[Jack Emery 01.0] The Foundation

by Steve P Vincent

  “How’s that guy you’ve been seeing?”

  “No good.” Sarah seemed content to leave it at that.

  Michelle nodded and took a sip of her coffee. The effort to divest Sarah of her infatuation with a transfer student from the Wharton Business School had been worth it. He’d had too much husband potential for Michelle to allow the relationship to flourish. It was a shame he’d refused to take a hint, and she’d had to destroy his reputation. His promising career was now in ruins. He’d also never marry Sarah and be in the box seat for control of EMCorp. Michelle didn’t like surprises, and the boyfriend had been one of those. Her relationship with Sarah was insurance against McDowell making the wrong choices.

  9

  In scenes nearly as vocal as those playing out in the South China Sea, the United States Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Privacy, Technology and the Law spent a seventh day grilling Ernest McDowell, Chief Executive Officer of EMCorp. Sources from inside the company told Business Daily that many company executives expect it to be broken up, or other significant measures to be taken, to reduce its dominance in the US and global media market. Mr McDowell, looking more distressed by the day, was angered when the Committee chairman, Senator Patrick Mahoney, asked what should be done with his company, replying, “Nothing.”

  Francis McKay, Business Daily, September 14

  Ernest had waited for hours in the most modern office he’d ever seen. It had angular chairs, an odd lamp, a coffee table shaped like a lightning bolt and all manner of other visual dross. It was lucky for the manufacturers that people paid a fortune for such crap, because he figured that once the business community came to its senses, a whole lot of furniture makers would be out of a living.

  He lifted his coffee, took a mouthful then placed the cup down carefully on the lightning bolt. He was tired and knew that she was deliberately making him wait, to get him off guard and angry. But he had no control, so there was no sense in a tantrum. All the delay did was give him time to reflect on the disaster the last week had been. Although the Committee clearly had an agenda and a giant axe to grind, the previous night he’d been dealt the killer blow: a call from a despondent Saul Alweiss. He hadn’t beaten around the bush—Saul had found proof within EMCorp of fresh phone hacking in the United States; it was only a matter of time before the evidence was discovered by the Senate inquiry; and if he was a religious man, he should start praying for deliverance. It made Ernest’s testimony and denials at the inquiry worthless.

  Eventually the door to the office opened with a mechanical whir. Michelle Dominique walked through the door and feigned surprise. “Ernest, nice of you to visit.”

  He snorted and doubted very much she’d been oblivious to his presence, but he kept the thought to himself. He had to admit that she was dressed to kill. Her black hair flowed over her shoulders in a way that made him think of Medusa and her snakes. Her white blouse and black skirt took none of the attention away from her legs, which were bound by knee-high black leather boots.

  He shook her outstretched hand. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you spent the last hour dressing to distract me.”

  “Hardly, you’re a married man. And I have no desire to be wife number, what is it—five?” She smirked and nodded her head in the direction of her office. “Let’s go in here.”

  He said nothing as they crossed the waiting area and entered her office. Clearly she had different tastes in furniture to whoever was responsible for the waiting area, with hardwood the order of the day. He couldn’t deny that her view of the Washington Mall was spectacular as well, as she sat in a brown leather lounge chair and he sat opposite.

  Her eyes were locked on to his. “I must admit I don’t have any idea why you’re here. I thought we left things fairly concrete in your hotel.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about your proposal. I’m in. Limited editorial control as long as you can make my little problem go away, as you inferred.”

  She laughed at him and his heart sank. “Do you make a habit of trying to revive the dead, Ernest? Strange fetish, and to each their own, I suppose. But I’m afraid our business is concluded. Events and my plans have moved on without you.”

  Ernest had expected this. He’d declined her attempts to control him and his company prior to the Senate hearing, and things had only become worse since. He was now at her mercy, and would have to fight hard to secure whatever terms she deemed to give. In terms of the balance of power, he was the Japan to her United States, circa 1945, and a couple of his cities had just been nuked.

  “There must be something I could do that would change your mind. I’m desperate.”

  She winked. “Oh Ernest! You flatter! I’m sure that plenty of bright, beautiful young things have asked similar of you in the past, and you’ve been all too happy to take them up on it. But I’m afraid I’m not interested in old men in that way, no matter how rich.”

  He ignored her jibe. “I’m prepared to offer more than you previously asked for in return for your support.”

  Michelle leaned back in her seat and looked up to the ceiling. “Well, that’s a different story.”

  She didn’t immediately decline, as he’d expected. Instead, she seemed to consider her next move carefully. He was anxious. The next few minutes and the direction of the conversation would change much in Ernest’s life, one way or another.

  She looked back at him. “I’m still going to decline. You rejected me, put all your chips on black, and the big green zero has come up. I’ve moved on, I suggest you do the same.”

  He looked at her in desperation. “The committee is going to split up my company, Ms Dominique. They’ll ruin me and tear it apart.”

  She shrugged and stood. “As I said they would. Not my problem, Ernest. You had your chance, blew it, and there’s no hard feelings. But you can’t really expect me to backtrack now things have become worse for you.”

  Ernest felt it all start to slip away. Decades of working to acquire, spread, fine tune and protect his media empire. Countless birthdays and anniversaries missed. Friends and relationships sacrificed. Billions of dollars of profit and loss. His empire, his life. Within days, it would be broken up and all but destroyed.

  “I don’t believe for a second you’ve given up on your efforts to control my company, Ms Dominique. Not after such a fine speech in my hotel room.”

  She laughed. “I was head of the debating team in college, Ernest, I say a lot of persuasive things. Having you on side would have helped, but we’ve moved past this.”

  “I want the deal.”

  He looked up at her and she stared back, a look of pity in her eyes. “Oh, very well. I’m prepared to offer you the same deal on my part. I will, in essence, save your behind.”

  “You won’t regret it.” He exhaled loudly. “You’ve lifted a weight off my shoulders.”

  “I’m not finished.” She leaned forward. “My part of the bargain hasn’t changed. Yours, however, will be very different—my price for your delay in accepting.”

  He’d expected something like this, but was glad she’d listened to his pleas. “Okay. Name it and it’s yours.”

  He felt some of his confidence disappear when she grinned at him.

  Michelle knew she had him. Sitting in front of her was a man at his most desperate. He was facing the crushing reality of the Senate inquiry going against him, and he’d do just about anything to save his company.

  She needed to get him under control, but also reduce his ability to go against the agreement they were about to make. She could have asked for the beating heart of his daughter—his heir—and he might have given it up. Thankfully for Sarah McDowell, Ernest’s daughter was already under control. Michelle had other targets in mind to further reduce his options. At the same time, she had to keep up the façade of negotiation. She leaned back in her seat. He was still in the same position, as if he feared that by moving, even an inch, he’d break the tenuous chance of a deal between them and be cast adrift into the maelstrom
of uncertainty.

  “The deal has changed, Ernest.”

  “What’re your terms, then?”

  Michelle readied herself. There was a small chance that he’d be so outraged that he’d simply walk out. She doubted it though. It was a bet on his love for his company over his love for his family. With Sarah McDowell in her camp, she now needed to deal with the stock holding of Sandra Cheng. It was time to test his resolve and tighten the screws.

  “You divorce your wife.”

  His head shot up and his eyes flared in protest. “Divorce my wife? She’s nothing to you, a non-practicing lawyer who’s spent more time in hospital than by my side in recent months. That’s ridiculous.”

  Michelle shrugged. “Those are my terms.”

  She watched as he processed her words. No doubt he felt her reasons were petty, designed merely to inflict pain for his initial recalcitrance. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Michelle never relied on others, not entirely, and as soon as she’d locked her sights on EMCorp, she’d developed plans to control it, with or without Ernest McDowell. That meant befriending Sarah McDowell, removing Sandra Cheng and the Foundation buying stock of its own at the right time.

  “There must be something else.” He leaned forward, desperation in his eyes. “You can’t force me to destroy my family to save my company. I don’t understand what you gain.”

  Michelle was enjoying his rambling, but she had had enough. She decided it was time to push. “There are no other conditions that I’m interested in considering, Ernest. You asked for this meeting, not me, and you’re welcome to use the door over there. If you do, be sure to pass on my best to the senator and his colleagues. But if you are interested in the deal, you need to decide right now. My patience is at an end.”

  His bluster disappeared and he cradled his head in his hands. “Is that really what it’s going to take?”

  “Afraid so.”

  He seemed to consider her terms for a long few moments, then sighed. “You’ve got a deal. Get rid of the Senate inquiry. Once they’re off my back, I’ll do what you ask.”

  Michelle smiled. “I don’t like the precedent of you dictating terms, but in this case they’re fair enough. I’ll get things in motion tonight, and the inquiry should be history in a day or two. But you best hold up your end when the time comes. I think you understand the extremes to which I’m able to project my displeasure.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You can start with having a front page editorial in the Standard tomorrow, calling for America to protect Taiwan, deploy assets, recognition—all that jazz. A sign of goodwill.”

  He grunted, stood and exited without another word. Now that she had him, Michelle would have to act swiftly to hold up her end of the bargain. It would have been much easier to make the Senate inquiry go away before it had convened, but now things were underway, far more drastic action was needed.

  She knew that the conspiracy theorists would look back in decades to come and point at the events as an example of the power of corporate America. As usual, she mused darkly, they’d miss the point entirely. The deaths, the professional ruin, all would be orchestrated behind the scenes, with no possible link back to the Foundation.

  Things were moving, and it was time for her to make her final push. Shanghai had been a success, EMCorp was in her pocket, war was looking likely and the election was soon.

  There were only a few things left to do.

  Jack stood on the observation platform high above the flight deck of the USS George Washington. This was one of several times in the past few days that he’d watched in awe as men and women in brightly colored vests moved without apparent pattern around the deck. Yet the more he watched, the more he saw the routine—the choreography of jets taking off and landing under careful instruction. It mesmerized him.

  Jack was only now starting to appreciate the sheer force that the carrier, with all its planes and attendant ships, allowed the United States Navy to project. He felt as if this ship would be enough to stop one nation, injured and angry, from striking at another, frightened but defiant. It really was proof that weapons built for war could help to enforce peace between nations.

  The clear night sky provided the perfect backdrop for his thoughts, complete with full moon and millions of stars. The observation platform had become his second home on board the ship whenever he wasn’t working, a place where he could be alone and think. It was one of the few places on the ship where that was possible, home as it was to thousands of men and women.

  Tonight, as he stared out into the night, he was grateful that nobody else was nearby. Between the roar of the jets taking off or landing every few minutes, he thought of many things. He thought of Erin, of Shanghai, of work and of life. He was proud that he’d so far managed to avoid the bottle, but didn’t like the introspection that sobriety forced. He wasn’t quite ready for the decisions that came next in many parts of his life.

  He leaned on the rail for a few more minutes while his mind wandered. Then he heard the screech of the bulkhead door behind him as someone pushed it open. He involuntarily tensed at the intrusion.

  “Hi, Jack. You’ve been out here for hours. I think the admiral is going to send out a search party if you don’t surface soon.”

  Jack continued to stare straight ahead. He sensed her move closer, nearly close enough to touch him. Celeste stopped and settled in a spot just behind him, slightly to his left. He was glad that the roar of another plane taking off conveniently overwhelmed the awkward silence.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Probably enough to conquer some countries.”

  “Mightn’t be enough though. The Chinese seem pretty pissed.”

  Another pause. “Sorry, but is there something you wanted, Celeste?”

  Her voice quivered slightly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you what she said.”

  Jack turned to face her. She was looking up at the sky. He exhaled loudly. “You’ve done nothing to be sorry for. I’ve been a dick.”

  “No, you haven’t, Jack. You’re allowed to feel and act any way you want right now. Your whole world has been thrown upside down.”

  He reached out and grabbed hold of her shoulders. When she didn’t look at him, he squeezed her shoulders slightly. Finally, she turned. “Celeste, I’m sorry.”

  She smiled weakly and pulled away a little. “I was just checking my emails. I had one from Jo. He’s telling us to change slant on this one and ramp up the focus on Taiwanese nationalism and how important it is for the US to support it—to a ridiculous extent.”

  Jack laughed. “Welcome to the company. Not often we get told which way the wind blows, but Ernest can be pretty bloody convincing.”

  She frowned. “I don’t believe Ernest is that explicit about his agenda. I mean, I’ve heard stories, but—”

  “They’re true.” Jack shrugged. “He’s a ruthless bastard and we write what he tells us to write whenever he’s interested enough to tell us. It’s worse than that, in this case. I spoke to Jo an hour ago on the sat phone.”

  “Oh?”

  “He gave me the same message that you got in the email. They’re running with a pretty explosive editorial tomorrow—a demand for pre-emptive US strikes to keep Chinese brinksmanship in check. He also told me it’s straight from the top.”

  Celeste walked over to the rail of the observation deck. “Are they trying to start a war?”

  Jack shrugged. “Don’t worry too much. Even though there’s a war brewing, it’s being held in check by this very ship. I’ll take the lead on the reports, you just help me with the background. I won’t make you write the piece that sparks the powder keg.”

  “Thanks.” She looked relieved.

  Jack turned to go inside the carrier just as everything around him went bright and a shockwave hit him. As he stumbled and fell, he heard the explosion and Celeste cry out. He managed to brace, but he still landed hard on the deck. His ears started to ring with a h
igh-pitched whine.

  He felt the cold steel of the walkway on his cheek. He tried to move, but couldn’t. He was not sure how long he lay there, stunned, but it was long enough for the whine in his ears to subside. Through the gap in the safety rail, he could see several fires burning on the far side of the flight deck. The flames combined with the dozens of flashing red LEDs to light the night sky in a hellish scene. Men and women screamed.

  Jack lifted his head and looked at Celeste. She hadn’t moved. He was about to try to get to his feet when everything went black.

  Act II

  10

  While it’s unclear exactly what’s taken place aboard the USS George Washington, to have a US carrier stranded in such a hot zone is a difficult situation. We’ve already seen the Chinese scramble aircraft, claiming that the carrier is in its territorial waters and demanding it leave or be towed to a Chinese port—two outcomes the US would fight hard to avoid. The situation with the carrier adds more kindling to an already heated situation with China and Taiwan.

  Hiroshi Kawahara, Asashi Shinbun, September 15

  Jack’s shoes clanked on the steel floor of the long, straight corridor. It was as if with each step the carrier was groaning again at the punishment it had taken. His nostrils were filled with the heady mix of burning rubber, insulation and electrical wire. Though most of the fires were out, the stink remained.

  He was taking things slowly. Although he’d been let out of the infirmary with a few stitches and some aspirin, his head still ached. He couldn’t blame the doctors for being more concerned about the real casualties—those with burns and shrapnel—than with his cut lip and sore head. Celeste had likewise been released.

  “Step aside!”

  Jack moved to the wall and sank into it as much as the cold, hard steel would allow. He waited as a small team of men and women rushed past him without a glance in his direction. In the hours since the attack on the Washington, the same crew he’d watched maneuver jet planes had worked to put out fires or clean up debris.