The Great Divide

by T. Davis Bunn

  The expert’s surprise was evident. “Leave?”

  “Sure, just pick up sticks and walk away. Go somewhere else willing to bribe them, soon as they’ve got trouble on their hands.”

  “Objection.” The word did not come from Logan Kendall, but rather from one of the firm’s young associates. “Irrelevant.”

  “Sustained.”

  “No further questions.” Charlie headed back. “Your witness.”

  “No questions at this time, Your Honor.”

  Charlie scanned the sheet Marcus held out for him, said, “Plaintiff calls Weldon Smith.”

  Smith was the director of industrial development for eastern North Carolina. Charlie had him describe the difficulties in attracting a company to invest in Edgecombe County. The man was only too eager to explain how important New Horizons was to the local economy. Thirty-nine hundred jobs. New national headquarters. Great free publicity for a depressed area. Tax revenue. Boost to local businesses. New incoming suppliers.

  “You mentioned taxes earned from the company.” Charlie limped over to where Marcus had a page ready. “Do you have any idea how much in taxes New Horizons has paid?”

  “How could I? That’s none of my concern.”

  “I submit that it is very much your concern, since you arranged a ten-year tax exemption, and have offered them a further ten-year exemption for this new expansion of theirs.” Charlie headed toward the witness stand. “They haven’t paid one plug nickel in state taxes, now, have they?”

  “Objection, Your Honor, this case is supposedly about some incident at a Chinese factory. It has nothing to do with local tax records.”

  “Sustained.”

  Charlie pressed on, “Is it not also true that the New Horizons group has been a headache from day one, and there are currently five outstanding legal actions the state has itself brought against the company?”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained.”

  “No further questions.”

  “Defense, your witness.”

  A young associate rose to his feet. “Your Honor, I cannot ask questions of the witness since the plaintiff has failed to show any connection to the case we are here to try!”

  “The witness may stand down.” Judge Nicols gestured to both tables. “Counsel approach the bench.”

  Marcus stayed where he was, and noted how Logan glanced his way before doing the same. The young associate went forward to argue with Charlie. Marcus found tight satisfaction in the fact that Logan was planning strategy as well, matching him move for move. If Marcus was holding back, so was he. It meant Logan was treating the case seriously. This was the best sign of all.

  FRIDAY CONTINUED in the same vein, with Charlie questioning and the same young associate defending. Judge Nicols allowed evidence on the issue of past practice, but with stern reservations: She might withdraw support if Marcus did not supply proof of a connection with the Chinese factory.

  A local pastor testified to New Horizons’ maltreatment of migrant Hispanic workers. A young labor activist described the difficulties she had faced trying to organize an in-house union; her car had been bombed, her sympathizers ferreted out and fired. On cross-examination, however, she was forced to admit that she had no concrete proof to tie the company to these misdeeds.

  An aging union VP was brought to the stand after vigorous objections by the defense. The New Horizons factory he had attempted to organize, located outside Tulsa, had been using Mexican immigrants and paying them half the promised salary. They had been housed in unsanitary conditions, forced into debt by buying from a company store, fired at whim, paid no overtime, harassed, and abused. Objections continued to rain down.

  That afternoon Charlie called both available company vice presidents to the stand. His tone was quietly mocking as he had first one and then the other go down the entire list of board members and senior directors, asking only where each one was. The answers were all the same. Geneva, Switzerland. Charlie asked how much responsibility either man had for overseas factories. The answer was the same from both: none.

  In cross-examination, the young associate asked about ties to Factory 101. Both men had been well-schooled. They described how the North Carolina distribution center accepted goods from twenty-seven different countries. Was China among them? Of course, since China was the world’s largest producer of finished textiles outside of the United States. Every major company in the business imported from China. Twice Charlie asked Marcus quietly if he should readdress the issue that neither man had anything to do with international operations. Marcus declined with a shake of his head. Either Ashley came up with the goods, or the case was almost done.

  His day’s greatest delight came after the court had adjourned, in the form of a man of mismatched parts. His bulbous head was fitted to a scrawny neck and a potbelly. His checked jacket and yellow pants seemed selected to mock a frame he disliked too much to clothe well. “Mr. Glenwood, I’m Floyd Sneede with the Raleigh News and Observer.”

  Marcus noticed Boomer Hayes waiting by the rear doors, then returned his attention to the reporter. “Yes.”

  “ ‘Vile and treacherous.’ Isn’t that how Mr. Hayes described New Horizons in his opening statement?”

  “You’ll have to ask Charlie, but I believe that’s correct.”

  “The lawyers for New Horizons told me they’d sue the paper if I wrote that you were attacked by somebody associated with the company.”

  It was the opening Marcus had hoped for. “I guess you’d better pay attention, then. Your newspaper wouldn’t want to offend a big advertiser like that.”

  The barb bit deep. “You’re saying they were involved?”

  “Absolutely. I was told to drop the case or they’d be back to kill me.”

  The pen scribbled busily. “You want to give me a quote about the case?”

  “New Horizons has made its name through exploitation. They exploit the nation’s kids by suggesting that if they buy New Horizons’ overpriced products, the kids will all become sports superheroes. New Horizons makes these same products in factories that exploit and abuse workers in truly horrible conditions. A young local woman by the name of Gloria Hall set out to expose their pattern of corruption and degradation. They kidnapped Ms. Hall to silence her.”

  The man’s grin was as misshapen as the rest of him. “You sure you want me to quote you?”

  “If you want a real quote, go speak to the girl’s parents. They’ll blister the paint off the newsroom walls.” Marcus excused himself and walked over to where Boomer stood in a jacket and silk tie of Carolina blue. “What are you doing here?”

  “Daddy sure is something, ain’t he?” Boomer’s tone was as low and respectful as he could get it. “Seventy-eight next month and not pulling a single punch.”

  “You came to watch him try a case?”

  “Partly. Wanted to tell you the old man’s been spending some time with the doctors. Hasn’t said a word to anybody, but Libby knows a nurse over at the hospital.” Boomer tried hard for brisk, almost succeeded. “Word is, Pop’s got cancer.”

  Marcus felt the day rocked on its axis. “You’re joking.”

  “Wish I was.” Boomer’s grin had escaped him, leaving his features puffy and very worried. “The nurse says it ain’t too serious, whatever that means for somebody carting around his weight of years. He’s supposed to start treatment next week, but he put it off for this case.”

  Marcus turned back to where Charlie and Alma were giving the reporter an earful. “He hasn’t told me a thing.”

  “Naw, that’d be his way. But Libby and I thought you’d want to know. She said to tell you that since he started working with you on this, the old Charlie was back again. Said she hadn’t seen much of him since your accident. Says it’s another reason we’ve got to be grateful. If I were you, though, I’d keep this under my hat. Won’t do a bit of good to let on you know.”

  “No,” Marcus agreed, “I don’t suppose it would.”

 
Boomer pointed with his chin to where Charlie was helping Alma sit back down as the reporter left. The old man took the chair beside her and draped one arm around her shoulders. “What’s he doing now?”

  “Just seeing to his job,” Marcus said quietly. “Comforting the wounded and offering hope to the lost.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  ALL OF SATURDAY was given over to a hospital visit. Marcus was prodded and questioned and blooded and scanned, and finally pronounced fit enough to depart.

  Sunday morning was metallic in its sunny frost. Tall trees sheltering the road to church were graced with autumn finery. Though the sun seemed intent on bearing down hard by afternoon, there was a comfort in the chill and a rightness to the day.

  Ashley Granger called at dusk. “Hope you don’t mind getting good news on Sunday evening.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Marcus carried the cordless phone into his office. “It’s either now or no case. We’re down to the wire.”

  “Not anymore. I’ve got good news and I’ve got great news. The good news first. The Factory 101 compound is run by none other than General Zhao Ren-Fan himself.”

  “First you need to spell that name,” Marcus replied. “Then you need to tell me who he is.”

  “I’ll fax you the details later. Zhao is none other than the top dog of the Guangdong military region.”

  “Sorry. I’m still lost.” But growing excited nonetheless.

  “Provincial power in China is split between the local Communist Party and the People’s Liberation Army. They’re supposed to operate as one, but that almost never happens. The conflict is growing steadily these days. The top power holder in each province operates freely and openly. And in the Guangdong region, it’s the military. Has been ever since Tiananmen Square, when General Zhao’s troops were in the thick of things.”

  “So the guy has power.”

  “In China, there’s no difference between business power and political power. Power is power. The military operates its own businesses, factories, international licenses. Foreign firms who’re looking for clout in the local markets don’t just accept the need for high-level partners. They seek them out. They hunt them down. The best mark of success in China for a start-up company is the local partner’s standing.”

  “And this general’s got the clout?”

  “In Guangzhou, there’s probably nobody with more. Not only that, he’s got a hold on power in Beijing. He’s a member of the military command, has access to the top party hierarchy. He’s a voice to be reckoned with.”

  “And the factory?”

  “Right. Now, run what we know so far through your mind. The top general is openly responsible for savage acts, first in Tiananmen Square, then putting down the rioting farmers. He owns a compound outside the central city, and in this compound he’s got a plant that operates as a commercial lao gai, a factory prison where political troublemakers are held without trial or right of appeal.”

  Marcus was too tense to sit. He paced the room, searching, finally confessing, “I’m still caught in a serious crunch here. I’ve got to find something to tie all this directly to New Horizons.”

  “Well now, there’s something interesting on that front as well. Your fax machine on?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait and watch, my man. Wait and watch.” As the machine lit up and started purring, Ashley went on. “Two things. First, I’ve been getting some strong-arm pressure from the U.S. side as well. Somebody in Washington is turning up the heat on this trial.”

  Marcus plucked up the first page, read swiftly, could only manage, “Oh man, oh man.”

  “Second, I got a call from Dee this afternoon. Told him what I’m telling you. The man didn’t seem at all surprised. More like pleased that I’d finally tracked this down.” When Marcus did not respond, he demanded more loudly, “You hearing me over there?”

  Marcus picked up the second sheet, and felt his heart rate surge until listening was almost impossible. “Yes.”

  “You better be. Dee told me to have you subpoena a guy from the Swiss embassy. I’m faxing you his name with the rest of this stuff. Last page. Dee said to tell you to be prepared just in case. In case of what, he wouldn’t say. That little brown elf does love his secrets.”

  Marcus pulled the third sheet from the machine before it was ready, fraying the edge. “I don’t believe this.”

  It was the response Ashley had been waiting for. “It’s good, isn’t it.”

  “This,” Marcus said feverishly, “is pure solid gold.”

  RANDALL WALKER could not find a parking space along the club’s great front oval, which only intensified his bad mood. He had been pressing the board since the renovation for the oval to be reserved for senior members, a suggestion they had chosen to ignore. Which meant that when he arrived late for a function, such as now, he was forced to park back near the tennis courts and walk. Randall Walker despised anything that detracted from a grand entrance.

  But his smile was in place and his worries masked by the time he passed beneath the Grecian portico and entered the ceremonial foyer. Randall had been one of the movers and shakers behind the club’s renovation, joining with other like-minded kingmakers who said it was time Raleigh declared itself to be the power it was. The original clubhouse had served three generations and had possessed about as much majesty as a pair of house slippers. Under pressure from Randall and his cronies, the architect originally assigned the renovation had been fired. A new one had been brought in from Chicago, and plans drawn up for a mansion on the hill. Members had been assessed thirty-five thousand dollars each, annual dues were raised fivefold, new members were charged a hefty fifty-thousand-dollar initiation fee, and those of long standing who could not afford the payments were urged to leave. The resulting battle had been well worth it in Randall’s eyes, for now the club did not just impress, it overpowered. One hundred and ten thousand square feet of rooms. Two hundred and eleven Persian carpets. Forty-six crystal chandeliers. Halls thirty-two feet wide. Six bars. Five restaurants, two in the golf pavilion. If only they had listened to him about parking around the great oval.

  Randall adjusted the lapels of his dinner jacket and smoothed what remained of his hair. He could do nothing about his age, and he had long since decided to ignore the bulging legacy of poor diet and no exercise. Southern gentlemen did not need to age into lean greyhounds. They ruled by a code all their own. His tailor was chosen for his ability to lie with cloth and needle. He liked young women who were as generous with their praise as he was with his diamonds. So long as both parties knew and neither minded, what did it matter?

  Randall patted a back, shook a hand, moved like a ballet star making the night’s grand entrance. He spotted his prey, held back, chose his moment well. It was only when people began moving toward the next salon and the evening meal that he allowed the crowd to steer him toward the pair. “George, Weldon, my but don’t you boys look the stuff tonight.”

  “Randall, where have you been hiding?” The governor’s top aide was compact and smiled with all the warmth of a jolly Japanese ice sculpture. “We got you a seat at our table or somebody’s gonna be looking for another job tomorrow.”

  “No, can’t stay. Can’t stay. Got another dinner to attend.” Randall massaged the second man’s arm, the industrial-development director for eastern North Carolina. “Hear you took quite a beating there on the stand, Weldon.”

  “Old Weldon can take care of himself,” the aide claimed. “Right, son?”

  “They didn’t lay a glove on me.” The man had the face of a dedicated drinker who was two glasses over his customary limit. “We just danced a little tango, is all.”

  “Maybe so, but I got word that the New Horizons folk are worried. And the newspaper story this morning didn’t help matters one bit.”

  The smiles disappeared. Randall found no resistance as he drew the pair aside. “Got me a call from Switzerland this morning. Woke me from the nicest dream. Been sweating ever since.” He
paused for dramatic effect, then delivered the bomb. “New Horizons is thinking about pulling out of North Carolina.”

  “They can’t be serious,” the aide scoffed. “One little piece like that isn’t cause for panic.”

  “Front page below the fold isn’t what I call little. And they see this as a possible trend.”

  “Trend my left haunch. The reporter was looking for mud. That lawyer fellow and the girl’s momma gave him some. End of story.”

  “There’s gonna be more mud, long as that case drags on.” Randall let a little of the steel show through. “New Horizons has done it before, gentlemen. You know it as well as I do. They’ll pull up stakes and be gone tomorrow. This isn’t some kind of distant warning I’m talking about here. This is nothing but the dead-solid truth. New Horizons is already putting out feelers to other states and making contingency plans.”

  “I can’t believe this.” The industrial director’s flush had deepened. “I sweated blood to get them in there.”

  “This would be a terrible loss, coming in the face of next year’s election,” the governor’s aide fretted.

  A man nervously approached the aide. “Excuse me, George, but you’re supposed to be seated up at the front.”

  “I’m going to be a few more minutes here.”

  “But you’re—”

  George silenced him with a single look. “You go ahead and start, hear what I’m saying?”

  When they were alone once more, George said to Randall, “You didn’t show up here just to spread gloom and doom.”

  “There’s only one way I can see to stanch this flow of adverse publicity,” Randall replied. “And that’s to put a stop to this harassment suit.”

  “Hard to do,” the aide said, “seeing as how we’re dealing with a federal case that’s already in front of a jury. The judge is newly appointed, so even if Nicols is as ambitious as they say, she won’t be hungry for the next step. Not yet.”