Strike Me Down - Mindy Mejia Page 0,97
bring the gun into that room and I didn’t go there intending to kill anyone. Any semi-coherent lawyer could argue I was the real victim, and I acted in self-defense.
Here’s how the entire plan should have worked, if everyone had simply complied with the outline I’d written on the cocktail napkin.
Phase 1. Spend an aggressive amount of capital on key expansions to the company: a) doubling our clubs, b) branching into virtual entertainment with differentiating technology, c) taking the brand to the next level with a world-class event.
Key Note: no element in Phase 1 can produce income immediately. They must each require significant upfront investment, which will drain the company’s resources and force the theft to light.
Phase 2. Cash flow problems lead to discovery of fraud. Privately hire accounting firm to investigate and conclude that Logan and her lover embezzled millions. Commence civil lawsuit and force Logan out of company. Discreetly circulate internet rumors about Logan’s character and state of mind, framed with easily confirmed facts about previous physical altercations to give appearance of legitimacy.
Phase 3. Supplant new charismatic female face on company. Externally: rebrand with international appeal, focusing on kickboxing strongholds (Japan. Brazil. Germany.). Internally: tighten all financial and administrative controls. Implement stock ownership plan for all employees. Begin collecting revenue from Phase 1 investments.
Phase 4. Take on the world.
I wouldn’t have left Logan destitute. We had a prenup, so she would have walked away with all her endorsement money. She and Aaden could have bought an island and turned it into their own Enter the Dragon–style paradise somewhere in the South Pacific. It would have been an opportunity to reinvent herself, a chance to start over, get back to her fighting roots with her boy lover at her side. A happy ending for everyone. Don’t tell me I’m not thoughtful. I saw a path forward for all of us and none of those paths led to a pool of blood and brain tissue on the Strike men’s locker room tile. I’m not a killer. But I’m not a coward, either. I will do whatever needs to be done for the company. For Strike.
That, my friends, is living your brand.
NORA
THE DARKNESS lifted and Nora became aware of pain. Pain first, the kind that came in waves with the promise of an ocean behind it. Then odor—sweat, copper, and the bite of rubbing alcohol. Something wet and sticky underneath her and an uncontrolled hitch in her chest. She concentrated on steadying her breathing, until the need to know more intruded, as always, and she had to open her eyes.
Mats came into focus, and then the ropes enclosing it. She was in a ring, the Strike ring, with a single spotlight shining a circle of light and leaving the rest of the gym in shadow, or at least that’s how it seemed. Objects wavered in and out of her vision, the mats blurred, and she blinked furiously, trying to orient herself.
She lay in a fetal position, and when she moved, her top arm screamed. She’d never broken a bone in her life—no sledding accidents or falls on the ice as a kid—but she had no doubt her forearm was fractured. The desk. Her arm had hit Aaden’s desk when Gregg tackled her.
“How are you feeling?”
His voice came from behind her and she struggled to push herself up to sitting. Gregg leaned on a stool in the corner, texting. He didn’t look up. She blinked at the phone and then saw a gun resting in his lap.
“I apologize. The #WheresLogan hashtag is exploding. A hundred thousand retweets of the tournament’s call for help, and it only posted an hour ago. I have to participate, obviously, even though I’ve got the one person who knows where she is right here.” He paused, scrolled. “Nora Trier isn’t trending. Yet.”
One of her eyes didn’t want to open. Nora reached up with her good hand and felt the area gingerly. It was swollen, and her nose was stabbing little shocks across her face. The skin itself felt alien, entirely unlike her own flesh. When she drew her hand back, her fingers had blood on them.
Gregg looked up and concern laced his eyebrows together. “I’m sorry about that, too. The only comfort I had, with the Aaden episode, was that it was instantaneous. He couldn’t have felt anything. I have to tell myself that every night, like a bedtime prayer before I can sleep. Sometimes it still doesn’t work.”
He was admitting it. She blinked, and tried not