Love Flushed (EBOOK)

Lincoln

"How long do we have?"

"Best-case scenario?" Adam Bronze shrugged. "Maybe six months."

Shit. 

I exchanged a look with my brother. 

"And worst-case?" Theo asked. 

"Three—if you're lucky." 

Fuck, this hurt. I absorbed the blow with the same stoicism I'd displayed in every shitty conversation Theo and I had been subjected to over the last month, forcing myself to ask the hard questions. 

"What do we need to do to get the mill back on track?"

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. The guy didn't look like any accountant I'd ever met. Mid-thirties with a mop of sun-touched auburn hair and tan skin, he looked more like a surfer than a suit. 

"I'm gonna level with you—a fuck of a lot. Your Dad's been borrowing hand over fist for years. Couple that with the lack of meaningful reinvestment, old machinery, and your narrow market…." He shrugged. "I just don't see how it's possible to recover." 

The pulp and paper mill had been in our family for six generations. We employed two hundred people—failure wasn't an option. 

"Humour us," Theo grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Adam blew out a sigh. "Well, for starters you'd need a cash injection to keep the lights on."

"How much?"

"At least two-fifty." 

I nodded, mentally working out which assets we could sell off or remortgage to make the payment. 

"And you'd need evidence of buyers—new contracts and nothing smaller than four years. You'd have to prove to a bank that you have long-term financial stability in order to get a loan." 

"Another loan?" The new worry added a stone to the already heavy weight on my shoulders. 

Adam nodded. "Lincoln, I know it seems like a lot but you need to update your equipment. The shit you have is costing you time and money. You need better performance, and you need to diversify."

"Diversify?". I’d been foreman for five years, and knew how obsolete the equipment had become.

"Copy paper and cardboard aren't going to cut it anymore. You need to move into other product markets—fast food wrappers, napkins, paper towels—hell, even toilet paper. And renewables?" He dug through a pile of binders on his desk, pulling one free. 

"This is a prospectus on the paper recycling market. I pulled it together for Walter last year." Adam paused, wiping dust from the binder face. "He, ah, he wasn't that interested."

"No doubt," Theo muttered. 

"All you need to know is in here, but the main thing to consider is a move to recyclables. It's cost-effective, environmentally friendly—which is marketable as shit—and sustainable. Not to mention the profit margins are impressive."

Theo took the offered binder, flicking through the glossy pages. "What are we talking money-wise?"

"With more people choosing to use paper instead of plastic options, you're going to see immediate returns."

"A shift to recycling will mean outlays." I shook my head. "We can barely afford to pay our employees. How are we going to fund new equipment, training, research… those expenses alone would be prohibitive."

Adam reached across the desk to tap the binder. "It's all in here. The state offers grants for manufacturers looking to pivot. But a condition of the grant is your ability to prove you can support your workforce over the next five years." He glanced from me to Theo. "You need to find buyers. And not small ones—you need big contracts to land this." 

Fuck. 

"Right." Adam waved us off. "Go home, think about what I've suggested and let me know what you decide." 

I rose, holding out a hand for him to shake. "Thanks. We really appreciate it."   

He made a dismissive sound. "It's my job to help. And I'd hate if one of the town's oldest businesses—and biggest employers—died on my watch."

I swallowed the bile burning up my throat. "We're gonna do everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen."

Theo trailed me, an uneasy silence settling between us as we left the accounting office. 

"Fuck," He slapped against the side of the building. "Our own flesh and blood. That fucking motherfucker."

I echoed his sentiment. "We need to speak to Walter."

"No, we need to report him. Call the cops. Get someone in to investigate what the fuck he's been up to." 

I sucked in a breath, reigning in my rage. "We need to talk to him. He's the only one who knows the full story."

I jerked open the door to my old pickup, sliding into the driver's seat, and allowing myself the pleasure of slamming the door. Childish? Yes. Needed? Fuck yes. 

"You really wanna see him right now?" Theo asked, tapping the binder against his leg. "We're more likely to strangle him than question."

"We've got no choice." I rolled my shoulders, trying to work out the tension. "Until we know the whole of it, we're gonna be working from a disadvantage."

"Gramps should never have left him the business."

I sighed "We both know our father is good at hiding his true colours. And Gramps—"

"Trusted him," Theo finished. "The old man only saw the good in people. Fuck." 

In unison, we scrubbed our hands down our faces. 

"How do you want to play this?" 

I reached for the pack of antacids I'd begun carrying, popping one to chew. 

Prior to a month ago, my biggest concern had been what pizza to order. Then Walter had driven into a tree, and my whole fucking world had come tumbling down.

"No idea," I admitted. "I guess start with him and figure out the rest once we know."

Theo sighed, his eyes shadowed. "Do we tell the workers?" 

"Fuck no." I shook my head. "Let’s try and get out of this mess before we bring others into it.”

I'd worked full-time at the mill with my brother since graduating high school. My life had a routine and rhythm to it that, while not thrilling, had meaning.  I couldn't imagine a future without the mill. 

"Shit, I need a drink." I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel, anxiety churning in my gut. 

"We could go to the nursing home and talk to Dad or we could hit a bar, get drunk, and deal with all this shit tomorrow." Theo tossed the binder onto the dash. 

"Fuck it. Let's deal with the old guy tomorrow. Tonight, we drink."

"I'm down for that."