On Monday, she got the call that they were being shut down. Her burgundy colored iphone 18 pro max was smashed onto the top of her glass office desk. “NO, THOSE BASTARDS!” she screamed. Her corporate suit, a beautiful foggy grey, straight from the new collection, bounced on her shoulders as she shot out of her seat practically combusting as smoke blew from every pore. Her shoulder pads busted into me as she bulldozed past us, all the while roaring, “I’ve worked too hard for this. I’ve worked TOO DAMN HARD FOR THIS!” I could still hear the metallic clack of her red bottom Louboutins as she stormed down the hall, past security and out the double glass doors. She’d be pushed around now with the crowd, as her body guards tried to protect her pilates-perfect body. Once she reached her black G Wagon, in the safety of the blacked out windows, she’d sob and maybe curse out God. It didn’t really matter to her, this company, the “work” she’d put into it, her poor poor employees who would now be let go. No, all she cared about was that good ol’ money. Cash, cash cash, renovation here, facial there. She liked the smell of green. I knew I should feel bad, but I didn’t.

Of course I was the one to make the call. “I’d like to make an anonymous statement.” But even with all her Harvard graduate knowledge she’d never suspect a stupid secretary. It’s always the one overlooked. I had stood through every conference, patted eyes dry of every fear-filled tear, took the screaming and the orders and the inhumanity of it all. But now, she’d made a mistake, and I’d had enough.

Mickeighlah Towers was the owner of MexxonTobil, an oil refinery that grossed an average of $300 billion dollars a year. She had gone to Harvard to study Business Marketing, graduating in 2003. I graduated in 2005, also from Harvard, except majoring in something a bit different, land conservation and environmental protection. Mickeighlah of course hired me without hesitation, it would give her firm a boost, “We are environmentally conscious” yeah right, total BS. Over my fifteen years at MexxonTobil I had begun to do some digging. Usually the lawyers could cover up most of the spill overs, but there was one in particular I guess no one had really thought to look into. This was the call I had made to the Environmental Protection Agency, the one who then called Mickeighlah to “shut down all activity related to your company MexxonTobil.”

Her mistake was so ignorant, so avoidable. But she hadn’t cared enough. Oh well. She had refineries in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, but also, more importantly in California. Located on the coast of Los Angeles stood Mexxon Tobil’s largest center, from which flowed underground tubes of oil to refineries about a mile inland. It was common sense that tubes would rust, would grow old and tired and cracked from the rumblings of the San Andres fault. “Mickeighlah are the tubes being inspected regularly?” I’d ask “yeah, yeah, what” she’d turn from the window to face me, phone in hand, an impatient flick of the head in my direction. “What tubes?” she sighed. “The ones down near Long Beach, they need yearly examinations, if they leach it be disas. ..” I explained “yeah whatever I’ll send somebody down to check” she hastily replied, phone already back at her ear. She never did send anybody down.

So I did.

“Yep, I mean there’s leaks in the tubes for sure, its all rusted out,” the company’s contractor declared to me over the phone. “I’d certainly get these patched up or replaced if I were you,” he continued. “Alright thanks so much George.” I hung up the phone, and dialed the EPA. “Mickeighlah Towers, you are being shut down.”

Just like Mickeighlah, I’d grown up wealthy. Except unlike Mickeighlah, I hated it. Daddy always talked about how “you gotta break some eggs to scramble em.” He liked big football games and rowdy parties with raunchy ladies. The owner of Texas Beef Incorporated, the largest beef distributor in the country, I saw the inhumane reality of mass farming, cows for square miles, crammed into crates, and butcher houses of reeking filth.

When I turned thirteen my father got me pearl earrings. “Are they sustainably sourced?” I asked, looking up with big round eyes at a face that quite quickly turned sour.

“Ungratefule, moron kid” I heard mumbled under greasy breath as he left the room. My older sister grimaced down at me “what is wrong with you!? You know Daddy works so hard.” No wonder he always loved my sister, she would have begged for those pearl earrings.

These two apples fell on very different parts of the field, her and I. She was led through the crowd with dad’s hand on her back while I followed behind. “Oh yep, this is my eldest” he’d say flaunting her like a doll. He would take her to the business meetings and company parties. “Abby hun” my mom would lull to me, “Daddy can’t take you this time, its just that, well, you know, you’re not so sociable, not like your sister.” she’d explain as I watched the convertible drive away down the long driveway. She would always be daddy’s girl – so revolting.

Now alone in Mickeighlah’s old office, I looked around, so quiet, so peaceful it seemed. I decided there was no point in standing here any longer, I’d completed my task. Walking slowly down the hall I saw a shiny glimmer on the ground. Bending down to pick it up I saw it was a pearl earring. It must have fallen out as Mickealigh stormed earlier today. Walking out into the sun I heard “Abigail? Abigail Towers?” A reporter pounced at me “we’d like to ask you some questions.” Burying my face in my hands I grinned and squeezed my eyes. Bringing my head back into the bright light of day the tears on my cheeks could’ve been mistaken for devastation. I gave him a look of utter anguish “oh, God, it’s just awful” I cried.