Mary got home by nine o’clock, exhausted and drained as she closed the door behind her. She dropped her purse and messenger bag on the floor, ignored the mail stacked on the console table, kicked off her flats, and padded through the darkened living room to the kitchen in the back of the house. The light was on, which meant Anthony was home, and as she entered, he looked up from the kitchen island with a warm smile, which still made her heart skip a beat. Anthony Rotunno was still the sexiest man she’d ever seen, an Italian-American hunk just shy of six feet, with thick dark hair, a strong Roman nose, dark eyes the color of espresso beans, and an omnipresent smile, at least for her.
“Anthony, I had the worst day ever.”
“Aw, poor thing.” Anthony came toward her, opening his arms.
“I’m going to whine and whine. Be ready.”
“I am.” Anthony gave her a big hug, rocking her slightly, and Mary buried her head in his chest, which was warm and soft under his worn T-shirt, which he had on with a pair of khaki shorts and bare feet. “How’s Rachel?”
“Not good, and my father’s upset, and this case at work, it’s a nightmare.” Mary released him, and he gave her a quick kiss.
“So what’s going on? Why is Rachel back in the hospital?”
Mary had texted him, but not filled him in. “Long story short, she needs a bone marrow transplant, and Simon got fired this week because his company didn’t want to pay for it.”
“Are you serious?” Anthony stepped back, appalled. “Is she going to be okay? That’s high-risk. When did all this happen?”
“I found out today.”
“Oh no.” Anthony sighed, taking her hand. “Tell me about it over dinner. I hope you feel like eating. I waited when I got your text.”
“Thanks, yes, I do. What are we having?”
“My incredible amazing seafood salad.”
“Nice.” Mary began to rally.
“Come with me.” Anthony led her into the kitchen, which was spacious and pretty with black-granite counters and white cabinets, her favorite room in their new house. The island had been set with place settings, wineglasses, and a big wooden bowl of romaine and arugula mixed with fresh shrimp, seared scallops, and red pepper, topped with strips of fresh basil, which smelled delicious.
“Wow.” Mary sat down on a stool at the kitchen island. “I’m loving the you-making-the-dinner thing.”
“It’s the least I can do until I get a job.”
“Aw, don’t worry, you will.” Mary knew it bothered him that he was still out of work. Anthony had a Ph.D. in American History and had taught at Penn and Drexel, but there were no openings on the tenure track in the area. He’d been offered a tenured position at Stanford but had turned it down because Mary didn’t want to leave Philadelphia.
“So you say.” Anthony went into the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of Lambrusco, and twisted off the wire around the neck.
“How was your day?”
“Good. Did some research. Found an article I hadn’t before.”
“Nice.” Mary was proud of him, because he was using the downtime to finish his book, a nonfiction account of anarchism in 1930s America. He would rather be teaching, but he never complained, and she made enough money to support them. It wasn’t the way he wanted it, but she knew it was temporary.
“I worked here instead of the library. The air-conditioning’s better.” Anthony popped the cork, and Mary could smell the bouquet of the fruity Lambrusco.
“Ah, the perfect summer wine.”
“You say that every time. Even in winter.” Anthony smiled, pouring.
“So fill me in on what happened. That’s so sad, about Rachel.”
“I know.” Mary told him the whole story, bringing him up to speed about everything, including Rachel’s turn for the worse, her father at the hospital, and the fight over her representing Simon. They talked easily back and forth, as usual, and she finished by telling him about how she was waiting to hear whether Bennie would try to settle the lawsuit informally. “So I’m hopeful.”
“You should be. It’s common sense. Only lawyers see things adversarially all the time. It encourages conflict in a way. Peace is better than war. Communication can work wonders. Look at Yalta.”
“Right.” Mary got the gist, though half the time, she had no idea what he was talking about. And if she asked him to explain, they’d be up all night.
“It’s so terrible about Rachel. Simon must be scared out of his mind. First you lose your wife, then maybe your daughter? And your job? Sheesh.” Anthony pushed away his empty salad plate.
“I know, but he handles it all, somehow.”
“Does he?” Anthony paused, his expression darkening. “Or maybe it just looks like he handles it.”
Mary thought the way he said it made her wonder if he was talking about himself.
“I think I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow. Check in on him.”
“That would be nice,” Mary said, touched. She stroked his back. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“What about the dishes?”
“Leave the dishes.”
“Whoa, now we’re getting crazy.” Anthony grinned, but just then, Mary’s phone started ringing, a faint sound coming from her purse, which she’d left in the entrance hall.
“Hold on, it might be Bennie!” Mary jumped up and ran for the entrance hall, but she reached it as the rings stopped. She dug inside her purse, found her phone, and checked the screen. The call had been from Bennie, who was still in Mary’s contacts as Da Boss.
Mary pressed Redial, holding her breath.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, Bennie parked in the visitors’ lot at OpenSpace, a boxy building of tan stone with an all-glass entrance on the left. To the right were the corporate offices, a tan façade interrupted by two strips of black smoked glass, and tucked behind was a seven-thousand-square-foot manufacturing facility of tan corrugated tin, plus loading docks. The employee parking lots flanked the building, and they were full because the first shift started two hours ago, at six o’clock.
Last night, Bennie had told Mary on the phone that she was going to give her idea a try and see if she could settle the case, so here she was, against better judgment. She got out of the car with her purse and messenger bag, ignoring the humidity, walked the concrete path to the entrance, and entered the building. It was insanely air-conditioned, so she was glad she had on her khaki blazer, which had become her uniform. She didn’t like to worry about what she was going to wear every day, and it made getting ready easier. She strode to the reception area, shaped like a cubicle itself, with gray-paneled walls and functional gray seating around a glass-and-chrome table.
“Hello, may I help you?” asked the receptionist, a young brunette with short hair.
“Yes, thank you.” Bennie slid her driver’s license out of her wallet as she introduced herself. “I have a meeting with Todd Eddington and Jason Worrall.”
“And Ray Matewicz.”
“Pardon?”
“Mr. Matewicz will be joining you as well, I believe. They’re waiting for you. You can go right into the conference room. I’ll buzz the door.” The receptionist gestured to a door to the right.
“Thanks.” Bennie went through, finding herself in a hallway lined with glossy ads for the company: Office Cubicles, Modular Furniture, Call Center Stations, Treadmill Workstations! Only the Finest Building Materials, Sourced from the World Over! We Build to YOUR Specifications and Price! She went to the only open door, reaching the threshold of a no-frills conference room containing three men sitting at a round Formica table.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Bennie introduced herself, closing the door behind her and setting her belongings on the table. The three men stood up instantly, led by Jason Worrall, a tall African-American lawyer with bright brown eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses and a studious smile typical of younger lawyers, who thought every case was a final exam. When in fact, it was a war.
“Bennie, good
to see you again.” Jason extended a hand. He had on a blue oxford shirt with no tie and a pair of dark slacks, the only man not dressed in a green polo with the white OpenSpace logo. He gestured to the others, one older and one younger. “Meet Todd Eddington. He runs Sales.”
“Great, hello.” Bennie knew from the complaint that Todd was the one who had terminated Simon Pensiera.
“Hey, Bennie, good to meet you.” Todd stepped forward, the younger man, with a strong handshake. He seemed about Bennie’s age, also tall, with sandy-brown hair cut in costly layers, sharp blue eyes, a thin nose, and the broad smile of a salesman, though his teeth looked oddly bonded together. His arms were tan, but his hands weren’t, so she guessed he was a golfer, which fit the profile.
“You too.” Bennie turned to the older man. “And you are—”
“Ray Matewicz, VP and Operations manager.” Ray was shorter and heavier than Todd, maybe in his fifties, with small hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses that were almost the same color as his grayish hair, which he wore in a short practical cut. His build was stocky, with a belly paunch that contributed to an overall lack of vanity, which Bennie liked. Like most operations types, he came off as strictly business, so she didn’t want to waste his time, since most of them thought that that was a lawyer’s reason for existence.
“Nice to meet you all. Should we get started?” Bennie pulled out a swivel chair closest to her.
“Sure,” Jason answered as they returned to their seats on the opposite side of the conference table, though he paused before he sat down. “Hey, I should have offered, you want coffee or anything?”
“No, thanks,” Bennie said, since that was the right answer. It was morning for her, but it was almost lunchtime for them. She slid a pen and a fresh legal pad from her messenger bag, but left her laptop inside. She wanted to make eye contact while they spoke, not be looking down at a computer.
Suddenly, the door opened, and they all turned. Bennie twisted around, surprised to see Nate entering the room, dressed in a light blue sweater and jeans, with an easy grin. Bennie didn’t need him here, but she hid her annoyance since she’d invited him, after all. “Nate, I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I wanted to drop in. Don’t mind me. I won’t say a word.” Nate pulled a chair from the table, turning to Todd and Ray, who shook his hand in turn. “Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Nate Lence, with Dumbarton. Just thought I’d sit in.”
Bennie assumed Nate finessed who he was so they wouldn’t get nervous, which was a good call.
Todd shrugged. “Sure, whatever, I’m Todd Eddington, and this is Ray Matewicz, my boss.”
“Great to meet you.” Nate took a seat just as Jason popped up with a professional smile.
“Nate, good to see you.”
“You, too. Proceed as if I’m not here.” Nate waved his hand dismissively, and everyone sat back down.
Bennie turned away, getting down to business. “Well, folks, you’re wondering what this is about. We need to discuss the termination of one of your reps, Simon Pensiera. But before we get into detail, let me understand a few things about your corporate structure.” Bennie shifted her attention to Todd. “Do you report directly to Ray?”
“Yes, as VP.”
Bennie turned to Ray. “And to whom do you report? The company president?”
“Yes. Mike Bashir.”
Bennie recognized the name from another of Dumbarton’s subsidiaries. “I know Mike Bashir from Joselton Ltd.”
“Right. He came from there. They make kids’ clothes.”
“Who made the decision to terminate Simon Pensiera?”
“I did.” Todd tensed.
“Is anybody required to approve that decision?”
“Mike Bashir. He rubber-stamps it.”
“How about with anybody at Dumbarton?” Bennie held her breath.
“No.”
“Do you keep anybody at Dumbarton informed of hiring and firing?”
“No.”
“How about payroll? Where does that come from? You’d have to take Pensiera off the payroll.”
“We do our own payroll and accounting.”
Bennie breathed a relieved sigh. So far so good. She avoided looking over at Nate and put him out of her mind. “How big is the Sales department?”
“I have ten reps under me.”
“And they all have different territories?”
“Yes, we’re national.”
“So you’re spread thin.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“Do you have accounts, as manager?”
“Yes, I kept some of mine as I got promoted. It makes up for the lost commissions. I kept my bread-and-butter, mostly in the area. I got tired of being a road warrior and I have a lot more paperwork as manager.”
“Okay, I’m here to try to understand the facts concerning Mr. Pensiera’s termination. Let’s start with—”
“Why?” Todd leaned forward, with a frown. “Why does this come up? What does this have to do with you, an outside lawyer?”
“Mr. Pensiera is claiming that you fired him to mitigate medical expenses for his daughter, Rachel, who has cancer.”
“That’s bull!” Todd raised his voice, his handsome face flushing under his fresh tan. “Are you serious? I mean, for real, what are you accusing me of?”
Jason interjected, “Todd, she’s not accusing you of anything. She’s here as our lawyer to tell us about the suit.”
“There’s a lawsuit?” Todd’s blue eyes flew open, incredulous. “Simon is suing me? What law says that I have to keep a rep who doesn’t do his job anymore?”
Bennie raised a hand, signaling for him to calm down. “I know this is unpleasant, but let’s get the facts on the table, then we can sort it out. That’s the quickest way to get us all back to work.”
Jason nodded. “Todd, please listen to what Bennie has to say.”
“Fine!” Todd lowered his voice, but a frown took up residence on his forehead, creasing his sunburn.
Ray said nothing, folding beefy arms over his paunch.
Bennie changed tacks. “Tell you what, Todd. Instead of me doing all the talking, why don’t you tell me why you fired Pensiera?”
“Okay, good.” Todd shifted forward in his chair, his anger controlled but obvious. “It was his performance. He was doing a bad job. His numbers were going down. They don’t lie.”
“Has that always been the case?”
“No. He’s always been one of our top guys. Always made above quota. His accounts love him. He reports directly to me. We get along great. I gave him the biggest region. We’re friends, for God’s sake! We socialized, at least we used to. I can’t believe he would do this to me!” Todd banged the table, but Bennie ignored the outburst.
“When did his performance start to change?”
“I would say about two years ago.”
“How?”
“He wasn’t as into work as he used to be. Ellen, his wife, died a few years ago, and he became a single father. He lost his edge. His priorities changed. He became more of a family guy. Then Rachel got sick and it got worse.”
“Are you saying his performance was affected by his child’s illness?” Bennie asked, a legally significant question. Last night, she had researched the case law under the Americans with Disabilities Act, and even if an employee was distracted because of the illness of a family member, it was still illegal to terminate that employee.
“No, not because she was sick. I think it was because his wife died and he had to take care of the kid. He made calls, but he didn’t care anymore. His heart just wasn’t in it. He wasn’t closing as many deals. It’s like his values changed. Like I say, he lost his edge.”
Bennie listened critically, evaluating Todd’s response as he spoke. If he were telling the truth, then it would have been a nuanced theory of the defense and even permissible under the ADA, as a performance-based termination.
“He turned touchy-feely. Warm and fuzzy. Seize th
e day, all that. I might get that way too, if I had a really sick kid. But I need reps who are committed. Sales is a brutal business, especially in this economy.”
“How does the economy impact you?”
“Our market is the most competitive. We’re the middle tier of cubicle manufacturers. We compete with Knoll and Kimball, plus remanufacturers and clone manufacturers from China.”
“What’s a clone manufacturer?”
“It’s a copied system with a tried-and-true design. It’s sourced from China using cheaper materials. Our business is growing but it’s not easy. Nothing about this business is easy. You have to grind every day, every hour. That’s why I reduced his territory.”
“Why, exactly?”
“Because he wasn’t paying attention. His numbers were slipping.”
“Did he make quota?”
“No.”
“For how long?”
“A month, and he was trending down. He made fewer calls each quarter. You could see it in his call logs and his POs, or purchase orders. He was falling asleep at the switch.” Todd threw up his hands. “That’s why I reduced him to Delaware and figured he could knock himself out.”
“Did you ever fire another rep who didn’t make quota after one month?”
Todd thought a minute. “Uh, no.”
Jason made a note on a legal pad, but didn’t interrupt.
“Did you warn him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t think I was going to fire him. I thought reducing his territory would work. Most reps would see the writing on the wall and take it up a notch.”
Bennie glanced at Jason. “Does OpenSpace have a termination procedure with any kind of warning system, written or no?”
Jason frowned. “Unsure.”
“It should.”
“We just acquired OpenSpace last year, so we’re just coming up to speed. I’ll get on that.”
Bennie let it go, returning her attention to Todd. “When you reduce his territory, don’t you ensure that he can’t make quota?”
“Not necessarily. Well, er, wait.” Todd held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Let me explain. We also adjust his quota, so he could’ve done very well.”
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