His indigestion suggested Delhi belly was imminent. He wore his usual faded jeans and a camo long sleeve shirt that had seen better days. Red Bull in hand, he surveyed the wreckage of what had been a R250 million operation.
“Janee,” he muttered, which translated roughly to: The universe seemed to take a rather dim view of my Tuesday. Beside him stood Wilma Croft, the operations manager, peering through her elegant pink reading glasses, which was optimistic considering everything readable had converted to ash. She wore a floral scarf despite the heat and was already tapping calculations into her tablet.
120 employees. Severance packages. Agshame, she thought, though her face betrayed nothing but the stoic composure of someone who had spent twenty years managing chaos and she was not about to start panicking now,skattie.
[paywall]
shame, she thought, though her face betrayed nothing but the stoic composure of someone who had spent twenty years managing chaos and she was not about to start panicking now, “The insurance will cover it,” Simon said, though his tone suggested he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “We have got full Business Interruption. We are sorted, no worries.”
[/paywall]
