What Simon Didn’t Say
Page 17
Zoie leaned toward Tina, her lightweight lounge chair creaking. “Well, this woman named Carmen used to work at the Foundation,” Zoie said, starting slowly, aware that Tina was hanging on to her every word. “She told me that the Foundation’s president, Ray Gaddis, is gay.”
Tina looked disappointed. “Okay. Big deal. So why do you care?”
“I don’t. Well, I mean that’s not the whole of it. She caught Ray and this other guy I work with having sex in the office.”
“Ooh!”
“And that’s not all. She confirmed my suspicions about the whole flakey-funding thing.”
“Zo, you never told me any details. Actually, I don’t know if I want to know.” Tina bit her bottom lip and frowned. “This sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Overhead a flock of birds passed through the condo canyon, honking in the breeze.
“Don’t get dragged in. I don’t want to read about you in the paper.”
Fleeting thoughts of Enron and the scandal at United Way some years back filled Zoie’s head. “Don’t you think I’ve thought about that?” Zoie sighed. “Seems I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“Wait a second. Do you trust this woman?”
Zoie put her hand to her mouth and waited to answer. “I don’t think she lied. She’s hiding. She wants nothing to do with Crayton Industries or the Foundation.”
“What’s she afraid of?” Tina said.
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe someone is after her.”
“No, I think she’s hiding from bad memories.”
“Hmmm,” Tina said, making a face. “She’s not hiding very well if you found her.”
“She’s disgusted. Of course, I need to verify what she told me.”
“Gee, Zo, I’m sorry. You know if this stuff is true, you’ll have to get out of there.”
Zoie frowned. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Maybe,” she said, hesitating. “It’s not as if I’m in love with the place.” She wondered if she should tell Tina that Carmen’s revelations implicated Jahi and the Shelter but without mentioning Jahi by name.
“I think I believe her,” Zoie continued. “She went out on a limb by telling me as much as she did.”
“So what does your gut tell you?” Tina asked.
“What about a fact-based analysis? A person is innocent until proven guilty.” Zoie’s mind held images of both Ray and Jahi. “What’s with this gut stuff? You sound like Carmen.”
“Maybe,” Tina said with raised brows. “I think I like this Carmen. She sounds like a smart lady.”
“I’ve got to believe that something else is going on here,” Zoie said.
“Zo, you’re taking in all kinds of information. It goes to your subconscious. You know stuff you don’t even know that you know.”
“Are you trying to recite that old Arabian proverb? ‘He who knows, knows not that he knows’—etcetera, etcetera…”
“I know the saying, but this is different. This has to do with things you pick up without realizing it. Good old intuition. Your subconscious is working overtime. It knows stuff. And you know stuff at a cellular level—like the gut. That’s where all those sayings about the gut come from.”
“Tina, I do understand about ‘going with your gut,’” Zoie said, annoyed by her friend’s lecture.
“Sooooo what does your gut tell you now?”
Zoie felt like a reluctant witness giving a deposition. She sighed and thought for a second. “I guess my gut tells me it’s true. Something is very wrong at that place. I’ve known it from the first. I just wish it would all go away.”
“Stuff like this doesn’t go away. Dirty secrets have a way of coming out, whether it’s you blowing the whistle or not.”
“I know,” Zoie replied, sullen. “I’d just rather not be around when everything blows up. Anyway, I can’t go around blowing the whistle without proof. That would be reckless, not to mention career limiting.”
Tina shrugged. “Then what are you going to do?”
Zoie knew she needed to act before the situation acted on her. But all she could say was, “I don’t know.”
Chapter 23
Is Hanky Panky a Legal Term?
“Sorry, Zoie, but Ray’s schedule is extremely tight today,” Arleen said as she scrolled through Ray’s online calendar. “There’s no way I can fit you in, unless it’s an emergency.”
It was serious, but Zoie wasn’t about to wave the red flag. Looking over Arleen’s shoulder, she tried to read the computer screen, hoping that she’d spot an opening that Arleen had overlooked. Indeed, the screen was filled with yellow blocks denoting committed times.
Arleen sighed, threw up her hands, and slapped her thighs. She was an affable woman, stuck somewhere in the Fifties, in her clean and crisp style. She was a dead ringer for Queen Elizabeth, minus a decade or two, and by all accounts, she was fiercely loyal to Ray. She turned to face Zoie and placed her folded hands on the only spot on her desktop not consumed by the shrine to her seven grandchildren. “The best I can do is Monday at eleven, for a half hour,” she continued. “He needs time to get to his noon lunch appointment.”
“I see,” Zoie said, not at all pleased. She bit her bottom lip as a check on verbal sparring. Monday was four whole days away. That was too long to wait. She had to talk to him before she lost her nerve.
In the most pleasant voice she could muster, Zoie made her plea. “Arleen, it’s urgent. Doesn’t he have anything sooner?”
“Well,” said Arleen, being more accommodating, “he’s supposed to come back to sign some papers this evening. You never can tell. He might wait until morning to sign them. Can Milton Page help you? He’s around today.”
“No,” Zoie blurted in a way she instantly recognized as being too quick. “It’s Ray I really need to talk to.”
Zoie realized she was getting nowhere with Ray’s assistant. Arleen wanted to know the topic of the urgency, and Zoie wasn’t prepared to tell her.
“I’ll just catch him later,” Zoie said nonchalantly. She headed down the hall to her own office, leaving Arleen somewhat bewildered.
An hour later Milton Page’s bright red hair lit up Zoie’s doorway.
“Zoie, what’s up? Arleen said you might need me.”
“Milton! Did Arleen say that? Hmmmm. Actually, I was looking for Ray.” Arleen is being much too efficient. Zoie avoided looking directly into Milton’s blue-gray eyes. He was handsome in a peculiar way, like a freckled-faced, grown-up Opie from The Andy Griffith Show. Since learning of his tryst with Ray, like Carmen, she felt uncomfortable in his presence. Milton was now officially a “junior icky.”
Milton moved from the doorway and closer to her desk. “Ray may not have time to see you. He’s swamped these days, but if I can be of help…”
Zoie cut him short. “What’s got Ray so tied up?”
“Crayton’s business side,” Milton said vaguely.
“I see. But thanks for stopping by. I need to see Ray. I’ll call you if I need you.” She disliked getting the brush-off, the pushdown to the second-tier management, to resolve her issues. There was no need to be unpleasant with Milton. He had no idea how serious the matter was. Or did he?
“Just checking,” Milton said with a quizzical look. Then he turned and left.
By six in the evening, the Foundation’s office had cleared out. With the Auction for the Homeless over and the Charity Walk still forty-five days away, staff didn’t need to hang around. A two-person cleaning crew rolled in with a small dumpster and began emptying wastebaskets. After years among New York’s corporate workaholics, Zoie felt that leaving work before 6:00 p.m. was like cheating. Today she wasn’t leaving because she was trying to catch Ray.
At the end of the hall of executive suites, Arleen’s workspace was dark, except for the low light of a small desk lamp, which shone like an eternal candle over her shr
ine of family photos. From the cracked office door belonging to Ray Gaddis, the light was more than daylight. Zoie knocked to ensure no surprises. “Ray, it’s Zoie. May I come in?”
“Zoie. Um, come in,” Ray said, his voice muffled.
In three months on the job, Zoie had only been in Ray’s office a few times. Meetings usually took place in the conference rooms. She entered the spacious office, elegant with its black leather, chrome items, and antique oriental carpet. Next to the black leather sofa, there was an expensive-looking vase the size of a child. She took a quick scan of the blindingly white walls, bare except for the two small pieces of corporate art, the large mahogany bookcase, and the few personal pictures. Ray was behind his glass desk, seemingly ignoring her, as he busily shuffled through a pile of papers.
He looked up from his work. His brow was furrowed, and he was missing his plastic smile. He looked tired. “Arleen left me a message that you were looking for me,” he said in a voice neither anxious nor inviting.
“Your assistant is very efficient,” Zoie said.
“Yes, Arleen’s a crackerjack. She’s been with me a long time. She’s like family.” He pressed some buttons on his phone, turned back to Zoie, and then folded his hands on the pile. “So how can I help you? I hope it’s something quick.”
“Ray, it could take some time. I thought we needed to talk.”
“Well, my dear, I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time for long discussions. I have a dinner engagement.”
Zoie frowned. “Then I don’t want to keep you. But I think you’ll find what I have to say very important.”
“Hmmm. Sounds ominous. By all means tell me what’s on your mind.” Now he looked concerned. He gestured for her to sit in one of the leather chairs facing the desk.
She felt unprepared. She hadn’t thought about just how she’d relay the information. It was unusual for Zoie not to rehearse for an important discussion. She was counting on her best attorney instincts to kick in. The key was to not accuse him, to not make it about him. She needed to emphasize her concern for the Foundation, its reputation, its grantees, and Crayton Industries overall. She didn’t want to put him on the defensive.
“I’ll get right to the point,” she started. “Over the last few weeks, I’ve uncovered some disturbing information about a grantee.”
“Oh,” Ray said. His sleepy eyes widened as he rested his elbows on the desk. “This sounds serious.”
“It is.” Zoie leaned closer to the desk. “Ray, I believe there is some hanky panky going on with at least one of our grantees.”
“Hanky panky? Is that a legal term? Do you mean anything like fraud?”
“Funds misappropriated, perhaps more.”
“Ms. Taylor, that’s quite a charge. What evidence do you have to back up your allegation?”
The fact that he hadn’t asked her which grantee caused her to hesitate. His omission of that question was strange—damning. “I do have evidence,” she continued. “Enough to warrant a full-scale investigation.”
Ray laughed as if the whole thing were a joke. “Zoie, a full-scale investigation? Isn’t that a bit drastic? Do you realize the consequences of such an action?”
“Yes, I think if the Foundation takes decisive action, we can’t be accused of either negligence or complicity.” Still, she hadn’t mentioned the grantee’s name, and he hadn’t asked. Clearly, he already knew.
There was a long silence. Ray rose from his chair. He turned and faced his picture window, which looked out to the infamous Needle Park, where the homeless congregated. “See those poor devils down there?” he said. “They need us. Frivolous accusations or overzealous lawyering could send shock waves through the Foundation. Through Crayton Industries, for that matter. Affect all our grantees. Disrupt the flow of funds. The media attention alone could prevent us from fulfilling our mission.”
“Ray, I take offense! You think I’d make these charges frivolously?”
“You’re making serious accusations, Ms. Taylor,” Ray said, still with his back to her.
“You’re damn right they’re serious!” she shot back. It felt weird talking to his back.
A loud silence hung in the air like a heavy cloak. Ray continued to stare out the window at the park. He was either afraid to face her or pondering his next best lie. It was Zoie who broke the silence. “Ray, do you realize…you haven’t even asked me which grantee I’m talking about?”
“Oh, yeah,” he sighed as if all the air had been let out of his sails. He finally turned back to face her. “Which one is it?”
“Mahali Salaam.”
Ray said nothing. He was usually full of himself, never at a loss for words.
Zoie wondered how she should proceed. Her evidence was circumstantial, but Ray didn’t know that. She couldn’t mention her meeting with Carmen Silva. The anomalies in the Shelter’s accounting were enough to warrant calling for an investigation. Perhaps the Foundation and Mahali Salaam could survive this. But if the corruption ran deep, nothing would protect them. Unfortunately, Jahi, his dream, and the people that the Shelter served might all be victims of this corruption. Coming forward is doing the right thing.
Ray was now staring at his desk. He seemed stunned. She chose her next words carefully. She spoke slowly and forcefully. “Ray, I have proof. We must go to the Board.”
“The Board!”
“Yes. There are numerous irregularities in the records of Mahali Salaam. And in my meeting with Sy Rosen, who represents Magnum Youth Literacy…”
“Huh! You met with those pansies. They’re always bellyaching about something. They were cut because of tax problems,” Ray said, groaning, his words almost unintelligible because his forefingers covered his lips.
“But the Board’s decision to cut them came a full three weeks before the IRS notified them of a pending audit. I checked the dates in the files.”
Ray was again silent.
“Ray, ever since I’ve been here, you’ve pressured me to be a strong advocate for the Shelter, over other worthy grant recipients.”
“Pressured is a strong word. I wanted you to understand the value in the Shelter’s work.” Ray now played with a pen on his desk, spinning it like a top. “Have you mentioned your suspicions to Khalfani?”
Zoie bowed her head. “Not really. I pointed out some errors to him in the Shelter’s annual report.”
“And?”
“He apologized. In fact, he seemed embarrassed. He promised to look into it.”
“Now see here, Zoie—does that sound like someone who is misappropriating funds?”
“Everything is not what it seems.” She’d used the exact words from Simon’s last prophecy. “I’m asking that you call an emergency Board meeting.”
“The Board—psssssssssh! I don’t need the Board to handle this,” Ray said, bellowing like a trumpet. “That is, if there’s really anything to handle.”
“Ray, I’m serious about this. We need the Board’s involvement. We need full Board support.”
“I don’t need Board approval to initiate an investigative audit.”
“I don’t think you should call the audit. The audit has to be independent of you.”
“What!” Ray sat straight in his chair.
Zoie hesitated, not sure that she should continue, but the words kept coming as if her mouth was on automatic pilot. Her voice was fearless and clear, her righteous persona preempting her fear of losing her job.
“I strongly recommend you use the Board,” she continued. “The Board should ask for the investigation, and any investigative findings should be reported directly to all members. Look, Ray—as chair of the Board, you’ll know what’s going on. You’ll be part of the whole thing.”
“Ms. Taylor, I think you have overstepped your position in this.”
“I thought I was hired to give you my best legal judgment, and I must tell you that if you don’t do as I am recommending…I’ll be forced to go directly to Crayton’s general counsel.”
Zoie flinched. Ray’s face was red, and he was huffing like a bull. She was out on a limb, even though she hadn’t laid all her cards on the table. There was no going back. One way or the other, she was leaving the Foundation. She couldn’t sit around and wait, as Tina had put it, for the “boom to fall.”
She rose to leave.
“Zoie, wait. Perhaps I’ve been too hasty. You’re a very bright woman,” he sputtered, his tone lowered. “I shouldn’t underestimate your good intentions here. Err, your legal expertise in these matters. I understand that sometimes attorneys have to get tough with their clients. You’re just trying to protect the Foundation. I appreciate that.”
Zoie listened, her lips tight. His words hadn’t offended her. They’d only revealed his stupidity and possibly desperation.
“If you could just hold off,” he continued, “just hold off any action for twenty-four hours.”
“Ray, I don’t understand. What will twenty-four hours buy us?” In an attempt to keep him calm, using us put her back on his team. She watched as beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. If he were involved, as she now suspected, in twenty-four hours he could destroy any incriminating records.
“It’s my career on the line here, as well as the Foundation’s reputation, of course,” he blurted. “Sensitive things like this have to be handled with care. I’m asking for twenty-four hours. I would like to work out a presentation on this for the Board. I’ll need your help, of course. Anyway, we can’t call a Board meeting that quickly.”
“Oh,” she replied. What he was saying was partly true. Such a matter needed to be handled in a face-to-face Board meeting, not an e-mail proxy meeting or even a video-conference call. The Board members all had busy schedules. Board members couldn’t be expected to drop everything and run to the Crayton Foundation, unless it was really a matter of life or death. So far this hadn’t approached that scale. Had she forced Ray into a sudden change of heart? She didn’t know quite what to think.
“We’ll send out a notice for an urgent meeting next week. They’re going to ask lots of questions…we need to be prepared.” Ray was regaining his air of authority.