meets those criteria.”
“Your logic is sound. But only if your criteria are correct.”
“It’s all I have to go on, Norm. Work with me.”
They exchanged glances. Norm said, “Okay, it’s possible. But where do we go from here?”
“We dig in. There’s a ton of material right here on the computer. Something has to give us a clue as to whether he and my dad ever crossed paths.”
“That could take a long time.”
“I’m up for it.”
Norm settled into his chair, thinking. “Maybe we can shortcut it.”
“How?”
“I say we meet with the FBI, like we’re supposed to. You remember what I said about quid pro quo, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, before we take on a corporate shark as big as Kozelka, let’s see who else is fishing. And let’s find out what they’re fishing for.”
Amy woke with fur on her face. It tickled at first, then frightened her. She swung her arm wildly, launching her attacker.
Taylor giggled as a stuffed Winnie the Pooh went flying across the bedroom. Amy sat up in bed, relieved it wasn’t the real-live rat she had imagined.
“Don’t you like bears, Mommy?”
“Yes, I love bears. But I like it better when you kiss me good morning.”
Taylor crawled onto the bed and kissed her on the cheek. “Come on,” said Taylor. “I’m making breakfast for you and Gram before you go to work.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll be right there in ten minutes.” She sent Taylor off, then headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. After a quick shower, she wrapped her wet hair in a towel and threw on her robe. She was awake, but she didn’t quite feel like it. Last night’s phone conversation still had her mind swirling. Marilyn had certainly put the kibosh on the theory that Ryan’s father had sent Amy money to make amends for the rape of her mother. Things no longer made sense.
“Mom, breakfast!”
Taylor was shouting loud enough to invite the neighbors. But she was allowed. Gram didn’t often turn her kitchen over to a four-year-old, and Taylor was always so proud of the special menu she came up with. Amy put her makeup bag aside and headed for the kitchen table. Her business face was not required for Cap’n Crunch and Kool-Aid.
Gram was seated at the table, eating her cereal and watching the morning news on television. Another place setting was arranged neatly beside her. Taylor was pouring the milk. “Skim milk for you, right Mommy?”
“That’s right,” she said with a smile. She pulled up a chair, then froze. A handsome young reporter on television was standing in front of the Mayflower Hotel in Washington D.C.
Gram said, “Hey, listen to this. They’re talking about Marilyn.”
Amy’s pulse quickened. She reached forward and turned up the volume.
The reporter was saying something about Washington’s worst-kept secret. “According to White House sources,” he said, “Ms. Gaslow met yesterday with several of the President’s high-ranking advisors. She will be meeting this morning with the President. If all goes well, we could possibly hear an announcement by the end of the day. Assuming she meets Senate approval, that would make Marilyn Gaslow the first woman ever to serve as chairman — make that chairwoman — of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System.”
The Denver anchor broke in, fumbling with his earpiece. “Todd, most of us hear about the Federal Reserve every day, but few of us understand it. Put Ms. Gaslow’s appointment in perspective for us. How significant is this?”
“Very significant. The Fed is often referred to as the fourth branch of government, and that is no understatement. Through its seven-member Board of Governors, it sets the nation’s monetary policy. It controls the money supply, it sets interest rates, it regulates the federal banking system, it engages in a host of activities that affect market conditions. Historically, it has received blame for the severity of the Great Depression in the thirties, and it has received credit for the relatively stable economic conditions of the sixties. In short, it determines the overall economic well-being of the most powerful nation on earth. If Marilyn Gaslow is approved as chairman, she would arguably become the most powerful woman in America.”
“Are there any signs of Senate opposition to Ms. Gaslow’s appointment?”
“None yet,” said the reporter, “but in Washington, things can change in a hurry.”
“Thank you very much,” said the anchor, closing out the live report. The local coverage shifted to a traffic report.
Amy didn’t move.
“Mommy, are they talking about the same Marilyn you work for?”
Amy nodded, but she was deep in thought.
“The most powerful woman in America,” said Gram. “Boy, isn’t that something?”
Amy blinked nervously. She had honored Marilyn’s request to tell no one about their conversation — not even Gram.
“Yes,” she said in quiet disbelief. “That is really something.”
Part 3
43
At 10:00 A.M. Joseph Kozelka reached the K &G Building, a modern highrise that towered above downtown Denver. The ground-floor lobby was buzzing with men and women in business suits, the clicking of their heels echoing off the polished granite floors. Four banks of elevators stretched from one end of the spacious atrium-style lobby to the other. The first three were for tenants who leased the lower thirty floors from K &G. The last was for K &G visitors and employees only, floors thirty-one through fifty.
Kozelka stopped at the security checkpoint before the special employee elevators. The guard smiled politely, almost embarrassed by the routine.
“Good morning, sir. Step up to the scanner, please.”
Kozelka stepped forward and looked into the retinal scanner. The device was part of K &G’s high-tech corporate security. It could confirm an employee’s identity based on the unique pattern of blood vessels behind the retina, like a fingerprint.
A green light flashed, signaling approval. The guard hit the button that allowed passage to the elevators.
“Have a good day, sir,” he said.
Kozelka nodded and continued on his way. It was the same silly charade every morning, part of Kozelka’s self-cultivated image as a regular guy who tolerated no special treatment for anyone, including himself. Indeed, he never missed a chance to recount the story of the former security guard who had greeted him one morning with a respectful “Good morning, Mr. Kozelka,” allowing him to sidestep the scanner. Kozelka fired him on the spot. To his cigar-smoking friends over at the Bankers Club, it was a perfect illustration of how, in Kozelka’s eyes, the CEO was no better than anyone else. Never mind that a fifty-year-old faithful employee with a wife and three kids was suddenly on the dole. Kozelka didn’t much care about the real-life sufferings of the peons he used to promote his image.
And it was all image. Equality and accountability simply weren’t part of the K &G corporate lexicon. K &G had just two shareholders. Joseph held fifty-one percent. A trust for his children held the other forty-nine. The occasional talk on Wall Street of taking the company public never failed to make his lawyers giddy, but Kozelka wasn’t interested. Share holders would mean the loss of control. Kozelka didn’t need the money he’d get from the sale of his stock. It was the control that drove him — control over a corporate empire that in one way or another
