The Sinking of the Majestic
Part 4: Scuttled
STOP DESTROYING THE ENVIRONMENT.
Jonathan Henry leaned over her shoulder, reading the words aloud. “So, that’s what all this is about.”
Maisel jumped when Diane cried out. Cassandra's eyes had popped open. "Wha-- What happened?"
The next few minutes were full of cursing, tears, and muttering from Captain Anders, Diane, and Mark, respectively. The captain pulled the impromptu gauze–a pearl white towel with the vessel’s initials monogrammed on it–away from Cassandra's head. A bright stain of blood shone in the light. Violetta's face blanched of color and she stumbled into the hallway, hands on knees while she took deep breaths.
"I'm fine. Really. Let me up." Cassandra rose shakily to her feet, Diane's hand hovering nearby just in case of a tumble. Cassandra seemed to notice Diane's presence for the first time and she did a small double-take.
“If the ecoterrorists are to blame for everything that's happened, that'll shift the blame away from Majestic."
"Is that really what's important right now, Mark?" Diane's voice was surprisingly sharp.
Mark had the decency to look sheepish for a moment, but then his years in corporate America kicked in and he couldn't help himself. "We need to get on a call with PR ASAP so we can spin this."
Cassandra's head turned sharply toward her CFO. "Are you crazy? If anyone thinks we’re being targeted by eco-terrorists, our stock will plummet!”
Mark frowned. “That’s not true. When the public found out Nox Petroleum’s tankers were being targeted by pirates, consumers rallied to the brand despite higher prices. This will work, Cassandra. Trust me.”
“I said no, Mark.” She inhaled sharply through her teeth, her fingers rubbing the spot where she'd been struck. “We are not giving this any more oxygen. No one's ever going to see that note.”
Maisel surreptitiously slipped the note into her pocket, hoping no one had noticed her swipe it.
Cassandra insisted on going to the gala, despite Diane and the captain’s strong opinions to the contrary. Captain Anders escorted her like she was liable to shatter at any moment. Diane fussed over Cassandra’s hair, helping the battered CEO regain some semblance of decorum.
Maisel watched the group retreating down the hallway, gaze lingering on the women.
She'd spent most of her life in the theatre in some capacity or another - behind the scenes, on the stage, in the audience - and she'd seen her fair share of overacting. As she watched the group walk carefully toward the gala, Maisel realized one of them was trying to put on the performance of a lifetime.