37
“I’m sorry, honey, I must have been distracted. What did you say?”
“All right, I’ve had enough. We’re gonna talk right now,” Diane Myers said as she picked up the remote on the end table next to her husband and clicked off the football game. “Don’t even bother trying to object. You probably don’t even know what the score is.”
Myers started to reply but then realized his wife was right. He didn’t know the score or even which side was winning. So much for watching a game.
“Okay, dear. What do you want to talk about?”
“You, us, and whatever the hell is going on.”
“Diane, I don’t know what you’re—”
“Ed, stop! You like to joke that patience has never been my strong suit. Maybe you’re right. But whatever reservoir of patience I had is gone and it’s all been used on you. Something has changed and I want to know what it is.”
He sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? You’re in a complete fog. Three days ago you forgot to call Tara for her birthday. You forgot after I called your office to remind you.” Their daughter was in her freshman year at Fordham. “At dinner last night you were distracted to the point of being rude. When you got up to use the bathroom, Art and Ali both asked me if anything was wrong with you.” The Grooms had been friends since both couples’ oldest daughters started first grade together. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but you look terrible. For somebody who never had any trouble sleeping, for the last week you’ve done nothing but toss and turn, and it shows.”
“Diane, I don’t know what to say. Things have been really stressful at work.”
“I don’t buy that. Not for a minute. Come on, Ed. When you joined REL News right after we got married, you told me the company was a financial mess. You’d come home joking that if you didn’t call me the next day it would probably mean the phones had been shut off for nonpayment. But you never let it get to you. When you walked through the door at the end of the day, you flipped the switch. Now that the company’s doing great you’re feeling stress?”
“It’s not that.”
“Ed, be honest with me. Are you having an affair?”
“Oh God, no. I promise I’m not.” He sighed. “You’re right. We need to talk. Can you pour us both a Scotch?”
* * *
Diane listened intently as he told her about the unusual request from Sherman two weeks earlier and his compliance. He concluded by saying, “I signed off on REL’s financial statements for the third quarter. What concerns me most are the ramifications of what I did.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Twelve million dollars doesn’t simply disappear. The company, I should say, I, had to account for how the money was spent.”
“You’re saying that it was spent on M and A projects that didn’t work out, right?”
“Yes. And if that were true, the money would be a deductible expense. End of story,” he said.
“And if that’s not true?”
He took a long sip. “First of all, skip the if. We know that’s not true. What we don’t know is how the money was used, whether it was for an expense that was deductible or not.”
“Could you ask Sherman about that?”
“In hindsight I should have. In hindsight there are a lot of things I should have done differently. But he made it clear I wasn’t to ask any questions. I assumed the money went to a legitimate purpose and twelve million will be deducted against REL’s taxable income.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means that as CFO I’ve signed off on REL’s financial statement. If the money was not being used for a legitimate purpose, I’ve broken several laws including committing tax fraud.”
“Can you go back and change what you did?”
“If only it were that easy. Lots of questions would be raised. What would the explanation be? The CEO of the company asked me to do this and I did it without demanding any details? Who are Carter & Associates? Why did I okay wiring money to them? Even if I could put the genie back in the bottle, will Carter and whoever his associates are return the money or has it already been spent or disappeared?”
“Do you have any idea what the money’s being used for?”
“No, I don’t. Companies have had CEOs who had to be bailed out of bad personal investments, CEOs who were addicts or had gambling problems. Is this what’s going on with Sherman? I don’t know.”
She took his hand in hers. “You’ve got to talk to somebody. Explain what happened and take the hit now. The longer you stay silent the worse it will be if this comes to light.”
“I know, but who?”
“Is there anybody on the board you could speak to?”
“They’re all Sherman’s handpicked people. If Sherman denies he told me to do it, they’ll believe Sherman. I’m the one who’ll get fired and take the rap.”
“Can you talk to Carlyle Senior?”
“He’s far less engaged than he used to be. If he’s capable of doing anything, the first thing he’ll do is call Sherman to ask him about it.”
“How about Carlyle Jr.?”
He took another deep sip of his Scotch. “That’s a real possibility. He and Sherman have never liked each other. In fact they hate each other.”
“Promise me you’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“I will. And thanks. I love you.”
38
Michael Carter was annoyed as he found himself heading for Greenwich, Connecticut, for the second day in a row, this time on a Sunday. Sherman had called him during the week and demanded a “same time, same place” meeting. He had met Sherman the previous day at the Greenwich train station. Frankly, he thought Sherman could have shown a little more gratitude for the great job he had done convincing a reluctant Lauren Pomerantz to agree to a settlement. He replayed the meeting in his mind as he drove. The CEO didn’t comment on the clever ways he had delved into the young woman’s personal life. Handing him a copy of Pomerantz’s résumé, Carter reminded him of the commitment that was made to find her a job. “She chose Dallas,” he said.
“I’m paying you a lot of money. What are you doing next?”
“I’ve been looking into Meg Williamson’s background. I’ll start the process with her over the next few days.”
Sherman stared straight ahead. Carter sensed that he was trying to resolve something in his mind and chose against interrupting the CEO’s thoughts.
“Matthews has to be spoken to. He’s got to keep it zipped and tell us if there are any other women.”
“I agree,” Carter said quietly.
“I’m thinking I should speak to him alone.”
“That’s your decision, but I disagree.”
“Why?” Sherman snarled.
“I did these kinds of inquiries in the army. When people are confronted about serious wrongdoing, they do two things. Deny and lie. When you catch them in their lies, they feel humiliated, then very angry. It’s as if the meeting is not about what he did to the women; it’s about what you’re doing to him. He’s going to leave the meeting hating how he was treated. You have to work with him afterwards. Do you want those feelings directed at you or at me?”
“You’re right,” Sherman said.
Carter got the impression those were two words Sherman rarely said. It was an act of will to conceal his delight. The CEO of REL News was going to use him to take one of the most trusted men in America behind the woodshed.
“The meeting can’t be at the office. I don’t like hotels for this kind of thing. It would be weird to have three of us sitting in a car. Where do we go?”
“Does Mr. Matthews live in this area?”
“Stamford. One town north of here.”
“Do you two belong to any of the same clubs?”
“I know what we could do.” Sherman opened his phone, went to the directory, and pushed a button. “Brad, Dick Sherman here. Something’s come up rela
ted to the IPO. I’d like to talk to you about it, but not over the phone.” There was a pause. “No, don’t worry. All good. Let’s have breakfast at the club at nine o’clock tomorrow. See you there.”
Sherman turned to Carter. “We’re all set. Greenwich Country Club tomorrow. Come at ten.”
It wasn’t lost on Carter that Sherman had not asked if tomorrow was convenient for him. “I thought you told him nine o’clock.”
“I did. I’ll eat with him first. You come at ten. Ask somebody to point you to the Members Grill. We’ll grab coffees and go into one of the private meeting rooms where you can do your part.” He looked disdainfully at Carter’s blue jeans. “Do you belong to a country club?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. Go to the club website and look under ‘Guests.’ Make sure you’re dressed properly.” He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “We’re finished. I’m late for my trainer.”
39
Carter turned off Doubling Road between the stone pillars that framed the entranceway to Greenwich Country Club. Majestic oaks, now mostly bare of their leaves, lined the driveway. It had cost considerably more to rent a large BMW sedan. But if Sherman asked, assuming the CEO noticed, he would have an explanation ready. “I’m not going to blend in at Greenwich Country Club if I arrive in a Honda Accord.”
What had been a cold mist progressed to a steady drizzle. The temperature on this early November Sunday morning was just below forty degrees. He pulled in front of the clubhouse and was met by a bored-looking parking valet who was struggling to stay warm. “I’m a guest of Dick Sherman, meeting him in the Members Grill.”
Carter descended a flight of stairs. Remembering what he had read on the website, he silenced his cell phone. He entered a near-empty room with about twenty tables. Two walls of the room were glass, allowing panoramic views of the course. Painted in gold leaf along one wall were winners of past tournaments back to 1909. A polished mahogany bar with no one behind it was to his left.
Four men who appeared to be in their late seventies and eighties were playing gin at a round table in the corner. One of the men wrote on a pad as another shuffled cards. Apparently it was considered crass to have real money on the table. Settling up would come later. On the other side, by the windows, Sherman and Matthews were seated. The egg-stained plates and juice glasses in front of them were empty. Carter glanced at his watch. Nine-fifty-nine. Here we go, he said to himself, trying to look confident as he casually walked across the room.
Sherman was the first to make eye contact. He waved him over. “Brad, say hello to Michael Carton. Michael’s the one I told you about. He wants to go over a few items related to the IPO.”
Carter didn’t bother to correct him on the last name.
Matthews extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Michael. Have a seat.”
Sherman was signaling the waitress. “Marlene, bring us three coffees in travel cups.”
“We can’t talk here?” Matthews asked, gesturing at the almost empty room.
“You know the old expression. The walls have ears,” Sherman replied.
Marlene returned with the cups. Sherman stood up. “Follow me,” he said as he began to walk away.
“I guess we should humor him,” Matthews said to Carter as he got up, flashing the smile that viewers found so appealing.
Carter glanced at the waitress and then over at the gin game. If they had any idea what was going to happen to the club’s most prominent member, no one let on.
Sherman led them down a narrow hallway. Framed black-and-white photos of golfers and holes lined the walls. The CEO turned left into a room with several dark leather couches and overstuffed chairs opposite a fireplace. The head of an elk unhappily stared down on the setting, a reminder of the role hunting played in the early days of the club. “We can talk here,” Sherman said, as he settled himself into a chair. Carter waited until Matthews sat down, so he could choose a seat opposite him.
“Michael, I think I know why we’re here,” Matthews began.
Carter and Sherman exchanged surprised looks. Matthews continued before they could respond.
“When I closed the broadcast on Friday, I talked about the many great people who work at REL News, what a wonderful organization it is, and how proud I am to be one of its leaders. I’ve always been a news guy. I never worked in the business world per se. I know when the company’s considering an IPO, you’re not supposed to say anything. If I violated a rule, I apologize. But I assure you, my heart was in the right place.”
His speech was followed by what the New York Post liked to refer to as the anchorman’s ten-thousand-watt smile. The smile lingered for a few seconds, as it did at the end of every broadcast. It was as if Matthews were waiting for a producer behind the camera to count down to when he could shut it off.
Sherman was silent. It was clear that he preferred to be the spectator.
“Mr. Matthews,” Carter began, “I’m here to talk to you about the IPO and how valuable you have been and continue to be at REL News. It would not be the same company without you.”
“If you’re worried about my retiring, don’t. If it’s my health, I just saw my doctor and—”
“Frankly, Mr. Matthews, I couldn’t care less about what your doctor said. That’s not why we’re here.”
Matthews turned to Sherman. “Who does he think he is, talking to me like that? What the hell’s going on here?” He started to get up.
Carter stood up opposite him and said in a raised voice, “Matthews, if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life drinking beer and playing golf with Bill O’Reilly, Matt Lauer, and Charlie Rose, sit down and shut up!”
Matthews looked stunned. Sherman pointed to the anchorman’s chair. “Brad, please, you have to hear him out.” Matthews glared at Carter as he sat back down.
Carter, back in his chair, kept his eyes on Matthews as he reached to the table in front of him and picked up his coffee cup. He took a long sip and slowly returned the cup to the table, relishing the opportunity to make Matthews sweat. It was abundantly clear who was in charge of the meeting.
“Do you know the meaning of the term ‘sexual abuse’?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. But let’s make sure we’re all on the same page. The American Psychological Association defines it as ‘unwanted sexual activity, with perpetrators using force, making threats, or taking advantage of victims not able to give consent.’ ”
“Don’t lecture me!”
“Did you understand the definition I just shared with you?”
“Get to your point, Carton!”
“Four women have come forward and credibly accused you of making unwanted sexual advances.”
Sherman looked at him, clearly surprised to hear there were four.
“I have never in my life acted inappropriately toward a woman. I have received numerous awards from women’s organizations—” Matthews blustered.
“Spare me your press clippings. I assure you nobody cares about what a great guy you think you are.”
“I don’t know who you are, mister, but I assure you I’m at the end of my patience. I never—”
“Do you know a woman named Lauren Pomerantz?” Carter asked, reaching for his coffee cup.
Matthews flinched slightly as he turned toward the fireplace. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t be sure.”
It was difficult for even good liars to maintain eye contact when telling lies, Carter thought. He decided to let Matthews finish.
“REL News has grown so large over the past years. I try, but I can’t remember the names of everybody in the News Division. Lauren, what did you say her last name was?”
“Pomerantz. Should I spell it for you?”
Keeping his eyes on Matthews, Carter reached into the vest pocket of his sports jacket, retrieved his phone, and laid it on the table. “I know I’m violating the cell phone policy of the august Greenwich Countr
y Club,” he said, “but I’m sure that under these unusual circumstances, they’ll cut me a little slack. Last chance, Matthews, did an encounter between you and Pomerantz take place in your office?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Matthews said in a voice that lacked its earlier conviction.
“If it’s not loud enough, just let me know,” Carter said as he pushed a button. Matthews’s voice saying, “Lauren, come right in,” filled the room. The three men listened in silence to the end.
Carter stared at Matthews, who was now sitting forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “That tape may have been doctored,” the anchor said weakly. “They can do that nowadays in a way that can fool even the experts.”
Carter sat back in his chair, assuming the posture of a school principal dealing with a disruptive student. “Mr. Matthews, you might not believe this, but I’m here to help you.”
Matthews looked bewildered. He turned to Sherman, who spoke calmly. “That’s right, Brad. It’s in everybody’s best interests that your,” he paused, “indiscretions are not made public. We’ve already settled with Pomerantz.”
Some semblance of color returned to Matthews’s face.
Carter reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small pad and pen. “I need the names, Mr. Matthews. It’s the only way I can find them, persuade them to settle and keep quiet.”
Matthews hunched forward. “You have Pomerantz. The other three were Mel Carroll, Christina Neumann, and Paula Stephenson.”
Carter and Sherman quickly made eye contact. It was clear to both that in failing to name Meg Williamson, Matthews was not being completely truthful. But Carter felt he had pushed as hard as he could for today. He wanted to talk to Sherman about how to go forward. The $12 million that had been wired to him might not be enough.
“Mr. Matthews, I want to thank you. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. It takes courage to face them like you did today. We might have to meet again. In the meantime Mr. Sherman and I are going to do everything we can to make this problem go away, but we need your help.”
Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry Page 11