“You have to look at the bigger picture, at the long-term impacts, to determine what’s best for the majority.”
Were they still talking about the town?
“Seems like looking out for the majority still means the minority gets shit on.”
“Campbell, you can’t save everybody. Not all at once. Just because what we’re trying to do isn’t the right thing for some people doesn’t mean that we’re wrong or that we should stop. The alternative means that the minority gets bigger. You’re maybe too close to this. That minority is personal for you, people you know, people you care about. And I know it hurts you that you can’t fix it for them because that’s how you’re built. It’s one of the things I admire about you. But I think, in this case, it’s making this whole situation harder on you than it might otherwise be.”
He could see her point, but that did nothing to assuage the guilt that had dogged him since his encounter with April and Roy McKennon.
“Maybe I should do the rest on my own.”
He wanted to let her. To just walk away from the torture of having her right there and yet completely out of reach. But she’d been right about one thing. This was about more than them. If she was going to go, then he had to at least save the town she was leaving behind.
“No. I said I’d help with this part. And you’re right, we can’t please everybody. It’s just…hard coming up against completely reasonable opposition.”
“I know.” She shoved the legal pad into her briefcase. “Let’s take a break and get some lunch before we pick back up with the rest of the list. I bet Mama Pearl has a pie that’s a cure-all for personal guilt crises.”
Because he knew an olive branch when he heard one, Cam forced a smile. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”
Chapter 10
Norah eyed the vibrating phone like a pit viper as it danced across Miranda’s coffee table. Her father. For the sixth time in the last hour. No voicemails.
He knew.
Stop being a coward, she ordered herself. Get it over with.
The phone felt heavy in her sweaty hand. “Dad.”
“What the hell is this about you being fired?”
She winced and pulled the phone away from her ear as he continued.
“What the hell is going on, Norah? Where have you been?”
Her head began to throb. “If you’ll stop yelling for five minutes, I’ll tell you.” Norah slid off the sofa to pace and rub at her temples. She gave her father a bare bones account of the events that led to her termination. With every step, every word, her shoulders tightened.
“No, sir, I’m not legally liable for anything. Neither I nor Helios broke any official laws.”
“Do you have copies of all the legal paperwork between Hugo’s and the city?”
Because, of course, her word on the stand wasn’t good enough. She was supposed to produce evidence. “Why would I? We didn’t have that kind of role in the project. We didn’t make any decisions, sign any documents short of the standard contracts we sign with all clients, outlining our scope of work.” She wrapped one arm tight around her middle and did an about face, heading toward the dining room. “Mine was a moral objection to the actions of the firm, not an actual legal issue.”
“Do you know what this could do to your career?”
I should hang up. But years of conditioned behavior had her staying on the line, continuing to defend her decisions in the hope that one day she’d argue well enough that he’d see her side—maybe even offer approval. But today wasn’t going to be that day. She made another circuit, living room to dining room and back before stopping to drop her head back against the nearest wall as she listened to what he imagined was counsel but came across more like orders.
God, she wanted Cam. Wanted his support, his level head, his touch. But that wasn’t an option. So she steeled her spine as she’d done for the last twenty years. “With all due respect, Dad, I’ll handle it. I know this was never the career you or Mom would’ve picked for me, but that’s not the point. It’s what I chose.”
“It was a poor decision.”
And you never get tired of reminding me of that. “Yes, you both made it quite clear that you didn’t agree with that decision. That doesn’t make what I do have less value.”
“I’m really disappointed in you, Norah. You have so much potential and you continue to waste it, wasting all the advantages your mother and I worked to give you. I really expected better of you.”
She blanched, staying silent as she absorbed that blow. When she answered, her voice was small and oh so tired. “You’re entitled to your opinion, Dad, just like I’m entitled to mine. Whatever I do next will still be what I choose. I’m not going to suddenly turn around and go back to law or medical school because it’s what you want. Now, you’ve been informed. Go ahead and call Mom and share your mutual disappointment in me. I’ve got work to do.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, Norah hung up. Then she turned her phone completely off and crossed to lay it on the coffee table with meticulous care, before she could give in to the impulse to hurl it against the wall.