Frank watched the weather on Cliff’s face. He thought he had Cliff, but there were flickers of discomfort about him in the last two weeks — his eyes were more evasive and his smiles had ceased.
“Why don’t you talk Singh off Executive Committee and get him more involved in the South Asian student exchange initiative, start a mentoring program or something?” Frank poured them both another whiskey from a bottle on the table.
“That sounds great, but Honor wants Bomi’s finger in the financial pie, so to speak. I’m sure he could do both.”
“I got a guy who could do finance. I hired him for some special projects, just to check him out, and he will do fine. That’s who H. Denton is on the vendor list Singh was questioning.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you say so in the meeting?”
“I thought it might be touchy if we were talking about him replacing Singh. I wanted to get your take on it.” Frank laid a hand on Cliff’s arm briefly. Cliff turned to him, but Frank’s face was deep in the shadow of a two-thirds life-size granite statue of Ethan Thornbough, III, as a young man.
“The staff and Board just need to get comfortable with innovation, partnerships, doing things new ways. A few nudges here and there, and we can move forward. But I really need the freedom to put together my own team,” Frank said.
“Think carefully about Lucinda. There’s more there than you know.”
“I’m sure she’s competent, skill-wise, but it’s a chemistry thing. I need to rely on people I can mesh with, who aren’t afraid to try new things. Who don’t try to talk me out of everything.” Frank leaned forward into the sunlight and touched his thumb and fingers to the rim of his rocks glass, then hoisted it to his lips.
“Well, it’s your decision. And I’ll back you, but you’re going to get a lot of pushback if you try to replace her. Plus her staff is as loyal as she is. You’d be replacing several people soon after her if you bring in someone else as VP.”
Frank’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t realized that, but that could be a blessing in disguise. A chance for a clean slate. An idea popped up — he could test Warren by seeing what kind of team he could assemble and how he’d take over. If he could shake the sexual harassment allegation. Otherwise, Warren was history too.
After Cliff left, Frank walked back over to the president’s mansion, stopping in the Pecan Room to pick up a folder. He glanced at the chessboard. Warren, he thought, had the scrappiness and single mindedness of the rook, moving headlong into things. Aden, he didn’t trust. He would jump around and pop up in strange places like the knight. Frank didn’t see Lucinda as the maple queen and himself as the rosewood king destined to clash. He would simply bump her off the board like a pawn. John Pringle surprised him, suddenly appearing at his side.
“How did you get out of Check?” Frank asked.
“By sacrificing my bishop,” John said. “Whoever this guy is he’s good. I think he’s different from my first opponent.”
“Or she?” Frank said.
“Hmmm,” John said. “You think it’s Lucinda?” Frank thought John seemed to like that idea. He’d decided to ease up on John, not give him anything to fight against. At least on the surface.
“Does she play?”
“I don’t know.”
Perhaps, Frank thought, he should invite Lucinda over, throw her a bone or throw her off track. Or give her one more chance to be on his team.
Good Energy
Lucinda swung into her driveway hauling one of Tori’s two-horse trailers, Lady Grey and Nanogirl on board. Late October, two weeks before the dressage show, and Lucinda wanted to give Lady Grey a little breather from her training routine — so she was bringing her home for a week to do more relaxed ring work and trail riding so the mare wouldn’t get bored or tense. She’d take her back to Salt Marsh for the last week before the show to do her final practicing and preparations. Nanogirl would be good company for the mare, Lucinda thought, putting the truck in park. And she’d gotten Ramsey’s gratitude for life for taking her off his hands for a whole week.
She had not expected to see Honor’s Volvo parked in front of the house. Honor was studying something balanced against the steering wheel. After Lucinda pulled up in front of the paddock, Honor got out and walked up to the driver’s side of Lucinda’s borrowed pickup truck.
“Sorry to intrude on your horse time,” Honor said, “but I wanted to keep you in the loop. Things are happening so fast.” She stepped back so Lucinda could open the door.
“Ok, let’s talk in the barn,” Lucinda said. She led Lady Grey off the trailer and handed the lead rope to Honor.
“I’m not a horse person, you know,” Honor said, eyeing the mare suspiciously, as if Lady Grey would bite her, step on her foot, or pull her arm off. Instead, the mare lowered her head and shook it while blowing dust and mucous out of her nose. Honor stepped away from Lady Grey’s head to avoid the goopy spray.
“Just pretend to be in charge,” Lucinda said, smiling. “She’s much easier to deal with than this other little firecracker. You can hand her back to me after I bring Nano G out.”
With the two horses in hand, Lucinda led the way to the barn. Peter had prepped two stalls before he left for Newcester for the afternoon. He taken his new little cat friend — now named Bodhi — with him. He’d actually sweet-talked her into wearing a harness and riding on his shoulders. Lucinda thought there was little chance he’d be handing Bodhi off to Bart at the end of the rehab program. Bart always had been a bit iffy, even before the drinking escalated, with the regularity of routine that animals crave.
“So?” she said, latching Nanogirl’s stall door. Lucinda’s eyes lingered on the latch while she wondered how long it would take the little horse to work her way out. Somehow.
“We had Exec Committee, The Sequel, this week,” Honor said. “Frank ‘neglected’ to provide documentation for those four checks that were cut for Warren. ‘H. Denton’ turns out to be an accounting consultant, and Bomi unearthed a trail of payments to a private investigator. Frank is pushing for Bomi to get off the Committee to pursue the Asian student initiative and have H. Denton take over finance,” Honor said. “Bomi did not even respond to that one. He just brought up the next point.”
Honor looked out of place in the barn in her beige safari-cut suit that Lucinda thought she must have ordered from a travel catalog. Honor checked out a few potential places to sit, but rejected them, while Catcher dosed on in a patch of sunlight on the tack trunk. Lucinda split a flake of hay among her two charges and filled their water buckets.
“Let’s go inside,” Lucinda said. “Find you someplace you can sit that’s not covered with hay, shavings, dust, or cat hair.”
Honor looked instantly relieved. She’d made no attempt to hide her fastidiousness, but she was too old Cape Tilton to appear rude by actually speaking of her distaste of the surroundings. Many of her clients were horse people.
When they were seated at the dining room table with glasses of apple cider, Honor continued. “There’s an account that is basically a slush pile of money that’s all undocumented transactions. Fargill and Dover seem to be contributing to a pot of money for the business school, but it is kept separate from the general operating funds of the college. Four million in the separate account, and another one-and-a-half million in another account was off the books, but Bomi noticed it in a bank statement. Money flowing in and out. I wish I knew what Wickes was playing at.”
“He’d say, ‘Takes money to make money,’ or some other enlightening thing like that,” Lucinda said. “You see what I mean? I’ve been trying to wake you all up to the reality of who Frank is, but there are people who would rather live in a dream.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you earlier, Lucinda. I’m livid he’s paid Warren commissions. I’d like to know what sort of misrepresentation he made to the donor when he wrangled that money?”
“Knowing him, he’d probably sold it to his corporate buddies as a cost of doing business. They don’t t
hink it’s unethical.”
“I’ve got to open Cliff’s eyes. He still thinks Frank’s doing what’s right for P-H. You know, I understand they were frustrated that Ben didn’t make many overtures to big business, but there’s a right and a wrong way to go about it. Cliff thinks everything that came up at the meeting can be explained away as Frank building bridges to major corporations. But Frank’s crossed the line.”
Honor’s voice grew steadily louder while she reached for her cider glass, displaying an engagement ring on her left hand. Lucinda looked up from the marquise-cut diamond, which she hadn’t noticed before, and out the window at the beautiful fall day, the maple leaves, glowing like neon rubies, spiraling to the ground. These days are numbered, she thought. Each beautiful day we have and don’t cherish never comes back. She just wanted to go for a ride in the woods, on the beach. Damn! I forgot to post the property!
Lucinda glanced at Honor, who was fiddling with her smartphone to stop it ringing, suddenly hurling it into her purse as if it were too hot to handle. Looking up, Honor noticed the plover painting. She leaned toward it, letting out a soft sigh.
“This is wonderful,” she said.
“It’s John Pringle. You know, also moonlights as Frank’s chef?”
“Wow! I didn’t realize he had this much talent. Let’s commission him to do Chester’s portrait.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“I don’t know what to do about Cliff,” Honor said without her usual self confidence, sitting straight now in the ladder-back chair.
“He did a lot of the recruiting to get Frank, right? He screws up, makes Cliff look stupid.”
“You seem very philosophical today,” Honor said. “Where’s that fire-in-the-belly from last winter?
“It’s still there, burning low under a thick layer of numbness. The result of more than a year working under the Wickes administration.” Lucinda grimaced. “The Board obviously has to be duped by Frank to wake up. All I can do is try to protect my department in the meantime. If I get a chance.”
“What does that mean?”
“Frank has scheduled a ‘performance review’ for me next week as his way of documenting the need to replace me with Warren.”
“We won’t let him do that,” Honor said.
“And how will you stop him? He hires and fires staff. You can only hire and fire him.”
“But we can make his life hell.” Honor smiled.
“Why don’t you do that before he fires me?” Lucinda suggested.
“He wouldn’t dare. Oh, and yesterday, I got a buzz from Chester Mulholland volunteering to be the poster child for estate planning for the President’s Circle newsletter — picture to be taken with you, him, and his wife. His whole happy story. He’ll be calling you soon.”
“Why did he call you first?” Lucinda asked. “Don’t tell me. My guess — word got back to him. He knows Frank and Cliff are chummy if not in cahoots, and he wanted it to go to the Board level so that I would get the credit I deserve. I love that guy. Saves me sorting that one out.”
“He didn’t say why he called me and not Cliff. Perhaps he likes working with women. Less bullshit?” Honor said.
Lucinda smiled wryly.
“And Bomi’s not budging,” Honor continued. “You know he… ” Honor looked thoughtful.
“What?”
“Bomi would make a good interim president if the need should arise.”
“You know why?” Lucinda asked.
“Good head, good manners, knows his people stuff, business stuff. Is not easily intimated — ”
“Why else?”
Honor looked puzzled. “Why?”
“He’s just got good energy.”
“Now I know what you mean.”
The Shredder’s On
Lucinda was stunned as she walked down the front steps of the president’s mansion, even though it played out almost exactly as she’d predicted. Frank had called her in two days after her hokey “performance review,” stood there by that damn fireplace in the Pecan Room next to the chessboard, and told her she was being replaced. Didn’t ask her what she was working on, who should be called. No transition period. Her office was now locked, he’d informed her, but she would not be escorted off the grounds. Human Resources would return personal items to her.
She found herself in the gazebo next to Rantoul, without making a conscious decision to walk there. On her way there John Pringle had stopped her in the parking lot to ask if she was ok so she told him she’d been fired. The news bleached his face to filet-of-fish white.
The gazebo was empty except for a few cylinders of bruised maple leaves huddled in the corner as if hiding from something. She remembered Bart leaning on this railing two summers ago, his face a storm of humiliation.
This is where we all go to feel humiliation. Lucinda laughed as the wind swirled the leaves around the inside perimeter of the gazebo, scattering the small pile.
But she also felt totally free.
Her phone rang.
“Yes?” she answered, very softly, as if the caller had heard her cackling and she wanted to distance herself from that crazy person.
“Where are you?” Aden asked. “We need to put our heads together about Michaela Weld’s gift. Something’s come up.”
“Tell Warren. He’s VP now. Your new boss.”
“No fucking way! Where are you?” Lucinda jerked the phone away from her ear. It wasn’t often that Aden yelled. Or swore.
“I’m in the gazebo by Rantoul. Frank didn’t escort me off campus, but he changed the lock on my office.”
“I’m coming over, don’t move.” His voice had calmed a bit, but still pulsed with anger.
What does he think I’m going to do, jump off the cliff trail to the beach below? If so, he doesn’t know me very well.
* * * * *
“I can’t talk now, I have to get back in and oversee desserts for tonight’s reception for Dr. Blaston,” John said, his words tumbling out rapidly. “Thank you for the compliment on the plover painting, and I would love to do Chester’s portrait. We used to be neighbors when I had my old studio down on the docks in Newcester.”
He hesitated, but didn’t hold back. “Ahh, I know this is not my department, or business actually, but I just heard that Frank Wickes fired Lucinda and I was wondering — Hello, Ms. Emerson?”
John stepped back into the mansion after Honor’s voice went silent. He couldn’t believe that Frank would pull this kind of stunt, wouldn’t have if he hadn’t heard it directly from Lucinda herself. Did Frank not know how the kingdom runs?
* * * * *
Cliff was pacing and Frank hunched over the phone on the conference table when Honor burst into Frank’s office without knocking. Frank looked up, startled. When he saw it was Honor, his practiced smile returned.
“We’ll wrap up here and get back to you,” he said into the phone on the conference table and terminated the connection. “Hello, Honor! Have a seat — ”
“I swear, Wickes, I will smear your ass all over the media if you don’t rescind Lucinda’s termination.”
Cliff froze in place and then turned to face Honor, who’d positioned herself behind the tempered glass expanse of Frank’s desk.
“The Globe. Chronicle of Higher Ed. New York Times, if they’ll pick it up,” Honor continued. “They will if it’s a slow day. Oh, and isn’t it handy that the yearly Philanthropy Day page is coming up in the Chronicle of Philanthropy? And, yes, I would dare.”
“Wait a minute — ” Frank said, approaching the desk, gaze narrowed onto Honor eyes. He leaned over the desk, balanced on his extended fingers.
“What would be the lead?” Honor said, her voice taunting. “A certain unprofessional sexual dalliance in your former career? A tolerance — ”
“Oh, Honor! For chrissake, sit down and relax,” Cliff interrupted. “He’s got a succession plan for development and — ”
Honor continued. “A tolerance of sexual misconduct in your direc
t report? Misappropriating funds. Paying unethical bonuses. Intimation of staff. I would have a lot to choose from, wouldn’t I?”
“Misappropriating funds!” Cliff burst out.
Frank, still cool, said, “We’ve been over and over this. Nothing is missing. All donations are accounted for.” He stood up straight and walked slowly around the desk and over to the window behind Honor.
“The state auditor will decide,” said Honor, lowering herself in Frank’s chair and swiveling it to face him. “If necessary. You bring Lucinda back in, we keep talking. I don’t call my editor friends.”
* * * * *
Warren unlocked the door, stepped inside Lucinda’s office, and relocked the door. The cherry wood is sharp, but the hideous velvet chairs are history, he determined on the way to the landline phone with which he rang Beverly’s line. While waiting for her to pick up, he tossed the Lucinda Tyne Beck, MA, ACFRE door plaque into the bottom left drawer of the desk. Beverly did not answer, nor was she at her work station when he checked the adjoining smaller office. No problem, he thought, as he started the coffee machine, and then settled into Lucinda’s tilt-back executive chair.
From his briefcase he pulled a folder containing an organizational chart and a stack of resumes, and then he uncapped a silver fountain pen he’d noticed on top of a pile of grant proposals. He would finish his development team plan and begin hiring as soon as possible, replacing Beverly if need be, and leaving the business and IT school fundraising staff in place, except for Abby, to whom he had not spoken for a month. She had requested a transfer to Human Resources and was still trying to drum up dirt about him. Tara Whitcomb had lectured him about the school’s sexual harassment policy, which was a waste of time since he’d never violated it. He leaned back in Lucinda’s chair, smiling to no one.
Someone banged three times on the office door, then jiggled the doorknob. Warren sat up straight.
“Warren? You in there?”
The man’s practically hysterical, Warren thought.
“It’s Aden. Let me in.”
“Chill Vitali, or I’ll buzz security,” Warren said, his voice level.
Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel Page 32