Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) by Andre Gonzalez (books on motivation .txt) 📕

“We already know what’s brewing upstairs,” Uribe said, hoping that Devin’s announcement wasn’t anything more than that.

“No, sir. It’s that, but there’s more. Similar gatherings are happening all around the continent right now. I’ve received calls from Mexico City, Atlanta, Vancouver, and lots more.”

“Shit,” Uribe said. “I need to address the organization. Can we arrange a video call upstairs? I’d like to show us interacting with one of these crowds so they don’t think we’re just cowering.”

Commander Briar had implemented a stronger push for transparency between leadership and the members, but not a total barrage of information. For example, Uribe could share that the commander was currently working on a secret mission, but not give any details. No one pushed back against this initiative as many believed it would alleviate random visits to the office from members, and hopefully cut down on their email inboxes. Both of those wishes had gone out the window today, more emails and members piling up.

“Head up in ten minutes,” Devin said, and bolted out of the room.

“I would like to tell our members that their commander is indeed okay,” Uribe said, returning his attention to the Council. “Keep making those calls—try every name we have listed on the mission sheet until someone answers. We need an answer in the next ten minutes.”

“Do you think we need to authorize any special protections?” Councilwoman Dawson asked.

“I think that may be premature.”

“I disagree,” Councilwoman Barns chimed in. “When have you ever heard of this sort of thing happen across the continent? We’re a few minutes away from a potential point of no return. We need to mitigate any threats or violence immediately.”

“Our people don’t do stuff like that,” Uribe said.

“With all due respect, sir, times have changed since you last mingled with the general public,” Barns said, all six heads snapping around to look at Uribe’s reaction.

He stared blankly at his Council, unsure of what exactly to say. He wanted to argue the point, but he had certainly paid attention to the ever-changing dynamic of the organization. New members came in less concerned about building wealth, and more focused on how to use their unique talents to make the world a better place. And that required pushback against the norm. It hadn’t blindsided Uribe, per se, but he never realized that the former minority had now become the majority within the Road Runners, pressing forward with their cause, demanding accountability from the organization.

“We’re at a crossroads,” he said. “And it seems like we have been at a new one every week for the past three months. It’s apparent that we are headed in a different direction as an organization—the landscape has shifted so much since I first joined. Maybe I’ve overstayed my welcome on this Council, maybe my vision for the Road Runners is too archaic for where we’re headed. But I’ve got to see us make it through these growing pains. I appreciate you putting me in my place, Barns—that took a lot of guts. That’s exactly what it takes to rise to my seat in these chambers, and quite frankly, to have a long successful career as a Councilor. Don’t ever stop standing up for what you believe in, and always speak your mind. I’m going to head upstairs and face the music. Hopefully I can resolve this, but some issues are starting to appear too big for us to reel in. No matter how ugly it gets out there, remember we have each other in these chambers.”

Uribe stood from the head of the table and left the room in a stunned silence. He knew his days were counting down until retirement from the Council—he probably would have done it already had former Councilwoman Murray not committed treason. He had to leave the next generation of councilors with the best example he could—that was his sole responsibility at this point in time.

Uribe stomped through the office, turning a few curious heads, but was mostly ignored as he worked his way toward the stairs that led up to the marketing office. He went for quiet walks outside during the middle of the downtown lunch rush on weekdays, his preferred moments of alone time, despite having a guard ahead and trailing him every step. This trip upstairs, however, added extra weight on his shoulders, his feet dragging through the mud of anticipation.

When he reached the upper level and the private manager’s office, he was greeted by Devin, her tattooed arms crossed as she paced around the room.

“Everything ready for me?” Uribe asked.

“Yes, sir,” she replied. “We’ve set up the podium, cameras, and created a perimeter to keep the crowd at a safe distance. We also locked the building doors in case anyone passing by notices the crowd and tries to walk in.”

“How many are inside?”

Devin shrugged. “We counted about fifty, but more kept coming in.”

“Aren’t there rules about how many can be in here at once?”

“Not up here. As far as going downstairs, no one is allowed any more without an appointment. Upstairs has become a sort of waiting room for Road Runners wanting to talk to leadership.”

“I see, well let’s get started.”

Devin nodded and opened the office door, a flood of white noise from the crowd blasting into the room. She led Uribe down a short hallway, passing a couple other office doors until they reached the main bullpen and lobby where at least 100 people stood jammed behind a roped-off area. Devin continued forward, standing ten feet in front of the podium where she would face the crowd during Uribe’s speech.

Uribe stepped up to the microphone, took a sip from the glass of water on the podium’s top shelf, and tapped the mic. “Good afternoon, Road Runners,” he said, pausing to let the noise quiet down, all eyes in the room piercing into his soul.

“Where is Commander Briar?” a voice shouted from the crowd, followed by a steady murmur from others.

Uribe raised his hands. “Thank you all for coming out