A Harvest of Thorns

by Corban Addison

  When the elevator reached the garage, the doors slid open and Cameron saw the plaintiffs and their attorneys standing together, the men dressed in suits, the women—except Madison—clad in festive colors. He wasn’t quite prepared for the wave of emotion that overcame him. He welcomed Josh and the lawyers by name—Lewis, Madison, Peter Chavez, John Remington, and Rana Jalil. Then he bent at the waist and greeted the plaintiffs.

  Jashel was first. Cameron shook his hand firmly and nodded to the woman beside him. “Is this Farzana?” he asked as the woman looked at him shyly. “Shagotom.”

  Ashik was next, and Sonia beside him. Cameron took the man’s hand and shook it, then knelt and looked up into the girl’s eyes. “Shagotom, Sonia.”

  Finally, he turned to Alya, who was holding a little boy in her arms. He smiled at her and she smiled back, tilting her head demurely in a gesture of gratitude. “It is good to see you again,” he said in Bengali, pronouncing each word carefully.

  “Dhonnobad,” she replied, and he understood. “Thank you.”

  He held out his hand toward the elevator. “Come. We don’t have much time.”

  They piled in, and he pressed the button for the sixteenth floor, transporting them to the pinnacle of the tower. When the doors opened, he led them through the lobby and the lounge and down the wood-paneled hall to the corner office. Vance stood outside the double doors, dressed in a blue suit and silver tie, his hair freshly cut, and his eyes aglow with the magnetism that had drawn Cameron to him at Harvard and so many others to him through the years.

  Vance escorted them into the office and offered the plaintiffs the couch. He and Cameron had rearranged the furniture in front of the TV screens on the wall and brought in additional chairs. When everyone was situated, Vance spoke from the cuff, with Rana translating.

  “It’s an honor to have you with us today. I said this once before, but I want to say it to you personally. On behalf of everyone at Presto, I’m truly sorry for everything you’ve suffered. I know words are not enough. They can’t erase your memories. They can’t change the past. But they can set this company on a new course. And that’s what I’m about to do.”

  He took a remote out of his pocket and turned on one of the televisions. Kristin Raymond stood at the podium, the massive screen behind her displaying a highlight reel of victories from the past year—the opening of new stores in California and Washington, the LEED certification of the last of Presto’s distribution centers, the carnival atmosphere on Black Friday, customer comments from Facebook and Twitter, selfies from Snapchat and Instagram.

  “That’s where I’ll be in just a minute,” Vance said. “I’ve given a lot of speeches in my life, but this is going to be different. It’s going to make a huge splash, and not everyone is going to like it. But I’m convinced we’re doing the right thing. I wish all of you the very best.”

  With that, Vance headed toward the door. Cameron had a quick aside with Josh, then caught up with the chief executive at the elevator. They stepped inside, and Vance pressed the button for the auditorium. Cameron stood at his side, fighting back tears. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his mind was alive with words from the past, words spoken by the people who had brought him into the world and by the woman who had held his heart in her hands. Ben, at Thanksgiving: I know the boy I raised. He was a gentle boy, a sweet boy, with one of the most finely tuned moral compasses I have ever seen. He stood up for the powerless. He defended the weak. I don’t believe that boy is gone. Iris, on her deathbed: I’m sorry for all the ways that life has hurt you. But I believe that goodness is waiting for you, if only you’ll reach out and take it. And Olivia, on the night she died: It’s time, Cameron. It’s time to go.

  Vance touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked, a flash of worry in his eyes.

  “I’m fine,” Cameron said softly.

  Vance faced the doors again. “Any pearls of wisdom before I address the mob?”

  Cameron blinked and a thought came to him. He spoke the words from memory. “‘With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace.’”

  Vance gave him a look that mixed curiosity and gravity. “Is that Lincoln?”

  A smile spread across Cameron’s face. “Now it’s right.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PRESTO TOWER, 16TH FLOOR

  ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

  JUNE 10, 2016

  10:18 P.M.

  After Vance and Cameron departed, Josh took a moment to survey the chief executive’s office. The baronial décor, dominated by reds and browns and dark leather and Oriental rugs, triggered something in his memory—the Harvard Club in New York. He hadn’t been there in years, but he remembered it distinctly, all the lamps and sconces and portraits on the walls, the weight of privilege in every gilded frame. That was the world in which Vance had been reared, a world of mansions and servants and summer houses on Nantucket. He hadn’t climbed his way to this lofty perch overlooking the Washington skyline as much as he had been born to it, in the same way that Lewis and Madison had been born to a lineage of social reformers and Cameron to a pedigree of Boston lawyers. It was the way of the world. But the world wasn’t immutable. Things could change, as Vance himself was about to prove.

  Josh looked at the plaintiffs and tried to imagine their thoughts as they sat in the corner office of the global headquarters of a company they had once known only through the clothes they made. Thanks to the settlement, they were all millionaires now, but the news of the payout and the trusts had left them more perplexed than anything else. After Rana had explained the details, they accepted the bewildering fact that they now had more money than anyone they knew in Bangladesh. Ashik had three wishes—to build a house large enough for his family, to obtain the best therapy for Sonia, and to give his sons the chance to attend university. Jashel planned to buy a dump truck and a backhoe and start an excavation company. He also intended to give Farzana many children. As for Alya, her greatest hope was to care for her mother and sisters, to offer Fazul all the advantages she had been denied, and perhaps one day to earn the right to manage Nadia Jalil’s household. She had no interest in getting married. She had confessed that to Nadia over tea, and Nadia had shared it with Rana, and Rana with Josh, in a transcontinental daisy chain of humor. If a woman is already happy, Alya had said, what good is a man?

  At twenty minutes after ten, Kristin Raymond wrapped up her retrospective and gave Vance a slick, spark plug introduction. As soon as she said his name, Vance walked out from behind the screen, a lavalier microphone millimeters from his cheek. He thanked Kristin and walked to the front of the stage amid boisterous applause. He smiled brilliantly, his teeth glistening beneath the lights, and waited for the applause to die down.

  “You know, folks, I’m a lucky man. It’s been seven years since I first stood on this stage, seven years since I got the call from Lester Grant offering me the chance to lead this great company. He told me then, in a way only he can, not to screw it up. For the past seven years we’ve grown our market share, we’ve expanded into new segments, we’ve figured out how to challenge Amazon, and we’ve proved the doubters wrong. But the excitement I feel about the past doesn’t begin to compare with the excitement I feel about the future.”

  Vance reached into his pocket and took out his iPhone. “Anybody have one of these?” The crowd laughed. “Of course you do. That means you’ve seen the news. Everybody’s talking about it. One hour ago, Stephen Carroll spent a little money—9.5 billion dollars, to be exact. The shares he bought? Presto! It’s the largest single investment in the three decades this company has been listed on the New York Stock Exchange. In the last hour, the value of your shares increased by 15 percent. Not bad, eh?”

  Vance paused while spontaneous
cheers erupted from the audience. “As all of you know, Stephen doesn’t just throw money around. He believes in Presto’s future. And over the past month, with the guidance of the board, we have come up with a plan to make the future brighter than ever. Hank Carter founded this company on a simple idea: ‘People First.’ He did that by creating a store that offered Americans quality goods at prices no one could beat. He did it by creating a company that took care of its employees. He did it by creating the Presto Foundation to channel profits into charity. Over the years, the foundation has invested billions of dollars in improving communities across America.”

  Vance held out his hand toward the screen and focused the shareholders’ attention on a slideshow of blue-shirted Presto volunteers cleaning up trash and planting trees and opening parks and escorting celebrities to hospitals to visit sick kids.

  “All of this has made America a happier place. If Hank were still with us, he would be proud. But the world has changed a lot in fifty years. When he opened Presto’s flagship store in 1963, there were only a few thousand products on the shelves, all sourced from North America and Europe. Today, we offer over a million products in stores and online, almost all of them sourced from the developing world—China, Vietnam, Bangladesh, Thailand, Malaysia, Jordan, the Philippines, the list goes on. The impact of Presto’s business is no longer confined to the United States. Yet we have done little to improve communities in the countries where we send our orders. As of today, that is going to change.”

  Again, Vance gestured toward the screen as faces began to flash across it—garment workers in Bangladesh, toymakers in China, agricultural workers in California.

  “As of today, ‘People First’ applies to everyone our business touches, from the people who shop at our stores to the people in over thirty countries who make products for us. Just last week I authorized a team from Atlas Risk Consulting to begin a project with extraordinary ramifications for our business. Over the course of the next three years, Atlas will create a map of our supply chains, showing where everything comes from. In clothing, that means the fibers, the thread, the textiles, and the finished garments. In toys, electronics, and furniture, that means component parts as well as final assembly.”

  Vance gave a self-deprecating shake of the head. “In this building, we know a lot about our business. But one thing we really don’t know—how our products are being made. We aren’t in the factories to see it. And when we send auditors, they report only a tiny fraction of what’s going on. This isn’t just true of Presto; this is true of our entire industry. We all have supplier codes of conduct. But our ignorance is vast. Labor groups, governments, and NGOs tell stories of abuse. We see fires and factory collapses. But we don’t really know what’s happening on the ground. That’s going to change. Atlas is going to tell us the truth about our supply chains. They are going to help us place our orders more ethically. In addition, at the end of this year, we are going to publish our supplier list. We are going to tell our customers where we do business overseas. A few companies already do this. Kudos to them. Most don’t. That’s got to change.”

  Vance walked to the podium and took hold of it with his hands. “For years, Presto’s brand promise has been ‘Everything you need at the snap of your fingers.’ Today that promise is expanding. We just launched a multimillion-dollar ad campaign rebranding Presto as the company ‘outfitting a better world.’ I told you about supply-chain mapping. As soon as that map is complete, we are going to launch our own fair-trade clothing label under a new brand we just trademarked—Elysium. Our goal is to maintain affordability while ensuring that the people making our garments are treated fairly. The faces you have seen behind me will soon appear in our stores. They’ve been invisible for far too long. As of today, they are part of our brand promise. With their help, and yours, we are going to redefine the term responsible retailer. And we are going to grow our bottom line. This is the future. I invite you to be a part of it.”

  The applause that followed was a far cry from the ovation that had greeted Vance when he took the stage. The shareholders aren’t convinced, Josh thought.

  Then something happened that took everyone by surprise. A man suddenly appeared behind Vance. He was clad in a gray suit a few shades darker than his combed-back hair, and his trademark smile was as welcoming as that of an old friend. Vance turned from the podium and took the man’s hand, then held it up toward the shareholders in a gesture of solidarity.

  It was Stephen Carroll.

  As if a wand had been waved, the applause increased until it filled the room. The CEO and the billionaire stood there together for a long moment, enjoying the spotlight, then Carroll held up his hand and the shareholders grew quiet. He took a step forward and spoke into a lavalier microphone, his voice as resonant as his conviction.

  “Since Vance started talking ten minutes ago, Presto’s share price has climbed another four points.” His eyes glinted with humor. “Maybe he should keep talking.” Laughter rippled through the audience, and he greeted it with a chuckle of his own. “No, I’ve heard enough, and I bet you have too. Execution is all that matters now.” He waited a beat, holding the shareholders in suspense, then delivered his valediction. “I’m here today because I believe in this company and I believe in all of you. We’re on the right side of history.”

  When Vance and Carroll walked off the stage, Josh glanced at Madison and saw the soft smile on her lips. He matched it with one of his own. Then he stood and walked to the window, looking out at the monuments. Lewis came to stand next to him.

  “Inspiring view,” Josh said, making conversation.

  Lewis grunted. “Ironic, actually. But I suppose Vance knows that now.”

  Josh didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just stood there feeling like a fool and wondering what Lewis would do if he knew the whole truth about Maria. Apparently Madison hadn’t told him. In that way, at least, she had shown Josh mercy.

  Suddenly Lewis laughed. “You did a good thing here, Joshua. I don’t know how much Presto is really going to change, but you’ve given it a chance.” Lewis turned and opened his arms, his eyes glittering with feeling. “Come here, son. I’m glad you’re in the family.”

  Josh stared at his father-in-law in surprise, then moved hesitantly into his embrace. He couldn’t remember the last time Lewis had hugged him. The moment didn’t linger, but it lasted long enough to convey Lewis’s meaning. His father-in-law had forgiven him. Josh smiled. Perhaps one day Madison would forgive him too.

  At that moment, Cameron strode into the office. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but we have to move quickly. Follow me, please.”

  The general counsel shepherded the group to the elevator, then down to the garage and the caravan of four Chevy Suburbans that Presto had rented for the occasion. When everyone was seated inside and all the doors were closed, Cameron took Josh aside.

  “This is for the plaintiffs,” he said, handing Josh an unmarked white envelope. “Share it with them when the time is right.” After Josh slid the envelope into his pocket, Cameron went on. “I’ve also got a proposition for you.”

  Josh gave him a humorous look. “The last time I took you up on something, I ended up bouncing around the world for a year and a half and spending all my money.”

  Cameron smirked. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t fun.”

  Josh laughed. “Fun doesn’t pay the bills.”

  In a flash, Cameron grew serious. “Let me make it up to you then. The guys at Atlas are a little overwhelmed by what we’ve asked them to do. I thought maybe you could help them out.”

  “You want me to help with your supply-chain biopsy?” Josh asked, playing coy despite the excitement he felt. “Isn’t that like giving your adversary the keys to the kingdom?”

  Cameron put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve always been on the same side. Besides, we need somebody to tell our story.”

  Josh was dumbstruck. “You want me to write about it?”

  Cameron grinned mischievously
. “It’ll get a good reading from legal, but yes. There are a lot of doubters out there. The only way this works is if we turn them into believers.”

  When Josh started to smile, he found he couldn’t stop. He put out his hand, and Cameron shook it. “You have yourself a deal.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CIDADE VELHA

  SANTIAGO, CAPE VERDE

  JUNE 12, 2016

  6:01 P.M.

  The black sand was as sharp as pumice between Cameron’s toes. Little remained of the five-hundred-year-old harbor except for a rocky stretch of beach framed by promontories that jutted out into the sea, taking the brunt of the wind. The waves rolling in off the Atlantic were three feet from crest to trough by the time they crashed onto the rocks. The Breakwater was anchored in the bay, pitching on the swells. If he had more time, Cameron would have taken a stroll through the streets of the old city, founded by the Portuguese at the dawn of the slave trade. But sunset was only an hour away, and he didn’t trust the anchor to hold the sailboat much longer.

  He knelt down and took the glass jar out of his backpack, filling it with sand. Then he put it away and opened his heart, imagining the harbor in 1761. He saw the English slave ship riding high in the water, its hold half-empty, waiting for the cargo it would take aboard in Guinea. He saw the captain bartering with the natives, trading bars of iron for rolls of cloth dyed with indigo and orchil, a native lichen. He saw the captain take an interest in one of the weavers, a teenage girl. The captain admired her while he handled the cloth. Then he spoke to her master and struck an unusual bargain. When he took the cloth, he took the girl with it. The tale was a mere footnote in Cornelius’s journal, a legend handed down through the generations until Esther’s mother had passed it along to her. The girl was Amelia Marshall, Esther’s first ancestor in America. After traversing the Middle Passage with a hold full of slaves, the captain had sold her to a planter named Marshall, a name she had taken for herself and given to those who came after, all children of slavery, until Esther had escaped and found her way to Boston and taken the name Alexander.