They Could Be Saviors

Chapter One

You can only sell your integrity once, so you better get a good price for it.

Josh Latham’s business school professor had been fond of that line, but Josh found it naïve. Integrity was a commodity, and he’d sold his many times. He didn’t care about the diminishing price tag.

Flexing his principles had become as commonplace as flexing his muscles at the gym. Now, straddling the bench press in his private gym with sweat sliding down his back, Josh took a swig of Tupalik Polar Iceberg Water. Bradley James, his head of sustainability, had gifted him a case as a nod to Omnicia’s upcoming EcoStar campaign. At $100 a bottle, the water was less about taste and more about perception. It promised to help the melting icecaps, but to Josh it was nothing but bottled PR.

Hiring Bradley had been a deliberate act of pragmatism. Josh knew the man’s reputation when he brought him on: slick, shrewd, and utterly indifferent to the environment. It was that indifference which made him perfect for the job. Josh hadn’t wanted someone weighed down by conviction or principles.

But Josh didn’t dwell on ethical reckonings—especially not his own. Rising sea levels? Not his problem. If he was honest, which was rare, he didn’t give a shit about the planet. His sons would live comfortably for the rest of their lives, thanks to his relentless drive that took Omnicia from a thought to the largest corporation on Earth. If his kids were dumb enough to bring their own children into this mess, well, that was on them.

What he did care about was the financial boost EcoStar could provide. Omnicia had more than doubled its market cap during the CryoSpora pandemic by playing up concern for essential workers. He saw EcoStar as the next big score—a chance to cash in on the growing demand for sustainability. He’d let the public think the campaign was about the planet, as perception was reality, and he was a master at shaping it.

Omnicia wasn’t just a company; it was an empire. It transcended industries, borders and even governments. It was the answer to every problem society could be convinced it had. The slogan ‘Your world. Your way.’ was imprinted on the consciousness of billions; a promise the company could, and would, deliver anything.

His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He snatched it up, glancing at the screen before answering. “Hey Brad, you ready for this?”

“Damn straight I am. Bring it on!”

Josh loved how enthusiastic Bradley was about the campaign. “Good. Have you touched base with Susan yet?”

“Not this morning, but we spoke last night. I think she got her shit together. Shouldn’t have to worry about her.”

Josh didn’t share his optimism. Susan had been wavering. She wasn’t built for the ruthlessness required to thrive at the corporation. Still, she had her purpose.

“We’ll see about that. It might be time to move on. Shame, though. She brought a certain… aesthetic to the team.”

Bradley’s laugh crackled through the line. “Yeah, gonna miss those low-cut blouses. Hey, I know a guy down south who’d be great. He led Texon’s rebranding campaign after the big spill in the Gulf. Actually had people believing they cared about climate change. All it took were pictures of the CEO standing next to some solar panels.”

Josh’s pectoral muscles danced, one, then the other. “Nice. I’d look pretty good in a field of wind turbines. Maybe lose my shirt... You at the office yet?”

“Just pulled in. You?”

“Finishing up my workout. Should be there in about an hour. If you see Susan, tell her to brea… shit, she’s on the other line. Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

He braced himself. Susan hated talking on the phone.

“Morning, Susan. How are you feeling?” His tone was syrupy and calculated like sweet vermouth.

Her voice cracked. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Josh.”

Pulling the phone away from his ear as Susan sobbed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, summoning patience. “Aww, Susan, I know this is difficult for you. But you’re the heart of this campaign. I need you.”

“Thank you, Josh.” Susan sniffed before continuing. “I don’t know how to handle the accusations of greenwashing.” Her words tumbled out in a rush. “The whole campaign, it’s all just lies.”

He bit his lip so he wouldn’t snap at her. Lies? The entire corporate world thrived on lies. They were just called narratives, strategies, and branding.

He looked heavenward, as if pleading for divine intervention. “You’re overthinking. And anyway, Brad and I will handle the tough questions. You just focus on what you do best, and we’ll have your back. It all ultimately falls on me, so I’m the one who has to defend it. Plus, do you think they’re going to care after they see the profit projections?” Silence.

“Susan, you still there?”

“Uh, yeah…Josh?”

“Uh huh?”

“Why can’t we actually do some good? Why is it always about money? Don’t you have enough?”

His jaw locked, teeth pressing hard enough to ache, while his free hand curled into a fist. Enough? The concept was laughable. Empires weren’t built on enough.

“There’s no such thing, Susan. And if you think saving a few trees is going to make a difference, I have some iceberg water to sell you. You don’t stay at the top by doing what’s moral. You stay there by doing what works.”

“Goodbye, Josh.” The line went dead.

He hurled the glass water bottle across the gym, its impact exploding into sharp echoes in the otherwise silent room. Frustration coursed through him, not from Susan’s defection, but at her naivete. She’d known what Omnicia was when she’d signed on.

He left the mess behind as he headed for the shower, knowing his staff would clean up after him.

Hot water slammed against his skin, the heat failing to pierce his growing frustration. Each brisk scrub felt mechanical, as if he could erase his emotions with sheer efficiency. Streams of soap slid down his body, pooling at his feet before swirling down the drain. Once clean, he dried off just enough to throw on his clothes. In front of the mirror, his fingers moved deftly down his shirt as he fastened each button.

The board would be furious about rescheduling the meeting, and now he had to handle the fallout with Susan, too.

She better not go to the fucking press.

Getting to the office was a priority, but arriving disheveled was never an option. He reached for his hair gel. His hand didn’t move. His brain fired the command again, but his fingers wouldn’t budge.

What the fuck?

His body refused to obey; muscles locked in place as though the thread between thought and motion had been severed. Something was frighteningly wrong. Was he having a stroke? He tried to pick up his phone, but again, nothing moved.

Josh Latham never panicked. Not when investors turned on him or the market crashed; not even when The New York Post broke his affair with Lisa. He was the guy who walked into a room of chaos and made it bend to his will.

The pulse in his neck quickened as he stared at the mirror, its surface rippling like a lake disturbed by a thrown stone. The distorted glass made his reflection waver. His features blurred, as if the confident, unshakable image he projected to the world was melting away. Steely eyes, typically composed, flickered with dread the longer his body remained rigid and unmoving.

A moment later, the mirror exploded with a torrent of water, crashing to the floor and surging through the room. The water rose, churning around his legs, creeping up to his shins, and continuing skyward with inexorable force.

This isn’t real. The thought pounded through his skull. His chest heaved as water surged over his ribs, uncaring of his denial. There was a thundering in his ears, which he recognized as his own heart, hammering with primal terror, as water reached his neck. His lips submerged as he fought for one last inhale through his nose before the water filled his nostrils.