Shattered Legacy

by Shane R. Daley

  “What's this?”

  “Your messages.”

  “I’ve been gone for twenty minutes.”

  “You're a popular guy these days.”

  Tyler walked into his office, flipping through the messages. The first three were from various news agencies. He wouldn’t return those calls. Others were from various department heads, following up on department requests. The final message was from Ed Grayson. He grunted with disgust. It was about time his outside counsel got back to him on -

  “We need to talk.”

  Tyler looked up to see three members of his legal team standing in his office. They looked decidedly unhappy. Tyler had a good idea why they were here.

  “I didn’t call a meeting,” he said neutrally.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Ted Bucholtz shot back. After Dusty, Bucholtz was the most senior member of the team. Thin blond hair and a thin face to match, his cheeks were pink with indignation. He was a forty-two year old attorney who had spent the better part of his career working from the law library. He had a sharp legal mind, coupled with a generally miserable personality.

  “Good afternoon to you, too,” Tyler replied mildly, moving behind his desk and setting down his briefcase. He pulled off his jacket and set it over the back of his chair. Then he took a moment to look at each person in turn. He spread his hands. “Is there a problem, people?”

  “Yeah,” Bucholtz snapped. “It’s about that email you just sent. Why are we being pulled from the internal investigation? We’ve been on this for days, and now you’re taking over the whole thing yourself?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We’ve found nothing, Samson. That’s a good thing, you know.”

  “Is it?”

  “I would think so. We need to discuss strategy, Samson. You can’t keep everyone in the dark about what’s going on.”

  “If you have questions about our strategy, talk to Dusty. I briefed him this morning on what we are doing going forward.”

  “I’m not talking to Dusty. I’m talking to you. How can you cut us out of everything like this?”

  Tyler felt his anger rise at Bucholtz’s paternal tone, but he managed to reply in a steady voice. He leaned forward. “Like I said, Ted, take it up with Dusty.”

  Denise Jenison pressed further. “Have we opened a dialogue with the Justice Department?”

  Tyler smiled faintly as he settled back into his chair. “I’m working on that.”

  Damon Geller chimed in. He was a short, squat man in his late twenties with a short red beard and thick, rimless glasses. “Should we take that as a ‘no’?” he asked. “Is it ‘no, we’re working a dialogue’ or ‘no, we haven’t started talking to them yet’?”

  “What’s your point?” Tyler asked.

  “My point is that you are taking on too much of this yourself. No one knows what the end game is. That’s going to get us in trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Tyler’s temper finally snapped. Maybe it was in the tone of Geller’s voice, or maybe it the fact that he just had enough of his decisions and motives questioned. Either way, he was ending this little uprising. “You want to talk about trouble? How many of you have had your apartment set on fire, been sent death threats and had an attempt on your life - all in twenty-four hours? I think I'm handling serious trouble pretty damn well.”

  That stopped them. To their credit, they managed to hold Tyler’s eyes as he glared at each of them in turn. They were all anxious, tired, and they wanted answers. He couldn’t blame them for being frustrated, but with everything happening so fast, he barely had time himself to figure out what was going on, let alone keep everyone else in the loop.

  “Coming through. Look out!”

  Cindy staggered into the office, carrying half a dozen binders. The others moved aside as she marched across the room and unceremoniously dropped the load onto Tyler’s desk.

  “These are the last of the hard copies you wanted,” she announced, raising her hands.

  Tyler gave his assistant a grim smile. Her timing had been perfect. He didn’t know whether she’d interrupted the situation on purpose, or whether it was just plain luck. Either way, she’d shattered the moment and gave him the excuse he needed to get rid of everyone.

  “Thank you all for your concern,” Tyler said loudly as he moved to his feet. “I appreciate your patience, people. We’ll meet later and I'll give you a full update. But for now, I want everyone out of my office!”

  Whatever initiative the group held had vanished. Reluctantly, the attorneys turned and filed out of the room, grumbling among themselves.

  When they were gone, Tyler slumped back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. Were it not for Cindy's intervention, he would have lost his temper. He would have lost control. His team wanted and deserved answers. He could only keep them at a distance for so long. First, though, he needed time to really assess the situation. He reached out, opened the top folder on the pile, and idly glanced at the charts, tapping his pen on the arm of his chair.

  A few moments later, he glanced up. Cindy was still standing before his desk, clutching a folder.

  “What is it?” he asked, not bothering to look up.

  “Are you all right?”

  Tyler flipped through the pages. “No,” he grunted. “I need weekly acquisition cost breakdowns. You’ve given me monthly and quarterly reports.”

  “I'm not talking about the reports, Samson.”

  Tyler cut her off with a quick wave of his hand. “Don't worry about it. I’ll find them myself.”

  Ignoring the obvious dismissal, Cindy narrowed her eyes. She did not speak up often, but when she did, it usually served to set her boss back on track.

  “You’ve got a whole legal department put on hold, and here you sit doing all the work yourself. What’s going on, Samson?”

  For an instant, anger again flashed across Tyler’s face. “Don’t even -” he started, before stopping to consider his words. “Cindy, your job is to assist me. If you have a problem doing that today, then just leave. Go home and stop bothering me.”

  She stared at him. In over two years of working for him, he had never spoken to her like that. “You’re tired,” she concluded. “And you’re stressed. You should get some sleep.” With that, she turned and headed out the door.

  Tyler lowered his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered. “You’re right. I am tired.”

  She raised her hand as she left. “Call if you need me.”

  Moments later, Dustin O’Dell walked through the open door. He lumbered over to the desk with a mixed look on his face.

  “And what have I done to piss you off today?” Tyler asked, glancing up.

  “Nothing at all,” Dusty replied as he dropped his bulk into the empty chair. “So now we’re foot-dragging the internal investigation. You want to talk about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Word is out that the New York Stock Exchange is considering taking action to censure us.”

  Tyler didn’t look up. “Wonderful. Put Ted on it. He needs something to do.”

  Dusty leaned back his chair, threw his arms back, and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Hey, do you remember the first time we met?”

  Tyler glanced up with a frown. Then he looked back down at his papers.

  Dusty continued, unperturbed. “It was in the law library, right after our first contracts lecture. A bunch of us 1Ls were talking about that first day of classes, whether we had already done our readings, and what we thought the professors were going to be like. I remember you telling the group that you had already finished the semester’s curriculum.”

  Tyler smiled at the recollection. “I’d spent all summer reading the case notes and study guides. I had the entire semester outlined before the first day of classes. It gave me a huge advantage that first year.”

  “It sure did. You were twenty-two years old, and the sharpest, most arrogant son of a bitch I ever met.” Dusty laughed. “And then there was me - an overwei
ght, shy, thirty-four year old family man with two kids, living in a tiny dorm room four hundred miles from home. Man, I hated you. You spoke up in class and even challenged the professors. That was why after that first week, I knew I needed you for a study partner.”

  Tyler grimaced. “At the time, I thought you were the older and wiser one.”

  “Older, yes. Wiser? Not so much. Remember when you came to me near the end of the second semester? You were worried that property law was going to blow your class ranking. You asked me to tutor you.”

  “What about it?”

  “At least back then you were smart enough to know when you needed help.”

  Tyler sensed where the conversation was heading. “Dusty, I'm fine. Really.”

  “My friend, you could be dying of thirst in the desert, and you’d still be too proud to ask for a drink.”

  Tyler considered that. He shook his head slowly. “You know what really bothers me?”

  “The hours? The stress? The never-ending government problems?”

  “Dusty, I’m thirty-one years old, and no one takes me seriously. No one. They look at me, and they think I’m just a kid. I’ve had people laugh when I’ve handed them my business card, thinking that the position listed on it was a joke. Sometimes I think the secret of my success is that people simply underestimate me.”

  “Look, Samson, you’re most driven person I’ve ever met. That’s the only reason why you’ve come this far. It’s not your age or your looks or your overpriced wardrobe. In this profession, you can’t fake success for long. And wallowing in self-pity isn’t going to do a damn thing to help us, so snap out of it and focus on the problems at hand. And if you need help, well, you’re old enough to ask for it.”

  Tyler was about to answer when his phone buzzed. He punched the button, keeping a wary eye on his assistant general counsel. “Ms. Taber from the Justice Department on line one,” Cindy told him.

  “Want to tag-team this one?” he asked Dusty. “Nice lawyer, mean lawyer?”

  “Which one am I?”

  “Why don’t you give mean a try?”

  “This going to be a friendly chat?”

  “Just follow my lead.” Tyler reached over and stabbed the intercom button with his finger. “Good morning, Ms. Taber. You are on speakerphone. I have my Assistant General Counsel Dustin O’Dell here with me.”

  “Hello, Mr. O'Dell,” Taber replied pleasantly. “I also have you on speakerphone. Walter Calloway, United States Attorney, is sitting across the desk from me.”

  Tyler and Dusty exchanged surprised glances.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.” Calloway's voice was strong and smooth. The fact that the U.S. Attorney was willing to talk was a signal that the government was either willing to negotiate over a weak case, or they were going to announce that they had enough to go forward. Tyler bet it was the latter.

  He took a deep breath. “You have word for us, then?”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Tyler?”

  Dusty glanced up; Tyler gave him a slow nod.

  “We want to know when you’re ready to drop this investigation,” Dusty said to the phone. “Besides the questionable constitutionality of your investigation, the constant intrusions in our offices are becoming a real bother. We're getting tired of cleaning up after every FBI visit.”

  “I don’t understand,” Taber said. “How does this investigation involve constitutional issues?”

  Dusty continued as Tyler looked on. “Your warrant was vague as to the extent of search and seizure of our computer records and hardware.”

  “I would disagree, but enlighten me, Mr. O'Dell. Please.”

  “Warrants for computer devices should list only those components for which they can articulate a basis for search or seizure. In other words, the item itself must be contraband, an instrumentality, or evidence.”

  “The independent component doctrine,” Tyler broke in. He nodded at Dusty, impressed with his argument. It would make the basis for a strong motion before a court, one that might be necessary if negotiations went poorly. “If you haul away our equipment, the law requires that you articulate a reason for taking each item you seize.”

  “Interesting theory,” Taber admitted.

  “As Mr. O’Dell said, we don’t want to pick a fight every time your people make a legal blunder,” Tyler added calmly. “I think we can work out our differences without a paper blizzard.”

  “That’s the system, Mr. Tyler.”

  “I see. Speaking of paperwork, I haven’t heard a word from anyone regarding the fire in my apartment or the death threat that was sent to my office. I know the FBI is investigating those matters. Any reason why they can’t talk to me about it? The only thing they’ve done so far is take advantage of the confusion to harass the company. I expect better from my government, Ms. Taber.”

  “We are all doing our jobs, Mr. Tyler.”

  “Well, the notion of this company being involved with weapons dealing is silly.”

  “And if we have proof showing otherwise?”

  “Then take it to a grand jury already!” Tyler sounded exasperated. “You claim that we’ve purchased illegal government equipment. So what have you found? Yes, we legally purchase surplus military material through a number of agents. We do it to save money. Like anyone else, we’re in business to make a -” He paused in mid-sentence.

  “We’re still investigating your purchases,” Taber said.

  Tyler did not reply. He stared ahead, thinking.

  “That may be true,” Dusty said, picking up the conversation. “But if you think for one moment that -”

  Tyler held up his hand to silence Dusty. He picked up the receiver. “Mr. Calloway, may I speak to you privately?”

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Then he heard the receiver pick up. Calloway’s voice was closer and clearer. “What is it, Mr. Tyler?”

  “Call me Samson.”

  “All right, Samson. What do you want?”

  “I’d like to appeal to your sense of patriotism.”

  “That’s a new one.”

  “I’m sure you can appreciate the fact that if Templar Enterprises goes down, it could set back private - and American - space industry by years. It’s obvious that someone wants to shut us down.”

  “That’s not our goal, Mr. Tyler.”

  “FBI Special Agent Lowell suggested otherwise. Rebecca Taber appears to be acting with the same intent.”

  “Is she, now?”

  “Perhaps individuals in your organization have personal agendas. Perhaps it’s all politically related. I don’t know.”

  Calloway seemed to consider that. Tyler heard some muffled whispers on the other end of the line. Then Calloway said, “Can you visit our offices this afternoon?”

  “Certainly. What time?”

  “Three o’clock?”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Tyler hung up, and Dusty exploded in a mix of anger and shock. “Are you insane, telling them to put up or shut up? Why are you antagonizing a U.S. Attorney?”

  Tyler swiveled around to face his friend. “I’m just dropping a little dissention into their ranks. And I told them the absolute truth - that to the best of our knowledge, we’ve done nothing wrong. Their burden is to prove otherwise.”

  “And you think this whole thing is politically motivated?”

  “Let’s just say that I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here. I want some face time with the other side so I can get a sense of what cards they’re holding.”

  “You’re going alone?”

  “It’s better that way.”

  Dusty grunted.

  Tyler's phone buzzed. He picked up. “Hello?”

  Ramona Vargas asked, “Is Dusty around?”

  “Yes, he’s with me.”

  “Good. I want to see you two in my office.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “You'll find out.”

  Tyler looked over at Dusty and raised his eyebrow
s. “We'll be right there, Ramona.”

  “What does she want?” Dusty asked as Tyler hung up.

  “I don't know,” Tyler replied as he pulled on his jacket. “But I doubt its good news.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Ramona Vargas was already standing against the edge of her desk, her arms folded across her chest. Jacob Jackson stood beside her, an unlit cigar stump in one hand, the other in his pocket, smiling faintly as Tyler and Dusty entered the office.

  Tyler felt his stomach tighten. Both Ramona and Jackson looked too smug for this meeting to be anything but bad news.

  “You wanted to see us?” he asked.

  Ramona exchanged a long glance with Jackson. “Actually, Jacob called this meeting.” She moved behind her desk and settled into her seat.

  Tyler and Dusty sat down in the chairs facing the desk. Jackson remained standing.

  “I want to talk to you about this quarter’s financial statements,” Jackson explained as he handed the others thick black binders. “We finished our draft reports this morning. Here’s a summary preview.”

  “And then some.” Tyler leaned back and flipped open the booklet. “I just want to know what we've been spending on surplus supplies, and exactly who we’ve purchased these materials through. Is this going to give me any answers?”

  Irritation crept into Jackson’s voice. “No. And before you throw a fit, Samson, let me remind you that my department has already given you everything you’ve requested.”

  Tyler flipped through several pages before looking up. “When do these go through?”

  “We file our 10-K next week.”

  Ramona ran her fingers down the list of numbers. “So now we’re hemorrhaging eighteen million? That’s more than we projected last quarter.” She shook her head. “Orbital maintenance costs rose four million over this quarter a year ago.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Cost reductions have gone nowhere. Our revenue projections aren't panning out, either. Remember when we put up part of the space center for rent to commercial airlines? No takers so far. It’s been nine months.”

  They continued to discuss the report. Merchandise and royalty revenue had picked up, but that was the one bright spot in an otherwise gloomy statement. It was unlikely that Templar would be able to secure a secondary line of credit should the cash flow dry up. Most of the company's assets would be difficult to sell. The current Naiad mission was slightly over budget, and the expected revenue from future launch contracts had not yet materialized. Though Jackson tried to put an optimistic slant on the numbers, the truth was that Templar Enterprises was in deep trouble.