The Heiress's Secret Romance. Martha Kennerson

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      “Maybe you should go see a doctor,” Kathleen suggested.

      “I’m on my way now, but I wanted to tell you that I think you’re right.”

      “About the Kingsleys?” Her eyebrows snapped to attention.

      “Even though all the allegations of wrongdoing by the Kingsleys and their company have been proven false, and Evan Perez, the man behind the false narratives, is behind bars, this most recent accusation didn’t appear to come from anyone Perez hired. I still can’t believe he thought he could get away with trying to ruin the Kingsleys, who were basically defending themselves from his many attacks. He was the one who started their war in the first place,” Simpson offered, shaking his head and taking a seat.

      “No, it did not. Mr. Silva seems credible and is not a part of some big conspiracy,” Kathleen stated with conviction. “His only concern is about the safety of his fellow employees and ensuring their company has competent leadership.”

      “Yet how can we know that for sure?” Simpson challenged.

      “Because he’s still around. He didn’t pull his complaint, and he’s very specific with his concerns too.”

      Simpson nodded. “That’s true. Yet his motives aren’t completely unselfish.”

      “Fine, he has stock options he wants to protect against bad management. There’s nothing wrong with that either. He claims the Kingsleys are putting their employees in danger because they changed leadership to someone inexperienced and inappropriate who altered policies, and their safety practices now don’t follow OSHA standards. He states these changes are putting people at risk. That’s reason enough to do an investigation. The man didn’t even ask for confidentiality.”

      Kathleen remembered the detailed and painful explanation of how her mother’s former employer had exposed her to dangerous chemicals, causing her to contract such rare cancers. It had been hard to take. Hearing Mr. Silva’s concerns made Kathleen wonder what might have happened if someone from her mother’s company had spoken out against the poor conditions in which they worked. The desire to make someone pay for what happened to her mother fueled Kathleen’s desire to act. Her need for revenge became a lifeline, a reason for her to keep breathing every day. Kathleen was determined to make sure no other family would go through what they had. The Winstons lost their matriarch within a year of that conversation.

      “How long has he worked for the Kingsleys?”

      Kathleen reached for the file that sat on her desk. “Let’s see.” She flipped through the pages. “Ten years.”

      “It’s only one complaint, but all things considered it would be prudent to do a cursory and very discreet investigation at least. With everything this family has gone through we have got to be careful.”

      “I can do that,” she promised, clapping her hands. “Be discreet and careful, I mean.”

      “I’m serious, Kathleen. You have to go in under the radar and if—and that’s a big if—you find anything, then we will bring in the cavalry. I know you’re a professional, but you have to make sure your personal feelings and family history of dealing with bad chemical companies don’t interfere with you getting the job done...the right job.”

      “I won’t,” she promised.

      “Now, how do you propose to do that?”

      “I can go in as one of our policy trainers. Offer them our free services. That always works and will give me access to one of the areas he’s complaining about too, not to mention free rein with their staff.”

      Simpson shook his head. “They train their people themselves. Hell, we even sent some of our trainers to their sessions.”

      Kathleen tapped her fingers on the desk. “They don’t have the new regulatory updates yet. I could offer to go in specifically to talk about them and help update their training materials.”

      “That might work, but I still need to sweeten the tea.” Simpson reached into his pocket, pulled out a Kleenex and wiped his forehead.

      “‘Sweeten the tea’?” Kathleen held back her laughter. She always found Simpson’s use of colloquialisms amusing. “Why?”

      “The Kingsleys have been through hell this last year, and if we’re wrong we both could be out of jobs,” he informed her, concern written all over his face.

      “I’m not wrong, and if I am, I deserve to lose my job.”

      “Easy for you to say, Kathleen. You’ve been here seven years, and you come from money. I put in over fifteen years at this agency, and I can’t afford to lose my job,” Simpson stressed.

      Kathleen came from around her desk and leaned against its edge in front of him. She reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “You won’t. I promise. Mr. Silva has no connection to Mr. Perez. There have been a couple of recent changes in their senior management team and policies that have been altered that raised a few eyebrows in the industry. All these changes could be legitimate, but we won’t know that for sure unless we check into it. Now how do we sweeten the tea?”

      “I’m going to offer our services as a form of an apology for all the false accusations they’ve had to endure from government agencies as a whole. Show it as a positive PR move on both our parts.”

      “Do you think that will work?” Kathleen asked, feeling hopeful.

      “I guess we’ll see.” Simpson stood. “I’ll let you know after I give their company’s chairman of the board and family matriarch, Victoria Kingsley, a call on my way to the doctor’s.”

      “Great. I hope you feel better.”

      “Talk soon,” Simpson said, walking out the office.

      The moment the door closed, Kathleen stood in the middle of her office and did a happy dance. “I’m coming for you, Kingsley.”

       Chapter 2

      Morgan Kingsley, the twenty-nine-year-old VP of field operations for Kingsley Oil and Gas, walked into the plant’s cafeteria, rubbing his hands together with one thing on his mind: food. It was a room designed to make the Kingsley employees feel at ease and have a sense of home. With all the hours they all spent there away from their families, the Kingsleys felt the least they could do was make sure their employees were comfortable doing their downtime.

      He walked into the brightly lit tan-and-white room, which offered various types of wood-and-steel tables paired with large cream leather folding chairs, to find his plant manager, Adrian Jones, standing in the buffet line.

      “What are you doing here so early on a Friday, boss?” Adrian asked.

      Morgan picked up a tray and plate and surveyed his choices. “I’m about to have breakfast.”

      “I can see that,” Adrian replied, accepting a plate with an omelet from one of the craft service members.

      “Lately you’ve only been around for lunch or dinner.”

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