Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Amy
From outside the glass building, the Anterdec boardroom seems transparent, all about clarity and expansive views. From the inside, it is a terrarium where my job performance cooks in the intensified sunlight.
I stand at the front of the room with a clicker in my hand, blazer crisp, lipstick intact, and a uterus that is growing a new McCormick with every rush of blood through my veins and arteries. I can present a deck and convince a team and grow a baby with my blood, all at the same time.
I am invincible... which sounds suspiciously close to invisible.
"Belizean government authorities have confirmed the tax-related charges," I say, voice low and steady. "We are still in discovery mode, so no speculating. No defending. No condemnation. Right now is about due diligence, minimizing fallout, and sticking to our values."
Click.
The ad on the screen behind me is pitch-perfect—or it was, anyway. International hip-hop star SpeedLove on a pristine beach, tropical cocktail in hand. Palm trees, turquoise ocean, and a mega-star grin from a man who allegedly treats tax law as a suggestion and not an actual requirement.
This is why James McCormick has been pushing Hamish so hard to sign the resort contract, to use our little family—the popular footballer, the fresh young wife, the smiling baby—for the new faces of the brand.
A shift in target audience: from party hard to poolside baby giggles.
Change the image, change the narrative, make the scandal go away.
I know all about the approach, because in a sense, that's why Hamish and I are married now.
For a time, my job was to be his cockblocker.
Hamish spent plenty of years in a pheromone haze, fanny lined up for miles, offering him the world.
He handed out happiness, one shag at a time.
When he slept with his team owner's daughter and she spilled the story, it created a public relations mess.
Hamish's happiness dispenser between his legs was suddenly a liability for the team.
My first major job out of my MBA was making sure my future husband's dick didn't go where the press could find it. Now I know exactly where it is, 24/7. The only person Hamish is making happy with his… joyful flesh dispenser is me, and we like it that way.
SpeedLove's legal mess has become my current reputation management challenge.
Next slide.
"Phase one. We issue an initial holding statement about SpeedLove's alleged actions, but we keep it very low key.
We acknowledge without triggering the Streisand Effect.
We reaffirm our commitment to ethical partners.
We emphasize our philanthropic work in Belize—clean water, jobs, hurricane relief—and that we're a major economic driver. "
General counsel nods from the computer screen. The COO, Gregory Hannover, is writing something. The CFO's jaw tightens.
"Phase two." I click again. "Contingencies."
Four boxes appear, four possible scenarios.
"A is full exoneration. B is taking a plea. C is conviction. D is if he tries to drag us in publicly to save himself."
I walk them through language, tone, and timing of each option.
Which media outlet gets the first quote.
When it's time to go quiet on Instagram.
When we shift focus to resort staff and the local community, so the story is not just about one bad actor but about the hundreds of people in the hospitality ecosphere.
"Questions?"
Three long seconds of silence. It's the good kind. I can feel the vibe and they are calmer now. Plans have that impact on dysregulated people. Even if I haven't actually done anything yet, I've organized their thoughts and given them choices, so the frenzy can settle.
"We don't cut him loose immediately," Gregory says. Less a question than a pondering.
"Not yet," I answer. "If we drop him now, we look reactionary. If he's cleared, we'll look disloyal. If he's convicted, we'll have a clean moment to invoke the morality clause and withdraw without financial liability."
"From a legal perspective, this posture preserves our options and reduces exposure," general counsel says. "His legal team is demanding that we continue the payouts."
The CFO exhales.
"And the resort?"
I smile. Calm and steady, remember? I'm co-regulating with them as much as I'm presenting strategy and solutions.
"We emphasize that SpeedLove is talent and the resort is a separate entity. The world the company built in Belize is core, and that has not changed. We focus on the guests, the employees, the locals who are our neighbors."
"And the shareholders," the CFO murmurs.
Heads nod. The room loosens. Shareholders are the main reason we're here. Crisis management might seem like it's about keeping customer dollars flowing, but the threat of institutional investors selling off stock is the real concern.
"Good work," Gregory says. "Very good, Amy."
"Thank you."
"We have a follow-up in a few hours. Rex and I will talk it through and get a decision out shortly."
People start to gather laptops and shuffle out. Glass doors sigh open and shut, papers whoosh on the table, voices swell and fade.
I'm tucking my notes away when I hear it, quiet and near the door.
"Isn't she Hamish McCormick's wife?"
No longer Amy, suddenly I'm not the person who just steered a multinational brand through a minefield.
Hamish McCormick's wife. The words slide under my ribs and sit there, above the growing baby, where no amount of swallowing makes them go down.
"Uh, Amy?" an assistant says from the doorway. "Could you stay? James McCormick is dialing in. He asked for you."
The room empties except for me and Gregory, and then the CMO walks in and takes a seat. Someone punches a code into the console. The speakerphone light glows.
"Hello?" James McCormick's voice fills the room.
Damn it.
James McCormick is my husband's uncle so, technically, he's mine, too.
He's also my sister's father-in-law. My niece's grandfather.
On FamilySearch or Ancestry, we're related by marriage, but right now, he's the former CEO of Anterdec, the company I work for, sits on the board, and he still talks like he runs the place because in his head, he still does.
"Hi, James," Gregory says. "We have legal here, and Amy is in the room."
"Excellent," he says. "Amy, very impressive work. I read your deck this morning. You have grown a great deal since I first met you at Declan's wedding. You were what, twelve?"
Gentle laughter fills the room and I pretend that's funny.
"Thank you. Glad to have the presentation out there and for everyone to consider options."
Dread fills me, because I'm quite certain I know exactly why James is calling. My job is to present solutions and implement them, and now he wants me to be the solution.
"We'll want to move quickly on all this when there are developments, but you have us pointed in the right direction."
A pause. I can hear the shift before he speaks again.
"There is one additional point I would like to raise, while I have you."
My stomach drops.
"We find ourselves at a... crossroads with our current resort face," he says. "SpeedLove has been useful for reach, but if his legal troubles deepen, we'll need a replacement ready."
You could cut the silence with a sgian dubh. The replacement he's talking about is a very, very Scottish one.
"We need someone with global appeal and absolutely no legal troubles," James goes on. "Someone with a good story, who feels trustworthy and looks good on camera. Someone who can anchor the resort brand without bringing in his own mess."
My pulse starts to tick.
"Your husband comes to mind," he says easily. "Hamish has excellent viewer numbers on the sports desk. Public loves him, and as you certainly know, he's easy on the eyes. Charming. And he has a resilience story after the injury."
"Are you suggesting we approach him as a potential brand ambassador?" Gregory asks, voice careful.
Oh, please. As if they haven't made an offer through Hamish's agent already.
"Among other possibilities, yes," James says. The words are smooth, designed to prime me, all of this some kind of verbal meat tenderizer.
And then he goes in for the kill.
"But it would help to have a sense of his openness. Amy, you're in a unique position."
I stare at the polished table.
"If you could convince him," James says, tone friendly, "simply plant the idea, as his wife... make it sound like it's his idea."
My mouth dries out.
"I, um." Great start. "I try to keep his endorsement work separate from my job here."
"Amy," he croons. "We're just talking about a conversation, not a negotiation. You two talk at home. You share a bed. You're closer to him than anyone."
The air in the room feels too thin.
"Right," I say. "It's just... if I'm the one bringing him offers, it gets complicated.
For me. For him. For the company. His agent, Jody Previte, manages his appearances and sponsorships.
Jody knows his medical limits, his endorsement contracts and possible conflicts of interest, and his schedule better than I do. "
"You're not negotiating a contract, dear." James lets out a light laugh. "You're simply telling your husband that the company that employs you is interested in partnering with him. He trusts you. A nudge from you would mean a lot. We're all family here."
Somewhere inside me, something hardens.
"I understand what you're asking, James," I say, using his name the same way he's using mine.
"I really do. But if I start using my marriage to push corporate requests, there is a conflict of interest for me.
If it ever goes badly, I am in the middle in three directions.
The cleanest way is for Anterdec to reach out to Jody directly.
I can give you his contact information, and I'll let Hamish know that anything official will come through Jody so he can expect it. "