Disclosure (35 page)

“Yes, Louise.”

“And what are the sweeteners?”

“No sweeteners. Everybody just goes back to work.”

“The reason I ask,” Fernandez said, “is that I believe I can successful y argue that Mr. Sanders was aware the tape was being made, and thus it is indeed admissible. I wil argue further that it is admissible under discovery of public records over common carriers as defined in Waller v. Herbst. I wil argue further that the company knew of Ms. Johnson's long history of harassment, and has failed to take proper steps to investigate her behavior, either prior to this incident, or now.

And I wil argue that the company was derelict in protecting Mr. Sanders's reputation when it leaked the story to Connie Walsh.”

“Wait a minute here-”

“I wil argue that the company had a clear reason for leaking it: they desired to cheat Mr. Sanders out of his wel -deserved reward for more than a decade of service to the company. And you've got an employee in Ms. Johnson who has had some trouble before. I wil claim defamation and ask for punitive damages of sufficient magnitude to send a message to corporate America. I'l ask for sixty mil ion dol ars, Ben. And you'l settle for forty mil ion-the minute I get the judge to al ow the jury to hear this tape. Because we both know that when the jury hears that tape, they wil take about five seconds to find against Ms. Johnson and the company.”

Hel er shook his head. “You've got a lot of long shots there, Louise. I don't think they'l ever let that tape be played in court. And you're talking about three years from now.”

Fernandez nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said. “Three years is a long time.”

“You're ,tel ing me, Louise. Anything can happen.”

“Yes, and frankly, I'm worried about that tape. So many untoward things can happen with evidence that is so scandalous. I can't guarantee somebody hasn't made a copy already. It'd be terrible if one fel into the hands of KQEM, and they started playing it over the radio.”

“Christ,” Hel er said. “Louise, I can't believe you said that.”

“Said what? I'm merely expressing my legitimate fears,” Fernandez said. “I'd be derelict if I did not let you know my concerns. Let's face facts here, Ben. The cat's out of the bag. The press already has this story. Somebody leaked it to Connie Walsh. And she printed a story that's very damaging to Mr. Sanders's reputation. And it seems that somebody is stil leaking, because now Connie is planning to write some unfounded speculation about physical violence by my client. It's unfortunate that someone on your side should have chosen to talk about this case. But we both know how it is with a hot story in the press you never know where the next leak wil come from.”

Hel er was uneasy. He glanced back at the others by the fountain. “Louise, I don't think there's any movement over there.”

“Wel , just talk to them.”

Hel er shrugged, and walked back.

“What do we do now?” Sanders said.

“We go back to your office.”

“We?■

“Yes,” Fernandez said. “This isn't the end. More is going to happen today, and I want to be there when it does.”

Driving back, Blackburn talked on the car phone with Garvin. V “The mediation's over. We cal ed it off.”

“And?”

“We're pushing Sanders hard to go back to work. But he's not responding so far.

He's hanging tough. Now he's threatening punitive damages of sixty mil ion dol ars.”

“Christ,” Garvin said. “Punitive damages on what basis?”

“Defamation from corporate negligence dealing with the fact that we supposedly knew that Johnson had a history of harassment.”

“I never knew of any history,” Garvin said. “Did you know of any history, Phil?”

“No,” Blackburn said.

“Is there any documentary evidence of such a history?”

“No,” Blackburn said. “I'm sure there isn't.”

“Good. Then let him threaten. Where did you leave it with Sanders?”

“We gave him until tomorrow morning to rejoin the company at his old job or get out.”

“Al right,” Garvin said. “Now let's get serious. What have we got on him?”

“We're working on that felony charge,” Blackburn said. “It's early, but I think it's promising.”

“What about women?”

“There isn't any record on women. I know Sanders was screwing one of his assistants a couple of years back. But we can't find the records in the computer. I think he went in and erased them.”

“How could he? We blocked his access.”

“He must have done it some time ago. He's a cagey guy.”

“Why the hel would he do it some time ago, Phil? He had no reason to expect any of this.”

“I know, but we can't find the records now.” Blackburn paused. “Bob, I think we should move up the press conference.”

“To when?”

“Late tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” Garvin said. “I'l arrange it. We could even do it noon tomorrow.

John Marden is flying in in the morning,” he said, referring to Conley-White's CEO. “That'l work out fine.”

“Sanders is planning to string this out until Friday,” Blackburn said. “Let's just beat him to the punch. We've got him blocked as it is. He can't get into the company files. He can't get access to Conrad or anything else. He's isolated. He can't possibly come up with anything damaging between now and tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Garvin said. “What about the reporter?”

“I think she'l break the story on Friday,” Blackburn said. “She already has it, I don't know where from. But she won't be able to resist trashing Sanders. It's too good a story; she'l go with it. And he'l be dead meat when she does.”

“That's fine,” Garvin said.

Meredith Johnson came off the fifth-floor elevator at DigiCom and ran into Ed Nichols. “We missed you at the morning meetings,” Nichols said.

“Yeah, I had some things to take care of,” she said.

“Anything I should know?”

“No,” she said. “It's boring. Just some technical matters about tax exemptions in Ireland. The Irish government wants to expand local content at the Cork plant and we're not sure we can. This has been going on for more than a year.”

“You look a little tired,” Nichols said, with concern. “A little pale.”

“I'm okay. I'l be happy when this is al over.”

“We al wil ,” Nichols said. “You have time for dinner?”

“Maybe Friday night, if you're stil in town,” she said. She smiled. “But real y, Ed.

It's just tax stuff.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

He waved and went down the hal way. Johnson went into her office.

She found Stephanie Kaplan there, working at the computer terminal on Johnson's desk. Kaplan looked embarrassed. “Sorry to use your computer. I was just running over some accounts while I waited for you.

Johnson threw her purse on the couch. “Listen, Stephanie,” she said. “Let's get something straight right now. I'm running this division, and nobody's going to change that. And as far as I'm concerned, this is the time when a new vice president decides who's on their side, and who isn't. Somebody supports me, I'l remember. Somebody doesn't, I'l deal with that, too. Do we understand each other?”

Kaplan came around the desk. “Yes, sure, Meredith.”

“Don't fuck with me.”

“Never entered my mind, Meredith.”

“Good. Thank you, Stephanie.” “No problem, Meredith.” Kaplan left the office.

Johnson closed the door behind her and went directly to her computer terminal and stared intently at the screen.

Sanders walked through the corridors of DigiCom with a sense of unreality. He felt like a stranger. The people who passed him in the hal s looked away and brushed past him, saying nothing.

“I don't exist,” he said to Fernandez.

“Never mind,” she said.

They passed the main part of the floor, where people worked in chest-high cubicles. Several pig grunts were heard. One person sang softly, “Because I used to fuck her, but it's al over now . . .”

Sanders stopped and turned toward the singing. Fernandez grabbed his arm.

“Never mind,” she said.

“But Christ . . .”

“Don't make it worse than it is.”

They passed the coffee machine. Beside it, someone had taped up a picture of Sanders. They had used it for a dartboard.

`Jesus.”

“Keep going.”

As he came to the corridor leading to his office, he saw Don Cherry coming the other way.

“Hi, Don.”

“You screwed up bad on this one, Tom.” He shook his head and walked on.

Even Don Cherry.

Sanders sighed.

“You knew this was going to happen,” Fernandez said.

“Maybe.”

“You did. This is the way it works.”

Outside his office, Cindy stood up when she saw him. She said, “Tom, Mary Anne asked you to cal her as soon as you got in.”

“Okay.”

“And Stephanie said to say never mind, she found out whatever she needed to know. She said, uh, not to cal her.”

“Okay.”

He went in the office and closed the door. He sat down behind his desk and Fernandez sat opposite him. She took her cel ular phone out of her briefcase, and dialed. “Let's get one thing squared away-Ms. Vries's office please . . .

Louise Fernandez cal ing.”

She cupped her hand over the phone. “This shouldn't take- Oh, Eleanor? Hi, Louise Fernandez. I'm cal ing you about Connie Walsh. Uh-huh . . . I'm sure you've been going over it with her. Yes, I know she feels strongly. Eleanor, I just wanted to confirm to you that there is a tape of the event, and it substantiates Mr.

Sanders's version rather than Ms. Johnson's. Actual y, yes, I could do that.

Entirely off the record? Yes, I could. Wel , the problem with Walsh's source is that the company now has huge liability and if you print a story that's wrong-even if you got it from a source I think they have an action against you. Oh yes, I think absolutely Mr. Blackburn would sue. He wouldn't have any choice. Why don't you-I see. Uh-huh. Wel , that could change, Eleanor. Uh-huh. And don't forget that Mr. Sanders is considering defamation right now, based on the Mr. Piggy piece. Yes, why don't you do that. Thank you.”

She hung up and turned to Sanders. “We went to law school together. Eleanor is very competent and very conservative. She'd never have al owed the story in the first place, and would never have considered it now, if she didn't place a lot of reliance on Connie's source.”

“Meaning?”

“I'm pretty sure I know who gave her the story,” Fernandez said. She was dialing again.

“Who?” Sanders said.

“Right now, the important thing is Meredith Johnson. We've got to document the pattern, to demonstrate that she has harassed employees before. Somehow we've got to break this deadlock with Conrad Computer.” She turned away.

“Harry? Louise. Did you talk to Conrad? Uhhuh. And?” A pause. She shook her head irritably. “Did you explain to them about their liabilities? Uh-huh. Hel . So what's our next move? Because we've got a time problem here, Harry, that's what I'm concerned about.”

While she was talking, Sanders turned to his monitor. The e-mail light was flashing. He clicked it.

YOU HAVE 17 MESSAGES WAITING.

Christ. He could only imagine. He clicked the READ button. They flashed up in order.

FROM: DON CHERRY, CORRIDOR PROGRAMMING TEAM TO: ALL SUBJECTS

WE HAVE DELIVERED THE VIE UNIT TO CONLEY-WHITE'S PEOPLE. THE UNIT IS NOW

ACTIVE INTO THEIR COMPANY DB SINCE THEY GAVE US THE HOOKS TODAY. JOHN

CONLEY ASKED THAT IT BE DELIVERED TO A SUITE AT THE FOUR SEASONS HOTEL

BECAUSE THEIR CEO IS ARRIVING THURSDAY MORNING AND WILL SEE IT THEN.

ANOTHER PROGRAMMING TRIUMPH BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE SWELL FOLKS AT VIE.

DON THE MAGNIFICENT

Sanders flipped to the next one.

FROM: DIAGNOSTICS GROUP TO: APG TEAM

ANALYSIS OF TWINKLE DRIVES. THE PROBLEM WITH THE CONTROLLER TIMING LOOP

DOES NOT SEEM TO COME FROM THE CHIP ITSELF. WE VERIFIED MICRO-FLUCTUATIONS IN CURRENT FROM THE POWER UNIT WHICH WAS APPARENTLY

ETCHED WITH SUBSTANDARD OR INADEQUATE RESISTANCES ON THE BOARD BUT

THIS IS MINOR AND DOES NOT EXPLAIN OUR FAILURE TO MEET SPECS. ANALYSIS IS

CONTINUING.

Sanders viewed the message with a sense of detachment. It didn't real y tel him anything. Just words that concealed the underlying truth: they stil didn't know what the problem was. At another time, he'd be on his way down to the Diagnostics team, to ride them hard to get to the bottom of it. But now . . . He shrugged and went to the next message.

FROM: BASEBALL CENTRAL TO: ALL PLAYERS RE: NEW SUMMER SOFTBALL SCHEDULE

DOWNLOAD FILE BB.72 TO GET THE NEW REVISED SUMMER SCHEDULE. SEE YOU ON

THE FIELD!

He heard Fernandez say on the phone, “Harry, we've got to crack this one somehow. What time do they close their offices in Sunnyvale?” Sanders went to the next message.

NO MORE GROUP MESSAGES. DO YOU WANT TO READ PERSONAL MESSAGES?

He clicked the icon.

WHY DON'T YOU JUST ADMIT YOU ARE GAY?

(UNSIGNED)

He didn't bother to see where it had come from. They would probably have manual y entered it as coming from Garvin's address, or something like that. He could check the real address inside the system, but not without the access privileges they had taken away. He went to the next message.

SHE'S BETTER LOOKING THAN YOUR ASSISTANT, AND YOU DIDN'T SEEM TO MIND

SCREWING HER.

(UNSIGNED)

Sanders clicked to the next one.

YOU SLIMY WEASEL - GET OUT OF THIS COMPANY.

YOUR BEST ADVICE

Christ, he thought. The next one:

LITTLE TOMMY HAD A PECKER HE PLAYED WITH EVERY DAY

BUT WHEN A LADY TRIED TO TOUCH IT LITTLE TOMMY SAID GO AWAY.

The verses ran on, down to the bottom of the screen, but Sanders didn't read the rest. He clicked and went on.

IF YOU WEREN'T FUCKING YOUR DAUGHTER SO MUCH YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO

He clicked again. He was clicking faster and faster, going through the messages.

GUYS LIKE YOU GIVE MEN A BAD NAME YOU ASSHOLE.

BORIS

Click.

YOU FILTHY LYING MALE PIG

Click.

HIGH TIME SOMEBODY STUCK IT TO THE WHINING BITCHES. I'M TIRED OF THE WAY