There’s got to be something else I can do. Ranell avoided his next meeting instead and slunk back to his office. Closing the door behind him, he moved toward the cabinet where he kept his bottle of Talisker. Foregoing his usual single ice cube, he poured a finger of the amber fluid into a crystal tumbler. He stopped for a moment, considering the bottle he held in his hand, and poured some more scotch, nearly filling his glass.
He stared out at the East Basin docks and cursed his fate.
He’d tried talking to Father Mendoza, but of course, nothing Ranell experienced was ever as bad as what Mendoza experienced back in the old days. “I speak with authority, my son.” Mendoza ignored Ranell’s anxiety. “I was in Venezuela when the bishops led the charge for Maduro’s removal. That was a long time ago, but I remember it well. I remember only too well all the things we did to survive.”
For the briefest of moments, Ranell thought a deep understanding flowed between them. But then it was gone.
Something in Ranell’s heart tightened. The CEO told me to look for alternatives, and that’s what I did!