Later that evening at the Quinn family home in Southeast Hinsdale, David Quinn struggled to feign excitement for the benefit of his wife, his four married children, and close family friends. Musselman stock had closed a few hours earlier at forty-eight dollars a share, making everyone jubilant. Everyone but Quinn. He could only lament that his family and friends, most of whom were Musselman shareholders, would soon know all his ugly secrets. By the time the celebration ended, it had become sheer agony for Quinn, who could no longer stomach keeping his lies to himself. But after thirty-two years of marriage, the least his wife deserved was a private confession.
Quinn held off through a sleepless night, before approaching his wife in the morning. She was in the kitchen cleaning up from the night before. When he asked her to join him in the living room, she immediately dropped what she was doing and followed him to one of the white Bellagio sofas and sat down. She was smiling until he reached down and turned on the central vacuum system to muffle their conversation. He calmly told her that there were people who might be listening. Then he moved closer to her on the couch and took her hand.
“Maggie, I’ve got something to tell you and it’s pretty bad. In fact, it’s downright ugly. And I’m horribly ashamed of it.”
All animation left Margaret’s face and her green eyes filled with fearful premonition as she tightened her grip on her husband’s hand.
He wished to God he’d never met Wayland Tate. “I got involved with another woman when I was in Switzerland,” he said quickly.
Margaret turned pale, her lips beginning to quiver. But she didn’t utter a word.
Cursing his very existence, Quinn would have gladly extinguished himself in that moment if he could have. “Wayland Tate arranged the encounter behind my back. I guess I was so distraught over the company’s problems that I didn’t see it coming.”
Although Margaret continued to hold his hand, she looked away.
“It was a terrible moment of weakness and I accept full responsibility for it. But it’s over. And, I promise you, Maggie, I’ve never done this before and I’ll never do it again. My only hope is that you will be able to forgive me.”
She sat motionless on their expensive sofa, her eyes glistening but barren. In a low hollow voice, she asked, “Is she who you were with this weekend?”
“Yes, but it’s over, Maggie. Believe me. It was all part of a scheme to manipulate Musselman. Tate sucked me into an illegal stock deal, but I’ve already turned him in to the FBI. He won’t be able to do this to anybody else ever again. There’ll be some ugly press in the coming weeks. But it’s over. He’s been exposed.”
“Are you going to tell the children?” Margaret asked, staring absently, obviously still in shock.
“Yes,” Quinn said firmly. His confession had been quick and to the point, like telling analysts about lower than expected quarterly earnings. He’d learned the hard way that analysts liked to get bad news early and straight. But this wasn’t about quarterly profits or stock analysts; this was about his wife and family. Regrettably, nothing in his experience had prepared him for this.
When the tears finally came, Margaret couldn’t stop crying. The more he tried to comfort her, the more she cried, saying, “All I ever cared about was you and the children.”
He stayed by her side for the rest of the day and night, trying to console her but with little success. Mostly, she just cried. Repeating the same words over and over again, until they were both emotionally exhausted. They finally fell asleep sometime after midnight.
34
Wilson — Charter Jet G650, Inflight
The Gulfstream G650 took off from Logan International with Fielder amp; Company’s senior executive team, two pilots, and a flight steward, en route to a repeat performance of their presentation in the Chicago office later that afternoon and evening. The sleek new executive jet came standard with twin Rolls-Royce turbofan engines, Mach 1.0 flying speed, a 7,000 mile range, 45,000 foot cruising altitude, and customized interior. The cabin could be configured to seat twenty passengers in comfort or seven to ten executives in plush, fully reclining seats, with stylish work tables, and individual computer monitors. Wilson had chosen the luxury configuration to carry himself and the six Fielder amp; Company vice presidents on their four-day, six-office dog and pony show.
As Wilson sat back in his soft leather chair, Frank O’Connor leaned across the aisle and said, “You show a maturity well beyond your years, Wilson.”
“Thank you,” Wilson said. “But don’t be too quick to judge. New circumstances and responsibilities have a way of bringing out the best in some people. Give me another assessment in three months.”
“In my experience, maturity is not something you can fake, even at the beginning of a new assignment,” he said, smiling.
“Thank you, Frank,” Wilson said sincerely.
“You’re also very good at the human dimension. Better than your father-and he was superb when he wanted to be. You seem to understand-or should I say empathize-with people at a deeper level,” O’Connor said.
“Not always,” Wilson said.
“None of us do all the time,” he said, smiling again. “But, I watched you today. You have a gift for it, and I’m never wrong about this sort of thing.”
“I’ll try not to disappoint you, Frank,” Wilson said, a little sarcastically, with controlled laughter.
“You won’t. The five initiatives you outlined already convinced me of that. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks,” Wilson said as Frank got up and walked to the small bar near the front of the plane.
Hopefully, Wilson thought as he looked out the window at Boston Harbor, his five initiatives would also strike the right chord and send the proper signals to those in the secret partnership. Someone would have to respond soon, because Fielder amp; Company’s days of low-profile secrecy and clandestine operations were about to come to an end. Anne had already sent out a request for proposals from the top advertising and publicity firms.
The rest of the week turned out to be a blitzkrieg for both Wilson and Emily. Emily’s editor flew in from New York City and they began working around the clock to finish the copy-editing of her latest manuscript by the end of the week. Wilson’s meeting with company employees in Chicago unfolded with few surprises, as did the meetings that followed in Dallas, San Francisco, Hong Kong, and London. Each office had received them with enthusiasm and excitement. Almost everyone seemed genuinely relieved that the KaneWeller deal had fallen through and that Wilson was carrying on his father’s leadership of the firm. Concern for his father had been abundant. Most employees seemed to believe his father would eventually be exonerated of any wrongdoing. Their expressions of concern and loyalty had been heartwarming.
Ironically, Wilson’s biggest surprise during the four-day excursion came when he finally acknowledged to himself how much he enjoyed the feeling of following in his father’s footsteps. His most lasting impression, however, came from the people who worked for Fielder amp; Company. The overwhelming majority of them were bright, ambitious professionals of the highest caliber, delivering highly valuable services, with seemingly no knowledge of a clandestine insiders club. Wilson vowed to preserve everything that was good and right about Fielder amp; Company.
On the flight back from London, Wilson reflected on his assessment of the six vice presidents, each of whom had performed brilliantly during the week. His father had picked his lieutenants well. Unfortunately, Wilson still couldn’t say for certain who was corrupt and who wasn’t, except for John Malouf. Malouf was a purveyor of secrets and even more shrewd and clever than Wilson had initially thought. Corbin Ashford, and his penchant for trying to make everything seem perfect, continued to be a big question mark.