by Lisa Tucker
Matthew was so focused on the RIF that it was almost noon before he read Amelia’s latest newspaper article: “Big Pharma Blues.” Cassie was home taking care of a sick daughter, but Phyllis had left it on his desk first thing in the morning, and he’d given it a quick glance and gotten the impression it was about pharmas having trouble with pipeline failures and dropping stock prices—in other words, not AD. The first few paragraphs were about this, but then Amelia discussed recent layoffs at Bayer and Pfizer, and finally the reorganization at Astor-Denning.
First she claimed that the mood at the holiday party was “somber” and “bitter.” That spying bitch. She also said an anonymous source had revealed that AD was laying off nine hundred people. That was about right, but where in the hell had she gotten that information? The number had not been made public yet; in fact, all RIF employees were being forced to sign nondisclosure agreements as a condition of getting their severance pay.
At 2:32, Matthew got an email saying his meeting with Knolton and his axmen had been canceled. He immediately picked up the phone to call Harold, but then he noticed Phyllis standing in the doorway of his office, too polite to enter without an invitation, even though she was crying. She looked every bit the grandmother—white hair in a bun, a navy shirtdress that had to be from the eighties, papery skin and gnarled hands clutched together like she was praying—but what struck Matthew was that she was exactly thirty-one years older than he was. The age his mother would have been had she lived.
He knew HR had called. He told her it was a mistake and not to worry; he would fix it, but in the meantime, don’t go to the HR “counseling.” He didn’t mention that security might come looking for her, but he did ask her to stay in his office and keep the door closed. She thanked him profusely and gave him a grandmotherly hug. She was still sniffing back tears, but she sounded confident. “I knew you wouldn’t let this happen.”
As he stomped in the direction of Knolton’s office, he decided he would threaten to quit if necessary. Of course he wouldn’t have to go through with it, but it would still cost him political capital. Oh well, he could afford to put himself on the line every now and again. He was the man behind Galvenar, after all. Mezalski and the board knew what he was worth, even if Humpty didn’t.
Knolton was just coming back from lunch, and Matthew ran into him in the long hall that led to the CEO suite. Instantly, Matthew knew something was wrong because Knolton refused to discuss it, saying only, “The Phyllis Francis decision is final.” When Matthew hinted that this was a make-or-break issue for him, Knolton said ominously, “I wouldn’t push this if I were you.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Matthew snapped, turning back to his office.
Phyllis was sitting in one of the leather chairs by his window, working on her laptop. He asked her to wait outside but said she should buzz him if anyone from HR or security showed up. Then he picked up the phone to call Mezalski, but Mezalski’s assistant put him on hold for a full minute before claiming the man was out for the day. Meaning Mezalski had refused to take his call. Meaning something was very, very wrong.
He took an Ativan and sat still, thinking, before he remembered to check on Phyllis. She wasn’t at her desk. He hoped she was in the bathroom, but after ten minutes, he knew HR had abducted her. When she returned, a security guard was with her. Matthew tried to stop it, but Phyllis told him it was too late. She’d signed the form. She just wanted to clean out her desk and go without making a scene.
She put her family photos in a box, but she left the basket of teas. “Hopefully someone else will replenish it,” she said, forcing a smile. Before she left, she told Matthew she’d be okay. “You know what Walter always said: ‘That which does not kill you makes you stronger.’”
Matthew nodded, though he’d never really believed it. What if your leg got cut off? Would you be stronger then? How about both your arms?
He was so disgusted that he was thinking about going home, even though it was only four-thirty. He’d never left that early unless he had a plane to catch or a client meeting. He had a shitload of work to do, including more damage control on Pain Matters, but he could do it at home, away from this stupidity. He needed to get in his car and drive until he understood what the hell was going on.
When his phone lit up, he instinctively waited several flashes before he remembered that neither Cassie nor Phyllis was there to answer. It was Mezalski, thank god. All Matthew had to do was tell him what happened, and Phyllis’s form could be ripped up and she could come back the next day.
But before Matthew could say anything, Mezalski said he was calling to inform Matthew that he was being investigated. Naturally, his first thought was the Department of Justice, but then a stunning array of possibilities passed through his mind, from the Japanese Ministry of Health, Labour, and Welfare to some state’s attorney’s office, or even congressional hearings. But the truth turned out to be worse than any of these. He was being investigated by Astor-Denning. His own company was accusing him of leaking proprietary information to the press.
The proprietary information was the number of employees being laid off; the press, of course, was Amelia. Only the board and the executive committee had been told that 908 people were being laid off. And, as Mezalski explained, Matthew was obviously in touch with Amelia Johannsen, as evidenced by his mentioning her in his speech. Moreover, he’d been seen stepping outside with her at the party, talking to her for several minutes. In fact, he’d been photographed by security, standing next to her, with his jacket on her shoulders.
Photographed? Spied on? Was this his company or the CIA?
“I didn’t tell her anything about the RIF,” Matthew said, not even trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “I’m being set up.”
Mezalski asked if he had any proof. The truth was no. If he called Amelia, she would say she couldn’t reveal her source, and most likely she didn’t even know that her anonymous tip came from Knolton. She’d been used. But it pissed him off that he would need proof. Weren’t the last fifteen years busting his ass for AD proof enough?
“I’m happy to discuss it with the board,” he said. “But I must admit, I’m disappointed that this is on the table, given my contributions to this company.”
“We’re disappointed as well,” Mezalski said, but his tone was unreadable. Matthew couldn’t tell if they were disappointed in him or in what they were doing to him.
He thought how strange it was, hearing this in his gigantic new office, surrounded by opulence and elegance. And all of it—the gray suede couch, the black leather chairs designed by Mies van der Rohe, the floating bookshelves, the dark gray tweed carpet, the silver lamp, the glass desk—a testament to his important role in the company. Of course he still thought of it as Walter’s office half the time, and especially when he looked at the photographs Walter had chosen from AD’s art collection: three Dorothea Lange shots of Americans during the Great Depression.
He was at the pinnacle of his success, and he would have gladly worked at AD forever. Weird or not, he’d always rather liked the idea of being eightysomething and working on a PowerPoint presentation and just flopping over dead at his keyboard. Like the good soldier dying with his boots on.
But he really had believed that AD was a team. A team to make money for the shareholders, absolutely, but a team that also rewarded those people who dedicated their lives to finding and selling the drugs that made the money. And, as embarrassingly naïve as it sounded to him now, he’d really believed that loyalty and hard work still mattered here. Walter had always emphasized this, and Matthew had believed him.
“I need to have Phyllis Francis reinstated,” he finally said. “I think the company owes me that.”
Mezalski didn’t say anything.
“After HR reinstates her, I’ll be happy to comply with whatever the board wants.”
“You’re hardly in a position to make demands.” Mezalski took a breath and lowered his voice. “If you want my advice, I’d suggest you c
ooperate fully with Knolton. If you do, I think you’ll find this will all go away.”
He thanked Mezalski for being candid and hung up. Then, without hesitating, he ransacked his own office, stuffing the most important files in his briefcase, along with his laptop, then filling a box with other files and papers and the old Rolodex he hadn’t used since he’d started keeping his contacts on his computer. He made it to his car without security stopping him. Unfortunately, the five o’clock rush to get home had already begun and he sat in traffic forever trying to get on Route 202.
Which gave him plenty of time to think, though it was obvious what Mezalski was saying. This was all a strategy on Knolton’s part. The man wanted to be feared, and Matthew hadn’t feared him, so he set Matthew up. The goal wasn’t to get Matthew fired, but to change him into someone who would play the game Knolton’s way. The “investigation” would be inconclusive, but Matthew would be diminished in the eyes of the board. That was the point, and probably the way the asshole always won.
By the time Matthew reached the Schuylkill Expressway, he found himself thinking about something he rarely considered—how he felt. Of course he knew it was possible that he’d been promoted past the level of his competence, a textbook case of the Peter Principle, but oddly, he didn’t care about that. He wondered if the company had really changed or whether he had, and if so, why? Was he having a (gulp) midlife crisis? If he lost his faith in AD, what would he believe in? What did he really care about?
An hour later, back at his apartment, he was still in this bizarre reflective mood, though he was positive of one thing. Phyllis Francis was going to get her job back. The game wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot. If he’d underestimated Knolton, old Humpty had also underestimated him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Pink Tulip in December
Danny knew how to spend his days walking around the city, hustling for money, scrounging for food, running from older kids and men and cops; he knew how to pick a lock and sneak into hotel bathrooms; he knew where the good dumpsters were and what alleys were dangerous. For the last two and a half years, he’d been always in motion, always scheming, always busy, until that December, when Matthew moved them to the suburbs. Suddenly he and Isabelle had food and beds and no fear of anyone coming to take it all away. Danny had time on his hands, which he wasn’t used to at all—and he found out he hated it. Maybe it would have been okay if he hadn’t been waiting for his mom, but waiting was the worst. Waiting meant thinking and worrying about the future. Waiting made his eyes go squinty with hope that, this time, his mom really would get off drugs for good.
The first time she called from Changes, she sounded shaky and tired and a little nervous, but there was something else in her voice, something he couldn’t put his finger on. His mom had made it through prescreen and detox and now she was in the rehabilitation phase, though she didn’t say what it was like. She really didn’t say much at all, but she wanted to know how he and Isabelle were doing. He said they were fine. They’d just moved into the suburban house and he told his mom about it, though he left out the bad parts because he didn’t want her to worry.
At first he’d felt like the luckiest kid on the planet. Matthew said the house had everything they needed, including furniture he’d rented and a good yard and a swing set left behind by the last family. As the nanny was driving them there, he couldn’t wait to see this amazing thing: their very own yard. The nanny’s name was Mrs. Linnas and she was really old, maybe fifty or even sixty. Matthew called her Theresa, but she’d already told Danny and Isabelle to call her Mrs. Linnas. Danny didn’t mind, but Isabelle couldn’t say Mrs., and she couldn’t remember to say both syllables of the woman’s last name. “Lin” didn’t bother the nanny, but “ass” did, and Danny kept correcting his sister. Matthew thought it was funny, which didn’t help, but he wasn’t with them anymore. He’d gone back to work.
They were driving down a street called Lancaster Avenue when Danny noticed the name of the town. He asked Mrs. Linnas if this was where the house was and she said no, but still, he couldn’t believe this place was right there, in front of his eyes. Ardmore, the town where he always said he lived in the train fare story. He took it as a sign that everything would work out.
The house was even better than he’d expected. He had a room of his own, with bunk beds, like at the homeless shelter, but these were wood instead of metal. At one end of the bed was a desk, and on the opposite wall was a dresser for his clothes. He even had his very own closet. Isabelle had a room, too, with a little pink and white bed, just her size, and a toy box for all the toys they’d brought in boxes from Matthew’s apartment. Between the two rooms was a bathroom with a big white tub with claw feet, just for them. Mrs. Linnas was staying down the hall, and there was another bedroom downstairs, in a hall off the kitchen, where Matthew could stay if he wanted to, but Danny didn’t expect that to ever happen. He knew the guy was sending them here so he wouldn’t have to deal with them, and Danny didn’t really care, though he knew his sister would have cared a lot if she’d understood what had happened. Luckily, she was too excited by all the things to see in this great new place.
Of course the first thing she wanted to do was go outside and swing. She always loved the swings at the park, but this was so much better because she didn’t have to wait her turn. Danny pushed her until his arms hurt, and even then she yelled at him for stopping. But they had to quit because Mrs. Linnas said dinner was ready.
She made them wash their hands before sitting down at the table, but that was okay. The only thing that bothered Danny was the way Mrs. Linnas picked up Isabelle: with no tender feelings he could see, almost like she wished she didn’t have to touch his sister. She didn’t talk to Isabelle much except to tell her to eat the meat loaf. Danny wondered if she just didn’t like little kids much, but as long as she wasn’t mean, he wasn’t going to complain. Matthew had warned that he had to cooperate with Mrs. Linnas. “I know you’re not used to being treated like a child, but you need to get used to it. No doubt it will be difficult, but remember, every man has to do things he doesn’t like.”
Danny promised he would. He wanted to be a man. He also wanted to stay on Matthew’s good side, so Matthew might help his mom when she came back from Changes.
But on Monday, when Matthew came to check on them, Danny felt like he had to say something about the nanny. Mrs. Linnas had ignored all of Isabelle’s attempts to make friends, even turning away from his sister’s goofy smiles and jokes. The nanny didn’t really play with his sister or even talk when she took Isabelle to the bathroom.
It was after dinner, around seven-thirty; Danny was following Isabelle up the stairs and down the stairs, over and over, knowing she needed to practice handling stairs no matter how boring it was for him. Mrs. Linnas was sitting in the living room, watching some woman show on the big television, ignoring the Rent-a-House sticker along the bottom of the TV. All of the furniture had these stickers, and Mrs. Linnas said they probably shouldn’t remove them, but Danny peeled them off his sister’s bedroom stuff anyway. Isabelle loved her room so much, and it made Danny feel bad to be constantly reminded that everything his sister had now was so temporary.
When Matthew came in, Mrs. Linnas quickly turned off the TV, but Danny knew Dr. Connelly saw it first. He also saw Isabelle slowly toddling down the stairs, holding the rail, with Danny walking backward in front of her in case she fell.
“Ma-ew!” his sister yelled, and luckily Matthew came over and scooped her up, because otherwise she might have plunged down the last five stairs too fast for Danny to catch her.
“Is-elle,” he said, holding her away from him so he could look at her face. “When are you going to learn the middle of the name is important, too?”
“I glad.”
“I’m glad to see you, too, though I can’t stay long. I’m working on the most important speech of my career, but don’t let that concern you.”
Isabelle laughed. Danny wondered why Matthew h
ad come if he was so busy.
Mrs. Linnas said, “Everything is going very well, Doctor Connelly. We’re all moved in. We’ve stocked up on supplies at the store.”
“Good to hear. Now I need to talk to the kiddies. Could you give us a minute?”
They went upstairs to Isabelle’s room and she jumped on her bed happily and woke up her “napping” stuffed elephant.
“This bed is made of plastic,” he said, frowning. “The living room looks like it was furnished by a blind man. That brown sectional is stunningly ugly. You wouldn’t believe how much Rent-a-Crap charged for all this.”
“We don’t mind the furniture,” Danny said. “But I’m not sure about Mrs. Linnas.”
Matthew sat down by Isabelle and glanced at him. “Remember what I told you.”
“I know. But I really think my sister and me would be better off here alone. You wouldn’t have to pay anybody then.”
“Tempting, but not an option. It’s illegal to leave a ten-year-old with a three-year-old. I already checked.”
Danny paused. “She’s not very nice to Isabelle. I don’t think she likes her.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Isabelle was holding up her elephant and grinning at Matthew. Matthew smiled back and asked Danny what Mrs. Linnas had done or not done to his sister. Danny tried telling him what he’d seen, but it wasn’t very convincing and he knew it. Isabelle did seem happy. Matthew said the nanny agency had told Cassie that Mrs. Linnas was their best. Maybe Matthew was right when he said that Danny would have trouble with anyone who took care of his precious sister.
After a few minutes of listening to Isabelle tell him about the pretend game she was playing, Matthew said to Danny, “Have you spoken to Amelia recently?”
