by Susan Wolfe
She stopped by the Mail Boxes Etc. on her way home, and found a response from her father’s lawyer:
Confirm call on Thursday.
No record of marriage to Linda Zisko. Did, however, find a Bill Zisko who divorced an Alida Zisko in 1988. Followed that back to a marriage certificate for Bill Gaddis and Alida Zisko in 1985. Enclosed copies are informational only. Advise if you need certified copies for proof.
She must have gasped, because several startled Mail Boxes Etc. patrons turned in unison to look at her. She smiled apologetically as she clutched the letter protectively against her chest. She was holding actual evidence.
She was the first to push through the swinging door of the boardroom the next morning, fifteen minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start. The little pots of yogurt were lined up over on the side table, and some diligent fellow underling had managed to find fragrant, glistening strawberries here in February. Looking out across the patio, she saw thin strands of cloud drifting peacefully from right to left through a sunny spring sky. As she turned on the lights and dialed in the speakerphone, the room gave off every indication of a peaceful, orderly board meeting. Unfortunately, the company’s future required a certain hubbub.
She’d had to calibrate her physical appearance carefully this morning. She needed a believable relapse as soon as the meeting was over, but didn’t want some health nut on the board noticing how sick she looked and ejecting her prematurely. She’d finally decided to skip the ice against her lower back (unbearable, really, and what if it leaked?), opting instead to wash herself out with a shiny polyester Salvation Army blouse the color of radioactive pea soup. Too bad Sally wasn’t there to feel envious. And surely her hands were cold enough from the raging air conditioning and her raging anxiety to convince anybody that her health remained fragile. She resolved to shake hands as often as possible.
Jared Winters arrived first, his navy sport coat draping elegantly over a pale gray cashmere sweater. Larry Stockton entered next, pausing at the side table to get his cup of steaming Starbucks coffee. His coal-black eyes above his proud and prominent nose began their usual insolent gaze along her body, but stopped abruptly at her appalling blouse and skittered away entirely. She coughed weakly into her fist to disguise a little laugh.
Jean-Claude arrived, followed by Paul Holder, their storklike and very bald tech guru. Did Paul have one inkling of the mortal blow about to befall his beloved R&D group? No, she decided, he was way too relaxed and cheerful. Evidently Andrea was playing her cards close right up until she quit. Georgia and Ken seemed to be the only ones who knew disaster was looming.
Ken arrived, sporting neon yellow kidney shapes on his navy blue bow tie, accompanied by Large Romeo, looking wildly obese in a gigantic pink shirt. Keeping Omar the Tentmaker in business. Ken settled himself and sent her a message: How you feeling? As she responded she heard a crackle of life on the speakerphone as Clarence joined them remotely. Then Roy swept in through the door from his adjoining office, and Jean-Claude called the meeting to order at exactly 10:07. Nick of time, really. She sat on her hands to warm them up and keep them from shaking.
“And so this morning,” Jean-Claude was saying, “we have the uncharacteristic but welcome good fortune to be expecting positive news about the . . .”
A quiet rap sounded on the door from Roy’s office, and the timid little substitute for Nikki stuck her head in. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Zisko, but a Mr. Gaddis is on the line, and he insists you’ll want to take his call.”
Roy’s look of panic flickered and vanished so quickly that others might have missed it completely if he hadn’t knocked over his Starbuck’s coffee cup in his haste to stand up. “Sorry,” he muttered as Jared jerked his arm back from the hot liquid that splattered the table. “I need to take this.” He rushed from the room.
The board members exchanged glances as Georgia hurried over to the credenza for big, white paper napkins to soak up the spill. “Well,” Jean-Claude remarked with deliberate good humor, “it seems we can say this call is quite exciting.” Nervous laughter. “We can hope it’s from an angry husband, and not the SEC.” Now the laughter was genuine.
“Leave it to our Frenchman to think of that,” Jared said.
She mopped the shiny black surface of the conference table, and then ducked underneath to soak up coffee out of the carpet. She took her time pushing a dry napkin as far as possible into the deep, wet plush, savoring an extra moment of privacy, then resumed her seat as Larry turned his wide, humorless grin on Ken. “Do you know what this is regarding?” He sounded accusatory.
Ken held up flat palms in response. “Afraid I have no idea, Larry. Which at least means it’s not the Justice Department.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Paul responded against a background of murmured agreement. Clarence called through the phone, “Jean-Claude, should we take a short break? I know I could use another cup of coffee about now.”
Leave it to Clarence to want a break. Break from what, really, playing solitaire on his iPhone? She glanced at her Timex, hoping Jean-Claude would refuse. This wasn’t going to be a long call. In fact, Mr. Gaddis would be long gone before Roy picked up the receiver.
Sure enough, Roy strode back through the door a couple of moments later, resumed his seat and adjusted the knot of his stately maroon tie. “Sorry for that interruption, gentlemen. Let’s resume.”
“But is it something quite serious?” Jean-Claude inquired.
“No. Not at all. Nikki would have known better than to let it through. Please continue.”
Jean-Claude gave a slight shrug and resumed the meeting. As Ken reported on the SEC investigation, she lowered her head over her notes and rolled her eyes up just enough to study Roy from under her eyelashes. Hard to tell how rattled he was. His jaw seemed especially rigid, and his little black eyes glittered like two nail heads in a whitewashed fence. But maybe that was how he always looked. No point in telling herself fairy tales here.
The meeting continued. She tried to calm herself by looking out the window. That gentle spring zephyr must be picking up speed. The clouds were moving faster, and through the gap between buildings she saw a glittery confetti of swirling yellow leaves against the bright blue sky.
Ken reported that the SEC depositions related to backlog would begin the following week. Cliff reported on the status of closing the quarter-end books. Large Romeo was droning through a list of remaining deals that could still close in the final two days of the quarter, when he paused so long that all eyes flicked away from the overhead screen to notice dark sweat stains spreading beyond the armpits of that ample pink shirt. “Sorry,” he said. “I seem to be drawing a blank on this one. Cliff, can you help me out with the Gaddis Industries deal?”
At which all eyes flicked back to the screen and read, “Gaddis Industries. $370K.”
Cliff dutifully squinted at the slide for a moment before shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m not familiar with this one. Roy?”
But Roy was disappearing through the side door to his office.
“This meeting really is becoming a bit bizarre,” Jean-Claude mused to nervous laughter after Roy had jerked the door closed behind him.
“Maybe turning a profit causes disturbances in the force field,” Paul joked. “Maybe it’s been so long we’ve just forgotten.”
“Now I think we really must take a quick break.” Jean-Claude was still half smiling as he stood, but his eyebrows were up by his hairline. “I will try to speak to Roy. I hope he is not ill?”
“Sure hope it isn’t the flu,” Ken remarked. “I know it’s been goin’ around our department.” Georgia hoped nobody else would notice his sympathetic glance in her direction.
At that instant another rap sounded on the door from Roy’s office, and Nikki’s timid little substitute shortened her neck between her shoulders and winced as she shot out, “Mr. Zisko has left the building and sends his apologies!” She slammed the door closed as the room erupted in a cacophony of futile i
nterrogation. That little receptionist wasn’t as inexperienced as she looked, Georgia thought. Evidently she’d delivered unwelcome news to Captains of Industry before.
She drove directly to a cybercafé in Burlingame, and started logging on and off every fifteen minutes to make it harder for him to trace her. When she logged on at 1 p.m. there was a message:
Blackbox: Are you there?
Jack: I’ve been expecting you.
Blackbox: You are gaslighting me.
Jack: On the contrary, Mr. Gaddis. Gaslighting is intended to confuse someone about reality. I want you to see reality while you still have time to act on it.
He didn’t respond. Trying to trace her? Or trying to keep her talking until she revealed her identity, letting him gauge whether the threat was real. Should she try to make him believe she was someone specific and terrifying? After a moment she carefully composed:
Jack: Perhaps this sudden resurrection of your long-buried past has left you feeling a bit disoriented. That would be understandable. I hear you behaved strangely in your board meeting today. Why not show this chat room to somebody you trust to help you make the right decision?
She guessed there was no such person. Was that what he was considering as the cursor pulsed on the screen? He remained silent for an entire minute.
Blackbox: I will quit only if I have insurance that you won’t turn me in.
Hm. Looked like progress, but what did ‘insurance’ mean?
Jack: You will resign because you realize you have no alternative. I offer no insurance.
Blackbox: I need to know you would implicate yourself by turning me in.
Jack: Meaning?
Blackbox: I need to pay you to go away.
Interesting. She cocked her head and frowned at the screen. Was he hoping to set her up on a blackmail charge, to prevent her from contacting the police? Of course, once she prevented herself from going to the police, he’d have no motive to resign. Could he believe she was that dumb?
Or maybe he wanted to determine whether she realized that a legal requirement for blackmail was that the blackmailer receive something of value. Probing to see if she was Ken? Whoa. Couldn’t put a stake in the heart of that one fast enough.
Jack: Paying me won’t help. I told you, I don’t want money.
She could have sworn the cursor was pulsing his disappointment out through the silent screen.
Blackbox: Resigning will mean the end of my career. I prefer that you terminate me, citing irreconcilable differences with the board.
Fishing to see if she was a board member? There were a lot of board members, so that would slow him down a bit while he tried to figure out which one. Seemed like a misperception she wanted to nurture.
Jack: And bring the SEC crawling through every detail of our business to find out why? You will resign for undisclosed health reasons.
Blackbox: That will mean the end of my career.
Jack: I am confident your health will improve.
Blackbox: If you are going to turn me in, I must prepare my family.
Jack: Turning you in would damage Lumina’s reputation. I have no motive to do that, as long as you resign.
Blackbox: I must hear that from you in person. I must know who I am dealing with, to judge whether my family is protected.
Funny, how a narcissist in trouble could suddenly become such a family man. Touching, really.
Jack: No.
Blackbox: You owe it to me to give me the opportunity to talk you out of this. I have mitigating information.
Now that sounded whiny. Trying to get her to underestimate him? How would that help? Was he just stalling for time? The sweat in her armpits was icy, and she was still debating her next move when new text appeared on the screen:
Blackbox:
To the board of directors of Lumina Software:
I deeply regret that life-threatening health issues require me to resign my positions as CEO and director of Lumina Software, effective immediately. Please respect my family’s privacy by not asking me to say more.
I feel strongly that we should follow our long-standing succession plan and appoint Cliff Tanco to the role of Acting CEO immediately.
I am grateful to have had the opportunity to work with you, and wish the company every success going forward.
Very truly yours,
Roy Zisko, Chairman and CEO
That letter was so beautiful. And so unsigned. He continued:
Blackbox: I will deliver this signed letter today, if and only if you meet me at my office at 2 p.m. I will present my mitigating information, then deliver the signed letter to you and leave my fate in your hands. If you care about the well-being of Lumina Software, you have nothing to fear and will do as I ask.
He left the chat room.
Now what? The minute he saw she was the one who entered that meeting he would smirk with contempt, like Terkes had, and then call her bluff by refusing to quit. She’d be stuck getting him the slow way, which was as worthless as a two-legged mule. She’d be too late, her timing blown and Lumina Software wrecked forever. She shouldn’t go to the meeting.
But what would he do when she didn’t show up? He might be bluffing. Maybe his nerves would get the better of him and he’d resign before the deadline anyway.
Maybe chickens could play Scrabble. What would really happen is he’d stay right where he was and see what happened next.
Which left her where? Roy was going to stay put whether she went to the meeting or not, burrowing deeper into Lumina Software like a fat tick on a tormented dog. She was failing, and time was running out. She pushed back from the computer and dropped her forehead into her palms, her fingers pushing deep into her hair.
Unless. Could she use his arrogance against him? Maybe when he saw that the Wizard was nobody but The Girl Who Takes Notes, he’d feel so relieved and expansive that he’d say something stupid and give himself away. She lifted her face out of her palms and sat back up. Maybe she could even prepare a little script to lead him there. Use the marriage certificate between Roy Gaddis and Alida Zisko to deliver a helpful shock. Record everything he said with both her iPhone and her pocket microphone, and play it back to him right then and there.
And lose her job the instant it didn’t work. Katie-Ann waiting tables and doing her homework in all-night cafes. Sleeping with cardboard wedged into the car windows again, to keep the creeps from looking in.
Get a grip. Now was not the time for her mind to jump around like a flea in a hot skillet. She pulled her legs into a cross-legged position right there on the roller chair, closed her eyes and began to follow her breath.
Ten minutes later she opened her eyes and let her feet drop to the floor, her mind refreshed and clear. She’d remembered a story her father had told them one afternoon as she and Katie-Ann helped him groom horses in the barn:
Hunters in South America use a special trap to catch monkeys. They build a box with a hole just barely big enough for a monkey to slide his skinny little hand in, and then they put a fine-smelling, bright banana inside the box. When a monkey reaches in and grabs the banana, the hole is too small for him to get his fist out again.
Oh, no! Katie-Ann said, her brush pausing against the bottom of the horse’s flank. So the monkey is stuck?
Well, he doesn’t have to be stuck. All he has to do is let go of the banana and pull his hand out, but the hunter knows the monkey won’t do it. So the hunter comes back and catches the monkey every time.
Poor little monkey, Katie-Ann murmured sadly, her brush resuming a slow motion down the rich brown leg toward the knee.
Sad for the monkey, indeed. So what’s the lesson for us, girls?
Be the hunter and not the monkey, Georgia stated firmly, and her father threw his head back and laughed.
Well yes, that’s the superior solution. But suppose you don’t have a choice? Suppose you’re the monkey?
She and Katie-Ann had responded in unison: Then let go of the banana.
Georgia
Griffin hadn’t come all the way out of Piney, Arkansas, on bald tires to get caught in a monkey trap set by the likes of Roy Zisko. She was going to oust that guy all right, but she wouldn’t go anywhere near that meeting, resignation letter or no. George Griffin’s daughter was smart enough to let go of a banana.
Since she couldn’t actually meet with Roy, she remained the Wizard and could wander by shortly afterward to find out how he was reacting. When she got to Nikki’s office at 2:20, she wasn’t surprised that the frightened little receptionist had disappeared, but she was surprised that Nikki herself had returned to take her place. Nikki’s blinds were drawn firmly against the light, and she was wearing big, high-fashion sunglasses in the unlit room. Her body seemed locked in a permanent wince. Roy was nowhere in sight, and his door was closed. With any luck, he was in there ripping out tufts of his hair.
“Oh, no,” Georgia lamented. “I see they dragged you out of sick bay for the afternoon. Aren’t you supposed to be in a clinic somewhere?”
“I am. Apparently the girl this morning didn’t work out so well.”
“Well, in fairness she had a pretty tough job. You heard what happened?”
“Oh, yeah. Paul Holder’s called here three times looking for him, and he gave me a real blow-by-blow. Who was that on the phone, anyway? Somebody named G-A-D-I-S? That’s what the girl wrote down.”
Georgia shrugged. “Don’t remember. Roy hasn’t told you anything?”
“Haven’t talked to him yet. Haven’t seen him all day.”
“Oh. Then he isn’t here?” She made her voice sound casual as her pulse began to thud in her ears.
“Nope. Sent me a text message a while ago that he’s spending today and maybe tomorrow on his boat.”