Dead in a Week

by Andrea Kane

  “They agreed to our terms.” He sounded shell-shocked.

  “Read me their response,” Aidan instructed.

  Vance cleared his throat, and Aidan could hear him take a long gulp of his coffee. “We recognize your dilemma,” he read. “You have until noon tomorrow, your time zone, to deliver the file. We assume you value your daughter’s life enough to meet that demand. Therefore, your request has been approved and is being arranged. Return to your current location daily, beginning tomorrow morning, at seven ten a.m. Log in. We will be publishing a random Cyph link and you will have ten minutes to access it. You will be able to see and talk with Lauren. Five minutes per day. She will be watched at all times. If anything inflammatory is said, she’ll be killed before your eyes.”

  Vance’s voice broke on that last sentence.

  “This is good news, Vance,” Aidan told him. “They’re willing to negotiate. They want that technology badly. They’re not going to hurt Lauren—not when that would eliminate their only bargaining chip. You’re going to talk to her and see her tomorrow morning. That gives us tonight to choreograph the entire conversation from your end and to reiterate the do’s and don’ts that you’ll adhere to. The computer you’ll be using and the tool that’s needed to get them the photo of that drawing should be arriving at the hotel around midnight, delivered to my hotel room. I’ll explain the technical aspects of the computer to you and then head back to Silicon Valley to meet with Simone and pass the tool along to her. With the proper guidance from you, she’ll be accessing and sending them what they want well before the noon deadline.”

  “And what do I do until then?” Vance asked.

  “Exactly what you’ve been doing. Leave for Nano now. Check in with Simone. She’s conducting interviews of your staff, supposedly to better your department. Have a quick catch-up meeting with Robert Maxwell. Get updates from Ethan.”

  “Business as usual? I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”

  “Yes you can. For Lauren. Now head out. You’ll be back for lunch. Spend the afternoon with your family—calmly and in vacation mode—on the slopes or in front of a fire. I’ll be flying to Tahoe tonight, probably by eight. I have a ten o’clock videoconference with my team, so I’ll have to interrupt for that. You and I will have ample time to educate and orchestrate.”

  Silicon Valley, CA

  27 February

  Tuesday, 10:05 a.m. local time

  Jia li Sung picked up her burner phone and punched in the country code eight-six, followed by the memorized number.

  Several rings later, a man’s voice answered in Mandarin. “Xu.”

  “I’m calling on behalf of my colleague,” she replied, also in Mandarin. “I was told to inform you that waiting is no longer an option. Several months ago, when we all met in California, it was explained to you that we have a narrow window of time in which to accomplish our goal. That window is coming to an end and you have nothing to show for your efforts. My colleague is beginning to think that you are the wrong partner for this venture.”

  She paused, listening to the livid reply, punctuated by some unpleasant swearing.

  “There is no reason to use that kind of language,” she responded calmly. She’d been warned to expect this reaction. “Results are what we require here, not excuses or expletives.”

  The CEO at the other end of the phone sucked in his breath, clearly striving for calm. His reply, when it came, was terse. “Tell your colleague that in a week this will be done. Further, a sample of the data you’re waiting for will be transmitted to you within two days—as a show of good faith.”

  “That’s good news,” Jia li said. “I will relay that information. But I was asked to remind you that your company was selected for this opportunity because of your resources and reputation. You are known as a man of your word and a force to be reckoned with. However, my colleague is a person of similar abilities and character. If you do not deliver on your part of the deal, your failure to do so will be made well known.”

  Her words were greeted by silence. Jia li could read the man’s mind. The significance of a threat to be dishonored would be unthinkable.

  “I will meet the deadline I just described,” he said at last. “One week. You will have all you require.”

  “That would be wise. I’ll pass your promise along.”

  Jia li disconnected the phone with a smile on her face.

  Grand Californian Hotel and Spa

  Disneyland, Anaheim, CA

  27 February

  Tuesday, 10:10 a.m. local time

  Emma had just carried in the enormous stuffed Belle that she’d won for Abby in Mickey’s Toontown when her cell phone rang. She glanced down, saw the private number Aidan had given her—along with instructions to always answer in private, out of Abby’s keen earshot—and gestured to Joyce, silently asking her to take over with their exuberant charge.

  Joyce nodded, managing to coax Abby to sit beside her on the sofa so they could look at the Disney map and plan out the next part of their day.

  Scooting into her and Abby’s bedroom suite, Emma answered her still trilling phone.

  “Hello?” Again, no mention of names. That was an additional instruction on Aidan’s part.

  “Hello back.” Aidan’s tone was filled with dry humor. “You sound like you just lost a boxing match. I wonder why.”

  “Not why,” Emma corrected. “Who. I have a knockout challenger.” She smiled. “But she’s worth it. It’s so cool to be visiting Disneyland for the first time with Abby. I feel like I’m four again—except for my aching body. That needs some comedown time. I don’t think that’s on the menu though. We just got back to the suite with this morning’s stash, and she’s already planning out our next batch of rides and where we’ll be eating.” A pause as she listened to the background noises at Aidan’s end. “You’re at an airport. I won’t keep you. I’ll go get Abby.”

  “No, don’t,” Aidan replied quickly. “I don’t even want her to know it’s me on the phone. And you will be getting that comedown time. I should be there in an hour and a half. Abby’s mine for the afternoon. We’ll hit Fantasyland and do It’s a Small World ride and the King Arthur Carrousel. After that, we have reservations at two o’clock for the Lunch with Ariel and Disney Princesses.”

  “Get out.” Emma was duly impressed. “That character lunch is booked for six months or more.”

  “I’m resourceful. Especially since I know how much my little princess loves Disney princesses. Keep Abby at the hotel. Go to the Redwood Pool—that’s where the Mickey Mouse kiddie pool is. That should keep her busy for a while.”

  “You’re kidding.” Emma stared at the phone, stupefied by Aidan’s naivety. “She’s been at that pool four times already and all she wants is to go to the big pool and ride the ninety-foot water slide.”

  “The… what?” Aidan sounded ill. “You didn’t let her—”

  “Of course not. But that’s not going to stop her from asking. I think I’ll convince her to eat a little something—maybe a few Mickey Mouse pancakes, and then tell her that since her tummy is full all she can do is wade in the kiddie pool. She won’t like it, but once she sees her daddy, all will be forgotten and forgiven.”

  “Thanks, Emma.”

  “Thank you right back. I’ll have four hours to work on my tan and sleep at the poolside. Joyce will probably go crash in the suite. We’ll both be refreshed and ready to go by the time you take off.”

  “Who are you talking to, Emma?” Abby’s voice emanated from the other room. “Is that Daddy?”

  “Nope, just a friend of mine,” Emma called back. “I’m hanging up now.” She turned her mouth back to the receiver. “Bye, boss,” she hissed.

  “Hang in there, champ. Reinforcements are on the way.”

  12

  NanoUSA

  27 February

  Tuesday, 11:45 a.m. local time

  Simone was escorted through glass doors and into Robert Maxwell’s office suite by a twenty-som
ething California girl who introduced herself as Jen and whose über-tanned skin announced that she spent long hours at a tanning salon. This was Silicon Valley, not LA. That meant a cool, often rainy February. Not exactly beach weather. So the tan was fake. The cordial treatment was real. Actually, her attitude was more than merely cordial, Simone noted. She was exuberant. And while the cordiality was directed at Simone, the exuberance smacked of something that had little to do with Jen’s role at Nano. Simone recognized the signs. A sparkle in her eyes, a lilt to her step, not to mention the vase of fresh flowers on her desk—clearly Jen was in the throes of a new relationship.

  With a glowing Jen leading the way, Simone shifted her focus, using this opportunity to survey the extensive work space surrounding Robert Maxwell’s closed office door.

  There was a teak sitting area that looked more like a living room, a boardroom that was currently empty but that could easily seat thirty, and an elaborate food preparation area designed to serve elegant cuisine to powerful people.

  At the rear of the suite, there was one other closed-door inner sanctum—smaller, but stationed right beside Maxwell’s—with a gold name plate that said Zoe Pearson on it.

  The hierarchy here was crystal clear.

  Jen knocked on Robert Maxwell’s door.

  “Come in,” a strong voice responded.

  Jen opened the door halfway and gave her boss a bright smile. “Ms. Martin is here to see you.”

  “Thanks, Jen. Send her in.”

  Robert Maxwell rose from behind his circular chrome and glass desk, walking around to shake Simone’s hand. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a good-looking man who clearly worked out and paid attention to his appearance, as was evidenced by his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, his perfectly creased slacks—sans the jacket and tie, which were folded on the back of his executive desk chair—and his trim physique. He also had a ready handshake. But his demeanor and appearance belied the intensity that ran underneath. Maxwell had built this company with toughness and grit in a highly competitive industry. He was not to be trifled with.

  Simone had done her homework and thoroughly researched Robert Maxwell. Professionally, he was highly respected throughout the industry. He was a frequent speaker at Stanford University, teaching and encouraging MBA students who had aspirations of working in the technology sector. He attended conferences and seminars worldwide to keep up with his ever-evolving world. And he worked tirelessly at his job, never asking more of his employees than he did of himself.

  Personally, he was an avid golfer. He had a wide range of hobbies and interests, including bicycling, as was evidenced by the bicycle helmet sitting on the credenza behind his desk. And he had a family who was significant in his life.

  All excellent motivations for a healthy sixty-three-year-old man to release groundbreaking cutting-edge technology and then move on to the next stage of his life. That, however, didn’t mean he planned to totally bow out of Nano, not after all these years. The interviews of him that Simone had read reflected his fierce commitment to his company, as well as his total confidence in his staff—a staff he had vetted well and hired because they were the best. He demanded loyalty and gave equal amounts in return. And it wasn’t BS. Simone could attest to that fact after spending half a day within these walls. Despite the more informal business attire and less rigid behavior she’d encountered—not a surprise, given that this was California and not New York City—NanoUSA had a small, tight-knit company feel—atypical for a high-powered corporation.

  A culture such as that could only originate from its leader.

  Simone knew in her gut that the idea of a mole would be unthinkable to Maxwell. Finding the culprit would be hard enough, but proving his or her guilt to Maxwell and then dealing with his inevitable sense of betrayal… Simone wasn’t looking forward to that part of her job.

  “Good to meet you, Ms. Martin,” Maxwell was saying, his gaze flickering quickly over her. “Vance has spoken very highly of you.”

  “As he has of you.” Simone almost laughed at the typical male once-over she’d just received. Why was it that men never realized a woman knew when she was being physically assessed?

  Taking advantage of Maxwell’s obvious approval of what he saw, she added, “Please call me Simone.”

  “Only if you call me Robert.” He smiled, a charming and enveloping smile rather than a practiced one. It made him look years younger than sixty-three. Despite his awareness of an attractive woman, he wore his wedding band, and his enormous office was filled with family photos—his wife, his kids, and his two granddaughters, who looked to be about two years old and six months respectively.

  “What can I get you?” he asked. “Coffee, tea, water?”

  “Water would be wonderful, thank you,” Simone replied. “I’ve been chatting with your staff for over four hours now and had more cups of coffee than I can count. Any more and I won’t sleep for a week.”

  “I hear you.” Robert strode over to a built-in fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. “Here you go.” He handed one to Simone and then gestured at one of the two ivory-colored leather sofas that were situated adjacently in one corner of the office. “Please. Have a seat.”

  Simone sank down into the grained leather. She opened her bottled water and took a healthy swallow before settling herself, crossing one leg over the other. She opened her Louis Vuitton document holder and prepared to take notes as Robert took a seat on the other sofa.

  “I hope my staff has been accommodating,” he said with the certainty of a CEO who knew the answer would be yes.

  “They most certainly have. They’re an exceptional group. Very upbeat. Very excited about all the new developments happening at Nano.”

  “So how’s the process going?”

  “Exactly as I expected. I’ve only met with a handful of people, but preliminarily it seems as if there are some disconnects in opportunities to streamline and refocus efforts. I’ll have a better-defined picture in a few days. Once I’m finished, Vance will have a clear action plan to get his organization ready for functioning without him when he succeeds you.”

  Robert’s brows rose. “That’s a pretty bold statement. No comment.”

  “Your deflection is all I needed to hear.”

  “I don’t deal in rumors. Who’s been spreading them?”

  “No one. This is my interpretation of the emerging fact pattern.”

  Simone had rehearsed that part well. With Robert aware that she’d deduced the truth, he’d be less apt to be suspicious of her subsequent questions or the avenues she was pursuing.

  “I see that McKinsey chooses its people wisely.” That much Robert acknowledged. “I hope the results warrant the exorbitant fee we’re paying you.”

  “Compliment accepted. I’ll let my work speak for itself. And speaking of work, I requested this time with you so I could ask you a few questions that only you can answer.”

  Robert inclined his head and waited.

  “Let’s talk about the politics of your direct reports and how succession planning influences that. I know you’re reticent to discuss change at the helm of the company, so let’s approach this as a hypothetical and discuss succession plans that I’m sure are in place here, in the event that they’re needed. Should you choose to retire, who in the company is in line to succeed you? Would the board prefer to appoint your successor from within the company or go outside? And since there’d only be one winner in this Tour de France, how would each one of the people on your list respond to losing?”

  Robert didn’t look happy. “Why are we talking about succession planning when the reason for your consulting engagement is to improve the functioning of the manufacturing department?”

  “Sometimes dysfunction is intentional and orchestrated at the request of other department leaders. If someone wanted to undermine Vance and his department, they might use their department and its resources to make the manufacturing team seem less competent and capable.”

  “O
kay.” Robert eased up a bit, since he was unable to argue with Simone’s logic. “I’ll answer your hypothetical questions. Assuming I was considering stepping down as CEO, let’s start with Vance, your odds-on favorite to win the race. He’s been with me since the beginning. This company wouldn’t be where it is today without him. I think he would be an excellent choice.”

  “And if the board disagreed with you, how would he respond?”

  “That’s a tough question,” Robert said, stroking his beard pensively. “I think any candidate on the list would be hugely disappointed. As soon as word got out, the candidates not selected for the position would immediately be solicited by executive recruiters and competitors looking to upgrade their talent pool. As to whether or not my executives would jump ship would depend on how enticing those offers were. If one were offered the CEO slot at a good company, I wouldn’t blame them for taking it. If this was a future promise, that’s a more difficult call.”

  Simone nodded. “Whether it was Vance or someone else, would the board prefer to pick someone internally?”

  “In this case, yes. The future of Nano is its technology, and having an intimate knowledge of it and its potential is critical. If the names on the successor list were weak, that might be less important. But all of my people are strong, capable, and worthy. So, yes, I believe they would choose an internal candidate.”

  “Can you tell me who those candidates might be—other than Vance, of course?”

  “Sure.” Robert shrugged. “It’s hardly a secret as to who my top reports are. Lawrence Blockman, my VP Engineering, June Morris, my CFO, and Aaron Malcolm, my VP Sales.”

  Excellent. All people she’d spoken with—and formed opinions about—this morning.

  “One last question and I’ll be on my way,” Simone said. “If Vance were to be your successor, who would be his?”

  Robert sucked in a breath. “I’m very uncomfortable with this treason route you’re taking.”

  “Treason is a very strong word. I’d call it politicking. And I understand your discomfort. But my tactics are rooted in necessity, not suspicion.”