There was a real chance I’d lose him in the big lot, but I didn’t want to rush in blind. I drove in slowly, scanning for the black seven-series sedan.
It was already parked and the bear was climbing out. He still had the cell phone stuck in his ear. He wore the same black leather duster and motorcycle boots I’d recently seen up close.
He leaned on the open driver’s side door while he talked on the phone. I parked a few rows over and shut off the engine. As he talked he looked steadily at the back side of the shops and offices that fronted on Main Street. I got out of the Grand Prix to get a better view. I moved a little closer and stood behind a tall Range Rover. The bear was still looking up at the back of the buildings. My eyes left him when I tried to follow his line of sight. When I looked back, he was out of the BMW, holding the cell phone with one hand and waving with the other.
I came around the Range Rover to clear my view of the buildings and searched for movement. That’s when I saw Amanda Battiston standing with Bob Sobol on a rear balcony off the second story of the Southampton branch of Harbor Trust, waving back at the bear, holding a cell phone of her own up to her ear.
EIGHT
EMBARRASSMENT IS A complicated human emotion. Probably because it’s an aggregate of other emotions— shame, guilt, anger, regret—that assemble in temporary alliances to suit the particulars of the moment.
It’s also one of the few emotions truly scalable to large organizations. Like fanaticism, or hubris, embarrassment’s progenitor.
Most corporate leaders would rather be boiled in oil than embarrassed. For them, it’s an exposure of weakness, an admission of fallibility. To themselves and to the world at large.
Mason Thigpen’s staffer and two outside counsel joined me in the conference room with the two security guys who’d escorted me from the board meeting. The lawyers entering the room were fully focused on the company’s desperate desire to avoid embarrassment. This was complicated by another emotion, belonging to Mason himself, best described as vengeful wrath. Which is why the task was consigned to surrogates.
Mason’s staffer, Barry Mildrew, was young and bright, and a former middle linebacker at Boston College. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed all right. I can’t remember much about the other two lawyers, except they were uncomfortable with humor and sweated even in the climate-controlled atmosphere.
“How’re you feeling?” asked Barry as he sat across from me.
“Not bad. Yourself?”
“I’m fine, Sam.”
He waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, he said, “So, what do you think?”
“I think you’re here to work something out.”
“I’m here to talk about you, Sam. You’re my concern at the moment.”
“That’s good of you, Barry.”
“I want to do what’s best for you. And the company, of course.”
“Of course.”
He put a manila folder on the table, but kept it closed.
“We have a couple options.”
“But before we share our thinking with you,” said one of the other lawyers, “we’d like to hear your thoughts.”
“My thoughts? I have lots of thoughts every day. You want general or specific?”
“Anything you want,” said Barry, interrupting whatever the outside counsel was about to say.
“Anybody want coffee?” I asked the group. “I can go get some.”
Their discomfort was palpable.
“Maybe Lou could bring us some,” I said, pointing to one of the security guys. Everyone looked relieved.
“Sure,” said Lou. “Place your orders.”
After Lou had a chance to write down what we wanted and go off to get the coffee, Barry tried again.
“So, your thoughts.”
“I’m thinking I should have asked for double cream.”
“Tell Mr. Acquillo what we’re thinking,” said one of the outside guys. That annoyed Barry, but he pressed on.
“Our choices are limited here, but as I said, we do have them.”
“Pending a medical report,” said an outside counsel.
Barry kept his eyes on me. I knew then the other two guys were there to bird-dog Barry, not me.
“Actually, Ben,” said Barry, “that’s not a stipulation. Mason is willing to drop the entire matter. As are Mr. Donovan and the rest of the board.”
“If,” I said.
Barry smiled again.
“Come on, Sam, you and I wouldn’t be in business if we didn’t horse trade. There’s always an if.”
“That’s what we’re in? Business?”
“Don’t you want to hear the if?” he asked. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“Sure.”
Ben and his sidekick were eager to get my reaction. The security guys looked implacable. They were good at that.
“We want you to stay on as president of TSS.”
“I’m not a president. I’m a divisional VP.”
“See? Interesting, huh? That’s your new title. To see us through the sale.”
I think I laughed at that point. I couldn’t help it.
“I’m getting promoted for punching our chief counsel in the nose? Now there’s a company worth working for.”
Barry was the only one who enjoyed the thought.
“In front of the whole board of directors,” he added. “But that’s not why. The president of TSS will lead the transition team, and his prime role will be selling the living hell out of the idea to the buyers, our shareholders and your people.”
“Chief cheerleader.”
“After George Donovan.”
“I guess he’s more willing to overlook Mason’s nose that Mason is.”
“Mason is a team player.”
The words conjured up an image of Mason Thigpen that would never survive outside the imagination.
“So, what’s option two?” I asked.
Barry sat back in his chair and tapped the working end of his ballpoint pen on the table.
“You take a sabbatical during the sale period and refrain from commenting on the division, the buyers, the deal or anything relating to the corporation as a whole. To anyone at anytime.”
“Keeping Mason in a forgetful mood.”
“You’ll retain your full salary and benefits. After the sale, your role will be up to the buyers.”
“Is their chief counsel bigger than ours?”
Barry let that one pass. Being much bigger than me, he could afford to.
“I’ve got a third option,” I said. “Tell Donovan to go fuck himself. Mason can do what he wants.”
Ben didn’t seem to like this option, though his partner probably did. Appealed to his blood lust. Barry stayed neutral.
“Then you go to jail,” said Barry.
“One punch? No priors? I don’t think so. Be a juicy court case, though. Press’d eat it up. Meanwhile, I’d have plenty of time to work on my memoirs. All about my life running the division you’re trying to sell. Should interest the buyers.”
Barry listened without giving up anything. He had plenty of poise, I’ll give him that.
“So,” he said, “I guess we got our horses out of the barn where we can see ’em.”
