The Other Side of Greed (The Seven Sins #5) - Lily Zante Page 0,4

have plans to expand—either by taking over another building close by if and when an existing business owner leaves, or we’ll go ahead and build a new factory.

“One day we might get an offer that is too good to ignore,” says Fredrich as he lines the empty pots and containers into his pickup truck. With his six-foot-two frame, he has enough ink on his arms to print a book. He’s also the muscle of the company. I would be stuck without him especially because he’s the one who returns these items to the restaurants which were kind enough to donate food for tonight.

I wave my hand, dismissing his comment.

“But what would you do?” he asks.

With my hands on my hips, I square off with him. “We’re not moving.” This part of the city is becoming more gentrified. It’s up and coming, and Redhill is positioned perfectly in the center of it all. “I’m going nowhere. We’re going nowhere. We’re staying put.”

“And what about the ‘eminent domain’ issue you were worried about?” he asks.

“Don’t worry about that.” I try to keep abreast of these things and am aware that the government can take private property and convert it for public use under certain circumstances as long as they offer us what they claim is fair compensation. Yeah, right. Fair compensation is anything but that.

And, as far as I'm concerned, we're already doing things that benefit the public, though they don’t see it quite like that.

We also have donors who are rich and famous, like Elias Cardoza, and Callum Sandersby, the Hollywood movie star his sister is dating. High-profile donors will rally to my cause if and when I need them. The eminent domain issue is a worry, but I try not to dwell on these things. Besides, with the business growing so fast, I have numerous other things to think about.

“Have a little faith, Fredrich.” Simona brings over a box of napkins.

“Kyra!” I turn at the sound of something calling me. One of the staffers raises his arm at me. A woman, someone I don’t recognize, stands next to him. “Do you have a moment?” he hollers and sends the woman over.

I wipe my hands on my jeans in anticipation. The people who come here don’t usually ask for anything. They take their food, thank us, and leave.

“Are you the woman who makes those blankets?” Her voice is louder and clearer than I am prepared for.

“Yes.” I nod. “What can I do for you?”

She looks bruised and battered, not physically, but in her stance. There’s a defeated look in her eyes. Her hunched body and tiny frame give me that tell-tale signal.

“Do you …” she straightens herself up, growing an inch or two taller before my eyes. “Do you have any work? I need to work. I’ll even take less than minimum wage.”

“I would never expect you to work for less than that.” Minimum wage is a joke as it is. She doesn’t look as if she’s living on the streets. She looks cleaner, her clothes aren’t as dirty or rumpled as they would be. Her hair looks brushed and yet she seems in a bad way. Desperation slips unmasked out of her eyes, even though the tilt of her chin tries so hard to prove otherwise.

“We’re hiring all the time. What can you do?”

“I can do anything. I’m a good learner. I can help in the factory. Or in the office. I’ll work anywhere you’ll have me. I’ll even clean if you want me to. I’m good with my hands and I can sew. With a little practice, I’ll be able to make those clothes and things you make.”

She’s done her research. People on the streets or surviving in shelters during the night don’t have laptops and phones with which to find out such things. Many come to me with no idea of what we make, even though when we show them the products, many have heard of them. We have given out countless jackets and blankets.

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow, and we can talk then?” I don’t recall seeing her in the line for people wanting food, and I wonder why she’s come to me now. “Did you … would you like some food to take back?” Wherever ‘back’ might be. The woman shakes her head. “I ate before I came.”

“What’s your name?”

“Yvette.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Yvette. Take this.” I hand her my business card, just so that she’ll have my details, but there are also the numbers