Transparency

by Charles Royce

  “Oh yeah? How so?”

  “Maybe not so much transitioning as pivoting. Something Micah said. About spiritual—” Haylee stops, puts her rag down.

  “Honey? What’s wrong?” Shawn springs up from the chair.

  “There’s a wire coming from this box.” She points.

  Shawn runs up to her, throws his arms around her thighs, carries her away from the box, eases her down to the floor in the hallway outside.

  He rushes back to the box, turns around. Haylee is standing there watching.

  “Go!” Shawn screams at her.

  She runs down the hall.

  Shawn steps up one rung on the ladder, gently picks up the box, a simple black walnut piece, brass hinges. The wire is coming out the back; wood shavings nestled in the crevasse behind it. He looks at the front; a small hole is drilled in the center, but he can’t make out what it’s for. He opens the top of the box—first a crack, then a little wider, then all the way.

  A tiny camera rests inside, a steady red light underneath the lens.

  “Low-tech motherfuckers!”

  Shawn jerks the box while leaping from the ladder to the floor. The wire pulls an entire row of books, sliding them off the shelf, rat-a-tat-tatting onto the floor. He throws the box against the wall, denting the drywall. Walnut fragments fall onto the Eames ottoman.

  C h a p t e r 4 5

  JOSH POPS A Xanax, swallows, then places the oval key on the pad that has magically reappeared outside the secret floor. The wall opening invites him inside.

  Passing by the fragments of drywall still resting on the stair stoop, Josh can still hear the shots spitting off the cement walls, the ceiling. The sounds of a small crowd of people echo from somewhere down below. He looks at his watch. 8:07 p.m.

  He’s late.

  “I’m at the login,” he says to the pen in his suit pocket. “Can you hear me?”

  “Are you speaking into the pen?” asks Agent Pillsbury on the other end.

  He can hear her through a small earpiece that he’s sure has lodged permanently in his ear canal. He swears he hears her giggle. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing, we can hear you great,” she says. “Good call on placing the booster in your storage room. Helps us get above those cement walls.”

  “You were right about the lasers not picking up on the smaller items, it doesn’t say METAL DETECTED on my login.”

  “You’re late.” Pillsbury sighs. “Just get on with it. My team is grabbing license plate numbers from a few cars in the parking garage. You go silent now. I don’t wanna hear from you until you’re outta there. Everything is working fine, just be calm, be cool. We can hear everything.”

  “I’m freaking the fu—”

  “Shh!”

  “Is that Josh I hear?” West comes out of a door down the hall.

  “I found you!” He walks toward West, notices a closed door to his left with a photo of George Washington etched into it.

  Josh steps inside the secret floor’s conference room, sees about twelve people sitting in folding chairs around a dark table. One of them is empty.

  “Holy shit!” He hears one of them say.

  A few of them stare, start to whisper to each other. Josh looks at his clothes, wondering what they’re looking at.

  As West closes the door, Josh notices Ronald Reagan’s face embedded in the metal.

  “Reagan,” Josh says.

  “It’s all making sense now, right?” West smiles, puts a hand on Josh’s shoulder, breaks into a weird presentation voice. “Friends, I’d like you to meet Josh Harrison; he’ll be joining us for this final board meeting.”

  “Final? I just got here.” Josh smiles, looks around the room.

  The others laugh.

  He sees one or two familiar faces: Pamela from PR, Jamal from security; the rest he doesn’t know at all. Most of them are still staring a little too strongly, some even bending their head to the side, as if they’re trying to see him from a different angle. The faces are mixed, heavily diverse for sure, but he has no idea who does what, a distinction which Pillsbury has asked him to figure out. West hasn’t offered their names.

  “Looking forward to meeting you guys,” Josh says.

  “Yes, I was just telling the group here that all hands should now be on deck for the grand opening tomorrow night.” West takes his hand off Josh’s shoulder. “Due to some recent events, the board has decided to dismantle CAAD, stop all surveillance and other nonsense, and concentrate on getting our organization back on track. Josh Harrison will be a big part of our comeback.”

  “Good to be here.” Josh addresses them with a nod, tries to study their faces. He sits in the empty chair.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Élan International’s executive creative director. We’ll be going over the grand opening as part of this meeting. You may know Josh from the coverage in The New York Times after our last event.” West motions in Josh’s direction. “I brought Mr. Harrison to CAAD to see what we’re about, and honestly I need the help. He’s my new right-hand man. He has assembled one of the finest teams I’ve ever witnessed here at Élan. And you know what they say.”

  “To the West Way!” they all chant.

  “Well, that’s weird,” Josh hears Pillsbury say.

  “I know!” Josh answers, takes a seat.

  “Shh!” Pillsbury says.

  “What, Josh?” West asks.

  “The West Way. It’s the key to everything. I could never pull off something this huge by myself.” He scoots his folding chair up to the table. “Looking forward to meeting everyone.”

  “Good save,” Agent Pillsbury says. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the earpiece. Basically, I get to talk, tell you to do things, say things, but you don’t get to say—”

  “There’s one more item of business we’d like to discuss before we dive into our main event.” West walks away from Josh to the end of the conference table, addresses the room. “A merger. Makeshift Media with Streamium. Now, I know we already have a streaming service, but Streamium has been swallowing up the AFI’s Top …”

  “Is this CAAD or a board meeting?” Josh whispers out of the side of his mouth to his vice president of PR, Pamela Gunter, who’s seated to his left. “I’m confused.”

  “It’s both,” she whispers back.

  “You have any idea who these people are?”

  “Just Jamal,” she says. “He’s never introduced anyone else. But I’m kinda new too. This is only my fourth meeting with this cult.”

  Josh tries not to laugh. “Who’s on the board?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, maybe some of these people we don't know.” Pamela leans in, whispers into his ear. “And every now and then he talks directly to that camera.”

  Josh follows her eyes, which are clearly making their way somewhere. He spots the camera in the corner. He whispers to the pen in a deep voice, “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Pamela asks.

  “What did I tell you?” Agent Pillsbury comes through so loud it makes Josh jump. “We heard her, now shh.”

  “Isn’t that right, Josh?” West asks.

  “I’m sorry?” Josh looks to his right and left. Everyone is staring. “I didn’t hear you, sir, Pamela was distracting me.”

  Pamela whips around.

  Josh shrugs.

  “Jamal had just asked if we were setting up surveillance on the Streamium executives,” West says. “I told him hell no, we are cleaning up our act, just like we talked about.”

  “Yes, I agree. I think anything that gives us a leg up on any sort of negotiations should be handled in a forthright manner. Anything less is going to call more attention to us as a company. Listen, my team has done a lot of work getting our donors and guests back on track. We can’t afford any more hiccups. Not right now anyway.”

  “Nicely put.”

  Josh can’t tell if the remark came from Pillsbury or West, so he says nothing.

  “Josh, can you give us a
n update on the Élan Trust?” West asks. “How well are we doing with donations?”

  “This should be good,” says Agent Pillsbury.

  “Well, I talked to Miss Harriet at the end of the day today,” Josh begins, “and she says she’s gotten everyone back on board, except for two smaller donors. She says her team has added an additional twenty-nine million dollars to make up for it, thanks mostly to a celebrity competition of sorts, led by Augustine Trudeau. Nine different people have matched her three-million-dollar donation. So right now, we are close to seventy million, give or take. And we are sure that will increase dramatically before and during tomorrow’s silent auction. We’re on track for a Guinness record.”

  “An amazing feat,” West says, with a side glance to the camera. “This money will go across the world to help the many different philanthropic endeavors of many of our guests.”

  Pillsbury coughs. “Right.”

  “Right?” Josh says.

  “Right!” West exclaims. “We are well on our way to cleaning up our reputation. Josh, please give an update on the guest list.”

  “Ask him if there’s anyone specific he’d like to know about,” Agent Pillsbury says.

  “Anyone in particular you’d like to know about, sir?”

  “Just a general update.”

  Josh realizes he’s not prepared to answer his own question. “I didn’t bring any files with me, sorry, but I can get the answer for you tomorrow.”

  “Just off the top of your head; it’s very exciting, just want to give our fellow CAADites a general feel of what they can expect.”

  “Y’all are coming, right?” Josh asks.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Absolutely.”

  The replies all come at the same time. To Josh, they don’t seem authentic.

  “Has everyone RSVP’d?” he asks.

  “Oh, there’s no need,” West chimes in. “We’ll have VIP passes ready for them, right, Josh?”

  “But I still need to regis—”

  “Just say yes,” Pillsbury says.

  “Yes, absolutely,” Josh nods. “Just come find me or Jamal at security, tell us you’re a part of CAAD, we’ll have some passes on hand. Sound okay, Jamal?”

  “I’ll make a note.”

  “Tell them who’s going to be there, Josh,” West says.

  “Well, it’s actually more like who’s not going to be there. We have A-list television and film stars, including Augustine Trudeau and her husband, political figures such as New York senator Michael Singer and former vice president Roger Maddox, and philanthropic leader Sandra Billings, as well as a handful of New York City sports legends, just to name a few.”

  “All on board?”

  “By on board, if you mean they’re coming, yessir, they are all coming, and are very excited about what you are doing for their causes.”

  Josh gets a text, looks down. It’s from Shawn.

  They bugged our house. Don’t trust anything West says.

  Josh hears another ding. It’s not from his phone. He looks around. West is looking down at his own phone.

  West looks up, locks eyes with Josh.

  Josh gasps.

  “What’s wrong?” Agent Pillsbury asks.

  “Nothing,” Josh whispers without moving his lips.

  “Wonderful.” James pats his palms on the table. “Well, I think that’s everything. We are officially adjourned for the year, people. Thank you for all your service. This company wouldn’t be nearly as integrated if it weren’t for your work. According to the board, earliest we will pick back up will be spring of 2020.”

  “Ha!” Agent Pillsbury resumes her commenting. “Not if I can help it.”

  “See you all tomorrow night.” West looks at Josh, motions with a piece of paper. “Josh, can I see you over here a moment?”

  “See ya later, Pam,” Josh whispers. “I hope we have a lot of press coverage lined up for—”

  “Just sign it,” she says. She leaves.

  Sign what? he thinks.

  The crowd makes its way out of the room. Josh hears the sound of the wall opening.

  Jamal lingers behind. “Should I—”

  “We’re good, thanks, Jamal,” West says, flaps his hand for him to leave. “Please make sure the door is closed.”

  Jamal ushers the final two people out the door, then closes the Reagan door.

  Silence falls on the room. A hum grows louder in Josh’s ears.

  “That wasn’t us,” West holds up his phone.

  “You’re still spying on me? Getting my texts forwarded to your phone?” Josh walks toward him.

  “Look, I had to make sure you weren’t trying to screw with me.”

  “But Shawn Connelly? Why bug Shawn, Mr. West?”

  “That wasn’t us, I swear.”

  Josh looks down at the sheet of paper West has in his hands. “What are you holding?”

  “I have an NDA I’d like you to sign. It’s pretty standard, but if you’re going to be my right hand, I need all of you.”

  “So you wanna make extra sure I’m not trying to screw you? You’re a piece of work.”

  “It’s not like that. Everyone has to sign these.”

  “I’ll hand this over to my lawyer. Shawn Connelly. You may be familiar with him.”

  “Nope,” Pillsbury says. “Stop it. Just sign it.”

  “If you must,” West says. “But honestly, I wanna move past this trust issue. My bad; won’t happen again.”

  “Remember he needs you.” Agent Pillsbury tries to calm him down. “He still thinks he’s in control. All this will mean nothing very soon.”

  Josh grabs the sheet of paper, uses his microphone pen to sign it. The sound of the writing is amplified on the metal table.

  “Help me, help me! I’m writing, I’m writing!” Agent Pillsbury speaks like a wicked witch.

  Josh looks at the pen, imagines her inside it. He calms down, even bites his lip to keep from laughing.

  “Thank you, Josh.” West flicks his head toward the camera. “There’s someone I’d like for you to meet.”

  Josh notices they are right in front of it. “The camera? Let me guess. The board.”

  “Not exactly. Guys, I’d like you to meet Josh Harrison, in person.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Josh smiles, waves. He feels stupid. “Who am I speaking to?”

  “You’ll meet them soon. They wanted to see you, get a feel for you first.”

  “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “It’s all good. They are coming to the event. I’ll need a pass for them too. I’ve already talked to Jamal.”

  “May I get them a hotel room, a suite perhaps? The hotel is opening tomorrow. We can arrange for the Presidential.”

  “Already taken care of. There is one thing I need your help with, though. They’re arriving tomorrow afternoon by private jet at Teterboro Airport. If you could have Talent meet them, that would be great. I can email you the details.”

  “I’ll take care of it personally.” Josh turns to the camera. “Looking forward to meeting you.”

  The camera’s light goes dim.

  “You sure you can meet them?” West asks. “It’s cutting it close to grand-opening kickoff time.”

  “Teterboro is close, right?”

  “Twenty, twenty-five-minute drive.”

  “This is important, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll be there.” Josh begins to stack some plastic cups, pouring the leftover wine into each successive cup as he goes. “Let me help you clean up.”

  “Stop. What’s-his-face will get it tomorrow.”

  “Reed?” Josh tosses the cups in the trashcan. “Have you started calling him Kimbo yet?”

  “Please.” West walks to the door, opens it, turns off the lights. “Kimbo was one of a kind. If you hear from him, please let me know. I know you were quite fond of each other.”

  “I will.” Josh follows him, t
hen motions to the Washington door across the hall. “Hey, what’s in these other rooms? I’m digging the presidential theme down here.”

  “Another time.”

  “Don’t push too hard,” Agent Pillsbury says.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it?” Josh clip-clops up the stairs behind West, the sound bouncing off the cement walls.

  “Unplug the login station, unplug the login station,” Pillsbury says.

  “What’s strange?” West continues up the stairs in front of him.

  Josh reaches down, unplugs the computer. He doesn’t miss a beat. “Kimbo. Just vanishing like that. He hasn’t contacted any of us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes. He has friends outside of you and me, you know.” Josh steps into the hallway, uses his oval SSD to close the wall.

  “Hey, can we talk just a second?” West’s face is solemn.

  “Absolutely, sir. Anything wrong?”

  “I know you don’t trust me.” West leans against the wall, the fake thermostat just above his shoulder. “I get it, I do, I feel the same way. Ever since Kimbo left, I haven’t trusted anyone. I need to know I can trust you.”

  “What can I do? This thing goes both ways, you know.”

  “I understand. We gotta just get through tomorrow night. Things will be better, I promise.”

  “Sir, what’s happening tomorrow night?”

  West’s face changes from reflectively somber to nervously inquisitive. “What do you mean?”

  “Sir, I’m just asking so I can help you. I know who I’m in bed with, and yet I’m still here. You want trust, you need to show some.”

  West sighs. He begins to pace up and down the hallway, starting a sentence, then stopping to reevaluate his thoughts. He rests on a narrative. “Years ago, I needed help, so I sold part of my company to have the capital to expand. The new investors wanted to help grow the organization; I said sure. They brought in some of their own people. They had an idea to form an organization within our company to help evaluate new acquisitions.”