other end of this phone insists upon it.”
A spray of alarm passed behind Judson’s eyes.
“It was self-defense,” he said.
I continued to punch in Sullivan’s number.
“You’re not going to talk first?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Marve. I’m pretty mad at you. I either call the cops or shoot you and toss your body in the Little Peconic. You pick.”
“He’s not a very good shot, but you
“Okay, I apologize,” said Marve.
“Huh?”
“That’s what you want me to do, right? I apologize for the gun.”
One of the many things I learned after being ejected from the corporate bubble was just how strong that bubble can be—an impervious, impenetrable membrane. Nothing gets in, nothing comes out. A self-sustaining ecosystem.
Even as Judson imagined himself the rogue agent of mystery and truth, he was ultimately no different from any sweaty schlub locked inside one of thirty thousand cubicles in fluorescent-lit, grey-toned offices around the world.
I wanted to hit him again, and at one time in my life I would have. Instead I tossed Amanda the phone and went back to the kitchen to fill my aluminum tumbler with Absolut and ice. When I got back, Marve was still on the floor, looking suspiciously at Eddie standing over him with slack tongue and wagging tail.
“Don’t worry about the dog,” I told him. “The only thing that bugs him is talk radio.”
“I’m allergic to dogs.”
I knelt down across from him and took a pull off my tumbler. Eddie moved in and I scratched his ears.
“So, Marve. What the fuck.”
He stopped fiddling with his busted crown.
“Things have been pretty stressful lately at the company,” he said, as if that explained it all.
“Yeah? How?”
“Rumors, weird signals, comings and goings. That sort of thing. You can smell it. Especially if it’s your job to have your nose in the air.”
“Or up somebody’s ass.”
“I’m responsible to every stakeholder in the Con Globe organization. Lotta asses.”
“You like a challenge,” I said.
“Change is in the wind. But it’s an evil wind.”
“Who else have you been spying on? Donovan?”
Judson actually stuck out his lower lip like my daughter used to do when told to finish all the green things on her plate. The association probably saved him from another shot to the face.
“You can’t spy on people and threaten them with guns in pursuit of business interests,” I said. “You live in a nation that’s bigger than Con Globe. Hate to break it to you, but there’re laws that supersede the corporate charter.”
“All fine and good, Mr. Acquillo, but you violated that charter. You have no standing in this discussion.”
I felt a wave of resigned fury wash over me.
“Hey, Amanda, can I just beat this guy to death?”
“That’s for you to decide.”
“I want to.”
“Then I suppose you should.”
Before I had my fist two-thirds of the way raised he was yelling through his hands.
“The board thought Donovan was behaving strangely. Unexplained absences, after-hours meetings with people nobody recognized, that kind of thing,” he said as quickly as he could. “They directed me to investigate. It’s a sacred trust. And presumed to be confidential,” he added, then groaned, as if in dismay over the forced admission.
“Boy, there’s a startling revelation. The Chairman of the Board having late night meetings. Never heard of that before.”
“Oh, yeah. Like you never heard of the Mandate of 1953,” said Marve. “You wouldn’t think all these shenanigans would have something to do with that?”
He had me there. I wouldn’t think anything about it because I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
He didn’t believe me.
“You were a corporate vice president. Of course you know.”
“Pretend I don’t and tell me what it is.”
“The mandate establishes corporate independence in perpetuity. Donovan’s elevation to chairman was contingent on his unqualified allegiance to this decree,” Marve snarled into his bloody dish towel.
“No kidding.”
Marve huffed wetly through his nose.
“Boy are you out of the loop,” he said.
He told me that before the founding family gave up full control they had the board vote on a charter resolution that prohibited the company from ever being purchased as an entity. No more than twenty percent could be sold off in any five-year period and no investor could own more than thirty percent of the voting stock. Every new board member had to sign a pledge to defend this resolution before their election. Some thought Donovan was secretly examining legal tactics for breaking the charter in hopes of driving up the value of his considerable stock holdings.
“The board resolution is only a theory,” said Judson. “Not binding until it’s tested in court. You didn’t know any of this? What a putz.”
I had to agree. I was a putz, with no inkling of these corporate convolutions. I’ve been told that my ultimate downfall at the company was my political naivete. The comment never bothered me, because one man’s naivete is another’s disdain. I don’t know which is worse, or more dangerous.
“Even if Donovan’s trying to break up the company,” I said, “it’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Oh, sure. That’s why he gave Ackerman an ex-officio assignment to spy on you and sent your severance agreement to outside counsel. Can’t have anything to do with that.”
“My division’s long gone.”
“Your ex-division is ass deep in a massive intellectual property suit with the company. Nobody knows more about that property than you, except maybe Ozzie Endicott. How is old Ozzie, anyway?”
“I have no idea.”
“Really,” said Marve, in a way that made clear he didn’t believe me. I realized I still had a grip on Judson’s shirt, and when I felt the urge to give him a shake I snapped it out of my hand.
“Get lost,” I said to him.
He stood up, looking equal parts confused and defiant.
“I don’t know what your game is,” he said, “but …”
I cut off whatever he was about to say.
“My game is carpentry. And that’s the only game I’m interested in. I don’t know what George Donovan is up to and I don’t care. It’s got nothing to do with me. Go back and report that to the board. They already killed me once. Can’t do it again. Divine double jeopardy. Just don’t come back. You only get one pass. Next time I break your neck and dump you in the lagoon.”
I twitched in his direction and he lurched back a few steps, then turned and made a run for it. I whistled for Eddie to stay when he tried to follow Marve out the door. I busied myself sliding the clip back into the .45 and acquainting myself with the gun’s general operations. It was a beautiful woodhandled chrome automatic, an expensive limited edition Smith & Wesson.
“What do you think?” asked Amanda, looking over the top of her book.
