Page 26 of Crash Course
"We’re good at research. What do you need?"
After setting the beard trimmer on the vanity–he’d get to that when off the phone–Cruz left the bathroom, moving into the bedroom where he dragged underwear from his dresser, then went to the closet to check out his clothing options.
He was a couple days behind on laundry, but he had more than enough to pick from. Running his hand over the hangers, he stopped at a blue button-down. Nah. A white BARS golf shirt was next.
Bingo.
He yanked it from the hanger and set it on the bed.
"Okay," Cilla said. "I’m about to tell you something you can’t share with anyone outside of your company."
Phone to her ear,Cilla sat back in her desk chair and stared at the law books lining the shelves in her office.
Was she seriously doing this? Sharing details of her father’s business that could prove damaging? Then again, Dad seemed fairly convinced the report she’d seen contained erroneous data.
Maybe it did. Maybe all of this was a useless hunt for information when she didn’t need it. All she knew was if that farm had toxic levels of PFOA, her father should not buy it. Under any circumstances.
His casual attitude toward PFOA contamination, despite an inaccurate report, bugged her. Why was he not running from this? If there was the slightest doubt about the toxicity levels of the property, he should be running.
"Uh," Cruz said, "sounds ominous."
"I’m hoping it’s not. I’mhopingnothing comes of it. Remember the other day when you asked me if something was wrong?"
"I do. You were in a great mood when we left Nashville. By the time we landed, not so great."
"There’s a farm down the road from my father’s Morgan plant. He’s trying to buy it."
"And the issue is?"
Giving up on the law books, Cilla swiveled and scooted her chair closer to her desk where she picked up a pen and twirled it through her fingers.
This was it. Her moment to turn back. To tell him to forget the whole thing.
But if that report was accurate? If the PFOA levels were that high? Disastrous for not only Randolph Industries, but the current owners. And who knew if any of that PFOA had leached into water wells?
Too many things to think about. Precisely why she needed help from the Blackwells. If nothing else, given they were bound by an iron-clad NDA, she could simply talk it through with them. Convince herself Dad wasn’t up to something shady.
"The farm," she said, "has enormous levels of PFOA."
"The chemical?"
"You know about it?"
"I read, Cilla. It’s used in nonstick products and food wrappers. There was something online about a lawsuit. Biggest class action in history."
"Exactly. It’s a forever chemical, meaning it doesn’t break down. Wherever it is, it stays there. At one point, Randolph Industries used it, but phased it out when Dad realized how toxic it was."
"The responsible thing to do," Cruz said. "How do you know this farm has it?"
"One of my father’s executives left a file on the plane. I read it. It contained a toxicology report."
"Okay. Guessing that deal got eighty-sixed."
"You’d think. I mean, if I said you were about to buy a piece of land that contained massive amounts of a toxic chemical, you’d balk, right?"
"Oh, yeah."
"That’s what’s bugging me. After we landed the other day, I told my father about the report and the findings."
