Deshomm’s global reach, while almost impossible to untangle, played to our advantage. A number of Hartford’s businesses carried national security status that required no entanglement with foreign governance. Obscure and outdated policy prohibited acquisitions that could shrink market competition. Reviewing the risks of building our strategy on a handful of similar significant legal barriers to Deshomm’s hostile takeover and exercising careful message management about their involvement in the energy grid vandalism, I set Hartford’s hired guns against Goliath.
With blazing speed, Deshomm offered to drop their action in exchange for the opportunity to purchase Giant Pines including all livestock and lands as well as technology or expertise necessary to maintain production at the current levels. Jaws dropped at the purchase price offered.
Including transfer of all technology and expertise in their offer indicated Deshomm’s intention to shut down Hartford, Ltd., Raima and I hooted at the terms of the deal that displayed our opponent’s ignorance of the change in status of Giant Pines from agricultural production to a protected research foundation twenty-four hours earlier.
Celebration of the first success ceased when our communications consultants discovered a Deshomm press story scheduled for release shortly before the mid-day news cycle announcing acquisition of Great Pines. A Hartford, Ltd., “manager,” a supervisor in the egg washing facility, was quoted as the source that announced that Max would be presented as the new general manager. Such brassy misrepresentation edged up the stakes. Customers could be spooked, employees willing to accept competitors’ job offers. The multi-corps frequently drove small business owners to bankruptcy through deal negotiations before purchasing whatever they wanted at ridiculous prices.
Our staff at Giant Pines deserved to know the truth before the media carried Deshomm’s story. I needed assurance Max had not abdicated from Hartford, Ltd.,
“Everything still locked down?” Max skipped the nicety of a greeting. “Lao came by early this morning. Don’t know that either of us had seen the Bureau put down that many restrictions. I’ve got a team working just on vendor deliveries and local suppliers’ access. Not easy.”
Regular work crews were busy in the orchards outside my office window. Young men with shaved heads, young women with elaborate braids on one part of their skulls and bare skin on other parts. As far as I could see, laborers wearing our field gear dotted the trees. The morning looked normal.
“We’re doing our best to keep a normal work day here, Max.” I tried my communicator and found some bands blanked out. “Has anyone from Deshomm invited you out for dinner lately?”
“There’ve been a number of invites, but I’d rather eat with rats. What’s it all about, boss?”
I swiveled back to my desk. “I’m letting the Bureau take care of the security situation so I can keep my eye on Hartford, Ltd., A lot is happening and I need to speak with you and critical staff members this morning.”
“Bring me up to speed.”
Max had a right to know, but I wondered if our communications lines had become porous. “Let me get back to you after I talk with Lao.”
“Before you go, how’s Paul? We got guys here who ask about him every morning.”
“He’s holding his own, Max. I was just with him. Weak, sleeping a lot, but talked with me about the importance of Giant Pines this morning.”
“Tell him we pray for him every night.” Max and his wife, old-fashioned Christians, led an evening prayer service at Giant Pines. I was surprised that many of the crew participated. Ashwood’s meditation session drew few young people from the same workforce.
“Thanks, Max. Give me five and I’ll be back.” For once, I didn’t ask for information about production. Crops and animals would continue to exist without my attention.
“Lao.” I searched for him across our communications lines, but met only silence.
“Anne, there is a coded message for you on your communicator.” Clarissa’s calm tones broke through my concern about Lao’s silence.
“Have you seen or heard from Lao,” I asked. “I’ve tried every available line.”
“He’ll tell you more.” She paused. “You have a few minutes now if you’d like to meet?”
“Yes. In my office.” I heard her tell someone she was speaking with me. “Anything change in my schedule for the day?”
“I heard you had a very early morning so I pulled your end of day conference with Mr. Milan to immediately after lunch followed by the exec team. Materials you need are in your information file.”
She would have continued, but I took her back to the conference with Milan. “I don’t remember a conference with Milan. What’s the agenda and who is the scheduler?”
“He requested the meeting personally around midnight. I spoke with his assistant this morning to confirm.”
“Thank you, Clarissa.”
In the doorway David waited for my attention. “You’ve been busy. Thanks for keeping me in the loop on Deshomm’s games. I’d like to go to Giant Pines with you. I suppose it’s too early to include John?”
“We’re not ready to talk about organizational changes.” I motioned for him to close the door before continuing. “Lao’s on his way here. Communicators aren’t working.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“And Clarissa just confirmed a change of time in a conference with Milan who is supposedly in blackout in our safe room.”
Lao knocked on the door and David let him in.
“Let me explain what’s happening.” He appeared hurried. “The Bureau closed all our middle band communications because they’re vulnerable to outside listeners. They claim this is to monitor any chatter about Milan while keeping his escape confidential. Anyone who knows he is alive is virtually quarantined—not allowed to leave Ashwood—until more is known about who wants him dead.” He stuffed a hand in his pocket, dragged out a small ring and handed it to me with a note: “Secure until the agencies clear out.”
“Of course, the FBI would take charge of an investigation into the attempted murder of a federal official.” David rolled his shoulders. “Not great that we’re caught in the middle.”
I slipped the ring on a finger. David watched, each reminded that government agencies frequently monitored our conversations.
“You were looking for me?” Lao finally asked.
“David and I need to talk with people at Giant Pines about a Deshomm story that will break on late-morning media. Is that possible?”
He shrugged. “I’ll know better in the hour. Right now the FBI lead agent is telling the Bureau how Milan is going to be kept secure.” Like kids we snickered at the thought of two such government titans in conflict. “I suspect the Bureau is talking about Phoebe’s security as rationale for controlling Ashwood. I think we’ll be free to carry on regular activities with the understanding that we not say anything about the transport explosion.”
“Amen. I’ve got a few things to put together before we leave.” David walked toward the door. “When do you want to leave, Annie?”
“Whenever Lao and Clarissa say go.”
“The most powerful woman in Hartford, Ltd., is the one who controls this woman’s calendar.” David winked. “Let me know. If I’m not in my office, I’ll be with Dad.”
Lao moved to a chair after David left. “Milan will soon move to an FBI safe house. Ahlmet’s corporate sponsors might not be privy to how high our friend sits in the federal world.”
“What about Milan’s wife? Isn’t she in Duluth?”
“They haven’t lived together for years. Of course they’re still married, but work is his mistress.” Lao sat back. “The wife works for an art studio in the metro area. They do share a family place in Duluth, but Milan lives in a Bureau apartment in the cities.”
“That’s sad. They were marrie
d before the economy tanked. I like her a lot.”
But Lao never looked back unless seeking clues about the present. As I aged, I envied his pragmatic nature. He cut back to the present. “If you want to see Milan before the FBI moves him, you should go now. Phoebe is in her quarters.”
“Thank you. Do I need clearance?” In my own house, I thought.
“You’re on his approved contact list. I’ll walk with you part of the way.”
Amber coached a young worker on cleaning technique in the residence foyer. I recognized the boy as one pulled from gardening because of college potential. Attitude seemed to be blocking his ability to take instructions from an attractive woman. Dining room staff worked on lunch. Sounds of kitchen preparations carried to the central hall.
The door to Paul’s rooms stood open, which suggested he was open for visitors. Beyond his quarters, the back stairs were seldom used. Twenty years ago child workers frequently ran up and down these steps with food supplies, laundry, to a quiet study hall or sickbay. Milan, wearing clothes I didn’t recognize, leaned next to a window on the lower level and appeared lost in thought.
He was listening to a conversation, but smiled when holding up a hand to ask for silence.
“That’s not going to work. You’ve got a difficult situation to resolve or others will find a solution.”
I wouldn’t want to hear those words from a man with a voice that challenged winter ice for coldness.
“We’ve covered all runway allowed for negotiations. Unless you relish charges of accessory to an attempted assassination behind your name, the next move is yours. You can finish these discussions with my appointee.” He bent, rubbed at his healing leg.
I assumed the Bureau lab executive in Chicago wished he or she had not risen to quite this level where internal politics and external patrons rubbed together to ignite explosives under a vehicle hundreds of miles away. The vehicle supposedly carrying a higher-level government executive, someone that big people in Washington, D.C., valued higher than a lab executive.
“I’m sorry we dragged you into Phoebe’s issue,” I said when he turned to me.
One eyebrow rose. “I’ve never been out of Phoebe’s life. Our nation’s need for success of these bright young people is one of the president’s priorities.” He leaned back against the windowsill. “Supporting removal of Phoebe from the Bureau lab system has put me in a tough place. You don’t need to understand all the ramifications. Just be aware that Phoebe’s prediction that breaking her contract would be difficult is accurate.” A yawn formed, he pressed his lips together tightly. The urge passed. “There’s a middle ground, but you’ll have to be open to government presence in Hartford, Ltd.”
“Will you be okay? You seem more annoyed than concerned about this attempt on your life. How do your wife and girls feel about the danger?” I opened the door for him to talk about his family, to be truthful with me about his life.
“My daughters are married women with their own families. They care as much about my daily work as they did when they were teenagers. Unless this hits the media, they’ll never know.” He checked for time, looked puzzled. “My wife is safe. She worries because she is an anxious person by nature.”
Nothing in his face suggested their lives were different than he wished. Governments could create legislation and economic incentives to force continued marital relationships, but the post depression world challenged such inventions.
“Your stability makes you a successful person, Annie.” Milan looked up at Lao and nodded him away. “Paul and I have never talked about your kids or this bunker you made into a decent home. We talk about how Anne Hartford has the brains and resources to keep building this corporation into a more powerful entity closer to the top of the world where the air doesn’t stink as much.” The face he turned toward me demanded attention, his entire stance displayed cold dominance. “You fight like a survivor assuring no one pulls the rug out from under your cozy home. That’s small-thinking behavior. It’s time you leave Ashwood and take on important fights in the world.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Milan lowered his voice. “You and yours will never starve again, so after Paul passes, give your husband reins of this company and let him rule the family. This government is highly invested in your success. Don’t be surprised if you’re called to run something outside Minnesota.”
Framed from behind by the arbor gate to our family pond, Milan epitomized a powerful executive. Although he rested against the window’s sill, he didn’t lounge but carried energy. Someone not involved in this conversation might think that he was snapping an order to an underling. Milan’s dissatisfaction with my defined ambition was never so personal in the past.
“You have different ambitions for me than I do. Look at the Regan kids or the hundreds that have graduated from our school or the hundreds trained in Hartford’s facilities and I call the government’s investment repaid many times. That doesn’t touch on the thousands fed by our production.”
“Annie, you don’t have ambition for yourself.” He paused. “You only have one desire—keeping yourself and your family safe.” He became the manager-teacher of our early years, and I felt like a star pupil unfairly chastised. “When you called for help with Phoebe, you didn’t worry about how her mess could interfere with the Deshomm attack. You called as a mother. The whole Giant Pines re-incarnation isn’t about growing Hartford, it’s about making a logical safe haven for John and Phoebe. You are an excellent business person who frequently stops short of the fantastic deal because of your family.”
“At least I had purpose in my life.” Sight of the first food-deprived child in Ashwood’s residence kicked me from emotionally numb to almost manically driven. “I’m not a government employee. I own a significant business. You don’t get to make decisions about my future.”
One hand rubbed at his chest as Milan listened. Concern toned down the annoyance or frustration that put me in an alert mode, knees locked and shoulders drawn back. I watched him rub a bit harder with his fingers, opened my mouth to ask how he was feeling.
“Annie, you just did it again. I’m pushing you to take a big step and you clicked into that caregiver mode as you watched my hand.”
“What’s your point, Milan? Why right now? You’re under attack and you call this the right time to challenge me about what I’ve done with my life?”
He turned away, began speaking to another contact. I walked away, my time equally as important. Clarissa spoke in my ear; “We have clearance for a ten thirty meeting at Giant Pines. I’ll notify Max. Do you want refreshments or is this a headlines only set up?”
“The latter, Clarissa, except for Max. I’ll talk to him from the transport then need time with him after the employee meeting.”
“Where are you now? Andrew’s been waiting in your office. He asked for fifteen minutes.” Her calm voice never questioned what she was telling me or implied she should know more.
“Tell him I’ll be back in five minutes.”
“Annie.” Milan caught up. His hand settled on my shoulder. “We’re not through talking.”
I turned. “I have five minutes. Giant Pines employees need information. I have legal counsel reports to review for my afternoon.” We were both tired and frustrated. “Is there something specific you want to say?”
“In the next few months I have promised a prominent investor the name of one person I think can transform his business. I’d like it to be yours. But, you have to want the challenge because it will be nothing like Hartford, Ltd.”
“I need to know more than that to make a decision that would change many lives.”
“You will. Think about it.” He shrugged, once again an aging senior government official in borrowed clothes with too much to do. “And tell Lao he was partially wrong. Cheri and I are still very much married, even if this job is my mistress. Ugly as
hell and totally dominating.”
We laughed at the reality of everyone listening to everyone else’s conversations. “I try not to be angry at you or whoever passed on that tidbit.” My arms extended around his rounded shoulders. “Take care of yourself. You’re welcome to our safe room any time.”
“I’ll try to return if Paul passes, but that might be out of my control.”
“Milan, I doubt that much is truly out of your control.”
“We’ll be in touch about Phoebe.” Milan patted my arm. “Keep David in on the discussions just in case.”
“In case?”
“He becomes the new head of Hartford, Ltd.”
“The walls listen, Milan.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m told.”
Chapter 26
Andrew relaxed at the table in my office, reading an old book from our library. He handled the bound edition with more respect than I suspect its first owner gave back in a time when books were common. The elementary classroom where I student-taught had nothing but books for the not very appreciative eight-year-olds. He rose as I walked in.
“Sorry I wasn’t here,” I started. “Clarissa wasn’t on the short list of those in the know about Milan. I wanted to say good-bye before he left.” I sat back in a chair and rested my hands on the edge of the table. “It’s so great to have you all here. What’s on your mind?”
“Faith.” His hair looked shaggy, his eyes tired with worry about Phoebe. “Is this a bad time?”
“Busy, but not bad.” I tuned down Milan’s criticism, concentrated on my son.
“You know she wants to study law.”
I indicated that I knew of her interest in becoming a lawyer. “We’ve spoken about it. The conversations haven’t been very productive because we are concerned that corporate sponsorship of colleges dramatically reduces the quality of education.”
“We agree on that, Mom. My graduate advisor is now a dean at McGill University in Montreal. The Canadian government doesn’t condone corporate sponsorship. We’ve been communicating recently and I forwarded Faith’s academic credentials. If Faith does well on their entrance exam, my advisor is willing to sponsor her in their blended program—some distanced learning, some residential-based. Probably take Faith about five years to be ready to stand for the bar.”
Leaving Ashwood Page 17
