Chapter 60

CHAPTER 60

SIMON

I t was strange being back in Houston. It no longer felt like home. I walked around my mansion feeling a little lost. This place had been my sanctuary for years. Now, I felt like a visitor. Like I was staying at a hotel. I wanted to be back in Dallas. Not just back in Dallas, but back with Rylee. She asked for space and that was what I was going to give her. In a way, I was glad I was in Houston because if I was in the same city as she was, I would struggle to stay away. And being at the house would be a constant reminder she wasn't there.

I retreated to my study, a room filled with mementos of past deals and achievements. But they did nothing to lift my spirits. My gaze fell upon the family portrait on the fireplace mantel. I missed my father. Not so much in the sense of I missed him because I loved him, but because I missed him shouldering the bulk of responsibility. I wanted him standing out there running things. I wanted to learn from him. Sometimes it was so difficult to just get out of bed in the morning knowing I was going to be dealing with an absolute shit show.

My phone buzzed, dragging me away from my thoughts. I glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Max, my assistant. With a sigh, I answered.

"Sir, there are several appointments scheduled for tomorrow," he said. "And Mr. Richards has been trying to reach you about the meeting this afternoon."

And it was back to the daily grind. "I'll be in the office in twenty minutes," I told him. "Make sure my schedule is clear for the rest of the day. This meeting is likely going to run long. I need to give everyone a chance to take their bite out of me."

"Yes, sir."

I headed out, driving through the familiar streets. As expected, there was a large swarm of protestors and the typical agitators in the crowd trying to stir shit up. I stared at the pandemonium and reconsidered the trip into the office. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the barrage of verbal abuse. This was the reality of my world, a world that Rylee couldn't fit into, a world that I was in and would be in for the rest of my life. Even if and when I retired, I would always be Simon Locke and people had long memories.

"Time to face the music," I muttered to myself before stepping out of my car. The sea of angry faces turned toward me as one, shouts and condemnations filling the air.

Plastering a firm smile on my face, I waded through the crowd, ignoring the insults hurled at me. It was like walking through a rainstorm without an umbrella. Each shout and jeering comment was a cold, pelting raindrop, relentless and biting. But this was my role now, the part I had reluctantly inherited. I was the villain in their corporate drama, the wealthy tycoon they loved to hate.

I pushed open the glass doors of Locke Industries, my refuge against the storm outside. The lobby still looked the same as I remembered it—polished marble floors reflecting overhead lights, high ceilings with graceful arches, and walls adorned with pretty pictures of our employees and photos of us donating lots of money to various charities.

I made my way to my office. It was chaos as usual. Max was running around like a headless chicken, papers flying everywhere. His glasses were perched precariously on the edge of his nose and his tie was askew.

"Sir," he said upon seeing me, his eyes wide with shock. "You're early."

I shrugged, a small smirk playing on my lips. "Thought I'd shake things up a bit."

Max looked like he was about to faint, but he quickly gathered himself together. "The meeting is set for two, sir. But Mr. Richards is already waiting in your office."

I nodded and walked toward my office. Mr. Richards was another member of my legal team. They were all still reeling from my abrupt declaration I would pay off the mortgages of those that were directly impacted. We spent a couple of hours going over the fine details and legalities.

When it was time to head to the high school gym where the meeting with the residents was being held, I felt a sense of dread. The first meeting had been controlled with representatives doing the speaking. This meeting would be a feeding frenzy. Katarina recommended I not do it, but I went against her wishes, which of course pissed her off.

Meeting with the residents was always going to be a challenge. I knew that and prepared myself for it. The tension was palpable as I walked into the gym, the air thick with resentment and distrust. The room was filled with the faces of people who had every right to be angry. I could see the weariness etched into their expressions, the weight of their grievances heavy on their shoulders.

A podium had been set up on the stage with people filling the chairs. My legal team was seated behind me with security standing on either side of the stage. That should have made me feel better, but honestly, it was a little concerning knowing I needed them. And how much did I trust they could move fast enough to save me from a bullet?

Maybe I should have worn a bulletproof vest.

As I stood in front of them, I could feel their eyes boring into me, judging, accusing. I cleared my throat and began my prepared remarks given to me by my legal team. This time, I was following their advice. I was tap dancing and no way did I want to step on a land mine. After finishing the speech, I looked out at the room. I wasn't surprised to see most of them were still looking at me like I had stolen their lunch money.

"Well, I'm probably going to regret this, but are there any questions?"

Not surprising, about fifty hands shot up into the air.

I pointed at a middle-aged man sitting near the front. He took the microphone and glared at me. I knew shit was about to get real. "You can't just use your money to smooth over your screw-ups, Locke. This is our lives you're messing with."

Before I could answer, an older man sitting next to him grabbed the mic and went on a tirade about my wealth. "And what gives you the right, Locke?" The old man's voice was shaky with anger. "What gives you the right to play god with our lives?"

The room threatened to explode into pandemonium after that but was quelled by a stern warning from the security guards flanking the stage. I took a deep breath. This was the moment I had been dreading, but it was also the moment I had been preparing for.

I felt a surge of anger listening to them accuse me of being an asshole simply because I had money. "My money? You're right, I have money, and I'm using it to fix this mess. But let me remind you, your issue should be with me, not with my girlfriend. Targeting her was cowardly and wrong. You should be ashamed of yourselves for acting like fools. She has zero to do with any of this. Attack me all you want, but I will not tolerate anyone going after her. If you think I'm a rich asshole, fine, but just wait and see what I do when you threaten her."

The room erupted into a heated argument. Accusations flew, voices were raised, and for a moment, I doubted we could find any common ground. I knew my legal team behind me was probably apoplectic at this point after my threat. I didn't care. Their hatred of me wasn't going to go away, no matter what I said, but this was my chance to make it clear Rylee wasn't to be fucked with.

But then, amid the chaos, the man who had spoken out stood up, his face flushed with emotion.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking through the din. "I lost sight of the bigger picture. We all did. Throwing eggs at Rylee was wrong. I'm a father, and I want to set a better example for my sons."

The room fell silent again, the tension easing slightly. Other residents began to murmur their agreement, nodding in acknowledgment of their mistakes. They, too, had lost control of their tempers and reasoning.

"I get it," I said, leaning into this unexpected opportunity for reconciliation. "I've been guilty of losing my temper too. But we need to move forward. I know you're angry with me and I get it, trust me, I do get it. But I'm here. I'm facing all of you trying to resolve this situation. How do we do that?"

A voice called out from the back, "We need to clean up the mess."

I nodded. "It's being done. I have ground crews working around the clock, and we're in contract negotiations with environmentalists to restore the land."

This raised some eyebrows, the mention of environmentalists catching their attention.

"Here in my hand," I said, pulling out a document from my pocket and holding it high into the air. "Is a signed agreement with one of the most reputable environmental organizations in the country. They are dedicated not only to cleaning up the mess but also to creating a green initiative to benefit your community and your children. I've already agreed to regular soil testing along with air quality to ensure there are no lasting side effects."

This revelation sparked murmurs among the crowd. The man who had apologized earlier was still standing. "We need more than just cleaning up the land. We need assurances that such an incident won't happen again."

"I understand that," I said firmly. "And that's why we're putting stringent safety measures in place and a new management team. Trust me, if you guys think it's been all sunshine and rainbows at the office, it isn't. We don't like to lose millions of dollars. Like you said, I'm rich. I like being rich. I don't want to go broke because of failures and mistakes."

"Can we help with the cleanup?" someone asked.

"Absolutely," I replied, feeling a spark of hope. "We can all do community service to clean up the area. Together."

The resolution came quickly after that. Plans were made, roles were assigned, and a sense of collective purpose began to take hold. As we wrapped up the meeting, the atmosphere had shifted from one of hostility to one of cooperation.

As I left the gym, the first person I wanted to call was Rylee. I wanted to tell her about the breakthrough, about the tentative steps toward healing. But I resisted. She needed her space, and I needed to respect that. I didn't get to call her. I couldn't dump my trouble in her lap, even if this was actually a good thing.

The drive back to my house was a blur. I wanted to share everything with her, to hear her voice, to feel her support. I got home and kicked off my shoes, pulled at my tie, and walked to the bar in the corner. I poured myself a drink and sat by the window processing everything.

The meeting had been a turning point, a chance to make things right. I hoped this was also a chance for things to settle. No more drama. The drama was pushing Rylee away. I may have already lost her.