[2017] The Whistleblower Onslaught

by David P. Warren

  “Hello.”

  “Mr. Jamison?”

  “Yes, who's calling?”

  “Well, Mr. Valentine, you can just call me Father Christmas. You need to meet with me so that we can discuss something critical to your future.”

  There is silence, and then the man says, “You don't want to try to squeeze me, whoever you are. Because I can find out who you are.”

  “Just like I found out who you are, right? Now you need to meet me in twenty minutes at Dante's Bar and Grill right in your own neighborhood.”

  “Look, I don't think you know who you are messing with here.”

  “Oh, but I do. Should I start using names? Meet me in twenty minutes, and make sure you are alone. Anyone else in the shadows, and you will have a big problem, Mr. Valentine.”

  “Look you son of a …”

  Lee hung up. He was under the guy's skin, and Lee was certain that he would show up. He scouted the restaurant until he found a place at the side of the building from which he could remain out of view and see anyone approach the front door. He waited patiently for twenty minutes, at which point he saw a Mercedes stop a block away. The occupant got out of the car and approached the restaurant on foot and from across the street. Jamison first walked past the restaurant on the other side of the street, scouring the faces of passersby for anyone looking for someone. After passing the restaurant, he crossed the street and walked back. When he reached the restaurant, he did a quick visual search of the occupants. He would be looking for a lone male who was waiting for his arrival. After standing at the window for about two minutes, Jamison walked inside and was greeted by the staff. He was taken to a table near the back of the room and sat so that he could watch the front door.

  Lee gave it another five minutes, until the man became restless, frequently checking his watch and occasionally sipping his beer. Jamison reached into his wallet to pull out tip money, and at that moment, Lee sat down across the table from the man.

  Jamison gave him an angry look. “You a cop?” he asked.

  “Something like that,” Lee said.

  “What do you want?”

  “I thought maybe a light beer. Something not too hoppy.” Judging by his expression, the man had no sense of humor.

  “Listen you son of a bitch, you've got about thirty seconds to tell me what you want, or I am gone.”

  “You don't want to leave. This is important to you.” Lee put on his practiced casual expression to offset the intensity of the other man. “Mr. Jamison, you threatened and then blackmailed a county official. One Carl Miller. You remember him, sir?”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

  “Really? He got your picture, and we identified you, among other ways, by facial recognition software.” Lee let that sink in a moment, and then added, “For future reference, it is probably not a good practice to show up on any occasion without your disguise in place. Maybe you were in a hurry, but bad call on your part.”

  His eyes narrowed, and the man's face showed utter contempt. “You don't know what you're walking into. I can make a call, and you will have serious problems; accidents happen to people all the time, you know.”

  “So now you are threatening me, too?”

  Jamison stared at him. “You think that you are some kind of tough guy?”

  “No, I'm a really curious guy.”

  The man pulled out his cell phone. “I've had enough.”

  “You don't want to do that. If you're going to call your boss, tell him what's really going on. That you got caught on the assignment with Miller and that you're about to do a long stretch in jail. Let me share how this works. I have Miller identifying you as the blackmailer.”

  “Bullshit. He's never going to do it.”

  “Unpleasant surprise for you, he's already done it.” The man shook his head. “You having trouble believing? Let me give you a little more detail. Your firm helped establish Mr. Miller as one Eric Dardon, with a brand new life in Mississippi. Pulled some strings to get him his pension and, oh yeah, gave him an extra fifty grand in cash. You with me so far?”

  Jamison sat in stunned silence, and then said, “Go on.”

  “You knew who and where he was because you created the new life for him. But the next news flash is that he's not there anymore. You will find that he suddenly disappeared from his Mississippi home in the middle of the night, and there is no more trace of Eric Dardon. What that will tell you is that I have Miller, and you don't. Still with me?”

  Jamison adopted a snarl and said, “You are in over your head, mister.”

  “Yeah, and it occurred to me that you might consider violence where I was concerned, so I took some steps. First, everything I told you, others already know. Those same people already know I'm here tonight. And, one more thing,” Lee pulled out his phone showing a picture of Jamison in the restaurant taken immediately before Lee sat down. “This date-and location-stamped photo has been transmitted to those same folks, so all of my professional friends are in the loop.” Jamison said nothing, so Lee continued, “Look, I'm doing you a favor. I could have taken this to your supervisor, but then you'd be fucked. Instead, I came to you to give you first opportunity to work with me and avoid getting your ass in a sling. Up to you, though; I really don't care who I talk to about this stuff. Could be you, could be your boss, could be the FBI. You get to choose.”

  The man sat back in his chair and stared at Lee. Neither said anything for several minutes. Then Jamison said softly, “So what do you want?”

  “I thought you'd never ask,” Lee said, smiling. “First, my primary interest is not in coming after you, and if you cooperate, I never will.” He let that settle and then said, “I need to know who within Consolidated Energy hired you for the job.”

  “What makes you think it was someone within Consolidated Energy?”

  Lee's expression grew stern. “Now you're just wasting my fucking time.” Jamison hadn't seen that level of intensity from him and looked startled. “First, Consolidated owns and operates both mines and needed to switch the records to avoid liability for never having corrected serious violations that led to the explosion. We both know that only Consolidated needed that to happen. Aside from that compelling logic, we also have proof that the decision to switch the records came from inside Consolidated.” Lee shrugged. “So, you want to cooperate or you want me to take my concerns elsewhere.”

  “Look,” Jamison said, sounding suddenly concerned, “I didn't take the assignment. It came to me from my boss.” Lee gave him a skeptical look. “It's true, man. I was given the assignment, but it didn't come directly to me from Consolidated. That's not the way it works.”

  Lee smiled. He now had the admission that the assignment came from within Consolidated. “Even if you don't know, you can find out.”

  “I don't know, man. You don't know the code we have.”

  “I'm sure your organizational code is staggeringly beautiful, but I don't give a flying fuck,” Lee said, staring at the man. “You think you will be keeping with your code when you go to jail for bribery and blackmail, your boss is implicated, and PPC gets known as the company that engages in criminal conduct. It gets a shitload worse if you and I don't get on the same team here.” Lee paused and then said, “I want you to understand what kind of shit you're in. You could spend twelve to fifteen years in prison, maybe sharing a cell with your boss so you have lots of time to discuss what went wrong. Maybe you can both write letters to your board of directors to explain how you are going to pay the company back for several million in fines. Or, I can get you a free pass.” Jamison just looked at him, all the fire gone from his expression. Lee said, “You have until noon tomorrow to get the identity of the Consolidated Energy representative who hired PPC for the job. If you give me good information, I disappear, and you never hear from me again—and no one knows how you fucked this up.” Lee folded his hands in front of him. “On the other hand, if I don't have this information by noon tomorrow, it will be your turn
to hit the six o'clock news tomorrow night—remember, just like you did for Mr. Miller. I imagine that would create a few shock waves within PPC, don't you think?”

  Jamison was now wet across the brow. He took a few moments and then said, “How do I find you tomorrow morning?”

  “You don't. I will call you on another of my burner phones, and you can update me. Pleasure meeting you, Edward.” Lee stood and then added, “I never did get that beer,” before walking out of the restaurant. He looked back and saw that Jamison was still sitting at the table.

  As Lee walked to his car, he took a deep breath and couldn't help but glance behind him. Squeezing people who operate entirely in the dark was uncomfortably dangerous, and he knew he was walking a razor's edge.

  Chapter 30

  The next morning, Kevin Walters comes into my office to assist in preparing responses to interrogatories posed by Consolidated and to discuss whether we return to a second day of mediation.

  “This is your wheelhouse, Scott. If you think we should go back to mediation, I am on board. The part I struggle with is the confidentiality requirement that they want. I understand that employers want that in every case, but part of what I wanted to do in pursuing this case is hold Consolidated accountable for not correcting violations that endanger people. If I sign a confidentiality agreement, they are free of the spotlight. No one learns that they endangered people for money, and maybe it all happens again.”

  “Yeah, they definitely want that confidentiality provision. But I also keep hearing that these guys want you to go back to work. Harris tells me that you can almost name the post you want.”

  “And what comes to mind?” Kevin asks.

  “I'm not sure, but it occurred to me that if you really could name the position, you could be the corporate safety czar. The guy who gets to make the safety calls.”

  Kevin looks thoughtful. “Maybe, until he doesn't like a decision I make and fires me again.”

  “I know what you mean. I thought about that, too. There's definitely some holes in the dike that need plugging. What if you didn't report to Constantine, but straight to the board of directors?”

  “Flashed through my head, too,” Kevin says. “Two problems with that. The first is that Michael insists that everyone report to or below him, and only he reports to the board.”

  “And if we got past that problem?”

  “Michael controls that board. They buy what he says. I can't remember the last time the board turned him down on anything. He got my termination approved by the board.”

  “Okay, good point. Maybe the idea just doesn't work.”

  “That's what my gut tells me,” Kevin replies.

  “Well, we should trust your gut. I understand about not being able to trust these guys anymore. That said, do we go to a second mediation?”

  “I don't know. I'll do it if you think we should, but I'm just not sure where it goes from here.”

  “I'm not either. Let's just tell them that we see no point. The time is better spent preparing for trial.”

  “Carl Miller won't be at trial, right?”

  “Right. We'll have a declaration from Lee Henry saying that we tried to serve him at his Eric Dardon/Tennessee address, but couldn't find him. If we show he is unavailable, we can then use his deposition testimony.”

  Kevin looks at me thoughtfully. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Maybe, but if I do, he is outside of the jurisdiction and not subject to subpoena. And even if we did get him back here, he'd be arrested as soon as he was spotted.”

  Kevin nods. “He got screwed over by Consolidated too, so getting him arrested is not part of my agenda. Let's use his deposition testimony, and let him live wherever he is as whoever he is.”

  * * *

  It is noon, and there has been no word from Lee. The phone rings, and I stare at it, as I have the last ten times it rang, always expecting Lee's call.

  “Bob Harris,” Donna says through the intercom.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I hit the button. “Hi, Bob.”

  “Hi, Scott. My client wanted me to give you another call. I have a message directly from Mike Constantine.”

  “Okay, fire away.”

  “Mike Constantine is pushing to have this second day of mediation. He wants to try to settle the case, and he wants an opportunity to have a conversation directly with Kevin. He says he has important information.”

  “Direct—as in alone with Kevin?”

  “I told him that you might be concerned about that in case the intent was to set something up for us in your absence. Mike gets that, and he says he's okay ifh you and I are present as well; he just wants the opportunity to speak with Kevin.” I am silent for a time while I considere this. “Scott, it's important. I can tell you that Mr. Walters will want to hear this.”

  “I will let Kevin know.”

  “Can you tell me that you will recommend going forward to him?”

  “I will take your word for the sincerity of your client, and I will recommend it.”

  “Thanks. I'll let Mr. Constantine know.”

  As soon as I hang up, Donna buzzes again. “Lee is on line three.”

  Thank goodness, I think as I hit the button. “Lee, are you okay?”

  “I'm in one piece, and I have what we were after.”

  “Thank God,” I say, with a great sense of relief. “Hi, Lee. What's the update?”

  “We scored. The client who hired PPC was a director at Consolidated named Corbin Wilson. I checked him out. He was then in charge of insurance and risk for Consolidated companies.”

  “And now?”

  “He's still there, and he has since been promoted to vice president of administration for the Southwest Region.”

  I am taken aback and stop to absorb this incredible information, and then said, “Great information, Lee. I am amazed you got Jamison to cooperate.”

  “Well, I wouldn't exactly say cooperate. His screw-up was going to put a spotlight on PPC's covert activities, and they couldn't let that happen. So they gave me the information with the understanding that we never say it came from them. Jamison's last words to me were that if anyone learns this came from PPC, he will personally track me down.”

  “How can he find you?”

  “You know, Scott, I'm pretty good at tracking people, but these guys really have some resources behind them. Between last night and our call this morning, the guy figured out who I am. He used my name in the call when he threatened to come find me. So, needless to say, it's important that you guys don't let on that this came from PPC or Jamison. I don't want to have to change my name and move in with Carl Miller.”

  “Understood. The source will never be revealed.”

  “Thanks. My future well-being appreciates it.”

  * * *

  Jerry sat at a small table in a purposefully dark gentlemen's club at three in the afternoon. He nursed his third beer and considered how he would spend the rest of his day off. A topless woman in her early twenties asked him if he wanted something else. He simply shook his head. Off to his right, in the back of the big room with forty tables, there was a naked woman on a small stage, dancing to a disco song he never liked.

  Jerry had been following the story about Joey Winslow's injury in the news and was hoping the kid would be okay. He knew it wasn't his fault. He wasn't even there. The kid had done something stupid and gotten hurt. Just the same, he was hoping for Joey's recovery. He was also lonely. His life was a series of small rooms; his small apartment, this bar, and an out-of-the-way coffee shop that got little business since the relocation of major streets in the area. He avoided other public places as much as possible, keeping his head down. When the ads seeking the public's assistance in identifying him hit the networks, he had seen a few prolonged glances his way, but he kept moving and made it through without any real incident.

  Jerry stepped outside and dialed his burner phone. It rang twice, and then a familiar voice said, “Hello.”
>
  “Hi,” he said. “It's me.”

  “Oh, my God, Jerry,” Vickie Constantine said. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm all right. I know it has been a long time. I wanted to tell you I'm okay and hear your voice, sis.”

  “Jerry, where are you?”

  “Better you don't know.”

  “You have to come back.”

  “Why?”

  “You have to turn yourself in,” Vickie urged. “That little boy is barely hanging on. You need to accept responsibility for what you did.”

  “Vickie, I didn't do it. He fell.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then she said, “Jerry, you kidnapped that child and left him in a dangerous place. You are responsible for what happened.”

  “I can't go back to jail for thirty years, Vickie. Don't you know I was trying to do something good? It just didn't work out.”

  “You did something bad, Jerry. You have to acknowledge it, or I am done with you.”

  “I have to go, Vickie. Don't tell Michael I called.” He hung up, feeling miserable. “Shit,” he said aloud. He didn't like feeling like this. He decided he had to do something to make himself feel better. He would take some of the money he still had stashed and try his luck at the tables. He had resisted long enough. If he just took a couple of thousand, he could turn it into some real money and then improve the quality of his life. Maybe he could get a nice new apartment. He told himself that this could turn into something really good.

  Chapter 31

  August 15, 2016

  Lee started with one of his own contacts—a guy who made needles disappear into haystacks. Art Chase was the talented former counterfeiter who had created the new ID papers to turn Carl Miller from Eric Dardon to Jason Wilcox of Eugene, Oregon.

  Lee walked through the back exterior door of an apartment building and entered the open door on the left. He closed the door behind him. Inside, a man sat behind a desk reading a newspaper. The room contained only a desk with one visitor's chair. There was no other furniture, and there were no pictures on the walls.