A Harvest of Thorns

by Corban Addison

  Cameron waited a beat, then chastised himself for dithering. There was no pleasant way to do this. It just had to be done. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Unless we act in the next five days, everything you’ve built will go down the drain.”

  Vance’s smile faded. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were right,” Cameron said. “There’s a mole in the company. But it isn’t Declan.”

  Vance frowned. “Who is it then?”

  Cameron returned his gaze without blinking. “It’s me.”

  Vance reeled back, wounded and uncomprehending. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  Cameron shook his head, riven by guilt and anger. “The lawsuit was my idea. I went to Josh Griswold. I gave him the names and told him what to do with them.”

  Vance launched to his feet and stared out at the water, the muscles in his cheeks twitching, his rage barely contained. “I feel like Julius Caesar. ‘Et tu Brute?’”

  “This was never about you,” Cameron shot back. “It was about something so right that even a child could have seen it. Two years ago, a girl no different from Annalee jumped out of a burning factory wearing Presto’s pants like a mask. You asked me to find out why. I did. I told you what we needed to do so it wouldn’t happen again. But you walked away. The board walked away. The threat wasn’t palpable enough. Well, it’s palpable now.”

  Fury burned in Vance’s eyes. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Do you have any idea the harm you’ve done?”

  Cameron stood up and gripped the railing. “I saw it all from the beginning. I just didn’t realize how far they would go.”

  “Speak plainly, for God’s sake.”

  So Cameron laid it out for him. “In five days, Lewis Ames is going to put my name in the complaint. I don’t think it’s enough, but I suspect the judge will let the case go forward. At that point, Donaldson and his allies will take down the board, and all of us will be out of a job. I’ll be sued by the shareholders and investigated by the Justice Department. If I don’t leave the country, I’ll end up broke and behind bars. You’ll be sued too, and hounded by the press. You’ll never have another job like this. And Presto? By the time the jury delivers its verdict—which I guarantee will be massive—the company will be dead in the water. I doubt it will survive, even with restructuring. This wasn’t my intention. I expected the lawsuit to fail. I expected the plaintiffs to walk away. But they’re not going to, unlike us.”

  Vance let out a string of expletives. Then he lapsed into tense silence. “How much do they want?” he asked at last. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

  “It’s not just money they’re after. They want change.”

  Vance rubbed his face, and the anger bled out of his skin until it seemed to turn gray. “So what you’re saying is that they’re giving you exactly what you want, except that this way you don’t have to force the issue because they are. This is unbelievable.”

  Instead of answering, Cameron took out his iPhone and found the video. “I’m going to take a walk. I want you to watch something. It’s not long. When I get back, I’m going to tell you how we can survive this, and then I’m going to ask you to take a leap. Right now it’s hard for me to see, but underneath your arrogance and narcissism is the soul of a decent human being. I met him at Harvard, and he became my best friend. I saw him at the press conference last November—the man, not the CEO. I see him when you talk about Annalee. You need to dig deep and find him again. He’s the only one who can save us now.”

  Cameron handed the phone to Vance. Then he turned around and left the cabana for the sand. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care, for the pain that had festered inside of him for so long—the pain of Olivia and his mother, the pain of Sonia and Jashel and Alya, the pain of Cornelius and Esther—had given birth to hope. In spite of his blindness, Vance had seen the truth. In risking his own future, Josh had offered Cameron the surest path to achieving what he had sought all along. Indeed, the solution Cameron saw taking shape before him was more permanent than the vaccine he had envisioned.

  Josh had given Presto a chance at redemption.

  When Cameron returned to the cabana, he found Vance slouching in his chair, head tilted to the side, staring listlessly at the sea. His friend looked chastened, even ashamed. Cameron’s iPhone was on the table in front of him, Alya’s face frozen on the screen, her dark eyes shining, her cheeks coated with tears. Cameron sat down across from him and waited for him to speak.

  “Where did you get that?” Vance asked, pointing at the phone. The video Cameron had given him was an edited cut of the plaintiffs’ personal stories, spoken in their own words with a voiceover in English. It was one of the most affecting things Cameron had ever seen.

  “Josh Griswold gave it to me in Cape Verde,” Cameron replied.

  Vance sat up slowly and glared at Cameron. “I should fire you right now and sue you for everything but the shirt on your back. Doing anything else makes me an accomplice.”

  Cameron held his tongue. He knew Vance’s dilemma, for it had been his own. There were hazards on all sides. To take any action was to invite mortal danger. But to do nothing was impossible. He studied his friend’s face, saw the calculation in his eyes, the painful shape of his internal struggle. He watched for long seconds as the wind rustled the palms above them. He watched until Vance made his decision and Cameron knew he’d won.

  “So what’s your plan?” Vance asked darkly. “What’s the leap I have to take?”

  “You’ll find out in California,” Cameron answered.

  Vance stared at him, perplexed. “What’s in California?”

  “Not what, who.” A smile spread across Cameron’s lips. “Stephen Carroll.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BLACK CAT ROAD

  KESWICK, VIRGINIA

  MAY 12, 2016

  8:48 P.M.

  The lights were low in Lily’s bedroom, her coterie of stuffed friends watching Josh from their perch in the bay window. Josh was conscious of them as he finished reading to Lily. He looked at them as Lily slid off the bed and went downstairs to take her medicine. Many of them were gifts from his travels, apologies expressed in the shapes of animals, real and imaginary. He recalled little of the occasions that had prompted them, but he remembered the sound of Lily’s delight. Her joy had always lifted him, even when his marriage fell into shambles and Madison banished him from the house. Those months had been the loneliest of his life. He wanted desperately to leave them behind. But now he wondered if that was possible.

  Soon, Lily returned with a water glass in hand. Her hair was still damp from her shower, her nine-year-old body clad in a cotton nightdress. She placed the glass on the nightstand and slipped under the covers. Josh pulled the comforter up to her chin and turned off the lamp. He sang to her then, a lullaby that had soothed her in early childhood. His voice wasn’t good enough for bad karaoke, but Lily had never minded. His presence was all that mattered.

  When the song ended, he kissed her forehead and brushed her hair with his fingers. “Good night, sweetie,” he said softly. “I love you more than anything.”

  “I love you too, Daddy,” she whispered, leaving him with the shadow of a smile.

  He left the room and went downstairs, the century-old steps creaking beneath his weight. All was quiet in the farmhouse and on the cul-de-sac outside. Nights in the countryside were too quiet for Josh’s taste, growing up as he had in the heart of the city, but this was Madison’s place in the world, as much a part of her as if it had been woven into her DNA. Now that she was home, he knew she would never leave again.

  She was on the couch when he found her, a copy of The Atlantic in her hands, her feet bare and curled under her, the light of a reading lamp burnishing her skin. She looked up at him and swung her feet to the floor, putting the magazine down.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, seeing the pensive look in her eyes.

  “I can’t stop thinking abo
ut Cameron,” she said. “Do you think he was ever going to tell us, or did he believe we’d just go quietly into the night?”

  Josh sat down on an armchair and traced the lines of her face. She was more beautiful to him at forty-two than she had been in her twenties and thirties. The wrinkles that framed her eyelids when she smiled were like filigree on jewelry, the visible manifestation of love and time. He wanted nothing more than to protect her from what he had to say.

  “He wanted me to convince you to walk away,” Josh replied.

  She gave him a peculiar look. “What do you mean? Did you promise him something?” When Josh said nothing, she took a sharp breath. “What did he have on you, Joshua?”

  Josh looked down at the coffee table, his heart a chalice of guilt. “He knew something about Maria,” he confessed. “She isn’t gone. After the O Globo piece came out, her donors fled. She got desperate and came to me for help. My relationship with her was over, but I didn’t know how to walk away from her girls. I was foolish. I agreed to meet with her one more time. I was headed to Peru for a story. I stopped over in Rio and she met me in the lobby of my hotel. I told her it had to stop—the e-mails, the texts, the pleas. She begged me not to leave. She kissed me. It didn’t go further, but someone was watching with a camera. Cameron showed me pictures at the Lincoln Memorial. He also had the receipt of a wire transfer I made at Christmas. I don’t know how he got it, but it doesn’t matter. I sent Maria ten thousand dollars for the Casa. That was his leverage. If we ever went public about him, he’d return the favor.”

  Madison sat perfectly still, only her tears in motion. After the longest silence that Josh could remember, she found her voice. “I have some questions for you. Don’t even think about lying to me. The only reason I’m holding it together is for that little girl upstairs.” She choked up, then collected herself. “When did you last sleep with Maria?”

  “The fall of 2010,” Josh replied softly. “I told you that before.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Madison retorted. “There were galas, fund-raisers, and conferences here and in Brazil. I didn’t always come with you. I can’t believe nothing happened.”

  Josh shook his head slowly. “Nothing did.”

  “Did she want something to happen?”

  “I don’t know. We never talked about it.”

  Madison swallowed. “She did when the pictures were taken.”

  He nodded. “But I said no, and she left, and I haven’t seen her since.”

  A moment passed into the void of all that was unspoken between them. Then Madison asked the question Josh feared the most. “Have you talked to her since then?”

  He braced himself for her judgment. “Yes,” he admitted. “Once on the phone, a few times over e-mail, always because she needed money for the Casa. I tried to ignore her, but she just kept coming back. Her last request came about a month ago. I haven’t responded. I wanted to tell you before, but I didn’t know how to do it.”

  Madison crossed her arms over her chest. “Joshua Griswold, I’m going to say something that is true whether you believe it or not. Maria is not your responsi-bility. Her girls are not your responsibility. We are.” Again, Madison wavered. “You have to choose.”

  It was then that Josh broke down. “I choose you. But I know what’s going to happen when I cut her off. She’ll go back to the bars, and she’ll take another girl, not because she wants to, but because it’s the only way they can survive. If I can stop that, how can I walk away?”

  Madison went to the nearest window and looked out at the night. Eventually she faced him again. “You can’t save them. You could try, but you would fail. You have to let them go.”

  Josh stood from his chair and approached her hesitantly, looking into her eyes and seeing her strength and vulnerability. He loved her more than he could express. Whatever she needed him to do, he would do, even if it broke his heart.

  “If I do that, will you forgive me?” he asked.

  She sighed and turned away, staring at the floor. “I’m not sure.”

  Josh winced. “If you need time . . .”

  “It’s not that,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “You promised not to hurt me again. I don’t know if I can.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PRESTO TOWER, 16TH FLOOR

  ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

  MAY 16, 2016

  1:52 P.M.

  Cameron entered Vance’s office and closed the door behind him. The chief executive was on the couch, making notes on a pad. He looked different somehow, more wizened and human than he had when Cameron met him in Antigua. The whirlwind journey of the past four days had made an indelible impression on him, not just as commander of the Presto colossus, but as a man who believed, perhaps more than anything in the world, that business was a force for good.

  “Who are we still missing?” Vance asked.

  “Paula is minutes away,” Cameron replied. “Jim should be in the elevator by now. Lester and Blake are waiting for us in the conference room. The rest of the directors will be here in an hour. I just finished a draft of the settlement agreement. Tim is wrapping up his due diligence with Stephen. He’ll have the financials ready when we need them.”

  Vance grinned soberly. “I’ve never seen Tim run numbers so quickly.”

  “He’s never seen this kind of money before,” Cameron quipped.

  “Hell.” Vance laughed. “I’ve never seen this kind of money before.”

  Tim was Timothy Graves, Presto’s chief financial officer. With degrees in business and economics from Harvard and Oxford, fifteen years of experience at KPMG, and a decade on Presto’s executive team, he was manifestly difficult to impress. But Stephen Carroll was not just any investor. He was a wunderkind; indeed, many called him an oracle. The stakes he took in undercapitalized companies routinely left financial analysts shaking their heads, until the tide turned and Social Capital—Carroll’s investment company—released its earnings and the pundits on the Street wondered again how he seemed to know. His answer was always the same. He was a connoisseur of value. But that was hardly an explanation, as Cameron had begun to understand. There was a kind of oracular quality about him, an inexpressible je ne sais quoi that allowed him to fly higher and farther than all the rest. In the business world, he was like Batman. If he was against you, good luck. But if he was with you, you had a chance at greatness.

  It had taken Cameron a little time, but he had found a way in with Carroll through friends at Harvard Business School. Cameron had approached him off the grid and confidentially after meeting Josh at the Lincoln Memorial. The billionaire had expressed an interest in acquiring a stake in Presto, but his conditions went far beyond what the board was ready to accept. Until the lawsuit pushed Presto to the breaking point. Until Vance decided to take the leap.

  Leaving Annalee on Antigua in the care of Cecil and Jenson, they had flown the Gulfstream to Los Angeles and met Carroll at his cliffside home in Malibu. It was there beneath the golden sun that the capitalist made his proposal—9.5 billion dollars for a 15 percent stake in Presto in exchange for a “quantum leap” in the company’s approach to social responsibility.

  As Carroll made his pitch, Cameron marveled at the lucidity of his vision. “Alexis de Tocqueville said America is great because it’s good. He could have said the same thing about American business. Any company can make money. If you want to turn Presto into a pacesetter, you need to offer your customers something more than the temporary gratification of getting good stuff for less. You need to give them a sense of their own destiny.”

  A lifelong advocate of the free market, Vance tossed Milton Friedman back at Carroll—“The only social responsibility of business is to maximize shareholder profit.” But Carroll was impervious. With indefatigable persistence, he argued that the days of laissez-faire capitalism were over, that the companies that would define the future were the enlightened ones who saw business as a means to contribute to society, not just to enrich investors. After a while, Vance st
opped objecting and started listening. Then he began to ask questions. Three hours later, half-drunk but newly inspired, he pumped Carroll’s hand, ready to ink the deal then and there. But he didn’t have the authority. He had to take it to the board.

  Now Cameron sat down on Vance’s couch, wishing, for an instant, that they could break out the bottle of Pappy. His nerves were on edge. The meeting with Lester Grant, Jim Dunavan, Paula DeMille, and Blake Conrad—the committee chairs whose assent to the plan would sway the rest of the board—was scheduled to start in five minutes.

  “You remember before the press conference when I compared myself to Lincoln?” Vance said. “It was a preposterous thing to say. I owe you an apology. I should have listened to you that day on the sailboat. But I didn’t want to deal with it. I wasn’t ready.”

  Cameron met his friend’s eyes, wondering at his conversion but comprehending it at the same time. Vance was a consummate businessman, a born winner, but underneath the suit and polish and accomplishments, he was a member of the human race. And Cameron, with Stephen Carroll’s help, had given him a way to win that affirmed the whole package.

  “You’re ready now,” Cameron said, glancing at the clock. “It’s time.”

  They stood together, and Vance clapped Cameron on the shoulder. “We’re going to make history today. I think Hank Carter would be proud.”

  Cameron smiled. “Damn straight.”

  The boardroom was quiet when they entered it. The four directors were seated in their usual chairs on the far side of the long table, Lester first, then Jim, then Paula, and finally Blake. They were somber and serious, like the family at a funeral wake. Gone were the banter and small talk that usually preceded such meetings. Before them on the table were copies of the Black File memo Vance had sent along with his emergency summons. By their expressions, Cameron knew they had read it. Lester and Jim were indignant. Blake was troubled. Paula was intrigued.

  “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Vance said, sitting down at the head of the table with Cameron beside him across from the other directors. “What we have to discuss today concerns nothing less than the future of this company. Last week plaintiffs’ counsel in the Hassan case notified us that they intend to file an amended complaint. They also made a settlement offer. As all of you know, this company takes a dim view of settling lawsuits. But the plaintiffs gave us some additional information to encourage negotiations. The amended complaint will name one of our own as the instigator of the case.”