Authors: Bryan Devore
She stood her ground. “Jack, after I broke the McCleery story, you said I could pursue anything I wanted for my next major piece—you promised.”
“And you can. But you oughta give yourself some time off right now? I don’t know of
any
journalist who would be back at work after what you’ve been through. Take a week off, and we’ll discuss any story you want once you come back.”
Sarah was getting frustrated now. She hadn’t expected this resistance from her editor. She knew he was just trying to help, but she also knew she didn’t have a choice.
“This story can’t wait,” she said with a crackle of frustration in her voice. “I’ve already started on it. If you don’t support me, I’ll just quit and freelance it to the
Tribune
or the
Times
when I’m finished.”
“Come on, Sarah . . .” Her boss stepped around from behind the desk, studying her determined expression. “You’re the best rookie reporter I’ve seen in years. I’m not going to lose you. You know this paper’s behind you all the way. I just think it’s too early for you to be back here. I’ve seen too many good journalists burn out in this job just as their careers were reaching their prime. It’s a tough business. You’ll learn that in time, but meanwhile you should learn to take it easy when your editor tells you to.”
“Jack, this story’s a hell of a lot bigger than a slimy city manager.” She walked forward and grabbed the copy of the
Post
’s
morning edition on his desk. Picking up a red pen, she scrawled something in the margin of the front page.
Jack leaned in to read it, and his eyes shot up to her. “That’s crazy.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “What could you possibly have?”
“I can’t tell you—not yet.”
Jack turned and walked to the outside window. He stared out at the vast lawn, turning brown in the early winter weather, that stretched between City Hall and the Capitol. Pedestrians moved between the two buildings, past park benches where a few homeless people lounged in the sunshine.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you look into it. But you sure as hell better keep me informed on this one. No more of that cloak-and-dagger crap like with the McCleery story. If you really do find something, we’ll discuss running it. But it better be airtight, understand?”
When he turned around to look at Sarah, he saw only the glass door swinging to and a flash of red hair bobbing around the corner.
* * *
Michael walked into Falcon’s empty office Thursday morning. The partner’s laptop sat on the other side of the desk, and its whisper fan told him the man couldn’t be far away.
“Morning, Michael,” Falcon said as he walked into the office. “Glad you could make it.”
“Morning.”
“Michael, this is regarding Kurt Mathews. I know the two of you were good friends. Kurt was also one of my five senior associates, just like you are. He was supervising one of my biggest clients.”
“X-Tronic,” Michael said, referring to the largest software company in Colorado and the fourth largest in the country. They specialized in large-scale business application software that rivaled Oracle, Microsoft, and Cygnus International.
“Yes. Well, as difficult and shocking as his death is, we still have business in the firm that needs to be done. We’re right in the middle of our three-month scheduled work for their year-end financial audit. My team’s been working at X-Tronic for the past six weeks, and Kurt was running the engagement in the field. We’re in a real bind with scheduling, so you’ve been assigned to replace him until we complete the engagement. I know it must seem awkward to take over for a coworker and friend so soon after his death, but we have to get this done. Now, despite the terrible circumstances that brought it about, you should recognize this as the golden opportunity it is: you can get off the probation you’ve been placed on.”
Michael was speechless. Yesterday his neck was on the block, and today he was being handed the lead of the X-Tronic audit team. He could scarcely believe his luck. During graduate school at Kansas State, he had written extensively about X-Tronic and its ambitious founder, Don Seaton, in his thesis examining the correlation between ambitious corporate leadership and innovative financial growth strategies. Mr. Seaton had become a legend in the world of high-tech executives, rising from a humble upbringing in New York City to become a self-made billionaire through the success of X-Tronic. There was no businessman in the world whom Michael respected more.
But Michael’s excitement was soon eclipsed by the reality of his situation. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of finishing the project Kurt had begun. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he first heard of his friend’s death, and now he would have to sift and scavenge through his friend’s computer files and work papers, searching for any information relevant to the audit engagement. He felt ashamed. How could he just start working on X-Tronic as if nothing had happened? How could he just brush aside his friend’s death?
“When do you want me to go out to X-Tronic?” Michael asked, hoping he would be given some time to digest the news.
“Right away,” Falcon said without emotion. “I’m e-mailing you the contact information and directions now. Kurt’s work papers are in the audit room they set up at the company, and I’m having the IT department scrub the files from his laptop for anything related to X-Tronic. You should have those by this afternoon.”
Michael stood and turned to leave the room, but Falcon stopped him. “Oh, one more thing—I’m afraid I’m going to have to keep a close eye on you during this engagement. I don’t have to tell you this is your last chance to succeed at this firm. If you do exactly what I ask, we won’t have any problems. We just need to get through the next month; then the project will be done.”
Michael nodded, but he had concerns. There weren’t a lot of good reasons for Falcon to put him on an audit of one of the firm’s largest clients. Sure it was possible that the scheduling committee had found no better options because of Kurt’s sudden death. But getting assigned to a large client after repeated mistakes was a scenario Glazier had warned him about. His instincts were now on high alert.
4
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES AFTER leaving Falcon’s office, Michael arrived at the Denver Tech Center high-rise that would be his workplace for the next two months. Stepping out of his silver Audi, he slung his computer bag over his shoulder and looked up at the impressive twenty-story glass building in the center of the corporate suburbs. So this was the headquarters of X-Tronic. The software company had acquired fame fifteen years ago when it bought up three smaller companies and beat a hostile takeover bid from a larger competitor during the same twelve-month period.
Over the past four years, he had kept up with developments at X-Tronic. On the front page of the
Wall Street Journal,
the company had continuously beaten analysts’ earnings expectations, just as it had been one of the few stocks whose price continued to rise even during the sluggish financial markets of the dot-com collapse many years earlier. He found it hard to believe that he was now in charge of auditing their financial statements—the same statements that would have the attention of the financial wizards of Wall Street.
The lobby, floored with a harlequin pattern of elegant red and black marble slabs, was the size of a basketball court. A few expensive couches in the center divided the entrance from the security desk at the far end. He walked across the marble floor toward the security officer, who was already eyeing him.
“I’m here to see Jerry Diamond,” Michael said. “I’m one of the auditors from Cooley and White.”
“Is this your first time at X-Tronic?” the guard asked in a bored monotone.
“Yes.”
“One moment, please.” The guard flipped around to his computer. “Your name, please?”
“Michael Chapman.”
“Yes, here it is. Looks like you’ll need an extended pass.”
“I plan to be here for two months.”
“Follow this corridor down to the elevators. You’ll need a security pass to go up into the building, but you don’t need anything to go down. Just go to the basement and follow the yellow line on the floor. It leads from the elevator to the main security office. They’ll check your identification and issue you a pass. Then come back to me, and I’ll tell Mr. Diamond you’re ready.”
Michael wasn’t surprised at the tight security; after all, programming codes and other intellectual property were any software company’s lifeblood. If the wrong person ever got access to sensitive information in the building, it could cost the company its competitive advantage and billions of dollars in future revenues.
Michael spent the next fifteen minutes getting his security pass. Afterward, waiting in the lobby for Mr. Diamond, he gazed up at the eighteenth-century French painting that covered much of one wall. An ancient Roman in a red cloak offered swords to the extended arms of three warriors while, at the far right side, a small group of women huddled in an archway, weeping in each other’s arms.
“It’s very powerful, isn’t it?”
Hearing the friendly baritone voice behind him, Michael turned to find a man in his mid-forties, wearing a tailored suit. He was big: six-four and 250, most of it muscle. And his square jaw and shaved head made him look like a battle-hardened field general transposed into a life requiring tailored business suits instead of razor-creased uniforms.
“Have you seen it before?”
“
The Oath of the Horatii,
” Michael answered, “but not the original.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because I saw it in the Louvre three years ago.”
The man smiled. “Do you know what is happening in the painting, or did you just memorize the name in Paris?”
Michael realized he was being tested, and saw little reason to hold back now that the challenge had been extended.
“The three brothers, the Horatii”—he gestured with his eyes at the three men receiving the proffered swords—“were chosen by Rome to challenge the Curiatii, champions of the town of Alba. In this scene, as they receive their weapons from their father, they are taking an oath that they will either win or die.”
“Win or die?”
“Yes. It symbolizes courage in the face of risk—and the desire for dominance.”
“And the women?”
“Weeping for the men, whom they may never see again.”
“Very good. Michael Chapman, I presume?”
“Yes,” Michael said, extending his arm in the same direction as the Horatii in the painting. “Jerry Diamond?”
The man nodded. “Please follow me and I’ll introduce you around.”
They walked to the elevators, and Diamond pushed the button, then turned to look back at the corridor. “One more question, Mr. Chapman: why do you think X-Tronic has that painting in its lobby?”
Michael looked at the man’s dark eyes. “I thought it was X-Tronic’s way of saying this is an extremely competitive software company.”
Diamond smiled. “Good, Mr. Chapman. Very good indeed. By the way, that painting
is
the original. Mr. Seaton purchased it from the Louvre for fifteen million dollars when he was in Paris last year, and insisted that it be placed in the front lobby so that everyone would see it when they first enter the building.” He stepped aside and gestured for Michael to take the first step into the elevator. “Welcome to X-Tronic, Mr. Chapman.”
5
THE TWENTIETH FLOOR of X-Tronic was a warren of cubicles surrounding large, open work areas in what was essentially a very high-end sweatshop. Diamond showed Michael through the main accounting department before they moved around the corner wing of the top floor. An immense glass-walled conference room stretched twenty feet along the hallway, looking isolated from the rest of the corporation’s activities. Piles of documents two feet high lined the inside wall and covered much of the long cherrywood conference table.
“This conference room has been reserved for external auditors,” Diamond said. He glanced at his watch. “As you meet with people today, please keep in mind that everyone’s pretty swamped right now. Tensions are high because of the visit from the board of the directors.”
“They’re having a board meeting today?” Michael said, shifting the heavy computer bag’s strap on his shoulder.
“Mm-hm. They all jumped on flights to Denver for an emergency session as soon as we got word of Cygnus’s takeover bid.”
Seeing Michael’s astonished look, he said, “Ah, you haven’t heard yet? I guess the public only got this information a few hours ago. Yesterday Cygnus International made an informal takeover bid for X-Tronic. The potential merger would create the third-largest software company in the U.S., just behind Microsoft and Oracle. Some members of management and the board are in favor of the offer; others aren’t. I’m afraid things are starting to heat up around here.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Michael said. He wondered why Falcon hadn’t mentioned anything to him—surely the partner would have been privy to the information before it was announced to the public.
“Well, if you want to just throw your things in here, we can continue our tour.”
Michael set his computer bag next to the conference table, and the two proceeded down the hallway. He had never seen such extravagant corporate offices. The rounded metal cubicles looked straight out of the latest science fiction film, and the break rooms felt like eclectic bars.
Having circled most of the floor, they entered the final corridor. To Michael’s surprise, the environment here was even more lavish. The carpet was finer, and the chestnut-paneled hallway was hung with enormous scenic photographs capturing the isolated beauty of deep mountain ranges covered in snow.
“This is the executive wing,” Diamond said, anticipating Michael’s question. “My office is at the end of the hallway. That’s Don Seaton’s office.” He pointed to a large corner suite.