A Drone over New York

The microwave pinged and the instant mac ’n’ cheese was ready. Max cautiously pulled out the hot bowl and set it on the counter to let it cool. He gave it a stir to blend all the creaminess, and the steam radiated from it. He felt kind of silly eating something so hot on a day like today, but it was the best option available. It was comfort food in all its glory.

While it cooled to eating temperature, Max poured himself some coconut water from the fridge. He knew it was something Thom had probably introduced Rachael to. It was a slight pink hue, which he remembered was meant to be lucky. He couldn’t remember why.

He sat down at the breakfast bar and lifted that first hot mouthful to his face. That first comforting mouthful brought back the memories of his childhood. His mother first introduced him to the microwaveable wonder of instant mac ’n’ cheese and he had never looked back. The second mouthful brought with it the acceptance that it was better than a meatball pizza with extra cheese.

While the comfort food worked its magic, Max tried to think through his options. The first one, and the most profitable choice, was to hand everything over to the bid for his silence. It was a big number. If he had gotten that email on the very first day, he might have taken it without a second thought. But so much had happened since then. Deep down Max knew what the real cost would be. The only problem: it was a number he couldn’t get out of his head.

Then there was Rachael and the hopefully $6 million that she would be able to pull together. She was out there, busting her ass to try and get that money. Max wished he could hear the negotiations around the table as they debated how much they could spend. He wished he could see who was involved. He wished he could hear what they were saying. But he wasn’t there. He was sitting in a kitchen, eating a bowl of the greatest creation of the modern age.

His last and final option was Anton and his truth. The footage contained a lot of very hurtful material. People would be sent to prison for it. Perhaps a company might fall. In his hands Max held the power to bring down an empire. It would be the ultimate revenge for what had happened.

Max slowly ate spoonful after spoonful of the delicious, cheesy pasta-like substance, rolling his mind over what to do. Slowly, as his stomach became quiet and his mind began to feel that warm, snug feeling of comfort, Max came to a single conclusion. A way to make it all work. It would require some juggling, but it could work. He could do it.

“Nothing’s impossible if you set your mind to it,” he told himself.

He was going to spend the rest of the afternoon thinking through a way to make his plan happen. It was an unlikely option, but it was the best he could do. It was his best way out.

When he finally worked out some of the major part of his plan, he smiled. Sometime in the future someone should write a book about what he was about to do. Perhaps he would write one himself while he sat on the beach, drinking a beer from his own bar.

It would be a great story.

All he had to do now was pull it off.