Blackbird

Tate |Chapter 9

THE RAMADA INN WAS DESERTED, a sharp contrast to the usual excited horde of tourists it attracted. Either already at the Magic Kingdom or riding the death traps at Knott's Berry Farm, the lobby felt eerily quiet for a hotel that had been bustling with life just a few hours before.

Even more disconcerting, a few stray reporters gathered outside the doorway to conference room B. Their voices buzzed like angry bees, each trying to be louder and more authoritative than his peers. I ducked past them and into the room, my palms slick with nervous sweat.

The hum of the air conditioner blended with the low murmuring of conversations in the dimly lit room. Grey carpets lined the floor, while the walls were painted an unappetizing shade of green, bearing framed photos of various stages in the inn's evolution. A dozen or so reporters scattered around, some standing, some sitting. Uncomfortable-looking metal chairs made up most of the furniture.

A media screen fixed to the wall allowed for virtual meetings, but now it displayed the logo of Parker Realtors.

Only one thing left to do: confirm the rumor about me was true. Because, after all, it was. The wind outside had picked up, sending the once static palms thrashing. This forced even more people to cram inside the room.

As most reporters sat, one paused before doing so. I'm sure I'd clocked this guy's face before, but then awareness dawned on me. This balding guy took the kill-shot photo of Alex and me on the picket line. Doing my best to ignore him and a room full of eyes was beyond difficult.

In a few moments, my father would have final confirmation that I was and always will be just a fuck up. This was about more than him now; the risk outweighed the impact Rafael had been living with. It wouldn't solve everything, but it was the right moral place to start. My goals had shifted. Never could I disappoint Alex more than I already had done. This was now the least I could offer as consolation.

Dad was due to present with the developers. The pristine white tablecloth on the podium would be my unwilling confessional alter. The conference would start in twenty minutes' time, or so they thought, as I strode up each step towards the central seat and took the front and center spot. I took a deep breath and leaned closer to the microphone.

"Good morning, everyone," I said, my voice steady despite the rising tension in the room. "I know that many of you came here to hear from my father today, given his long-standing support for the redevelopment of Hanging Hills that Parker Realtors has been pushing for..." I paused mid-sentence as the flash of multiple cameras synced at once.

Steadying the rattle in my hands, I tried again. "But the truth is, I have another announcement to make. It has come to my attention that a miscarriage of justice has taken place."

There was a collective gasp from the reporters, and I could feel their eyes boring into me. But I didn't waver. Instead, I tried to continue until one reporter cut me off. "What do you know about the retirement home that is to be demolished?"

"What you're doing is unforgivable," shouted another, the words coming from the balding guy. I knew I didn't like him. Now there were two reasons. Turning to the volatile crowd that was heckling, I went to speak again before another jumped in.

"Is your father willing to build a new development for them in its place?"

"How has the reaction from the local community affected your rebranding as a family-friendly corporation?"

I met their gazes head-on, yet my confidence now wavered drastically, but I pushed on, determined to make my case. "Family-friendly? My father doesn't know that I'm here."

A hushed silence fell over the room; all I could feel was the artery pumping frantically in my neck. In a final act of final defiance, I balled the pre-written statement in my hand because my message needed to come from the heart, not structured words that lacked any.