The scene cuts from the loading docks to the interior of an office where the image is of a packet of papers, some already folded over the staple while others remain flat on the top of a desk. A gold painted thumb and forefinger flip another page over as the shot pans up to reveal Lindsay Troy perusing the documents.
“What do you think?”
The Queen glances up and regards the source of the question with a furrowed brow. Seated in front of her are Wade Elliott, Dametreyus, and the inquirer: her long-time lawyer and agent, Clay Darcy. While Dam and Clay remain pensive, Wade looks annoyed.
Wade Elliott: Pile’ve horseshit if yer askin’ me…
Clay Darcy: I wasn’t, but thanks for your point-oh-two.
The sharply-dressed attorney looks at his fingernails and crosses his left foot over his right knee, bouncing the shiny wingtip up and down.
Clay Darcy: It’s got pretty much everything you asked for, Lindz. The chances of me getting you something better are slim.
Wade Elliott: Could’ve at least got rid’ve that shit about Melvin…
Clay Darcy: Oh trust me, I tried, but apparently that’s “standard language.”
Wade snorts, exasperated, at Clay’s exaggerated finger quotes. Lindsay takes a few seconds to think, folding her hands under her chin.
Lindsay Troy: I think we all know that was gonna be a no-go. That little boll weevil made sure he was protected before he ran out of here a month ago. Question is…
She looks down at the page in front of her and bites her lip.
Lindsay Troy: Is this gonna be worth it?
Dametreyus: Boss, you know we’re gonna support you in whatever you’re gonna do, but you know better’n anyone not to sign somethin’ if you’re gonna regret it.
Lindsay Troy: (self-deprecating) Lord knows I’ve got enough regrets, right?
She looks at Clay first, then Wade.
Lindsay Troy: You two have any last pearls of wisdom?
Clay Darcy: Only that you’ve never backed down from anyone or anything for as long as I’ve known you.
The Southern Sparkplug turns his keen blue eyes to Clay, agreeing with a nod.
Wade Elliott: Ain’t that the truth.
He then draws his gaze back to the Queen of the Ring’s for a moment, before tilting his chin toward the stack of paper.
Wade Elliott: Go on. Let’s give ’em hell.
With a smile, she reaches off to the side to pick up an already uncapped pen. She scribbles her name and date on the last page and then flips the stack back over to the front, revealing a recognizable orange logo next to large black letters…