Shattered Legacy

by Shane R. Daley

  “I don’t know,” she said soberly. “I really don’t know.”

  His face fell. That was not the answer he wanted, but it was the answer he expected.

  She leaned across the table and placed her hand on his. “Hey, we’re busy people, both upwardly mobile. Right? Our relationship wasn’t really going anywhere…”

  “So, you think we should end it?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  Tyler shook his head. He grasped her hand, feeling a rush of nervousness. She was probably ready to break up with him for good. This wasn’t how or where he’d planned to bring this up, but now was as good a time as any. While he still had the nerve.

  “All of this,” he told her. “Everything that’s happened. Well, it gave me a chance to put things in perspective, to think about you and me, and where we were headed.”

  She nodded, looking at him intently.

  “Teresa, I - look, we were on a path that was leading us nowhere. I think we deserve better.”

  “Do we?”

  “Teresa, I want to take our relationship to the next level. I want to -”

  “Wait,” she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “Hold on. Is this what I think it is?”

  Tyler smiled.

  “Are you asking me to move in with you again?”

  His smile dropped. “Well, actually -”

  “Living together is just a bad idea. You know how I feel about that, Samson.”

  “You're an old-fashioned girl, I know. I know!”

  “Besides, your place is still a disaster.” She pulled her hand back and stood. “Listen, I have half an hour to make my eleven o’clock class. Maybe we can do another morning walk. How about Wednesday? Same time, same place? Maybe we can talk a little more about that path we’re on.”

  Tyler forced a smile. “Sure. That would be great.” Then he added, “You know, I do love you, Teresa.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.” Then she bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Call me tonight. I want to know what’s happening.”

  “I will.”

  He watched her leave, his smile slowly shifting to a dejected grimace. On one hand, he was relieved that she had gone easy on him. She could have laid down conditions - made him promise to work harder on their relationship, make more time for them, treat her better.

  But she didn't do that. In the end, she offered only reconciliation, with no promise of anything more. He smiled to himself as he realized that she just given him a bit of his own medicine. Teresa Keller was a challenging woman. That complexity was just one of many reasons that he knew she was the one.

  He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the small white ring box. He flipped open the lid to gaze at the one-karat diamond in a platinum setting. On an impulse that morning, he had picked it up in the 47th Street Diamond District. Nothing overly fancy and pretentious, but something he knew Teresa would like. Then he snapped the case shut and tucked the box back in his jacket.

  “Another time,” he muttered as he pushed himself to his feet.

  He checked his phone. He was late for work. Strangely enough, no one had left him any messages over the weekend.

  And strangely enough, he didn’t really care.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  A quiet melancholy permeated Templar’s offices. The legal department was silent when Samson Tyler arrived. He limped down the hallway with his jacket flung over his shoulder. People acknowledged him with low, measured greetings. A few looked surprised to see him. Though Tyler himself had not yet heard anything, he suspected that rumors were spreading that his career at Templar was over.

  He knew the fallout from what had happened last week would be far more than his personal humiliation. The crash of the Naiad, deliberate or not, would cost the company dearly.

  As he neared his office, he stopped before his assistant’s desk.

  “Good morning, Cindy.” He had been calm all morning, but now his stomach knotted up as he realized that it was time to face the consequences of his actions.

  “Welcome back, Samson.” She looked up at him with the same pleasant smile she gave him every business day, though today he could see that today that smile was forced. “How are you feeling?”

  “All things considered, pretty well.”

  “And your strength?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  She hefted a thick stack of paper slips. “These are your messages. I've already sorted out the important ones.”

  His gut tightened again. “Important ones?”

  She shrugged. “Relatively important, but nothing…” She chose her word carefully. “Dramatic.”

  He thumbed through the messages. Several were from the Public Relations Department, requesting information. The rest of the messages were from other departments and the news media.

  The last message was from Noah Gettleman, saying he would not be available to speak with him for at least another week.

  Tyler grimaced. No rush on that.

  On entering his office, Tyler felt like he had been gone for a lifetime. Everything looked the same, but somehow the place felt unfamiliar. He hung up his jacket and walked around the room. Idly, he wondered if Evelyn Merrick – or whatever her name was - had ever been in here, looking through his personal files, logging on to his computer - or even planting listening devices.

  He wondered how long Merrick had really been in his life.

  Cindy had left copies of the New York Times on his chair. He picked up the morning’s edition and sat down. A large photograph of the Naiad crash dominated page one. The story gave a full recap of the incident. All three astronauts had died in the crash. A massive computer failure was being blamed for the disaster, though there was speculation as to whether the orbiter’s malfunction was due to sabotage or a terrorist incident. The sidebar mentioned the ongoing problems with Templar Enterprises, Jacob Jackson’s arrest, and the legal problems that plagued the company. There was a black and white picture of Jackson, who was now in custody, along with a brief synopsis of his once-distinguished career.

  Tyler sighed. So much had gone wrong. The loss of the astronauts bothered him the most. They deserved better.

  The telephone beeped. Still scanning the paper, he pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”

  “Rebecca Taber is on line one.”

  He set aside the newspaper and leaned forward. His hand hesitated over the phone, and then he picked up.

  “Ms. Taber,” he said loudly, doing his best to put on a cheerful voice for the Assistant U.S. Attorney. “What can I do for you?”

  “Welcome back, Mr. Tyler. Are you the person to whom I should be speaking? Or should I be talking with Mr. O'Dell?”

  “You have the right person. For the moment.”

  “I just called to let you know that we're holding a press conference in thirty minutes.”

  “I see,” he said neutrally.

  “Consider this a professional courtesy. I just wanted to let you know that the Justice Department still plans to move forward against your company for illegal technology transfers.”

  Frowning, Tyler said nothing.

  “That's the bad news. The good news is that we're dropping all charges against you personally.”

  “I'm glad to hear that. But why still go after the company? You saw what happened in New Mexico.”

  “That doesn’t change anything.”

  Tyler leaned back in his seat. “Come on, Rebecca. What's the point now? Haven’t we already taken our lumps?”

  “Please. Not only do we have your televised public statement, but also we have a corroborating confession by your CFO who claims that he actively destroyed criminal evidence and worked with the Merrick woman. Need I go on, Samson, or are you ready to talk through a settlement?” After a silent moment, Taber chuckled. “And to think that I you pegged as a straight shooter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You knew, or must have suspected,
that something was going on with your company. Somehow, you managed to keep everyone at bay until it all collapsed. Then, at the final moment - in a brilliant piece of melodrama - you managed to both implicate and victimize your company at the same time. And for added measure, you even managed to offer up a few sacrificial lambs.” Before Tyler could reply, she added, “I don't expect you to answer that.”

  “Just give me the where and when to meet.”

  “I'll let you know.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” Then he added in a lower voice, “And… Thank you, Rebecca.”

  “I haven't done you any favors, Samson. Just wait until you see my settlement terms.”

  Tyler hung up, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. Overall, things could have turned out worse. Jacob Jackson had already provided federal prosecutors with a sworn deposition implicating himself and Evelyn Merrick in a scheme to defraud the government of millions. Jackson’s grand jury testimony would seal his fate.

  Merrick, unfortunately, was presumed dead. She was in the Vehicle Assembly Building’s private hangar wing, which had been incinerated in the Naiad's crash. Captured alive, she could have answered a great number of questions.

  If history was any guide, Tyler knew how the situation would play out. Later in the week, his legal department would issue an internal report of their findings, which would be more or less consistent with Jacob Jackson's confession. The company would then promise to fully reimburse the government for its losses and negotiate settlement terms with the Department of Justice.

  In the end, Templar Enterprises would probably survive another few months. After that, without any functioning spacecraft, the company would become insolvent. Not even a complete licensing of Templar’s technology could save them. They were wiped out. An early estimate of the loss of the two orbiters and the damage to the space center was upwards of four billion dollars. If they were lucky, another company might try to buy them out.

  There was a knock at the door. Cindy poked her head inside. “Sinclair Dorian is waiting for you in the executive conference room.”

  Tyler frowned. “He’s here?”

  “In person.”

  He wasn’t expecting to face the old man so soon, and certainly not at the office.

  He stood slowly. Grunting with the weight on his ankle, he headed out the door. He saw Dusty lumbering over. His jacket was off, his tie and top shirt button twisted open. The assistant general counsel’s mouth was set in a grim line. His eyes were ringed with dark bags.

  He stopped, looked Tyler up and down, and said, “You look as bad as I feel, pal.”

  “And I feel worse than I look,” Tyler replied, joining his friend as they walked past Cindy's desk. “I just spoke with Rebecca Taber. They're ready to talk.”

  “A settlement?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did you pull that off?”

  “It’s all in the timing, my friend.”

  “Just waiting for the where and when?”

  “I want you to handle it. Just make sure we admit no wrongdoing and under no circumstances do we pay any monetary penalties.”

  “Sounds good,” Dusty replied, breaking into a deep yawn. “But what do you mean I should handle it?”

  “I’m making you acting general counsel on this. Play your cards right, and the promotion may be permanent.”

  Dusty looked at him askance. “What are you talking about?”

  “Sinclair Dorian didn’t make a special trip here to pin a medal on my chest.”

  “Wait a minute. They’re going to throw you overboard after all this?”

  Tyler shook his head. “They won’t need to fire me.” He patted his jacket breast pocket.

  “You’re going to resign?”

  “It’ll be good timing. There's another lawsuit on the way that’s sure to be a headache.”

  Dusty raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s a class action suit on behalf of the spectators who were forced to evacuate the space center grounds.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “They all want their money back.”

  Dusty shrugged. “They can take a number. We’ll be tied up with insurance matters for the foreseeable future.” As they reached the elevator bank, Dusty clapped Tyler on the shoulder and smiled grimly. “Give ’em hell, pal.”

  Dusty headed back toward his office as Tyler slowly turned and limped toward the executive conference room.

  ***

  Sunlight streamed through the large windows, bathing Sinclair Dorian in a warm, white glow. He was hunched over in his wheelchair, staring out at the nearby buildings.

  “Come in, Samson.”

  Tyler was surprised that Dorian had heard him enter. He tentatively stepped inside the conference room, closed the door behind him, and came around the large table. “It's good to see you out and about, Sinclair.”

  Dorian’s right hand went to the joystick controller, and his chair jerked around. The old man’s eyes were clear and bright, his face less sallow than they had been a few days earlier. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a gray woolen blanket over his legs.

  He was not smiling. “Today is the first day I've been out of my house in almost two months. And I’m not here because I wanted some fresh air.”

  Tyler did not know what to say.

  Dorian cleared his throat. “You were not authorized to speak on behalf of the company at that press conference.” The old man’s unhappy expression shifted to an outright scowl.

  “Sir, let me explain -”

  “Bad enough we lost half our space center, but on top of that, you went on national television and fed the public some cock-and-bull conspiracy story. You made us look like idiots, Samson! Do you know what kind of damage you did to us?”

  Tyler raised his hands. “First of all, Sinclair, there was a conspiracy, and your friend Jacob was neck-deep in it. If you want to talk about people making us look like idiots, then take a good look at the people you have running this company.”

  Dorian bared his teeth, and his voice dropped to a growl. “I am, and I don’t like what I see.”

  So it was going to end like this. Tyler knew this was coming but still felt his anger boil up. “Sinclair, I went out there and I told the truth because, in the end, that’s the only thing that will save this company. Believe it or not, I do care about Templar Enterprises. I care about our people, and I care about our mission. If you can’t see that, then you’re right – I don’t belong here.”

  As he reached for his resignation letter, the door opened and Ramona Vargas walked in. She was wearing a red blouse and black slacks. Her hair was pulled back in a simple knot.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said as she approached. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Sinclair.” She looked at each man in turn, but focused on Tyler a heartbeat longer. She glanced down at the envelope he held. “Welcome back, Samson,” she added without inflection.

  “Ramona.” Tyler adjusted his tie and turned back to Dorian, who was still scowling at him.

  “Am I interrupting something?” she asked.

  “Mr. Tyler was about to be relieved of his duties,” Dorian replied coldly.

  “I see.” Ramona seemed to brighten. Her eyes sparkled as she watched Tyler’s reaction. “Did Sinclair tell you tell why he relieving you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “For gross insubordination,” Dorian said. “I can’t have people working for me who have their own agendas.”

  Tyler thought that statement was particularly ironic, but rather than mention the point, he stood silently and waited for the moment to arrive - the moment where Ramona Vargas would have the satisfaction of grinding her heel in the remains of his career. At this point, it didn’t matter. He just wanted it over.

  “Samson,” Ramona said, tilting her head slightly. “Where do we stand with the Department of Justice?”

  The question took Tyler off guard. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she was serious. “We're planning
to meet for settlement talks. Jacob’s admissions and the evidence regarding Evelyn Merrick are panning out in our favor.”

  “And the media reaction on all this?”

  “We’ve couched the crash as a domestic terrorism incident linked to the company’s internal problems. Backlash as to our safety procedures has been limited.”

  “Good,” said Ramona, her eyes narrowing in thought. “That's very good. Things could have turned out much worse, I suppose.”

  “You’re praising the man?” Dorian watched the exchange with open skepticism. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for him.”

  “I think you misunderstand the situation, Sinclair. I spoke to Samson moments before he went on air. He was acting on my orders.”

  “What?” Dorian and Tyler both said in unison.

  “That’s right,” Ramona replied calmly. “Samson had asked to speak, and I had refused. But right before the press conference, I decided to let him speak. I ordered him to come clean publicly about what we had discovered. It was a gamble, but it looks like it’s paying off.”

  Tyler's jaw dropped a fraction. He never thought he would see the day that Ramona Vargas would come to his rescue. Of course, her act was not completely selfless. Making everything look as if it were her idea only made her look like a hero. Still, she had just saved his job.

  “Is this true?” Dorian asked Tyler. “Did she give you permission to go and say those things?”

  “Yes,” she interrupted, before Tyler could reply.

  “Was this before or after I spoke with you that day?” Dorian asked Tyler, his eyebrows arched.

  “After,” Tyler said quickly, nonchalantly tucking his envelope back in his jacket.

  “Coming clean is ultimately the best way for us to move forward.” Ramona turned her head and gave Dorian a faint smile. “Under the circumstances, wouldn’t you agree, Sinclair?”

  Dorian stared at Ramona from under his bushy eyebrows. Then he shifted his eyes to Tyler, who slowly nodded.

  “Ramona did what she felt was best for the company,” Tyler said, trying hard not to grit his teeth as he said the words. He looked over at Ramona, who dipped her head slightly. “Yes,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face. “The two of us were in complete agreement as to our strategy.”