All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7)

by Vikki Kestell

  “Item three.”

  “There is no item three,” Hancock snarled.

  “I added it. See?” Kari held up her agenda where she’d penned a sentence.

  “Item three: Report on Granger Mills wage discrepancies. Miss Bryant, will you please address the board with your findings?”

  “Yes, Miss Michaels.”

  “Wait! She has no standing in this meeting!” Hancock shouted again.

  Kari decided she’d had enough. “Mr. Hancock, sit down. I am chairing this meeting. You are speaking out of turn and shouting into the bargain. If I hear another unsolicited word from you, I will have you ejected from the room.”

  Hancock’s jaw went slack.

  One of the managers actually snickered. He coughed and muttered in Kari’s direction, “I beg your pardon.”

  Kari smiled a tight smile. “No apology needed. Please continue, Miss Bryant.”

  “Thank you. I have before me a report that documents discrepancies in wages paid over the past twelve months.”

  She handed a sheaf of stapled papers to the comptroller—her boss—who was seated on her left. “Please pass these reports around—although,” she added in a quiet aside, “you should already be familiar with these numbers.”

  French, the comptroller glared, snatched the reports from her hand, took one, and passed the remainder to his left.

  Miss Bryant began. “Page one. Wages are paid by piece rate and level of sewing difficulty. You will see that the report is broken down on gender and racial lines in comparable categories. The upshot of the report shows that a) men are paid more per piece than women and b) Caucasians are paid more than Hispanics who are paid more than African Americans.”

  She looked at Kari. “The twelve-month period reported here is not an anomaly. I have analyzed wage data for the past five years, and the same discrepancies are evident. Now, if you turn to page two, I will cover wage discrepancies among exempt workers.”

  Miss Bryant, with thorough and concise points, made her way through the report and concluded, “The data demonstrate a clear, persistent, and illegal pattern of discriminatory practices, both in wages and promotion opportunities.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bryant. Questions, anyone?”

  Then Kari said nothing. She waited for reaction from any of the managers present but saw only pursed lips or grimaces. The movement of Emma Jensen’s pen came to a halt, and she glanced at Kari.

  When no one spoke, Kari nodded to herself. “Very well.” She removed five envelopes from a folder Scarlett had placed in front of her and handed the envelopes to Scarlett. Kari nodded to Miss Bryant, who stood up and left the room.

  When the door closed behind her, Kari remained silent only a moment. Then she sighed.

  “I don’t know how deeply the corruption runs in this company, but the end of it begins today. The envelope Miss Brunell is delivering to you is your termination of employment. Every manager in this room is fired for insubordination, gross misconduct, and illegal wage discrimination.”

  As pandemonium erupted, Miss Bryant reentered the room. Five security guards followed her.

  Kari held up her hand to stem the shouts of an angry Hancock and the other managers. “You will be escorted to your desks and given thirty minutes to clear them out. Security will then escort you from the premises.”

  She stood. “I will gladly pay back every nickel out of which we have cheated these workers rather than allow my company to prosper in sin. And do not expect me to shelter you from personal legal culpability. Rather, expect me to assist the law in prosecuting you with whatever means are at my disposal. Furthermore, I will consult my own legal counsel as to whether it behooves me to initiate legal proceedings against you myself over the damage you have caused this plant.”

  She nodded to the security guards. “Take them out of here.”

  Hancock shook off the arm that reached for him. “You have not heard the last of me, Miss Michaels. You’ll pay through the nose for this. My attorneys will sue you for breach of contract and unlawful termination.”

  “I look forward to it,” Kari answered. “If the courts rule in your favor, so be it. But you will not regain your position here and the resulting publicity will ensure that you are finished in this industry.”

  One guard said in a loud voice, “Come with us. Your thirty-minute clock starts now.”

  The five stunned men, corralled by the guards, left the room.

  Kari turned to Scarlett. “As soon as they are gone, have the guards accompany you to Mr. Crane to deliver his termination letter.”

  Emma Jensen gaped. “Mr. Crane, too?”

  Kari shrugged again. “HR knew the wages being paid. That makes Crane complicit and Cadie over there can prove it. She has unearthed a very interesting pattern of bonuses collected by Mr. Crane. But before we disperse—”

  A knock sounded on the boardroom door. Eric Thompson poked his head into the room.

  “You asked for me, Miss Michaels?”

  “Come in, Mr. Thompson. Thank you for waiting. Have a seat, please.”

  Kari looked around the table from Mrs. Jensen to Cadie Bryant and Eric Thompson. “Granger Mills is in a world of hurt. I have begun a shakeup that is nowhere near done, and I need people I can trust to steer this plant through the firestorm ahead.”

  All three chins bobbed at her, but their expressions were uncertain. Kari’s gaze strayed toward the clock on the wall.

  Only 9:15?

  She rubbed at the spot on her forehead that had been throbbing for an hour. “Mrs. Jensen, I would like you to call a mandatory all-hands meeting before lunchtime for the day shift. What time do you propose?”

  “Ah, well, the machines shut down at 11:50 for forty-five minutes.”

  “Let’s have them shut down at 11:30. And no matter how long the meeting takes, afterwards I still want the employees to receive their full lunch period.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Before you leave to make those arrangements, I need to speak to the three of you.”

  Kari sighed. “I don’t know many people here, but you have shown yourself to be loyal to me. In my book, that means everything. Effective immediately, the three of you comprise the plant’s management team. Mr. Thompson, I am appointing you the interim plant manager. Miss Bryant, you are the interim comptroller. Mrs. Jensen, you are the interim HR manager.

  “We will talk at length later, but I wish you to stand with me during the employee meeting so the workers can see the new face of Granger Mills. Miss Brunell and I will stay on in Houston through the week to help you get on your feet.

  “I realize, Mrs. Jensen, that you will be up to your neck in alligators at first, so we will advertise for a new HR manager and an assistant immediately. However, after we’ve filled those positions, if you desire a place on the management team, it will be yours. Also, once Miss Brunell and I return to New Orleans, I expect weekly—daily, if needed—phone conferences. I also intend to dispatch Miss Brunell to visit you every other week as things progress.

  —

  MAURICE ARRIVED AT THE PLANT’S FRONT ENTRANCE CLOSE TO NINE that evening, summoned, at long last, by Scarlett’s call. As he opened the rear door for them, he hesitantly said, “Been wondering all day what that fly on the wall mighta seen.”

  One side of Scarlett’s mouth curved up. “He would have seen Miss Michaels taking names and cleaning house, Maurice. And it was a sight to behold.”

  Unseen by Kari, Maurice pumped his fist. “Yes!” he whispered.

  Kari and Scarlett were both exhausted. They exchanged few words during the drive until a short distance from the hotel.

  “You did such a wonderful job today, Miss Michaels,” Scarlett said softly. “I confess that I’m a little in awe.”

  A long moment passed before Kari responded. “It wasn’t me, you know. The email alerting us to the problem? Mrs. Jensen and Miss Bryant’s fidelity and possession of the facts? Those weren’t me. I will be forever in their debt for the
risks they took. Even my composure through this day’s difficulties wasn’t me. It was God’s grace.”

  Kari’s sigh was heavy. “It’s hard enough for people to find decent jobs these days. Harder for women and minorities. And it hasn’t been that long since I was without a job, very nearly hopeless. Very nearly homeless.

  “So, taken all together? It was God’s grace that enabled us to save those jobs before it was too late.”

  She thought for a moment. “Hancock will, no doubt, sue me. Perhaps the other managers will, too. Given how difficult it is to remove upper management these days without supplying a ‘golden parachute,’ they may even win large settlements from me. I don’t care. I refuse to reward bad behavior—and I wish my employees and the public to know this about me and about my companies.

  “In addition, while it is within my power, I will not allow jobs to move across the border or offshore merely to increase my bottom line. As long as we break even with enough over to keep facilities up-to-date—and perhaps beyond that—I will keep the jobs here.”

  They turned into the hotel parking lot and, in the dimness of the car, Scarlett acknowledged Kari’s words with a reflective nod.

  As an afterthought, Kari added, “Hmm. Granger Mills. Granger Limited. You know, with the bad press coming at us, I’m sort of relieved that my name isn’t on that plant.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 20

  “HEI, INGRID.”

  “Good morning, Linnéa. Can I get you a kaffe?”

  “Not this morning. Thank you.”

  Linnéa went directly to her office. She would be leaving for St. Petersburg the day after tomorrow and had much to do first.

  She turned on her computer and looked through her leather-bound organizer for the day’s appointments and tasks. At the top of her list was a mandatory briefing with the director and his top analysts to prepare her for her next objective.

  Petroff—Vassili Aleksandrovich Petroff—was Linnéa’s next mark. He was the ‘big fish,’ the exotic catch for which Marstead was angling. Petroff breathed rarified air and lived in an exalted position—high enough to sustain Marstead’s emerging technology needs for years—if Marstead could hook him.

  It was time to dangle a line, and Linnéa was to be the bait at the end of the hook.

  She had a tentative date with the man when her work returned her to St. Petersburg. Marstead’s long-term hopes hinged on her.

  Linnéa shivered. I dread going back to Russia.

  Yes, Petroff was a brilliant scientist, but the risk of entering into a long-term relationship with him had more than one dangerous facet.

  First, the man was brilliant in every way.

  I must be more careful than I have ever been.

  Second, Petroff was rumored to be possessive. Nothing he considered “his” was ever outside his watchful control.

  If Linnéa succeeded in attaching herself to Petroff, such a ‘relationship’ could become restrictive. Oppressive.

  And, third, Linnéa worried that her meticulous backstory might not stand up under this man’s scrutiny—because in addition to being a brilliant, obsessive scientist, Petroff was political.

  He was connected.

  He is KGB, she fretted.

  Marstead might not have proof, but after her few encounters with Petroff, Linnéa was convinced.

  He may not be active FSK at the moment, but he has all the markers and instincts of a former KGB agent. And if he is former KGB, he has the means to sniff out and dissect my other life.

  It was for such an opportunity—and against such jeopardy—that she lived in deep cover, unknown to her stateside family as “Linnéa Olander.” Linnéa shuddered to consider what Petroff could do—would do—to her parents or her brother’s family should he trust her and find his trust betrayed.

  My family is my only vulnerability.

  When it came to her family, Linnéa was grateful for Marstead’s stringent security constraints.

  Another danger Petroff presented had been a surprise, a shock, especially to Laynie.

  Why? Why this man? Why do I feel such attraction for him? Such untapped emotion when I’m with him?

  It was a new and disturbing experience for Laynie to find herself pulled toward a mark. She might be tempted to give more than her body to this man—and such a temptation might prove fatal.

  Why? she asked herself again. Why am I like this? So cold and unfeeling toward a decent man but attracted to someone who would snap my neck should the circumstance dictate?

  A familiar voice answered. Because you are worthless. You don’t deserve a good man.

  Yes, that was it. Worthless. It was why she resisted fully giving herself even to her parents, why she had resisted their faith . . . and why, ultimately, she had chosen the life she now lived.

  Her mind wandered back to that day, the day Marstead came calling for her.

  —

  IT WAS A FEW WEEKS BEFORE LAYNIE GRADUATED with a bachelor’s degree in political science and a minor in modern languages from the University of Washington. Two Marstead agents had approached her. They identified themselves as recruiters for a global technology firm looking for bright, new, entry-level employees.

  Flattered and curious, Laynie had allowed them to buy her dinner.

  The recruiters introduced themselves as Angela Stewart and Bert Norwood. They were seasoned recruiters, former agents themselves, now tasked with seeking out fresh talent.

  “We have offices around the world, Miss Portland, and we actively seek college graduates with the right mix of aptitude and skills to work and grow in the worldwide market. Actually, we have been observing you for some time,” Stewart, the woman agent, offered after their entrees were served.

  “Hmm?” Laynie showed no surprise, even though she was surprised. Very. But then she had always been good at masking what few feelings she had.

  Stewart glanced at Norwood, who nodded. “Yes, indeed. Your academic record is outstanding and you have a gift for languages, technology, and analysis. We feel that you have the potential to serve . . . the interests of your country.”

  Laynie snapped to the twist in the conversation. The fact that she said nothing, did not question the abrupt turn, did not even flick an eyebrow, but only glanced with indifference at the woman, confirmed what the two agents had come to believe about Laynie: She was unflappable, born with a natural poker face.

  Unknown to Laynie, the agents saw something else, too.

  Something in Laynie’s soft blue eyes shifted. The change was so subtle that an untrained observer would not have caught it. However, neither Stewart nor Norwood were untrained; in point of fact, they had a combined thirty-two years of active field experience, and yet they almost missed it.

  “She’s young and inexperienced,” Norwood said as he described the encounter to their superior later, “but she’s intelligent and savvy beyond her years. When Stewart dropped our opener on her, click! Something shifted and came down over those baby blues. It was like she dropped 50 IQ points without blinking. Instant stupidity. I tell you, if she had started giggling, neither of us would have been the least bit surprised.”

  Their superior was skeptical. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, sir, I’m saying she switched personalities on us.”

  “Interesting. Describe the rest of the interview.”

  Norwood shrugged. “Always, at this point in the interview, the prospect is fully engaged, either breathless with excitement—in which case we proceed—or angry over the subterfuge, which signals the end of the interview. Since she gave us nothing by way of reaction, we were not sure which way to go. Eventually we forged ahead.”

  He looked to Stewart, who added, “Sir, we could have been discussing the color of grass for all the interest or notice she paid us. And that’s not all.”

  “Yeah. Tell him the rest, Stewart. The fun part.”

  Angela Stewart’s mouth twisted into a half smile. “Let’s see: After her little personality shift, s
he ate her dinner with gusto, flirted with the attractive waiter, asked us what we thought of him, and wondered aloud if the lemon meringue pie on the menu was fresh—because, and I quote, You know, if lemon pie isn’t fresh, the fluffy white part gets all chewy and gross, end quote. Then she allowed us to ramble on until we sputtered to a close.”

  Their superior frowned. “You’re saying her behavior was an act?”

  “Yeah; that’s exactly what we’re saying,” Stewart confirmed. “When we finished, she sat back in the booth and, click! the real Laynie Portland—the intelligent, savvy young woman—was back.

  “She looked us in the eye and said, ‘Let me see if I understand you correctly. You are representatives of a U.S. intelligence agency, unnamed so far, and you are trying to recruit me. Do I have it right?’”

  The man across the desk from the agents leaned forward and folded his hands under his chin. “Interesting. So, a natural?”

  “A natural,” Norwood echoed.

  “Sociopath, you think?” In the intelligence business, the same traits that made for successful agents—cleverness, glibness, and the ability to charm, lie, and remain unflustered—were shared by people with deeply flawed psyches.

  Norwood and Stewart glanced at each other and both shook their heads. “The shrinks will have to sort it out, of course, but we don’t think so. Miss Portland exhibited true empathy, particularly when we turned our conversation toward her family. And she seems genuinely proud of America and interested in keeping her safe.”

  Their boss shuffled some papers on his desk. “All right. Let’s get her on board and see how she works out.”

  —

  AFTER GRADUATION, LAYNIE SUBMITTED TO A BATTERY OF TESTS and entered a rigorous training program. Six months later, she told her family she had been offered a job, a marvelous opportunity—in Europe.

  “I will get to travel. See the world,” she told her parents.

  Polly had been tearful; Gene stoic. Laynie, who had always been protective of her brother, was more concerned about his reaction. He, however, was in the throes of his sophomore year at college and doing well without her.