A minute later, Lucas came out from the bungalow holding the phone and brought it over to him. “It’s for you, Dad.”
Nick looked up, marked a place in his book with his forefinger, reluctantly took the phone.
“Mr. Conover?”
He recognized the voice immediately, and he felt the old tension clutch his abdomen again. “Detective Rhimes,” he said.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your family vacation.”
“That’s quite all right.”
“Mr. Conover, this call is completely off the record, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I think you should have your attorney contact the district attorney’s office and arrange a plea bargain.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re willing to plead guilty to criminally negligent homicide-or maybe even just attempted tampering with evidence-the DA’s willing to recommend probation with no time served.”
“What? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t imagine you’ve been reading the Fenwick Free Press.”
“Delivery out here’s kind of spotty.”
“Well, Mr. Conover, we both know that the DA is a very political animal-again, this is purely between you and me, you understand?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And it seems the climate around here has changed. The news about what you did for your company-well, the DA’s just not optimistic that a jury will convict. Then there’s the death of one of our chief suspects, Mr. Rinaldi. The district attorney’s reluctant to go to trial.” She paused. “Hello? Hello?”
“I’m here.”
“And-well, there was another article in the paper, this morning. Raising questions about how the police handled the Andrew Stadler case.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I’m sure you know some of it. How nothing was done to stop the stalker at your house or follow up on…her. I think it’s become obvious that if the police hadn’t been so negligent, the situation wouldn’t have escalated the way it did. I had to let the DA know that my testimony would inevitably make even more of this negligence public. Which no one in this department wants.”
For a long time, Nick was unable to speak. Finally, he said: “I-and how do you feel about this?”
“That’s not for me to say. You mean, do I feel justice is being served?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“I think we both recognize that the DA’s decision to drop most of the charges is motivated by political expedience. But as for justice?” Audrey Rhimes sighed. “I don’t know that there’s any justice to be done here, Mr. Conover. I certainly don’t think it would serve justice to cause your children to suffer anymore. But that’s just my personal opinion.”
“Am I allowed to thank you?”
“There’s nothing to thank me for, Mr. Conover. I’m just trying to do the right thing.” She was silent for a moment. “But maybe there is no right thing to do here. Maybe it’s not so much a matter of doing the right thing as trying not to do the wrong thing.”
Nick set down the cell phone and for a long while watched the sunlight dance on the blue water.
He watched the seagulls caw and swoop, the waves surge and recede, the froth dissolve into the sand.
A few minutes later, Lucas and Julia emerged from the bungalow together and announced that they wanted to go for a hike, explore the nearby tropical forest and waterfalls.
“All right,” Nick said, “but listen, Luke-I want you to keep a close watch on your sister.”
“Dad, she’s almost eleven,” Lucas said. His voice seemed to be getting even deeper.
“Dad, I’m not a baby,” said Julia.
“I don’t want you doing anything crazy like jumping off the waterfalls,” Nick said.
“Don’t give me any ideas,” Lucas said.
“And stay on the trail. It’s supposed to be muddy and slippery in some places, so be careful.”
“Dad.” Lucas rolled his eyes as the two of them started down the palm-lined path. A few seconds later he turned around. “Hey, can you give me twenty bucks?”
“What for?”
“In case we stop to get something to eat on the way.”
“All right.” Nick pulled a couple of twenties out of his wallet and handed them to Lucas.
He watched them walking away. They were both bronzed already. Julia’s curly hair was flying wildly in the breeze. Her legs were lanky, coltish; she was neither a girl nor a woman. Lucas, taller and broader all the time, wore long surfer shorts and a white T-shirt, dazzling in the sun, that was still creased from the suitcase.
As Nick stared after his kids, Lucas suddenly turned around. “Dad?”
“What?”
A gull cawed as it spotted a fish, then dove to the water.
Lucas looked at him for a moment. “You come too.”
Acknowledgments
No, the Stratton Corporation is not a thinly disguised fictional version of Steelcase or Herman Miller-as anyone who works there knows. But I’m grateful to several key people at those great companies who understood the difference between fiction and reality and were willing to let me poke around, tour their offices and factories, and ask rude, provocative, and irrelevant-seeming questions. At Steelcase, Inc., in Grand Rapids, Michigan, I was helped immeasurably by Debra Bailey, director of corporate communications, and Jeanine Hill, public relations manager. I’ve visited a lot of corporations by now, but I’ve never encountered a PR staff as open and honest and welcoming and just damned friendly. Deb Bailey also gave me the consummate insider’s tour of Grand Rapids that made me want to move there…almost. I was particularly impressed by the president and CEO of Steelcase, Jim Hackett, who was generous with his time and insights into the challenges (personal and professional) of running a major corporation, modernizing it, and getting it through some really tough times. Frank Merlotti Jr., president of Steelcase North America, told me about being a hometown kid who makes it to the top of the biggest company in town. At Herman Miller in Zeeland, Michigan, Bruce Buursma gave me a fascinating introduction to that company’s very cool headquarters. Rob Kirkbride of The Grand Rapids Press gave me an interesting journalistic perspective on those companies. Unfortunately, in neither place did I meet anyone who remotely resembled Scott McNally.
Most of the CEOs and CFOs I talked to during the research for Company Man prefer to remain anonymous. They know who they are, and I thank them for setting aside precious time for this fictional enterprise. My friend Bill Teuber, chief financial officer of the EMC Corporation, contributed in innumerable ways, including explaining what the hell a CFO does. My Yale classmate Scott Schoen, senior managing director of Thomas H. Lee Partners in Boston, kindly took time away from some very high-powered deal-making to help me flesh out the fictional Fairfield Partners and its machinations. No Todd Muldaurs there either, by the way.
Once again, my old buddy Giles McNamee, managing director of McNamee Lawrence & Co., was a key unindicted coconspirator in devising creatively evil financial plots; I appreciate his complicity and generosity. Mike Bingle of Silver Lake Partners was an immense help in solving all sorts of tricky plot problems. (Thanks to Roger McNamee of Elevation Partners for introducing us.) Nell Minow, founder of the Corporate Library, clarified how corporate boards of directors work (or don’t).
Many thanks to my corporate security experts, none of whom bore any resemblance to Eddie Rinaldi, including George Campbell, former chief security officer at Fidelity Investments; and the brilliant Jon Chorey, chief engineer, Fidelity Security Services, Inc. Bob McCarthy of Dedicated Micros illuminated the intricacies of digital video surveillance systems, as did Jason Lefort of Skyway Security, and particularly Tom Brigham of Brigham Scully. Thanks, too, to Rick Boucher of Seaside Alarms in South Yarmouth, Massachusetts. Skip Brandon, formerly deputy assistant director of the FBI and founding partner of the international security consulting firm Smith Brandon-a valued source, and friend, since The Zero Hour-provided some intriguing background on money laundering and shell corporations. And again, the attorney Jay Shapiro, of Katten Muchin Zavis Rosenman, was my main man on criminal law. If I got in trouble like Nick, I’d hire Jay in a second.