CHAPTER TWELVE
After wandering around Wal-Mart for what seems like forever, I find what I need—all for less than $25—and head back to my condo. I change into dark blue Dickies and sneakers, pulling my hair back into a ponytail fastened by a rubber band. I wash the makeup off my face and stare at the darkeyed frump in the mirror. My pants are tight, given my recent weight gain, and the muffin top peeking out at the sides of my cleaning smock gives me an authentic look. I shove a rag into my back pocket and push the elastic coil holding the office keys up to the middle of my forearm. To the untrained eye, I look exactly like any member of the janitorial staff who roams around the Bishop building after hours and on weekends.
I drive up to the Bishop building against the outbound five o’clock traffic, parking a couple of blocks away. I don’t want anybody noticing the cleaning lady getting out of the late model Lexus with Texas plates. My heart is pounding as I get on the elevator. There is still time to back out, but in my mind I am committed.
I get out on thirty, just as the executive administrative assistants are packing up for the day. No one gives me a second look as I take my rag and start to dust the decorative bookcase that flanks the entrance to the executive conference room. I push open the glass door and survey the room, looking for the perfect spot. A decorative bronze of a roughneck with a huge wrench in his hand sits high on a knickknack shelf. Checking to make sure no one is looking, I reach up, place my iPhone behind it, and stand back. This placement allows for fairly good sound reception, and the statue base completely eclipses my device. It is high enough on the shelf and so close to the wall that even the exceptionally tall Bishops could not see it without considerable effort. I am careful to turn my sound off after the near miss with Lucy’s text when I was under the desk yesterday.
This is risky, for sure. If my phone were discovered, they would probably find out that it belongs to me, even with its password protection. It occurs to me that they might actually engage Internal Audit to find out who owns the phone, and I smile at the thought. I step back and look around, comfortable with my decision but a little nervous nonetheless. I am absolutely confident that the phone will not be noticed, and my disguise as a cleaning lady is flawless. Unlike yesterday, I have meticulously planned this surveillance and will not be relegated to the underside of a desk.
By 5:30, the floor is deserted except for the general counsel, Baldwin, and Bennet. The elevator dings, and a tall guy with salt-and-pepper hair and a shorter fellow who is completely bald walk past me and down the hall to Baldwin’s office. The two return and enter the conference room, where Baldwin, the general counsel, and Bennet join them almost immediately. The doors close. I keep my head down and continue to dust out of earshot of the meeting, knowing that the record feature on my phone is capturing every word. My presence is as noticeable as the fly on the wall I was hoping to be. I silently congratulate myself on my ingenuity.
I wait out the time in the executive ladies’ room, taking off my smock in case the real cleaning crew comes by. There are no female executives at Bishop, so there is zero chance of being discovered by anyone. I am getting bored after the first hour and decide to emerge for a quick look. With my smock back on, I walk casually by the conference room. All parties are still in deep discussion. I can’t make out the words through the glass, but the tone sounds hostile to say the least. So it’s back to the bathroom again, where I sit and wait some more. At one point I climb onto a toilet to see if I can hear anything through the exhaust fan, but no dice. When I put my ear to the wall I hear nothing.
Around 7:30 I venture out again. The main lights are still on, and I make my way to the executive coffee bar for a change of scenery. I decide to wash out the coffee pot just to have something to do. I jump at the sound of footsteps headed my way as I am drying the green-handled carafe, but manage to stay calm and in character when in walks the short bald man. He abruptly takes the coffee pot out of my hands and begins to make a fresh pot, opening and closing drawers before finding the Starbucks bag, which he opens and pours into the paper filter. I find a spray bottle under the sink and begin to clean tabletops while the man waits for his coffee to brew. To my amazement, he never acknowledges me or makes eye contact. My heart pounds and I’m sweating again, but the man doesn’t notice. I am a nobody. Perfect.
A moment later, the salt-and-pepper-haired man comes in. He grabs a blue Bishop-logoed mug from the cupboard above the coffeemaker.
“It’s going to be a long fucking night, Sully,” he complains to the bald man.
The salt-and-pepper-haired man removes the coffee pot midcycle and fills his mug, sending a steady stream of coffee from the coffeemaker splattering onto the burner, onto the counter, and then to the floor.
“Shit!” he yells, jumping back. Instead of putting the pot back to stop the flow, he pours Sully a cup and then shoves the pot back into the brewer with an angry slam. Both men leave the break room, stepping over the mess they have left for me to clean up.
After I clean up the coffee, I retreat to the ladies’ room to continue the waiting game. I stay put for another hour or so, killing time reading a day-old Wall Street Journal retrieved from the coffee bar trash can. I continue to periodically sneak out of the bathroom to see if the meeting is still going on, worrying that my phone battery will die or that the meeting will go on past ten and interfere with my plans for picking up Lucy later tonight.
Around 9:15, I can tell the meeting is breaking up, and I guess only Bennet and Baldwin remain in the conference room because I hear the other two men talking as they get on the elevator. I wait another twenty minutes or so before I come out from hiding in the restroom to find them gone and the conference room dark. I can hear the vacuums of the real janitors, but they take no notice of me as I enter the conference room to retrieve my phone. I quickly board the elevator and get out of Dodge.
Alone in the elevator, I tear off my smock and cram it into my purse. As calm as I was during my reconnaissance, I begin to shake at the enormity of what I have just done. I took a huge risk but came out on top for the first time in a while. In the past few days I have been on an emotional roller coaster. Excitement, sorrow, betrayal—but the feeling I have at this moment is of power and success. I never want it to end.
By the time I get to my car I am having trouble controlling myself. I do a victory dance before I get in. I can’t wait for Lucy to arrive so she can share the euphoria. It has been a long time coming.
My phone battery is just about spent, so I can’t listen to the whole meeting until I charge the phone, and even with all my meticulous planning, I have forgotten to bring my charger with me. My incredible high continues as I drive back to my condo, plug in my phone, and head out to my balcony for a celebratory smoke. No glass of wine this time, since I have to stay up late and drive to the airport. With just about four hours of recorded conversation, I elect to wait until Lucy arrives so we can listen together.
I scarf down a microwaved frozen meal and head to the Tulsa International Airport. There is nothing international about the Tulsa airport unless you consider Texas a foreign country, which many Okies do. I have been told that the international refers to private plane facilities, which, unlike the commercial carriers, fly in from Canada or Mexico and require a customs representative upon arrival.
I haven’t seen Lucy in a couple years, but she hasn’t changed a bit. She’s tall and slim with flaming red curls that fall almost to her waist and the perky bust line of a woman half her age. From the back she looks like she could be twenty-five; from the front, while it is clear she is no teenager, she does not look at all like a fifty-three-ish farmer who spends most of her time in the sun herding sheep and cultivating organic crops. Lucy wears no makeup and has not a single gray hair to cover up with product. She’s extremely fit from her active lifestyle and is one of those timeless beauties who are attractive at any age. Once again, I find myself in the presence of someone who looks much better than I, and it makes me momentarily jeal
ous.
“Tanzie! Good to see you!” Lucy squeals as she gets in the passenger seat. She lives in jeans and has carried only a backpack for her two-night stay.
“You’ve put on some weight, Tanzie. You really need to come stay with me. I’ll get you in shape!”
“Thanks, Lucy. I know.”
“You don’t look bad. It is just sort of shocking, that’s all. You’ll always be my beautiful little sister. You know that.”
“Would you like to go get something to eat?”
“No thanks. I had a three-hour layover in Houston and was surprised at some of the eating choices available. I ate at a little organic place in Terminal E.” No, Lucy would never think of sneaking into the airport lounge like her devious sister.
“Tired?”
“Yeah. I am. I had to get up really early to drive through San Francisco to catch the flight.”
I tell Lucy about the meeting and she roars with laughter. “You, the society dame, a janitor? I can’t believe it. Now I see where Lulu gets her acting talent!”
“Well, it worked.”
“I love it Tanzie. I told you this would be an adventure. Who will you be next time? A security guard?”
“That’s an idea. Maybe.”
We head back to my condo and I uncork a bottle of red wine from a winery founded by a couple of Lucy’s friends in Yountville.
“Oh, how thoughtful, Tanzie, thank you.”
“I’m excited you’re here, Lucy.” We clink our glasses and I fill Lucy in on the fraud, Frank, my hopeless career, and the layoffs. Lucy stifles a yawn, and I can tell she can hardly keep her eyes open.
“I really should be depressed, but somehow I’m relieved,” I say. “I’m really happy. Tonight was a blast. It really was.”
“Let’s listen to the tape, Tanzie, or go through the files. Let’s get going on this,” Lucy suggests, trying to muster a second wind.
“Okay.”
I refill our glasses and walk over to retrieve my purse from the bedroom. I take a moment to change into my jammies and get more comfortable. When I return to the living room, Lucy is asleep. I don’t have the heart to wake her, so I take off her glasses, cover her with a blanket, and prop a down pillow next to her head. I kiss my sister on the forehead and turn out the light, relieved that now I can also rest. It has been an exhausting day.
I try to be quiet when I get up to make the coffee, but Lucy, who is still asleep on the sofa, stirs and puts on her glasses.
“Good morning.”
“Hi. How did you sleep?”
“Fine, actually. This couch is pretty comfortable for an old gal like me.”
“You look great, Lucy. I swear you never age. Coffee?” I know she doesn’t drink coffee, but thought I’d ask her anyway.
“I like wheat grass. Got any? Or maybe some herbal tea?”
Knowing Lucy was coming, I had shopped for her type of eats: organic kale, free-range eggs, and yes, herbal tea, but no wheat grass.
“Chamomile okay? Or I have something here called Red Zinger.”
“Ooooh. Red Zinger, please.”
I don’t want Lucy to know I smoke, so I had decided not to while she is staying with me. I know it’s lame, but I’m private about my character flaws. I put the kettle on and head to my room to get dressed and leave the bathroom for Lucy.
“That’s a cute outfit, Tanzie,” she says about the slacks and blazer I’d bought in Houston.
“Thanks.”
Sometime in the night, Lucy had changed into a nightshirt made from green cotton she had grown, spun, and then woven herself. It did not do her beauty justice, but that is so Lucy. She never gives her looks a second thought. She is consumed with saving the planet and takes every single tiny decision she makes in a day very seriously, mindful of its impact on the earth’s sustainability. I hand her the mug of bright red hibiscus tea.
“Are you going in to work today?” she asks.
“Yeah. But not all day. I should be home a little after noon or so. The flash drive with the files I took from Baldwin’s secretary is on my computer. Maybe you could take a look at them while I’m gone. I’m thinking we should divide and conquer to make maximum use of our time.”
“So you used your phone? Clever. I didn’t know you could do that with an iPhone. Is it an app?”
“Nope. It’s just part of the utility function. Pretty amazing. I wonder how many people know they are being recorded. It’s a pretty common thing to have someone’s phone lying on the table during a meeting. Lucy, I’ll take notes on the meeting and you take notes on the files. We can get together later and debrief each other on what we’ve found.”
“Sounds like a plan, Tanzie.”
“Yep, it’s a plan,” I say, taking a sip of coffee.
“Tanzie, you seem so great. I haven’t seen you like this since we were kids.” She hesitates before continuing. “I don’t want to dwell on painful memories, but I think the divorce has been good for you. You’re like your own person again. Maybe it’s a good thing that your career is going in the toilet. Why would you ever think of settling for a career at Bishop, of all things? You’re so much better than that.”
“I think you may be right, Lucy. I think you may be right.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I arrive at my desk and plug in my earbuds after settling with a cup of Best Java coffee. Four hours is going to be a long time to listen, but there doesn’t seem to be much going on in my department at the moment other than speculation about layoffs.
I listen to the beginning of the meeting, and the sound is remarkably clear. It seems like the beginning of most executive meetings. I had some experience with these back in my old career days. Baldwin opens with a “Thank you all for making time for this very crucial topic.” Sullivan brings the group up to speed on LEAR_2008_17_Houston_Gas.
“Best I can tell,” Sullivan says, “the pipeline that ruptured was laid in the early ’30s, made of cast iron before cathodic protection was required to inhibit rust. Back then it was sort of an anything-goes sort of thing. It also appears that a slightly larger pipe was used for that section rather than the thirty-inch pipe that was used for the rest of the pipeline.”
“Why is that?” asks an unfamiliar voice.
“Well, we don’t know. Probably they ran out of the thirty inch and had some other material lying around. Or maybe there was some pipe they initially rejected but decided to use in a pinch. In the interest of time, they may have used what they had rather than delay the project waiting for a materials shipment. You folks need to understand—it was a different world back then. No regulations or fines. Plus, back then this pipeline was in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but cow pasture and rice fields … Anyway, when we did our routine pigging, the results were not precise for that particular segment. That section had some variability in the wall thickness, but that could have been due to the difference in pipe size or slight corrosion. We just didn’t have very good information at the time. That said, we did notice some corrosion and faulty welds upstream near Lockhart, and we replaced several sections in 2009.”
“So why didn’t we do more testing on the Houston segment?” This must be the insurance executive talking, the salt-and-pepper-haired charmer from last night.
“A few reasons. First of all, that Houston segment had all kinds of improvements on top of it—houses, retail, that sort of thing. Second, we were not entirely sure where the pipeline was.”
“You’re kidding me. How is that possible?” This is Bennet asking the questions now.
“If you recall, Bennet, we didn’t construct this pipeline. It had five different owners before we got it in 1998, and the mapping and right-of-way files were not complete. This is not an easy thing to do, to figure out where the pipe was laid, and it would have required millions to excavate and lots of time, too. This is a major residential area. Anyway, Wagner Jones was in the process of putting a project together in ’09 to determine the best course of action when he got sick and ret
ired. The whole thing just fell through the cracks, what with the Kansas crude spill when I transferred into the department.”
“So do you think we can be found negligent?”
“The DOT and PHSMA regs are pretty clear about required documentation and maintenance protocol. I think they would find us in violation of their protocols, but whether that means we have been negligent is more of a legal term. I can’t really answer that.”
“So do we have updated casualty figures?” Baldwin asks.
“Right now it’s fifty-three dead and seventy-seven injured, but some of those injured may not make it. The max looks like it’s in the neighborhood of fifty-eight or sixty.” This was the insurance executive talking again.
“Judas Priest, Sullivan! How did you let this happen? All those people dead, families ruined—”
“Do we have damage estimates?” a calmer Bennet interrupts.
“Not exactly, but oil and gas is not a popular industry right now. Add to that the fact that these folks in Houston were wealthy and had long years of earning big money ahead of them. Bill Matheson is handling a few of the cases, and we all know what he’s like.”
“Can we shift blame somehow? To terrorism, maybe? And what about all those construction crews; they’ve been digging around there for years. How sure are we that they didn’t cause this?”
“The exact cause has not been established yet, but under these circumstances, we may want to discuss some strategies to pull out of our you-know-whats, if and when the time comes.”
I think it’s funny that the salt-and-pepper-haired man is so careful with his language in front of the Bishops, in contrast to his coffee bar vulgarity last night.
“We can file some preemptive motions as early as tomorrow if you like,” begins another unfamiliar voice that I suspect is the general counsel. “I can get Josh working on that over at Schwab & Middleton. We should also see about securing settlements from as many people as we can early on. Even if it is not our fault, you can be sure we will be involved in damage suits. The sooner we can get in front of this, the better.”
Revenge of the Cube Dweller Page 14
