Page 10 of Broken
Francis whizzed into her office, called Dana, and put her on speaker.
The head of their Product Safety Division explained the situation, along with the reasons her team suspected internal tampering. At the end of their conversation, Prescott couldn’t see a safer option than recalling the product while the manufacturing plant was scrubbed, and team members questioned. He told Dana he’d get back to her and ended the call.
“Let’s loop in Artemis,” Prescott said to his assistant.
Prescott and Francis left her office as his uncle was hurrying down the hall toward the elevator.
“Artemis?” Prescott called.
His uncle turned, but didn’t stop walking. “I’m on my way out.”
Already? It’s not even eight in the damn morning.
Over the past few months, his uncle had been out of the office more than he’d been there.
“Wait,” Prescott growled.
At the elevator, Artemis glared at Prescott. Each time Prescott saw him, he looked tanner than the previous time.
“Did you hear about the painkiller?” Prescott asked.
“I did,” Artemis replied. “Are you handling it?”
“Your office should put out a press release,” Prescott said. “Dana’s team thinks an employee at the plant might have tampered with production.”
Artemis glanced at his watch. “We can have the product pulled in each of the affected cities—”
Prescott needed to take control of this situation. “We’ve gotta pull product across the country. That plant ships it to every state, except Alaska and Hawaii.”
“Are you crazy?” Artemis’s voice raised to a squeaky pitch.
Several employees stared in their direction. “Let’s meet in my office.”
“Like I said, I’m leaving.”
“To do what?” Prescott shouldn’t push back. Artemis Armstrong had been the company’s CEO for decades. But Prescott didn’t give a damn about professional hierarchy, not when the CEO wasn’t acting like a damn CEO.
If consumers, who trusted this popular brand, were getting sick from it—and there was even a hint of tampering at the manufacturing level—it had to be pulled from shelves.
Artemis glared at him. “Last I checked, I donotreport to you.”
Holding his ground, Prescott narrowed his gaze. “We’ve got a major fucking health risk.”
“No one’s died,” his uncle retorted.
Frustration billowed through him. Would his uncle have given more of a shit if someonehaddied? What the hell would it take to get this man to do his job?
“Theonlyway we can ensure no one dies is to pull product,” Prescott bit out.
Prescott would handle thishisway. Total recall, factory wash-down, out the guilty party, follow-up with customers who reported adverse reactions, and eat the loss, which would cost them millions.
“Just get it done,” his uncle said. “I’ve got a meeting with TopCon.”
Prescott raked his hand through his hair. “Who?”
“TopCon, the consulting company I hired to rebrand an outdated product line. You know, spiff things up. Make us look cool and hip.” Artemis did a kind of wiggle.
If that wiggle was an indication of his uncle’s interpretation ofhip, he needed to focus on hisownrebranding.
