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.
As for the other four vice presidents, Wilson remained hopeful. Joel Spivey was extremely perceptive and caring, once you got past his veneer of cynicism. Leigh Tennyson was not only bright, but she was street savvy and felt as strongly as Wilson did about his initiatives. Bob Throckmorton was a bona fide sage. His attention to detail could only be characterized as operational omniscience. Frank O’Connor continued to make Wilson feel comfortable; in fact, Wilson had come to rely on O’Connor’s intuitive insights and friendly vigilance.
After a long, tiring week of dangling himself and his five initiatives as bait in front of the furtive insiders, there was only one thing left to do: sit back and wait. And that’s exactly what he was going to do. In Venice with Emily. But first, he had to get one of them-Malouf or Ashford, maybe Spivey-to swallow the bait, which meant conducting one more mid-air meeting before they landed in Boston.
35
Quinn — Hinsdale, IL
At ten o’clock in the morning, family physician Dr. Michael Drury arrived at the family home in Hinsdale at Quinn’s request to care for Margaret. She was still in the same emotional and mental state as the night before. Margaret had never wanted anything more than a faithful husband, a loving family, and sweet memories to cherish during her golden years. She loved being a wife and mother and had looked forward to her husband’s retirement, so they could spend more time with each other and their grandchildren. Now her memories would be scarred forever. She and David had sacrificed and struggled through the worst and best of times, but they’d never been untrue to each other or their values or their family. Nothing would ever be the same.
After the doctor examined her, he advised Quinn that a strong sedative would put her back to sleep for a several hours. Physically, she was fine. She just needed to calm down and relax. Time would take care of the rest. The doctor gave Margaret an injection of Secobarbital and by eleven o’clock she had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.
With Margaret resting soundly, Quinn left for the office. It would be his only chance to take care of a few loose ends before the America’s Warehouse grand opening began on Saturday. He managed to avoid Vargas during the four hours it took him to return calls and follow-up on last-minute details. Then, as he was getting ready to return home, she appeared at his office door.
“Are you trying to avoid me?” she said with a provocative smile.
“Just trying to stay focused, my dear. You have a habit of distracting me,” Quinn said, considering himself lucky that no one had showed up with news about impending arrests or subpoenas. Running Musselman from a remote location wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d mentally prepared himself to do just that for as long as the board would let him.
“Are we going to the Lake House this weekend?” she asked coyly.
“Saturday night we’ll have it all to ourselves,” Quinn said to appease her.
“Okay, I’ll let you off the hook for now,” Vargas said, satisfied with his response. “But first I need some attention.” She closed and locked the office door before prancing over to Quinn, wrapping her arms around him, and smothering him with kisses. Then she loosened his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.
Quinn melted to her touch. Just one more time.
36
