GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  Tony gave the email one last review, then sent it off.

  As he reached for the half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, the phone rang.

  “How are we coming at piecing together the communication for Mr. Williams?” Chuck asked.

  “Good timing, Boss. I just sent the email. I’d send you a copy for your pleasure, but as we’ve discussed, you don’t need to be connected to these special projects.”

  ***

  Jesus, Chuck thought, does this freak actually think I get my jollies from his porno? These events were merely a necessity of doing business in this over-regulated world run by Nazi environmentalists. He tried to erase the picture from his head of Tony enjoying this more than he should. He only wanted Tony to concentrate on the job at hand…and to keep his attention focused on something other than the next woman in his sights.

  Chapter Fifty

  An eye-watering breeze blew into Greenberg & Associates as I struggled to shut the glass door behind me. A new administrative assistant sat at Tiffany’s old desk, impervious to the blustery weather.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve had a chance to meet. I’m Michael Doyle with J&W…I mean, PHC.”

  The reserved young woman shook my hand but only briefly made eye contact. Jeanne entered the front area.

  “I see you’ve met my new temp,” Jeanne said.

  She guided me back to her office without acknowledging the admin’s name.

  “This is the second temp I’ve had. You know me, I’ll probably go through four or five more before I find a good fit.” Jeanne sat in her black high-back chair and crossed her legs. She was always one to point out the high expectations she set for everyone with whom she worked, including her vendors, as I knew all too well.

  I pulled out my laptop and prepared for the onslaught of questions regarding her latest bill.

  “Michael, you know I typically don’t mix business and personal lives, but this whole situation with Tiffany seems to cross the line in the most personal way.”

  Jeanne turned to gaze out the window. “We’ve received two phone calls here at the office from someone who claims to be Tiffany’s mother.”

  My fingers stopped typing. Jeanne could tell she had my attention, but I jumped in before she could finish her thought.

  “You said, ‘claims.’” I made quotes with my fingers.

  “There are so many crackpots out there. I spoke to her one time. She came across as somewhat senseless and maybe even a bit delusional.” Jeanne looked down. “It got my attention when she said she was calling from Oklahoma. Tiffany had family up that way.”

  I hadn’t thought much about Tiffany’s family or how her murder must have shaken them.

  “The lady sounded older. She started crying. I tried to calm her down, but I’m not sure she heard me.” Jeanne was not the consoling type, so it must have been tough on her. “She wouldn’t tell me her name. But she asked if Tiffany had been well liked. Then, out of nowhere, she started talking negatively about men in Tiffany’s life. She said these men had ruined her daughter’s life, and if she ever found them, she would kill them with her own two hands.”

  My stomach tightened. I hadn’t expected to go down this path with Jeanne. “Is that all she said? I guess she didn’t give you her name? Did she mention anyone else’s name?”

  I expected Jeanne to say Reinaldo’s name.

  “It was hard to understand, but I heard one name, something like Johnny or Tony or Marty, something with an ‘e’ sound at the end.”

  Jeanne recalled seeing the 405 area code on the call that lasted less than a minute.

  “I thought about it just before she hung up on me. Do you think I should call the police about this?”

  “That’s probably the smart thing to do.”

  “Talking out loud about this helps. Thank you.” Jeanne’s eyes connected with mine. “I have to say, she sounded distraught, even angry. I’m torn. I know they’ve arrested Reinaldo, but he’s such a nice young man. It’s difficult for me to envision him committing murder. But it disturbed me that this troubled woman talked about men destroying Tiffany’s life.”

  I asked Jeanne if she would be willing to talk to the press about this development.

  “Michael, it’s not that I don’t want to get involved. I think I’m a bit afraid,” Jeanne admitted.

  “Jeanne, you’re a respected person in this community. I can’t imagine you have anything to worry about,” I said, wondering if I was right. “Talking to the police and media can only help us get to the bottom of this. We all have the same goal.” I started cranking on what to do with this information.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  I made an appointment to meet with Arthur at five fifteen p.m., then spent the rest of the afternoon in anxious-wait mode, like a pilot prepared for takeoff from an aircraft carrier. Paula couldn’t predict when she’d persuade Kamal to bring me in, and she wasn’t keen on sharing the details of her pregnancy with him at this point. Seemed logical to me. I made a couple of office drive-bys to see if a visual would remind them to include me. On each pass, I thought at least one of them looked my way through the window, but I never got a response. I guess I’d turned invisible.

  I thought more about Jeanne’s phone call with this person who claimed to be Tiffany’s mother. The sound of despair Jeanne described coming from the woman had me thinking she was legitimate, possibly someone who had no outlet, no way to communicate her outrage and sorrow. I’m not sure why my mind went there. Maybe because I could envision a mother being completely hysterical after finding out her daughter had been murdered.

  After hours of resisting the urge, I gave in. The Internet made research almost too easy.

  I searched area code 405.

  Stillwater, Oklahoma. Where had I heard that city mentioned lately? Karina. She’d traveled to Stillwater a number of times in the last year to take care of her mother and was headed the same direction on Christmas Day, along with her kids and dog.

  I arrived at Arthur’s office five minutes after the top of the hour.

  “Good afternoon, Michael, my son.” Arthur smiled and gave me a more purposeful handshake than in our initial introduction.

  I immediately recounted my conversation with Jeanne, anxious to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  “It’s hard to say if this was a phone call from a person who really knew Tiffany, but I checked the area code, and it matches one in Stillwater. According to Jeanne, Tiffany may have family in the area.”

  Arthur began to chortle.

  My facial expression remained serious.

  “Michael, you just proved my intuition was right.”

  “About?”

  “Your hunger to know more information. I don’t know Jeanne Greenberg well, but I’ve met her and know her reputation. She’s a tough lady. For her to open up to you says a lot about how you approach your contacts, or rather customers.”

  While I found his comments flattering, the use of the term “contacts” threw me a bit.

  “Michael, I don’t know if you’ve been thinking the same thing or not.” Arthur stared at me, apparently hoping to read my body language before he continued. “But we need your help.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve been working with Stu just a few days, and I’m not sure we’re going to accomplish what we need to get done without having to perform an exorcism.” I was taken aback by Arthur’s sarcasm. “I can see you have a strong desire to see justice prevail on this murder. Let’s put your drive to good use. We need your brain to help us figure out how to proceed on this investigation.”

  I sat back in my chair, stunned at Arthur’s direct plea for help…from me. What did I know about the journalism world? I took one class in high school. Journalists had minds like steel traps. Mine was too muddled right now with all that was going on in my life. I couldn’t compartmentalize. Or could I?

  “You seem a bit stressed by my request for assistance, son.”

  I rubbed m
y neck. I didn’t want to dismiss the opportunity to ensure the truth would be revealed, but fear of committing…and the unknown…pulled me the other way. Still, I ended up listening to my conscience, or Tiffany’s spirit.

  “I do have a full-time job, and my girlfriend likes to see me occasionally, but I’ll sit in on a couple of meetings with you and Stu, and we’ll see if that helps,” I suggested.

  “Splendid. We’ll work around your schedule. Be careful, son. Once you catch the bug, it stays with you.”

  “What bug is that, sir?

  “The journalism bug, of course.”

  Unsure what to expect, I agreed to meet with Stu and Arthur the next day. As I headed home, all the questions I’d asked myself, and some new ones courtesy of my discussion with Jeanne, raced through my mind.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  I plopped down in a chair in Paula’s office, sloshing a bit of my morning coffee on her teal-blue carpet. “Oops, sorry.”

  “No answer yet,” Paula said as I leaned over to dab at the spill.

  “How’d you know what—”

  “Kamal hasn’t budged on bringing you in. Jesus! I’m going to have to tell him about my pregnancy, even though I’m just in my first trimester. He’ll know it before my parents do.” Paula tossed her pen on the desk.

  I could see Paula wasn’t in the mood to play bullshit games. Perhaps she had a bit of morning sickness. Who knows? I was clueless when it came to reading pregnant women. I went to my office and waited for the call. Ten minutes after Kamal arrived, I was summonsed.

  I hesitated in his doorway, then stepped into his office with my hands in my pockets. “Morning, Kamal.”

  “Michael, welcome. Welcome to the transition team.” Kamal motioned to Paula, who sat to my left, arms folded and legs crossed.

  “I just want to help J&W and PHC grow to be an even better, more profitable company.” Countless handshake pictures and business trophies lined Kamal’s office walls, like he’d been in this place for years instead of days.

  Kamal offered to run to the breakroom for coffee. “Paula, I don’t want you to move. And I’m assuming you want decaf,” he said and winked. I shook my head and held up my hand, knowing my bladder would explode if I drank more coffee. Kamal left his office.

  Paula and I stared at each other for a couple of seconds and then giggled like school kids when the teacher left the room.

  “You think I need to tell Greg he’s got competition?” Paula said.

  “Be sure to tell him it’s a guy who has multiple personalities.”

  She grinned. “Honestly, Kamal is all over the place with the way he acts. He’s usually stubborn. Then, he acts human, like he cares how I’m feeling. It’s disorienting,” Paula said. “It could be a cultural thing, where he’s not sure how to respond to certain situations, like partnering with a woman.”

  “I guess we’ll find out if it’s an ethics thing,” I said.

  Paula lifted an eyebrow, then Kamal walked in with two coffees.

  “The timing for bringing in Michael is perfect.” Kamal folded his miniature arms across his oversized desk. “I’ve learned from Paula all the key services your firm provides, as well as your, let’s say, simplistic process for business development. And we’ve reviewed each current account. I believe we can accomplish the same operating revenue with a much-improved profit margin. And this is where I need your help.”

  Paula and I cut our eyes toward each other, then back to Kamal, who’d paused, obviously waiting for us to jump in with questions. We remained silent.

  “I’ve developed something I’d like to review with you.” He handed us hard copies of a spreadsheet with at least twenty column headings. Within seconds, I understood the purpose of this thing called an HR synergy target tool. I’d been handed a guillotine with a shiny new blade.

  “I assure you we can go through this process with fairness and dignity for everyone involved.” He held up his pen like he was carrying a sentimental torch for the average employees, our friends.

  Heat crawled up my neck and into my face. I glanced at Paula, who rubbed her temples, then affixed her hand to the bottom of her chin.

  “Kamal, I have to say I’m a bit shocked.” The pitch to Paula’s voice was higher than usual. “I’ve asked you directly about your ‘synergy targets,’ what I call job cuts, and you said nothing. I spoke with Turug about this same issue before the deal closed, and he denied layoffs were part of your strategy.”

  “My dear Paula, I don’t recall such questioning, but—”

  “I’m sorry?” Paula interrupted. “You don’t recall me asking you if you expected any layoffs? I find that hard to believe. In addition, I made a compelling business case for how we can continue to grow the business and improve operating margin by using our current approach.”

  “I’m not going to get into a ‘he said, she said.’ I will only say Turug and the PHC board expect to take any newly acquired business and make it more profitable than we found it. That is how we make money.”

  Paula moved to the edge of her chair.

  “You make money by delivering on your commitments to your customers. You make money by giving incentives to your employees to deliver outstanding service. That increases your sales.” Paula jabbed her knee with each key point. “We have no millionaires working at J&W. How many do you have working at PHC?” Paula had launched her first major attack.

  “I had hoped we would see eye to eye on this very important aspect of this transition process.” Kamal sorted papers on his desk. “But we are not changing our plan.”

  Paula leaned back and started swinging her leg. I clicked my pen.

  Kamal avoided Paula’s glare and addressed me. “I will be sending both of you this file electronically. But in order to meet our deadlines, we need the first round completed by Friday. Help Paula with this spreadsheet.”

  I dug my fingernails into the wood of the chair arm. Paula jerked the spreadsheet closer.

  “By when will the first round be notified?” Paula asked.

  “A week from Friday,” Kamal said.

  “What’s the goal of this whole exercise?” Paula flapped the paper.

  Kamal ignored her question.

  “Lowering our cost will provide more bonus potential for the people who remain, especially those in management, such as yourselves.” Kamal smiled as if he was trying to sell us a used car.

  “So, you’re saying we can get satisfaction through all this if we fire our friends and dedicated colleagues, all because of some mythical bonus,” she fired back.

  “I wouldn’t word it that way. And there are many factors that go into calculating bonuses at PHC.”

  “So, the promise Turug gave me, where J&W would operate as a separate business unit under the umbrella of PHC…that was just a pile of horseshit?” Paula said. I sat motionless in my chair, stunned at her defiant attitude and proud that she flew directly into Kamal’s crosshairs on behalf of the people of this company.

  “Paula, I can assure you we made no such promises.” It was obvious Kamal knew he had the upper hand regardless of where the discussion went.

  Paula wouldn’t back down. I made sure my jaw stayed closed.

  “Okay, so let me ask again, since you appear to be hard of hearing. What is the goal of this exercise? How many layoffs are we expected to make and by when?” Paula spoke with even more force.

  “You know this information must be held in the utmost confidence.” Kamal eyed each of us. “For this initial round, we are looking at fifteen percent. But all businesses can cut fifteen percent without affecting their operations. That is a known fact.”

  “You might have learned that fact in some expensive business school, but it doesn’t work that way in the real world, Kamal. Not if you’re trying to grow the business, which you say is the point.”

  “As you might imagine, we will be redeveloping our revenue targets and goals for the year. While we go through this process we will be expected to maintain our current
level of service.” Kamal looked at his monitor, then his fingers rattled the keyboard.

  “Let me ask again, how many rounds are we going to have? And what is the ultimate target layoff number?” Paula’s veins were bulging in her neck.

  “We haven’t determined the final number, but we believe our synergy contribution could reach between fifty and seventy-five percent. Some jobs will be replaced by our outstanding employees in India, while others will be absorbed by remaining employees. Of course, the higher percentage, the better your bonus potential,” he said with his Cheshire Cat grin.

  There goes the carrot again. We weren’t biting. I wanted to jump into the fray, but Paula had taken the reigns. She had little to no ammunition but had uncovered their concealed transition plan. She dropped her hands in her lap on top of the now-crumbled spreadsheet.

  “Okay, you’ll have it by Friday.” Paula stood abruptly.

  “Paula, we will evaluate more numbers when you have cooled down,” Kamal said to her back. “We also need time to review the severance package.”

  She ignored Kamal.

  “Michael, please come to my office,” she said.

  I did, looking into her eyes, dark circles beneath them, her teeth clenched. I had only one thing to say. “It’s an ethics thing.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  I galloped up the stairs in Arthur’s building, purposely avoiding the elevator route. My body welcomed the exercise after being cooped up in a stagnant office for hours. I pushed off each knee on the last flight, scaling three stairs at a time. When I got to the top, I bent over and caught my breath.

  I’d intended to spend time thinking about possible strategies on the newspaper’s coverage of the murder. Instead, I spent most of the day dealing with Kamal. Then Paula and I worked to formulate our first draft of the fifteen-percent cut.

  I entered Arthur’s office, which now resembled the early stages of a war room. Arthur was as energized as ever.