Monahan 01 Options

by Rosemarie A D'Amico

  I dug in the drawer of the file cabinet where I kept supplies and pulled out a new box of legal-size file folders. I marked 1(a) on the first one and inserted the copies of the annual reports I’d already retrieved the day before. I highlighted the item on the list with a yellow marker. I marked 1(b) on the next file folder and inserted the last five years’ proxy statements to shareholders. I checked that one off the list with the yellow highlighter.

  I continued going through the list and putting documents in files where I already had the information. I created several new documents on my computer for requests for things that didn’t already exist on paper. The lawyers wanted to know things like number of outstanding shares at certain dates, the names and dates of all companies we’d acquired over the last five years, the number of shares that had been paid to those companies as the purchase price. The list went on and on. By the time I was finished I had a pile of full file folders about a foot high on my desk. I went over the letter from the Bay Street lawyers again and saw that I was more than half way through.

  Jackie snuck her head around the door at that point and told me Harold wanted to see me.

  I stood at the open door to his office and waited while he talked into his Dictaphone. He finally noticed me standing there.

  “Kate, come in. ” I gave him the marked up list from the lawyers.

  “Everything highlighted in yellow, I’ve done. I’ll need some input from you on the rest of things I’m responsible for. Whenever you’ve got a minute.”

  “I’m impressed. Great job so far,” he said. A rare compliment.

  He continued. “We’ll have to put that aside for a while though. The board meeting’s in the morning and his Royal Pain has finally focused on the agenda. Can you help me out here?” He handed me a stack of papers that had been lying in front of him. It was all the material for the director’s meeting.

  “And, Kate. You do the books.” We always put the director’s materials in binders with tabs separating each item. “This stuff is really sensitive. And I’ll need them by five-thirty when I head over to the Toronto Club for the dinner. Oakes wants them to have the stuff to read overnight before the meeting in the morning.”

  “They’ll be amazed. They’re actually going to see things before the meeting,” I said. Harold grinned.

  “Maybe, just maybe, we’re finally getting things right after all these years,” he said.

  “Let’s not hold our breath. Oakes hasn’t signed off on all of this yet.” Chris always had to see the final product and nine times out of ten, he made more changes.

  “Not this time. He’s out at some meeting and said to let the stuff go. So. Go for it,” Harold said.

  “No way,” I laughed. “Three whole hours? I get three hours to do a proper job? Now I believe there is a God.”

  I got up to leave and noticed that the location of the meeting had been changed from the last draft of the agenda that I had prepared. The original agenda had the office address as the location for the meeting but Harold had scratched that out and changed it to the Four Seasons Hotel.

  “Christ Harold. Could they have picked a location further from the office?” I asked him. “What’s wrong with our boardroom?”

  “Oakes is hiding. There’ve been press people hanging around since the news about the investigation into Evelyn’s death. He doesn’t want anyone to know about the board meeting. The Four Seasons is very hush-hush by the way.”

  “I know, I know,” I said over my shoulder.

  “And Kate. One more thing. As soon as you’re done with those books bring them in. I’ve got a meeting at four that I want you to participate in.”

  I stopped and turned around. “With who?” I asked.

  “Detective Leech from the Police Department. He wants to talk to us about Evelyn.”

  chapter thirty-four

  The agendas for the meetings had changed drastically since the first draft. Originally, this meeting had been planned as a regular quarterly meeting where the directors would get together and rubber stamp the financial statements and several other administrative things.

  Most of those items had been crossed off the board agenda. Some of the new items on the agenda were “Presentation by Jack Vincent re Strategic Partnership”, “Amendments to Employment Agreements”, “Grant of Stock Options to Senior Executives and Directors”. Jack Vincent had been allotted all the time for the meeting of the Investment Committee.

  The Investment Committee of the Board had a meeting scheduled for the morning, as well as the Compensation Committee. Each of the items from the board meeting agenda appeared on the relevant committee agenda. Traditionally, acquisitions and investments were initially approved by the Investment Committee before presentation to the board and similarly, compensation issues like salaries, stock options and such were discussed and approved by the Compensation Committee before rubber-stamping by the board.

  In my view, the committees were a joke. It had started out that the committees each consisted of three outside directors, with the intention that they were to be independent of the board, and not include inside directors. But Oakes attended each of the committee meetings and instead of three outside directors, each committee now had five. And, because most of the directors were from out of town, everyone ended up attending the committee meetings, rather than sit around and twiddle their thumbs. Besides, for every committee meeting they attended, it was more money in their pockets. So, by the looks of the agendas, the afternoon session of the board of directors would be a repeat of the morning sessions of the committees.

  Not that they ever stuck to the agendas. Oakes would take over the meetings, and ramble and pontificate. Then about ten minutes before the end of a meeting, Harold Didrickson would have to put his foot down and have the board approve the items that a board was supposed to approve. Like financial statements. Or grants of stock options.

  In one of Harold’s finer moments, he described the board meetings to me as a cluster fuck. He said everyone talked at once over Oakes’ voice because Chris would just ramble on. A couple of the directors were avid deer hunters and would trade macho stories about their latest kills, and two of the other ones were scratch golfers and would catch up on their latest scores.

  Tomorrow’s meetings were going to be interesting, I had to give them that. If Jack Vincent was making an appearance, my guess was it was about the company that was looking to take us over. Jack would be acting as the go-between for the two companies and if the deal went through, Jack would no doubt continue being a very, very rich man. I wondered what his fees were going to be for this one. I recalled that we had paid him several million dollars for the deal that fell through a couple of years ago. Several million dollars for a deal that fell through. Nice work if you can get it.

  Detective Leech was right on time. I escorted him to Harold’s office when he arrived at four o’clock. On our way down the hallway I pointed to the kitchenette and offered him coffee.

  “It’s fresh,” I offered, thinking about all those TV shows I’d seen where the cops were always complaining about three-day old coffee.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’d like that.”

  He stood formally by the door inside the kitchen while I poured. I held up the container of cream and he nodded.

  “Sugar?” He nodded again. Wow, what a great conversationalist, I thought.

  “So you want to see Harold and I about Evelyn,” I said as I stirred the cream and sugar into the coffee. I had my back to him and couldn’t see if he nodded, because he certainly didn’t speak. I turned around. He was standing with his hands tucked deeply in the pockets of his overcoat.

  “We’ll be talking to quite a few people. Mr. Didrickson and yourself are on the list,” he said. Two whole sentences.

  I handed him his coffee and opened the door.

  “After you,” I offered. This time he shook his head. He reached over my shoulder and held the door and I went ahead of him. And they say chivalry is dead.

&
nbsp; I led him into Harold’s office and after making the introductions, I closed the door and took a seat. Detective Leech looked at Harold who was standing behind his desk, and at me, sitting in one of the guest chairs.

  “Perhaps I was misunderstood,” he said. “I do want to talk to both of you, but separately. Ms. Monahan, perhaps I could speak with Mr. Didrickson first and then I’ll find you.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Sure, no problem. Harold knows where I’ll be,” I said as I closed the door behind me. I felt like I’d been sent to sit in the hall outside the principal’s office.

  Detective Leech knocked on my door ten minutes later. I was chain-smoking my second cigarette. He took a seat and waved his hand in front of his face. The smoke was a little thick, so I butted my cigarette in the ashtray in my bottom drawer and kicked the drawer shut with my foot.

  “So,” I said. I pulled my chair closer to the desk and folded my hands together in front of me.

  “So,” he replied. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his eyeglasses and put them on. They were half glasses like the grandmother wore in Little Red Riding Hood. He flipped open his very small, spiral-bound notebook. With his pen poised he asked me to tell him about what had happened last Thursday night. I wasn’t about to tell him that I had already relayed all that information to Constable Lofaro because he might make me sit in the hall again. So, I told him.

  He took copious notes during my description of the events and didn’t interrupt. When I finished he flipped through the pages of his notebook and re-read his notes. Without lifting his head, he peered at me over his glasses.

  “What time did you say you joined the party?”

  “I didn’t say. I can’t really remember. Probably about seven-thirty.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Morris eat anything while you were there?”

  “No.”

  “Did you yourself eat anything?”

  “No.”

  “Who do you recall seeing at the reception?”

  “Well, almost everyone,” I said lamely. “Are you asking if I saw someone specific?”

  “No, I asked who you recalled seeing at the reception,” he repeated. Well, excuse me, I thought.

  “You want a list?”

  He nodded without looking up.

  I opened the top drawer of my desk and took out our internal phone list that had all of the employee’s names on it. I started at the top of the list and read out loud the names of the people I could recall seeing. Leech was writing furiously so I spoke faster. When I reached the D’s on the alphabetical list, he held up his hand and motioned me to stop, just like one of the officious traffic cops, directing morning traffic downtown under the Lakeshore Boulevard. He continued to write for a moment and then looked up at me.

  “Are there many more names?” he asked.

  Get a grip Mister and learn shorthand, I thought. I’d only given him about twenty names so far.

  “Quite a few. Why don’t I just give you this list and I’ll mark on it who I remember seeing at the party,” I offered. I beamed at him, giving him my Sunday best smile. Anything to help the local constabulary, I thought. And get this asshole out of my office.

  “Okay,” he said. He put his notebook on my desk and folded his hands on his lap, waiting.

  “Now?”

  “I’ll wait,” he said.

  I sighed and picked up a pen and went over the list fairly quickly. A few names here and there stopped me and I had to think hard about whether or not I recalled seeing them at the reception. The names of a couple of deadbeats who’d pissed me off over the years also made me stop and think. A good chance for revenge, I thought. I could put a tick beside their name and put them at the scene of the crime. That’s one of the best things about revenge. You can always think about it but never have to act on it. I finished up and handed Detective Leech the list.

  He folded the list in half lengthwise without looking at it and put it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He picked up his notebook and I stood up. I was anxious to usher him out because he was giving me the heebie-jeebies.

  “Just a couple of more questions, Ms. Monahan,” he said as he opened his notebook again. Fuck.

  “Did you know Mrs. Morris well?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she have any enemies here at the office that you were aware of?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any reason why, that you can think of, that someone would want to harm Mrs. Morris?”

  “No.”

  He flipped his notebook shut and shoved it in his overcoat side pocket. “Thank you. If there’s anything at all that comes to light that you think might have some bearing on our investigation, please call me.” He passed me a business card that was rumpled and used. He probably took them back from unsuspecting people after he arrested them. I took it by the corner and laid it on my desk blotter. I noticed the address was the same station as Constable Lofaro.

  He stood up. Thank God. I wasn’t sure why this man was rubbing me the wrong way, and then I reminded myself that he was only doing his job. Maybe I resented someone so cold and apparently uncaring, investigating the death of my best friend.

  “I’ll escort you back to reception.”

  “That’s fine. I know the way.”

  “Sorry. Security, you know,” I told him. I marched down the hall and he hurried to keep up.

  “Sign him out,” I told the receptionist. I offered my hand because I could feel my mother standing behind me reminding me of the art of social graces.

  “Thank you for your time, Ms. Monahan,” he said as he shook my hand. His hand was dry and I could feel calluses on the palm. “And,” he said as he looked into my eyes, “I understand from Mr. Didrickson that you and Mrs. Morris were great friends. I’m sorry for your loss.” With that, he turned and headed for the elevator.

  I was pleasantly surprised that it took a stranger to offer me condolences. No one else besides Jay and Vanessa had understood or told me they were sorry. I made a mental note to be nicer to the Detective if I ever saw him again.

  chapter thirty-five

  Vanessa was furiously punching her phone when I stopped by her office. I sat down in one of the guest chairs and flipped through a magazine she had in her basket. It was a trade magazine, all about the world of high tech. The cover story was about the next chairman of Elite Technologies. Elite was the latest and greatest in high tech companies and had been founded by a handful of young, preppie programmers who had left Microsoft or IBM or Apple, I couldn’t remember. It was the latest darling of Wall Street and was in the news almost every week. I checked the inside index and found the page number for the cover story.

  I glanced at the pictures accompanying the story and read the captions underneath. The writers had compiled a list of who they were touting to be the next president of Elite. The preppie programmers had finally decided that they didn’t like managing their company, they liked the development side so the word was out that they were looking for a business-minded, technical-type to captain their ship for the next while. Business-minded, tech weenie. What an oxymoron! I recognized a few of the faces in the article and remembered a few years back when IBM was searching for their next president and the Wall Street Journal had done a similar article.

  Some joker at our PR firm had taken the Wall Street Journal article that had about six or seven pictures of likely candidates in it, and had pasted a picture of Chris Oakes in one of the spots. They had rewritten the caption under the picture and faxed it to Oakes, anonymously. The fax looked amazingly real and Oakes bought it. He actually believed it was his picture in the Wall Street Journal. He walked around the office showing everyone. I remember actually being embarrassed for the idiot. No one had the heart to show him a copy of the real Wall Street Journal which happened to be sitting in his in-basket.

  I tossed the magazine back in Vanessa’s basket and stared at her, willing her to look at me. She was writing in her book and fi
ring off instructions to someone on the end of the line. As I listened, I realized she was talking to someone at the Toronto Club where the directors were scheduled to have dinner that night.

  “Right. Right. And the cigars. Don’t forget the cigars. Thanks.” She hung up and slumped back in her chair.

  “They don’t pay me enough for this shit,” she said.

  “Stop your bitching. You love it,” I teased her.

  “Just about as much as I love my ex,” she shot back. She looked at her watch and sat back up in her chair. “I’m not going to make dinner tonight. Oakes wants me to deliver some shit over to the Club before the dinner. No way I can make it back by six.”

  “We’ll wait for you. Whatever Oakes wants, give it to the maitre d’ and hightail it out of there. Why can’t you just send it over by taxi?” I asked her.

  “It’s stuff he needs to sign. A letter agreement with Jack Vincent.”

  “Ooh. Are we getting ready to mortgage the company again to pay little Jack his fees?”

  “Whatever.” She brushed me off.

  “Not interested? Or not sharing?” I asked her.

  “Not interested. We’ll talk later. I’ll be at Bigliardi’s as soon as I can. Thanks for waiting for me,” she said. She stood up and started gathering up the papers on her desk. “Everything done for the meeting tomorrow?”

  “I’ve got all the books together. How about you?”

  Vee and I were a team when it came to the director’s meetings. I got the materials for the meetings together and she looked after the physical requirements. If they needed laptops, projectors, conference telephone systems, TV monitors, or whatever, Vee looked after that.

  I made sure all of the directors got to the meeting. Vee looked after them while they were there. Booking limos, hair appointments, golf tee times, you name it. Every one of their wishes was our command. Some of the tasks we performed for them were mundane, some were ridiculous and most were useless.