They spent half an hour in small talk. Justin said that he’d take him to the police station later in the day, if he wanted, and Jonathan nodded stiffly. Justin said he’d show off the town, they could go for a short drive, and Jonathan smiled noncommittally. Justin studied his father’s clothes while they sat and had coffee. And his demeanor. Jonathan was dressed casually, beige pants and a light green sweater, and yet somehow gave the impression that he was wearing a three-piece suit. His posture was relaxed and confident and yet he never slouched, never looked awkward in any way. In comparison, Justin felt grubby. He knew he gave off the faint whiff of scotch. And he probably should have shaved. His jeans weren’t pressed, his sweatshirt was expensive but still a sweatshirt.
Yup. Sixteen years old.
Justin realized that a lot of things were making him feel sixteen again these days. The combination of Reggie Bokkenheuser and alcohol, for one. He quickly shoved that thought away. And he shoved hard. There was too much at stake to allow any distractions. Not parental, not sexual, not romantic.
A bit more self-insight, Justin thought. He definitely believed in alternatives. He just didn’t believe in distractions. So he decided to get a big distraction out of the way as quickly and easily as he could.
“Look,” he said to his father. “I know this is hard for you. It’s different seeing me here than when I’m up in Providence. But this is the way I’ve chosen to live and this is what I do. I know it’s not what you’d choose for me but the choice has been made. And it was made a long time ago.”
“I understand,” Jonathan Westwood said.
“I know you do. I just thought it needed saying. And I also want you to know I appreciate your coming here. I think it’s going to turn out to be very important.”
“There’s nothing to appreciate,” his father said. “You asked and I came.”
It was as intimate an exchange as the two had had in years. And it was followed by an awkward silence that lasted until Justin turned to the third man in the room, a man who was blushing furiously and looking in every possible direction but at the two Westwood men, and said, “Sorry, Roger. Family shit. But now it’s out of the way. So why don’t you start to tell me about EGenco.”
His father had flown in with Roger Mallone, at Justin’s request. Mallone was one of the elder Westwood’s key financial advisers and had been extremely helpful to Justin in the past. Roger wasn’t a redhead but he looked as if he should be, with his ruddy complexion and tousled hair. He had the aura of someone who’d once been a terrific high school athlete but hadn’t done much in the thirteen or fourteen years since other than pick up a tennis racket for an easy game of doubles. Softer than he should be, with a self-mocking demeanor that recognized his own lack of strength, Roger was no hero, he was a numbers man with superb connections in the business world, great insight into that world, and tremendous access to information. Right now, all of that was more important to Justin than heroism.
“The last time you were asking me for information,” Roger Mallone said, “you were pointing a gun at me.”
“Slightly different circumstances,” Justin said.
“No one’s trying to arrest you now, I assume.”
“That’s right.”
“Or kill you either.” Mallone smiled. But the smile faded quickly when Justin didn’t answer.
“Jay?” Roger said, looking to prompt an answer with a raised eyebrow. And when Justin just gave a little shrug, Mallone said, “Shit,” and then, quietly and grimly, “You lead a very interesting life.”
“Yes, interesting,” Jonathan said.
“I just hope I don’t have to be around it too much longer,” Mallone muttered.
“EGenco,” Justin prompted. “What can you give me?”
“I can give you days and days. You see the suitcase I brought? That ain’t clothes, pal. It’s filled with financial reports, corporate histories, Wall Street analyses, depositions, reports on various lawsuits. It’ll help if you can narrow things down. The company’s all over the globe and has twenty different divisions that are larger than most companies you’ve ever heard of.”
“Start simple. How about a general overview if you can? And remember, I’ve been out of the financial world a few years.”
Justin could see his father nod firmly at his last statement, as if to add some sort of emphasis.
“All right,” Roger said. “Let’s start with a little history. I’ll work my way forward, and, at some point, if I go off track you lead me back so I can try to focus on the areas you need to understand.”
“Perfect.”
“EGenco was founded in 1922. The founder was a Texan named James Merriwell. .”
The story Roger Mallone proceeded to tell was one of picture-
perfect American capitalism. As he listened, Justin tried to relate the story to anything in his own experience, realized that was an impossibility. EGenco’s past was one that paralleled and exemplified the country’s history: it was a tale of dedication to constant and obsessive expansion. Justin’s life was, he realized, the longer it went on, becoming one of gradual retraction. The boundaries of his existence had, for quite a few years, narrowed and gotten smaller. Something that could never be said of the business that started as an entrepreneurial Oklahoma- based company with the overly grand and self-important name of the Merriwell 20th Century Ultimate Oil Well Cementing Company. As the firm’s reputation grew, it was referred to simply as Merriwell.
For the first thirty-five years or so, James Merriwell was content to carefully expand from building to buying wells and making investments in wildcatters. As his fortune rose, so did his ambitions-or, at least, so did the ambitions of his third, and much younger, wife, Laylene. She pushed her husband, as he was approaching his sixty- fifth birthday, to broaden his business interests, which in turn would broaden their social, cultural, and political circles. Merriwell was only too glad to appease the latest Mrs. Merriwell, who could be rather sharp-tongued when she didn’t get her way. So, in the mid-1950s, Merriwell-as the company was now officially named, and of which Laylene had been given a hefty piece-acquired Green amp; Duggin, an engineering and construction company. G amp;D, as it was called, had been formed in 1918. After its acquisition by Merriwell, it was renowned as a road construction company, a general contractor, and builder of the world’s first offshore platform in 1947. In the mid- 1970s, not long before James Merriwell’s ninetieth birthday, Merriwell GD, as it was now called, bought Windmer Industries, a project management company for the oil industry. Windmer had also prospered during the first half of the century. The founder, an inventor named Horatio Windmer, began the company during the country’s first oil boom at the end of the nineteenth century. In 1880, Windmer’s position in the oilfield products manufacturing business had been launched when he patented a cylindrical packer that revolutionized the industry.
The three giants of this industry, Green, Duggin, and Windmer, were all dead by 1960. James Merriwell finally died in 1978, leaving Laylene as one of the richest women in America. Within two years of her husband’s death, she had bought a professional football team, built an opera house in her small Montana hometown and paid Pavarotti a one-million-dollar fee to sing at the opening night ceremony, married a man thirty-two years her junior, with a prenup agreement that gave him thirty-five million dollars upon her death unless he didn’t fulfill his end of the bargain, which was to fuck her a minimum of three times every week, and she’d taken Merriwell public, earning several hundred million dollars more, and changing its name to EGenco. The E was for energy. The Gen was for Genevieve, the daughter she’d had with old man James. Six months after the company went public Genny was killed in a car accident. Laylene was driving but was unhurt. Rumors were that she was drunk as a skunk, but this was Texas so money changed hands, lips were sealed, and no charges were ever brought.
Justin interrupted Roger at this point in the narration to ask him how the hell he knew all these little details. Particularly the one about Laylene’s husband having to fornicate thrice weekly. Roger just raised one eyebrow and said, “When I do an investigation for your father, I make sure I’m thorough.” Then he went back to telling his tale.
In the late eighties the new management team of EGenco took over a corporation called F.X. Springs, an acquisition that expanded them into petroleum refining and petrochemical processing. Francis Xavier Springs had begun his business in 1902. Initially they were pipe fabricators; eventually he created technology that altered petroleum refining and petrochemical processing and, with the money that rolled in after that, he built his own facilities based on those techniques. When they were merged into EGenco, they formed the next-to-last piece of what the corporate report called “vertical and horizontal energy integration.” The final piece was a relatively new company called LecTro, a midsize utility company that was acquired in 1991. There were now five divisions that formed the base of EGenco’s production attributes: Merriwell, Green amp; Duggin, Windmer, F.X. Springs, and
