Chapter 3 Poster Child for Reckless CEOs
CHAPTER THREE
Poster child for reckless CEOs.
Roman – Point of View
“This project will extend an existing crude oil and gas pipeline across several states, from Texas to the Midwest. I’ve closed every contract this company has pursued in the past five years. My leadership team increased our stock value by thirty per cent in a volatile market. This expansion will strengthen U.S. energy independence, increase energy security, and lower transportation costs.” I conclude, my tone loud and clear.
The tension thickens in the air. The polished mahogany table stretches endlessly, reflecting the golden light of the chandelier. The Board of Directors and Government Officials shuffle thick files, stamped with the national crest. A map of timeline routes, pinned to digital screens, glows with red and green lines.
I lean back into my seat, wrist heavy with my Patek. I have dropped two billion into this project without blinking. It might seem like a lot, but it is pocket change compared to America’s energy needs. I’ll get it back tenfold. I intend to. Nothing will stand in my way.
The Government’s delegation sits stiffly. Their folders carry seals – Department of Energy, Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, Environmental Protection Agency. The gatekeepers of billions. Billions I aim to acquire for myself.
Faint cologne hangs in the air.
“Mr Sterling, your proposal is quite ambitious,” The older man with greying hair and a pot belly leans forward. “A five-hundred-mile pipeline expansion across the Midwest corridor. Multi-billion-dollar valuation. Significant job creation. Long-term ROI - on paper, it’s clean.”
I smirk, confidence brewing in me.
“This is not just clean, it is important, essential. We are discussing energy independence. We all know how important it is, especially to America. This way, we’ll stop bleeding money into OPEC’s always-ready hands. We can build domestic infrastructure that feeds our industries for the next fifty years.” I lean forward, smiling smugly. “And with the DOE backing, the grants alone will shave off five hundred million in capex. You know it. I know it. The numbers aren’t just good. They’re inevitable.”
One of the government officials, a woman, raises her brow “Inevitable is a strong word. Environmental assessments, water safety, tribal land disputes – you’ll need compliance at every stage.”
“I understand your caution, but we need to look at the profit margin here. Your concerns are minor details. A few wetlands are just a line item in the budget. We’re talking about energy independence, billions in profit over decades. Ecological damage, job losses, displacement - these are just percentages. The end justifies the means.” I explain, stepping my fingers like I own the room.
I scoff internally at their caution. It is stupid. We are talking about billions here. Who cares if people lose their jobs? I do not care about displacement either. None of those are my concerns. I want the job. I want the money.
My lips curve in a smile as my mind wanders. Three billion in federal grants. I can make it four if I frame it as green infrastructure. That’s two more penthouses in Manhattan, a condo in Montreal, and an estate in Rome.
Fuck their caution, this is money. A lot of money.
“As much as we understand you, we need to be aware of the environmental concerns. . .” An older man on the board begins, and I wave him off smoothly, changing the topic.
“We also need to be concerned about safety.” A younger man on EPA points out, and I scoff, launching into a conversation about profit.
Who cares if people are not safe? Do they not understand that there are billions on the line?
“I must commend your thinking and your vision,” an FERC Rep smiles at me, and I nod, basking in the power.
“However, your track record doesn’t scream responsibility.”
I stiffen, sitting up, my jaws ticking. “Responsibility? My company always delivers. Numbers don’t lie.”
He flips through the file. “Numbers aren’t the issue, Mr Sterling. You’ve built an empire fast, but perception matters. Public trust matters. We don’t just award federal contracts based on spreadsheets. We award them based on stability. Legacy. Responsibility. And frankly, you don’t look like a man who carries any.”
They just pulled the rug from under my feet. They were never going to give it to me. Heat flushes through. My jaw clenched. I sank my money into this project. It is mine.
A DOE official continues, tone clear. “We want to see stability. A personal life that reflects reliability. You have no family, no roots. You wander. You sleep around. Yes, you make money, but you are lost. Sooner or later, what you are doing will crash and burn. We can’t take that risk. You have no sense of responsibility. The public’s perception of you is very bad, and true. You are the poster child for reckless CEOs. This is a risk we will not take. Show us you have what it takes. Show us you are not the man the press paints you to be, and maybe, we can make something work.”
My stomach sinks. My hands begin to tremble. They don’t care that I make billions. They want a puppet that fits on a Christmas card. I’m willing to do anything to get the contract.
I smile, pretending like I’m not burning inside. “I have a fiancée.” The words come out before I think it through.
Silence holds in the air for a moment.
“Fiancee? How convenient.”
“Bring her tomorrow to the party. We’ll continue our discussion then.” The EPA rep smiles, and my blood thins.
The meeting ends, leaving me a mess. I have to find a fiancée.
“What are you doing, Roman?” Caleb, my closest friend and the company’s CFO, frowns at me.
I ignore him. My mind turns like an engine all the way to the club. We find our seats in the VVIP section. I feel the weight of money, legacy, and power slipping away. It is like a vice around my chest. A noose around my throat.
“We’ll figure something out,” Caleb assures me, but I frown when I hear laughter.
I smile and stand up. I have money, but I want more. To get what I want, I need a fake fiancée.