Conscious Bias

by Alexi Venice

  Wait a minute, she thought. Did Ben ever tell us that McKnight Construction was going to sell building materials to the complex? Isn’t that a conflict? McKnight is a construction firm, not a building supply store. Why would the project go through McKnight when it could buy the materials directly from a building supply store? Did the Thunderbolt Board of Directors approve buying materials from McKnight Construction?

  She minimized the Excel spreadsheet and looked through old emails for the past Board of Directors meeting minutes. After reviewing all of them, she didn’t see any approvals, or discussions for that matter, of the Board of Directors approving the purchase of building materials through what had now become the middleman, McKnight Construction.

  Next, she pulled up the Thunderbolt construction contract and its 53 exhibits. After 30 minutes of reading, she concluded there wasn’t any mention of McKnight Construction supplying building materials to the project.

  They must have permission. How could $1 million slip by without anyone else noticing?

  She emailed Christina Fox, who was older and wiser about business transactions. Hi Christina, I was looking through the quarterly expense sheet that Ben sent us. From what I can glean, the stadium recently purchased $1 million in building materials from McKnight Construction. I looked through all of the BOD meeting minutes but didn’t see an approval. Am I missing something? Thanks. Monica

  Monica rose from her desk and went to the restroom, then swung by the kitchen to refill her water bottle, a gift from Al. It had “Apple Grove Community Memorial Hospital” printed on the side. As she was screwing on the lid, Jim Daniels walked in.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Swell, and you?” Her eyes drifted back to the cookies. Resist the temptation.

  “Busy,” he said, rubbing his beard. “Did the hospital catch the monkey yet?”

  “No, and now the owner hired a lawyer, Wally Leib.”

  He threw his head back and groaned. “Not her. She’s nuts. If there’s a cause, she’s an activist for it.” Jim moved to the table and helped himself to at least three cookies from the container.

  “Well, she’s an activist for Marcus-the-monkey now,” Monica said. “Did you know that Wally owns eleven cats?”

  “I’m not surprised.” He chewed like he was going for a blue ribbon in a cookie-eating contest. “Please don’t tell me she’s organizing an animal rights campaign around the fucking monkey.”

  “I don’t know if she’ll do that, but she was very clear that she’s opposed to Marcus being tranquilized by professionals.”

  “If the owner can’t summon the monkey, what else is the hospital supposed to do?” he asked.

  “I tried to explain that to her,” Monica said, using all her willpower to resist joining Jim in the cookie fest, “including telling her that Marcus is defecating all over and could be carrying Herpes B, which can be fatal to humans.”

  “Jesus Christ on a cornflake.” He shook his head and took a swig of coffee.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Al has hired the ‘exterminators,’ as he calls them, so we’re going to put a stop to this fiasco before the state and federal surveyors get wind of it.”

  “Do you need any help in dealing with the situation?” he asked.

  “No, I have the legal angles under control.” Her eyes drifted back to the plastic container of cookies.

  “Good because I don’t have time anyway,” he said. “I have three cases that are blowing up with discovery right now.”

  “Understood,” she said. “I’ve got this.”

  “And the Saudi murder trial?” he asked, grabbing a fourth cookie. “I saw Halliday’s outrageous statement on WQOD’s website. Do the doctors know what they’re in for?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve spoken to all of them twice. Once in person and a second time today by phone. Dominique and I will prep them for their testimony right before trial.”

  “Good work, Monica. I’m impressed.” He stuffed the remainder of the cookie in his mouth and wiped cookie crumbs from his beard.

  “Thanks.” Something, perhaps institutional survival, stopped her from telling him about Richard’s discriminatory outburst to her earlier. “I should get back to my office. I’m expecting to hear from Christina Fox.”

  He inclined his head. “On the Thunderbolt Stadium deal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s a smart lawyer,” he said. “I’d listen to what she has to say, to a certain point, of course. You still have to represent the hospital’s best interests.”

  “Thanks. I’ll make a note.” As Monica returned to her office, she mentally congratulated herself for not eating a second cookie. She also was relieved to know that her instincts about Christina and Wally-the-flakadoodle matched up with Jim’s experience.

  As soon as she sat down, she clicked open an email from Christina that was written in all caps. TRIED TO CALL YOU. CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU SEE THIS.

  Monica picked up her phone and dialed Christina.

  Skipping a greeting, Christina said, “How long did it take you to find the $1 million in building supply purchases?”

  “I don’t know,” Monica said. “I started catching up on Ben’s emails about an hour ago, I suppose, and then took a deeper dive into the spreadsheets when I noticed the quarterly expenses had skyrocketed. Only site prep has been done, so I wondered what was so expensive.”

  “An hour, huh?” Christina asked.

  Why does the time matter to her? “Yeah. What do you think? Did I miss that the stadium Board of Directors approved purchases through McKnight Construction?”

  “No,” Christina said. “No one ever approved that. Why would the stadium buy building materials from McKnight when it could buy them directly from a building supply store?”

  “That’s what I thought!” Monica said.

  “There’s only one explanation,” Christina said. “McKnight Construction is trying to enrich itself at the expense of the stadium project. It’s a blatant conflict of interest, and I’m pissed. Ben should know better.”

  “That was my conclusion too,” Monica said. “I feel like I should tell Al Bowman about this.”

  “Before we tell our clients, we probably owe it to Ben to call him for an explanation,” Christina said.

  “Okay. Should we try to get him on the line now?” Monica asked.

  “Yes, but let me take the lead, okay?”

  “Go for it,” Monica said.

  “Can you conference him in now?”

  “Hold while I do that.” Monica dialed Ben and hit the conference button.

  “Hello ladies. What’s up?” he asked when they were all on the line.

  “Hi Ben,” Christina said. “We got the quarterly expense report and have a question for you.”

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “We noticed that the stadium corporation purchased $1 million in building supplies from McKnight Construction. Is that right?”

  “Let me open it and see,” he said.

  They waited until he got to the page.

  “Uh, yeah. It looks like that,” he said.

  “Well, didn’t you prepare this report?” Christina asked.

  “No,” he said. “I prepared the first one but then got too busy. The last few have been prepared by David McKnight. He sends them to me, and I forward them to you.”

  “Oh,” Christina said. “What do you make of the purchase?”

  There was a long silence, giving Monica the impression that he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know what to make of it. I guess I should call my client.”

  “Well, before you call Mr. McKnight,” Christina said, “I want to point out that neither the university nor the hospital approved buying building materials from McKnight. Why would they do that when they could buy them directly from a building supplier, probably at half the cost?”

  “Look, Christina,” Ben said. “For all we know, our clients agreed to the transaction, so before we start sayin
g that the stadium is getting ripped off, I think it behooves us to check.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you had an explanation before I call the university. It sounds like you’re as surprised by this as we were.”

  “I’m not conceding that I’m ‘surprised,’” he said. “Let me check on it, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Sounds fair,” Christina said.

  “Will you hold off on calling your clients until I check?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Christina said. “I owe a duty to Milton.”

  “Whatever,” he said.

  “Don’t you dare ‘whatever’ me,” Christina said. “You’d do the same thing in my position. We’re talking about a million dollars here.”

  “Let’s not overact,” he said.

  “Let’s not underreact,” she countered.

  “Let me check into it,” he said. “Bye.”

  Monica and Christina heard him click off the line.

  “What do you make of that?” Monica asked.

  “I don’t like it,” Christina said. “You discovered something pretty important today by paying attention to detail. If this is what I think it is, we’re talking about a fraudulent transaction that could kill the entire project. I’m forwarding this to Milton and calling him right now. I’d suggest you do the same with the hospital.”

  “Is this how David McKnight does business?”

  Christina exhaled. “He’s been in construction for years. He started as a residential builder then speculated on some commercial real estate and became a commercial builder overnight. I’d say he has a mixed reputation. He’s donated a lot of money to the community, but some business people consider him kind of slimy. Now I know why.”

  “Guess we both do. Thanks.” Monica hung up with Christina and called Al immediately.

  “Hi Al, it’s Monica.”

  “Long time, no talk.”

  “I know. I apologize, but I learned something that I need to confirm with you.”

  “What’s that?”

  She explained what she had discovered.

  “What the heck?” he asked. “That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “Me either.”

  “Good catch. I’m calling David McKnight right now.”

  “Let me know what you find out,” she said.

  “Trust me. I will.”

  Monica typed out an email to Christina. Spoke to Al Bowman. He didn’t know about it. He’s calling David McKnight immediately.

  She pushed back from her desk and stretched her arms overhead, grasping one wrist and bending to the side, then grasping the other wrist and doing the same. Man, my abs are sore. A vision of Shelby working out breezed through her mind, bringing a smile to her face. God, that woman makes me feel alive. Monica thrummed with excitement just thinking about Shelby. She couldn’t wait for their next class.

  Given how the lawyers and Al were reacting to the $1 million in building supplies, she thought she should apprise Jim of the situation. She walked down to his office and downloaded everything.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed. “What are the buyout provisions if the university and the hospital want to buy McKnight Construction’s share?”

  “Requires a two-thirds vote by the Board, and then I suppose it would be the startup costs that McKnight contributed,” she said.

  “You’d better revisit that section of the bylaws to make sure,” he said. “That’s probably where this is headed.”

  “Good advice,” she said.

  “Good catch.” He raised his eyebrows and lowered his chin in acknowledgement.

  “Thanks.”

  “Since McKnight and Charles go way back, I’d better give the heads up to Charles about this,” he said.

  “Whatever you need to do.” On her way back to her office, Monica consulted her iWatch and noticed it was time to leave for The Broken Spoke to meet Mike Warner about the Seif family.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monica pulled into The Broken Spoke parking lot, occupied equally by jalopies and expensive cars. Considered the most lively place in town, especially on open-mic night, it drew all walks of life. The aptly named restaurant/bar was Northwoods cabin décor with vaulted ceilings, pine log walls and a healthy amount of fishing tackle, deer head mounts, and horse tack and trade on the walls. It was too man-cave for Monica, but the food was good, and the service even better, so she tolerated it.

  She spotted Mike at a log-legged high-top in the corner of the bar, appreciative that no one was around him, so they could speak privately. Their business wasn’t top-secret, but she wasn’t fond of the prospect of someone overhearing them either.

  He stood as she walked through the bar. “Thanks for meeting me here.” They shook hands. “You look fantastic, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sort of surprised because she was in her work uniform—a black pantsuit with a simple red blouse. The blouse didn’t have a pussycat bow at her throat, but it wasn’t transparent or low cut either. She didn’t think she looked “fantastic” in it, that was for certain.

  “What can I get you to drink?” he asked.

  “Moscow mule with Tanqueray, please,” she said.

  He waved over the server and gave her Monica’s drink order, ordering another beer for himself.

  “How was work today?” he asked.

  “Busy,” she said.

  “I heard the hospital has turned into a zoo,” he said, a smile playing at his lips.

  She held a poker face. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

  He laughed. “I get it. We wouldn’t want monkeys in a barrel to hit the front page of the newspaper.”

  She smiled pleasantly at him, her eyes conveying nothing.

  “Do you do most of the hospital’s work?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she said. “The hospital has been Jim Daniels’ client forever. He’s pretty much turned over the account to me.”

  “Ah, the plight of the young associate,” Mike said. “Working your ass off, building a relationship with a client, making the partner rich.”

  She squinted at him. “I’ve never looked at it that way.”

  “How many years have you been practicing?”

  “Three.”

  “Wait until you’ve been slogging away for five or more. You’ll be the most popular and well-liked lawyer in the firm, but the partners will control the accounts, so they make the most money, but do the least amount of work.”

  “That sounds a little cynical.”

  “Don’t believe me?” He raised an eyebrow. “How many hours does Jim bill on the hospital account?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s a tiny amount compared to what I do.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Very interesting.” Why is he telling me this?

  “I just made partner at my firm, but a few years ago, I insisted that I be paid as a partner on an account that I was handling. It wasn’t fair that I was doing all the work, but someone else was reaping the financial benefit.”

  “Giving the partners an ultimatum sounds risky,” she said.

  “I’ve heard really good things about you, so I’m sure you’ll be in high demand; by both law firms and clients.”

  “Thanks.” Is he trying to butter me up?

  The server arrived with Monica’s Moscow Mule in a copper mug and another tap beer for Mike.

  “Here’s to common interests,” he said, toasting her.

  She clinked. “To common interests.”

  After they drank, a comfortable silence settled around them. He had a pleasant way about him that Monica liked. He was slightly overweight, which created a fullness in his face and neck, but not in a sloppy way. He looked outdoorsy with rosy cheeks above his five o’clock shadow. His black hair was short and a little messy but product-free. She appreciated that he wasn’t aiming for a slick look or sartorial splendor. Rather, he hit “easy to be around” spot on.

  “
How often do you speak to the Seif family?” she asked, raising the topic of their meeting.

  “More often than you think,” he said.

  “Can you please convey the hospital’s deepest sympathy for their loss?”

  “Of course,” he said. “More than that, I think they want to meet the physicians to learn about Abdul’s last hours.”

  “Oh really?” her eyebrows shot up.

  “Yes. That’s part of the reason I wanted to meet with you. They’re flying in by private jet for the trial, but they want to come a few days early to meet the doctors and visit the hospital room where Abdul died.” He stopped there and drank his beer, allowing her to digest the information.

  “Private jet, huh?” she asked.

  “Yes. As far as I can tell, they’re part of the Saudi royal family, but not in the inner circle. I think they’re cousins of cousins of the King, so sort of on the outskirts. At least that’s what I could deduce after googling them.”

  “Fascinating,” she said. “Why did Abdul come to study at a public midwestern university when he could’ve gone somewhere more exclusive, like Harvard?”

  “I’m not sure, other than to experience the Midwest culture,” he said.

  “I expect that visiting will be very painful for them.”

  “I know,” he said. “Mohamad, Abdul’s older brother and my main contact, told me his parents are devastated. But, they believe strongly in justice, so they want to come to make sure justice is done.”

  “Are they familiar with our criminal justice system?” she asked.

  “Not really,” he said. “Mohamad went to school at Oxford, so he has a Western education, but I suspect they have no idea what’s in store for them in the courtroom. Their society is still very tribal, and the King doles out all justice at a very high level.”

  “Good Lord,” she said. “This could be disastrous.”

  “Now you know why I wanted to talk to you,” he said, and they both sipped. “I think meeting with the doctors and hospital could provide some much-needed healing for them. I also hope it de-escalates them, because once they sit in that courtroom, with Halliday saying crazy shit in front of a presumably all-white, Christian jury, the Seifs will surely feel home-towned.”