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“I found out that one of my team’s rebranding projects is being rolled out.”
“I’m not following. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Three weeks ago, Artemis asked me to provide him with a high-level overview of our current projects. My team has been focused on two. The first is the rebranding of the sensitive skincare line and the second is a campaign for several new products in our Women of Color haircare line.”
Prescott nodded. “Sounds great. I look forward to seeing those.”
“I found out that the board approved Artemis’s request to fund a product line he’s outsourced to some consulting company.”
“Right.” Prescott sipped his coffee. “TopCon.”
“Artemis presentedourideas for the sensitive skincare line to the board. They approved it, and TopCon is going to roll out the rebranding.”
What the hell?
Why would his uncle lift an internal marketing campaign and present it as something the consultant created?
“My team has been very concerned that their jobs are in jeopardy because of this outside firm. Morale is in the toilet,” Markesha continued. “One of my team leads quit. Another member has been calling in sick, but I think he’s going on job interviews. Right now, my team does not feel valued because one of their ideas was stolen.”
“Just to confirm, Artemis asked for an overview of your current rebranding projects, then presented the skincare rebranding to the board on behalf of TopCon. The board approved it and the consulting company will be managing the rollout.”
“Right.”
“But they don’t have the full campaign?”
“No, but they could take the basics I provided Artemis and run with that.”
“I’ll look into it without mentioning you.”
“Thank you.” She showed herself out, leaving his office door open.
Prescott called Artemis’s assistant and asked when he’d be back.
“He said an hour, but I’m guessing sometime after lunch,” the assistant replied. “Do you want me to let him know you called?”
“Call or text me when he gets back. I’ll swing by his office.”
He hung up and grabbed his empty coffee mug. On his way to the break room, his phone rang.
“Armstrong,” he answered.
“Mr. Armstrong, I’m a physician at St. Andrew’s hospital and I’m calling with the results of Sally Sagall’s autopsy report.”
“Okay.” He strode into the break room.
“You’ll be receiving a copy in the mail, but I wanted to speak with you in advance.”
This can’t be good.
“She died of asphyxiation.”
What?
“Did she choke on her vomit?”
“No, she was suffocated.”
“That can’t be right.”
