Balzor and the others laughed. Plando, one of the streetleaders, spoke up from the ranks. “I was there. It was awful. He ordered us out of that man, and we had to obey. I've never been so humiliated, so we killed those pigs. But, hey! I'm glad to hear now that it never happened!” And they all laughed again.
“We're working with the seminary scholars on more such ‘discoveries,’ and the press will give us full play with every one,” Tymor concluded, to everyone's delight.
But soon Pitow reported on the conversation between the three girls in the high school cafeteria that day. Balzor was furious to learn that Susan, while in excellent shape herself to be permanently theirs, was nevertheless driving Amy toward the Light. He turned on Nepravel and Zloy, who cowered at the edge of the mass.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “She may be lost to us forever on Sunday!”
Without answering the question, Nepravel countered, as bravely as he could with Balzor hovering directly over him, “It's those prayers. The Meredith girl has the whole youth group and the church Prayer Warriors praying for Amy every day. Look down there.”
The demons looked down toward Devon Drive, and even at that late hour they could see the streaks of light, incoming to the Bryants’ home, from all over the city.
“All those prayers are silencing the voices as soon as we start them. Unless we stay right there, she won't hear them. And with all those prayers, there's likely to be an angel nearby, so we'll need an army. Is one girl worth all that?”
Balzor backed off a bit and considered for a moment. “No, not with all that we have planned for her neighbors, the Sullivans, in the next few days. We need our best resources there. Let's hope that something keeps her from committing to that Son of God on Sunday so we can work on her again next week.” And, much to Nepravel's and Zloy's relief, Balzor turned and resumed his place above the assembled gang of liars and haters, to hear more reports.
14
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 14 – Patrick Tomlinson and Marty Tsongas flew in on the first flight of the day and were in Richard's office a little before 9:00. Richard and his paralegal had arrived an hour before, and all the closing documents for Patrick's investment were arranged in order on the conference room table.
While the principals sipped coffee in Richard's office, he and Marty went over a few small changes and typos Marty had discovered. Richard's team took care of those in short order, and a little before 10:00 they all entered the conference room to sign the documents. Richard was relieved that Marty did not question any of the subtle additions or deletions he had made after the talk with Bruce McKinney.
Patrick and Bruce executed the papers that were handed to them by Richard and Marty. At one point Patrick looked up from a fifteen-page exhibit and said to Bruce, “It's a good thing we simply trust you, because beyond the basic deal points, this is all Greek to me.”
“I feel the same way,” Bruce responded with a smile. “And don't worry, you can trust us.”
Once everything was signed, Bruce and Patrick shook hands. “Marty will now call our bank and instruct them to wire the funds first thing tomorrow morning,” Patrick told Bruce.
“And then I'll deliver the original papers to all concerned,” said Richard.
“I'm sorry it's too early for champagne,” David said, shaking Patrick's hand, “and I understand you have a plane to catch back home.”
“We'll take a rain check at the Platinum Club,” Patrick smiled, “after our first board meeting.”
For once Richard was going to “lunch” with Kristen truly relaxed, now that the McKinney deal was done. He had not seen her for a week, and the tension of that deal, the problems with his children, and the decision over what to do about Bruce's revelation had all weighed heavily on him. The problems with the kids were still there, but he promised himself that he would not think about these things or about breaking off with Kristen for the next few hours. He would just enjoy the moment. There was a resulting spring to his step, as he said hello to Bart, the doorman at the Park Place apartments.
She did not disappoint him. He had called before leaving the office and told her that they had just closed the McKinney deal, so she had retrieved a bottle of champagne from her refrigerator, and it was cooling in an ice bucket on the coffee table. Knowing that they had time today, she stayed in her business suit, with her hair pinned up—Richard liked to watch her take it down. They never made it to her bedroom, but instead had “lunch” on the sofa.
Later, she was sitting on the sofa, and he on the floor, while she rubbed his neck and shoulders, and they finished the champagne.
“Kristen, I'm afraid that my kids are a mess. We found out some things this weekend that we should have known, or guessed, but didn't. It turns out that Tommy has been having homosexual experiences on and off for months, and Susan has been sleeping with her boyfriend. Obviously, these were big shocks to Janet and me. We've decided that the whole family needs to see a counselor.”
“What your family needs is for the mother and father to stop being at each other's throats, and put the kids in a healthy environment,” Kristen said, kneading his right shoulder. “I've read lots of articles where the problem kids of unhappy parents instantly improve, once the parents actually split. Kids pick up on the tension between parents, and they can't help but be affected. Don't you think so?”
Richard, making conversation, answered, “Yes, I guess so.”
With that opening, Kristen moved to his left shoulder and continued, “You and Janet have got to split up, for the sake of your kids. You'll never be happy together, and the kids will just get worse and worse in that environment. Think how happy they would be if you were happy, Richard. And we know how to make you happy, don't we?” She smiled above him, rubbing his head.
“Seriously, Richard, all five of us will be much better off after you and Janet split up and you come to live with me. It might be tough for a few days, or a week, but very shortly they'll get used to it, and then it will all be much happier.”
Richard, lost in thought about his children and relaxed from the champagne and the massage, simply said, “You may be right.”
“You know I'm right,” Kristen said. Then to herself, she thought, And I know how to make it happen.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 15 – After breakfast on Friday morning, Richard said to Tommy and Susan, “Be sure to be here tonight for the beginning of ‘911 Live.’ Your mother has worked hard and suffered a bit to get it going, and it ought to be really interesting. Will you be here or at the station, dear?”
“I decided that as a member of this new network commission, I want to get the full effect of what it's like to be in the audience for this show, so I can judge it better. I plan to be here, watching it with you.”
“See you then, Mom…Dad,” Tommy said, as he and Susan left for school.
Richard was working at his desk that morning, trying not to think about Susan and Tommy. Their actions were now like a low-level fever for Richard—he could still do his work, but the discomfort was real and never quite went away. It gnawed at him, making him feel his seventeen years as a father had been a failure.
A little after 10:00, his paralegal came to the door. “First National just called,” she said. “The Tomlinson wire transfer came through, and the funds are good.”
“Great!” Richard exclaimed. “Then you can go ahead and transfer the money to McKinney and Smith, and express original documents to everyone concerned. Thanks. You've done an excellent job on this difficult project.”
As she left, he pushed back from his desk and swiveled around to look out at the city. He felt very good. The legal fee for this transaction would be sizable and would really help the firm's bottom line this quarter. And his $66,000 fee was finally assured. He would surprise Janet with the news at supper. Maybe they could take a short vacation and get their marriage back on track.
But first he knew he had to leave Kristen and straighten out the kids. Maybe he could buy Kristen a nice prese
nt with some of this money, to ease her pain when he told her that they had to split up. The problems with the kids had finally decided it for Richard. He had to devote his full time to them, and that meant focusing on Janet. He would just have to keep working on their relationship, as he had to admit that Janet was. And that meant dumping Kristen. He finally realized that he could not be a real husband and father while seeing a mistress several days each week.
But when to do it? Maybe the counselor would say something he could use as the reason to bring it up. Or maybe he would just invent something and blame it on the counselor! Either way, he decided, he would have to tell her by the middle of next week that they were through. Surely she would understand, with the kids in trouble. And he tried to imagine what nice thing he could buy for her.
Kristen had lunch in her apartment on that Friday, which was unusual. She was alone. She fixed herself a tall glass of white wine with her salad, which was also unusual. When that glass was gone, she poured another. She had not slept much the night before, and she was building her resolve to do what she knew was the right thing. Or at least that was what the voices in her mind had been telling her.
A little after 1:30, she put down her wine glass and called the television station. “Janet Sullivan, please,” she said, and waited.
“This is Janet Sullivan.”
“Hi, Janet. We've met, but you don't know me. Who I am is not really important right now. The important thing is that your husband loves me. We've been seeing each other for over six months now. We make love on Tuesdays and Thursdays when you think he's at the health club. He wants to leave you so we can live together. And I'm calling because I'm sure that all of us, including Tommy and Susan, who I understand are having problems now, would be better off if you two would split up.”
Janet was silent for a long moment. “Is this a joke? Who are you? Connie, if you're trying to get back at me, or something, I don't appreciate it.”
“My name is not Connie, and I'm not joking. Richard and I have been having an affair for months now. We love each other. I don't want to hurt you any more than absolutely necessary, so I won't repeat what he has said about you. He doesn't think you understand him. He wants to be with me, and I want him.”
“Who are you?” Janet said, in a low voice filling quickly with anger.
“I'm not going to tell you. Ask Richard, if you like. But I'm telling you the truth. Remember his trip to Atlanta in the spring? Well, I went along, and we had a great time together. And let me describe your bedroom, where we made love when you and the kids were in Vermont.”
Kristen went on to describe the Sullivans’ bedroom and bath in minute detail, down to Janet's dresser drawer contents. After the first few items, when it was obvious that this woman knew her bedroom better than she did, Janet started to lose control. The humiliation was so great that she felt as if she were being stepped on and compressed into the chair. This woman had been making love to her husband in her bed, only three weeks ago! The fire and the hollowness alternating in her chest made her break out in a sweat, but also made it difficult to speak.
“What do you want from me?” she finally asked, when Kristen finished the description of their kitchen.
“I just want you and Richard to split up, so we can get on with our life together, and you and the children can get on with yours. Believe me, it will be better for everyone.”
Janet had started to cry, but the mention of her children brought back the anger. “Please don't tell me what's best for our children, whoever you are!” she spat out. “We—I—am capable of determining that without your help.”
“Yeah, it sounds like you've been doing a great job, from what Richard told me when he was here yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes, like I told you, we make love together at lunch almost every Tuesday and Thursday. Yesterday was particularly nice. We had champagne and celebrated the McKinney closing. Did you think to do that for him at home last night?”
Janet was so hurt, so humiliated, and so angry that she simply hung up the phone and pulled her hand from it as if it were a hot ember. Then she sat and stared at her desk for half an hour.
While his two women were finally talking, Richard received a call himself when he returned from lunch. It was Bruce McKinney, and he sounded breathless, as if he were calling after running a great distance.
“Richard. Listen. I just talked to the owner of Far West Securities. It seems the little scumbag who had been unhappy about being fired took the money we offered him to be quiet, said he would cooperate, and then talked to some hotshot reporter anyway. The morning edition of the San Francisco paper apparently has a lead article on the front of the business section about Far West, and, get this Richard, it mentions us several times as participants in the fraud.
“Our phones have been ringing since 11:00, but both David and I have been out. I called Far West first, and that's the news. You're our attorney, Richard. What do we do?”
Richard swore. “You said this wouldn't happen, Bruce. This is all a mess now.”
“Hey. The guy said he would keep quiet, but he lied. Everyone lies today, Richard. Do we issue a statement or deny any knowledge or what? The news folks are all over us.”
“Bruce, I'm not real experienced in this area. I need to bring in Court Shullo, who has handled this type of situation before. Don't do anything for the moment. I'll go find Court, brief him, and call you back.”
“Make it fast, please.”
Richard did not get up right away. He had to think how he was going to dance around what he knew beforehand with Court. He suddenly hoped that Bruce had the good sense not to mention their conversation over lunch on Tuesday to Court. He was picking up the phone to call Bruce back to remind him of that, when his intercom hummed. “It's Marty Tsongas on the phone, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Did you tell him I'm here?”
“Yes, sir.”
Reluctantly, Richard took the call. “What's this we're hearing out of San Francisco about McKinney and Smith being involved in some scam to cover up securities fraud?”
Richard paused. He had to be careful what he said, he knew. “I'm not quite sure myself, Marty. I just got a call from Bruce, which I have to return. I'll call you back after I talk to him.”
“Richard, this smells. In fact, it stinks. Did you know anything about this before our closing?” Silence. “Because if you did, I'll have you up before your state ethics committee—and maybe the district attorney—so fast your head will swim. I hope you have a large errors and omissions policy, although I guess those don't usually cover outright fraud.”
“Now Marty, calm down. I said I'd call you back, and I will.”
Richard hung up, his shirt becoming wet with perspiration, even in the air conditioning. He had to stop this madness. He had to sit and think. But first he had to call Bruce back and then go find Court Shullo.
“Bruce, why don't you and David at least get out of there and come over here. We can strategize with Court and a small team of attorneys. And Bruce, remember that our lunch discussion never happened. I've got to play dumb, and you've got to back me up, or else I'm finished, too, and can't help either of us.”
“I understand, and we're coming there now. See you in fifteen minutes.”
Richard walked down the hall and found Court in his office. He briefed him on the information he had received that hour, as if he believed that Bruce could never be involved in any type of scam or fraud. “There must be some mistake,” Richard concluded, “but I figured that we ought to bring you in now, just in case.
“Bruce and David are on the way over. Can you assemble two or three guys who are good at damage control and litigation, and with your criminal defense experience, we ought to be able to help them.”
“Sure, Richard. I'11 go brief Tim and Sandra, and we'll be ready when they get here.”
An hour later the attorneys were assembled with Bruce and David in the main conference room. Under client-attorney
protection, the two owners were telling their attorneys the truth. Richard took notes and acted as shocked and surprised as the others. But they were professionals and had been through tough situations with clients before. Court was just starting down his first list of recommendations when there was a knock, and Mary, Richard's secretary, opened the door.
“Excuse me, Mr. Sullivan. It's your wife.”
Angered by the interruption, he snapped at Mary, “Tell her I'll call her back in an hour or so.”
“No, sir. She's here. She says she has to see you.”
Richard was astonished. In twenty years of marriage, he could never remember Janet doing something like this, unannounced.
“Uh…OK…I'll be right there. Please excuse me for just a minute. This must be something pretty important.”
“Sure, Richard. We'll take notes and catch you up when you get back,” Court offered.
“Where is she?” Richard asked Mary in the hall.
“Sitting in your office. And, Mr. Sullivan, I'm afraid she doesn't look too well,” Mary said, trying to be helpful.
As Richard entered his office, he could see Janet's head over the high-backed chair across from his desk. She did not turn as he walked around in front of her. Richard was startled. Mary was right. Janet looked terrible, as if she had been crying and running her fingers through her hair.
“Janet, what's wrong? Are the kids OK?”
She stared straight ahead and, obviously in pain, said, in a low, hoarse whisper, “I guess they're fine. As fine as they can be with a father who sleeps twice a week with his mistress.”
Another knife in Richard's heart, for the third time that week. Again his knees were weak, and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. “What?” was all he could say, as he sat down on the front edge of his desk.
On the Edge Page 29
