had burnt their thumb with some acid and the supervisor had inadequate training.

"I think they should inform parents and call for a discussion any time they want to give a kid a black mark. That way, they can't just give them out for any reason they see fit. They should have to be able to defend their reason in front of us. I think that's fair."

Suddenly, Cherry offers me a small smile and then moves towards the back of the church—presumably to meet with Maria. Emir appears a few minutes later and takes her place next to me. He sighs as he leans back on the wall. His eyes stay fixed on the audience as he studies their reactions.

"I think they should let the children write—uh—small reviews about their supervisors, teachers, and... all. Maybe fill a questionnaire every couple of months.  Maybe then we can put some pressure on the unit heads if one of those scumbags gets several bad reviews." 

I can feel Emir looking at me so I turn to meet his gaze. He nods his head towards the side door and starts to make his way out. As confusing as the request is—I follow him. There is a narrow cobbled path with tufts of grass growing through the cracks, leading towards the front of the church.

"Councilman! Where are we going?" I say, stretching out my hand and touching his shoulder to stop him.

"I'm sorry. I always feel like I owe you, but I've made a promise and I can't break it. We don't allow reporters or people of other districts into our forums as a precaution. I promised them that the forum is a safe space."

"So you're leading me out here to ask me to leave?" I ask uneasily. I never learned anything substantial. Will Mark believe me if I tell him that his plan didn't work, or will he suspect me of being on their side? This has felt like a test and I have failed.

"Yeah." He sighs. "I don't want to pressure you into telling me why you're really here because I honestly don't want to know."

"I could be here just to learn and be supportive," I reply. I pull back defensively, clutching my purse strap. "You seem to think very little of me."

"Can you blame me?" He fires in response. His face scrunches as soon as his words land.

"Huh. I see," I mutter, to ease the sting of his words. It hurts more because it's true. Tongue-tied, I comb my fingers through my bangs and look back at the side door entrance. "I think you should be getting back."

Emir doesn't respond or argue or apologize. He quietly moves past me and disappears through that dingy side door. 

I stand still for a few minutes more. The quiet rustling of the wind is hypnotizing. For a second, I'm reminded of my mum. Tutting me if I said something pessimistic. Lifting cream on two fingers and gently spreading it on the edges of my exit wound. I could never bear to see her hurt.  

I walk towards the car in a daze. The heels of my shoes clack against the poorly tiled pavements, drowning out my thoughts. A large greying building with tens of identical yellow-paned windows looms over the rusty SUV waiting for me. I step in, and the hot air is suffocating.

"All good, miss?" The driver asks, looking at me in his rearview mirror. 

"Yeah." I offer him a tight-lipped smile. 

"Here's the tablet. The directors are meeting in about two hours from now. Boss would appreciate it if you sent your report on the way." 

"Sure." I grab the tablet from him. I type in the passcode and it opens straight to an open document. I swallow nervously. My fingers hover over the keypad before I start to type. 

Everton's forum on the recent scandal: 

The suggestions from the crowd did not seem to hold any threat of an aggressive boycott. This could be a result of a seeming lack of alternatives. Some of them asked for more accountability—this usually hinged around involving parents to a greater extent. For example, an established communication system for frequent exchanges between the parent and their child's supervisor. This would be a minor undertaking. Several parents mentioned being overwhelmed with work and confessed that they lacked time for their children...

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Hi! Thank you for staying with me so far! Please like and comment. I would really appreciate it <3

I know I suck at naming things by the way. I was like "hmm an energy-related company?" and just went with the first thing I could come up with.