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Assisting in them rising to higher levels.
Ranks.
It was about expanding the legacy my father left behind and venturing into new frontiers as a brand.
Wow.
Did I really just have a Trekkie moment all on my own?
J.T. gestures an open palm to a dark umber skinned male in the far left corner. “Justin Lakes, with Financial Investment for the Highland Herald.” After receiving a nod of approval from me, he inquires, “Mr. Morgan, are you nervous about giving up complete control of your company to a corporation who has absolutely no current footing in the brewing industry?”
The sandy shaded man to my left gives his thick salt and peppered beard a single stroke prior to smiling widely. “Let me start by saying, I am not giving up complete control, Mr. Lakes. Mr. Wilcox and I have worked closely together during every step of this process to guarantee what we present is a collaboration of creation. While Mr. Wilcox-”
“Wes,” I politely insist.
“Wes,” he casually corrects further painting a friendly partnership, “may lack a specific beer-based reputation – at this time – the Wilcox brand is irrefutably one of the biggest in the alcohol industry as a whole. With that reach and level of respect, I have no doubts that they will not only make an amazing first impression into the world of brewing using Morgan Beers as their vehicle of transition, I believe they will – we will – rise to the top of this field as well.”
I allow a natural smile to expand.
Hearing his unwavering belief in me…in the company…in what I’ve managed to accomplish thus far in my term at the top has my chest swelling in pride.
No.
Not all of my past choices would’ve made my father proud, but ones like this?
Ones where both parties can profit and benefit?
One where their brand has a chance to rise while our legacy has the chance to reach new markets?
These are the ones I know he would commend.
The ones I feel in an inexplicable way, he is.
“And was the idea to scrap the current logo to replace it with something that incorporates the Wilcox insignia much bigger and bolder, an agreed upon decision or primarily Mr. Wilcox’s?” rudely questions an unidentified female somewhere in the crowd.
“Agreed upon,” I retort in spite of not being able to see the attacker. “For better brand association.”
J.T. quickly moves onto a peach skinned, round-faced, wavy-haired woman closer to the front who is eager to pipe in. “Courtney Peeps with Arts and Lifestyle for Cliffsworth Chronicles.”
She’s presented the same nod of approval to continue as her predecessor.
“Will there be some sort of public social event to commemorate this merger?”
“Unfortunately, not.” The sympathetic smile on my face is forced. “We decided it would be more beneficial for Morgan brand employees who have stayed on through the acquisition if we hosted a private gathering in which they can meet and mingle and merge – small pun intended,” light snickers from the crowd are expelled, “with those from Wilcox Enterprises who they will be working with going forward. We wanted something lowkey to allow both sides to come together like a family,” another polite grin delivered, “which is what we prefer to think of ourselves as.”
“Then why isn’t your own family currently in attendance?” the voice from earlier bites back. “Your fiancée,” the woman continues while my eyes scour the scene, “is nowhere in sight this morning. In fact, she has yet to be seen once at your side during this merger.”
My eyes finally land on the young, fair skinned, dark-haired woman who looks uncomfortably familiar.
“Could it be because she doesn’t support or agree with your hostile takeover of a defenseless brand?”
“It wasn’t hostile.”
“And we weren’t defenseless!”
“Oh, then perhaps, she just doesn’t believe in backing your continued monopolization of the alcohol industry.”
There’s no stopping myself from glaring. “I heard no question.”
