A Perfect Ambition

by Dr. Kevin Leman

  “I see. Well, as you know, we’ve been cooperating fully and completely with every investigator who’s been through here. We’ve answered every question you’ve had and given you all of our emails from anyone who’s ever threatened the company. I believe we’ve thoroughly exhausted all of those questions, but we do want to be as helpful as we possibly can and certainly hope that you catch the perpetrator as soon as you’re able.”

  “I only have a couple of follow-up questions,” Darcy said lightly. “Harmless, really, and routine. So maybe if you can just put him on the phone, we can get this out of the way rather quickly and all get on with our day.”

  “Ah, if only that were possible. He’s actually out on assignment. He’s in transit right now, as we speak. So he’s not available.”

  “In transit?”

  Yeah, right, Sarah thought.

  “To Alaska. Or, to be more precise, to a small village on the coast of eastern Alaska. We’ve had to set up a press operation there to handle the care and feeding for the reporters who are gathered to cover the oil spill.”

  “They’re in a village in Alaska, covering an oil spill in the Arctic Ocean?” Darcy asked.

  “It’s the closest physical location to the spill,” Canton explained. “We’re staging spill recovery from there. We have ships with booms and skimmers leaving that port. So he’s on his way to babysit the media on the ground to cover things.”

  “But surely he has a cell phone with him and I can give him a call?” Darcy pressed. “So if you’d be so kind as to give me that direct number, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Well, here’s the thing about that. We don’t as a general rule give out personal cell phone numbers of employees. You can certainly send him an email and ask him. But I’m afraid it’s company policy not to give out personal information like that. Our general counsel’s office says we have to abide strictly by those HR policies.”

  “I see. So even with federal investigators . . . ?”

  “It’s a privacy violation thing. We get dinged if we don’t observe the privacy rights of our employees. You understand. You are, of course, more than welcome to visit with him when he gets back to the city, or you can visit him there at our temporary office in Alaska.”

  “A bit impractical, wouldn’t you say?” Sarcasm dripped from Darcy’s voice.

  “It’s the best I can offer. I’m sorry,” Canton said. Sarah didn’t buy the apology for one minute. “Or you can send him an email, see what you can arrange with him that way. Conversely, you can send me your questions and I can relay them. We do that with media requests all the time.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Darcy said.

  “Actually, it tends to save time all the way around. The reporters get answers on deadline, and no one gets their feelings hurt by sitting around waiting by the phone for a callback.”

  And you can totally and completely control your responses back to the reporter asking the questions, Sarah thought. How convenient.

  “I think I’ll drop him an email,” Darcy concluded. “As I said, they’re only a couple of routine follow-up questions. No big deal.”

  “Great. Let me know if you don’t connect with him, or if there is any way I can help further.”

  “You bet.” Darcy looked livid. She didn’t say a word when she got off the phone—merely attacked her computer keyboard with gusto and penned a memo.

  “You know what kind of response you’re going to get back, right?” Sarah asked.

  “Yup. But they are stonewalling. What I want to know is why.”

  “You mean simple paranoia . . . or more?”

  “Exactly.” Darcy whacked the Send button. An instant later, an automatic reply message flashed back.

  I’ll be out of the office in Alaska for the foreseeable future, with limited cell phone access and email coverage. I’ll respond to your inquiry when I get back, or you can phone the office directly in New York and someone else can help you with your inquiry. Thanks for contacting the American Frontier press office. Have a great day!

  “You could always submit your questions in writing to Canton . . . ,” Sarah began. When she saw Darcy’s glare, she added, “Or maybe not.”

  “That would be a complete waste of time. All I’ll get back is a whole bunch of corporate speak, with zero substance and no real answers.” She huffed. “What I want to know now, though, is why did they ice the press guy? I mean, come on. I don’t have to be an investigator to figure out that’s what they did. But why? Why hide the guy in Alaska? It doesn’t make sense—not if the company really wants to help investigators get answers to the case.”

  “Or maybe it’s all innocent and aboveboard, and they’ve just given the guy a chance at learning the ropes by throwing him to the media sharks in the middle of a crisis. Could be.”

  Darcy shook her head vehemently. “Nah, doesn’t feel right.”

  “But what exactly can we do about it?” Even as Sarah asked the question, she wished she had an answer. But none was forthcoming.

  34

  When his phone buzzed and Sarah’s number popped up, Will excused himself from the top-floor conference room of the Worthington Shares building and stepped out into the hallway.

  It took two seconds to realize his sister was on a roll. He grinned. He’d learned the hard way that when she got her high horse up, the best thing he could do was listen. So he did. He headed down the hallway toward his spacious office and closed the door, waving his assistant away.

  “It doesn’t make any sense, Will,” Sarah claimed. “But I know what I saw on that video, and American Frontier is giving us the complete runaround.”

  As she was talking, he was putting the pieces together logically, and the puzzle was starting to become clear.

  So American Frontier was somehow involved in the bombing. But how far or how deep that went, he had no idea. Did the decision stretch to the top, to Sandstrom? Had he really stooped this low? To attempt to control the destiny of the largest oil company in the world in such an underhanded manner?

  Will’s sense of injustice rose, and he had to battle to stay calm, to keep his thoughts crystal clear.

  He needed to have a serious discussion with his sister, to fill her in on the rest of the pieces he was figuring out, but now was not the time. He still had a Worthington Shares meeting to finish.

  Strange sometimes how the mundane could go on, even in the midst of a crisis.

  35

  THE ARCTIC OCEAN

  Kirk Baldwin was incredulous. “You really are Kevin Bacon squared.”

  Kirk and Jon had just watched Sean, who was done with any waiting, place two phone calls to contacts in his network, which in turn led to a third call that linked him directly with the executive director of the Aleut International Association, one of the six permanent NGO observers to the Arctic Council.

  On that third call, thanks to some persuasive and fast work by Sean in describing the situation, AIA’s executive director agreed to intercede with her counterparts on the Russian side and start the process of introducing them to the staff who coordinated Russia’s involvement with the Arctic Council. They weren’t able to move past the Navy ship yet, but they at least had their foot in the door.

  After nearly an hour of waiting, AIA’s director called Sean back on his satellite phone. After listening to her explain the situation, Sean tried not to get impatient. But he wasn’t smiling.

  “All right, dude, what gives?” Kirk asked as soon as Sean was off the phone. “Did you get us a hall pass?”

  “No, not yet, but I will have the chance to talk to the Russian ambassador to the United States shortly.”

  “And will that help?” Jon asked.

  Sean ruffled his hair in frustration. “Perhaps, but perhaps not.”

  “So explain,” Kirk said. “First off, who the heck were you talking to?”

  Sean sighed. The Arctic Council was in charge there. Eight countries, including Russia and the US, were permanent members, along with the ot
her countries that ringed the Arctic: Canada, Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, and Sweden. The spill recovery plan they’d just voted on had the support of all eight countries.

  “The whole thing is highly political,” Sean said. “Some of the smaller countries in the council, like Sweden, have talked on and off about cutting their own side deals to allow access to the Arctic. As we see right in front of our own eyes—in the middle of all this ice, wind, and hurricanes—there may be a whole lot of money at stake. China and others have pushed like crazy to get invited into the Arctic Council, and a whole slew of countries now have been invited in as ‘observers.’ But there are also six permanent NGO observers that represent the indigenous native population—all of whom have excellent relations with the Arctic Council staff. AIA, the place I just talked to, is one of those six. One of the foundations that the Worthington family trust often partners with had given AIA funding to study Arctic biodiversity in the past three years. So they put me in touch with the executive director, who promised to intercede for us and at least get an audience with the Russian staff. That got us the call with the ambassador.”

  “Whew,” Kirk said. “I take that back. You’re Kevin Bacon quadrupled.”

  “Not yet I’m not,” Sean fired back. “We haven’t gotten a promise of much of anything. We may still be dead in the water. The AIA director had a quick chat with the Arctic Council staff before calling me back. This whole situation is sitting at the highest possible levels—and not only in the US. It has the personal attention of the Russian prime minister right now as well.”

  “Which means the Russian ambassador can’t do much of anything without clearing it,” Jon mused. “It’s above his pay grade, as they say.”

  “Yep, unfortunately, that’s the case,” Sean said. “But I’m not done yet. I have other aces up my sleeve. I also have my staff at Worthington Shares making calls to other partners with connections to Sweden and Finland. We’re not out of the game yet, even if the Russian government doesn’t cooperate because they don’t want to cause trouble with the US.”

  Over the course of the next two hours, Sean made or answered more than a dozen calls. The Russian ambassador to the US did, in fact, call him, but promised only to take it to his superiors. Sean wasn’t hopeful. The director at AIA called back three times. She’d talked with representatives in Sweden. There was some progress there, but it would take time. And his staff at Worthington Shares had managed to talk to the Arctic Council liaison to Finland. There was at least a dialogue going there.

  “So there’s some hope?” Jon asked when Sean took a break from his calls.

  “Some, but none today. All of this will take time.” Sean turned to Kirk. “You should tell the captain that he can shut down for the day. We’re not going to be moving away from this spot anytime soon. Even under the best of circumstances—and assuming we’re able to get one of the eight countries to tell us we can sail—it will be at least another day.”

  Kirk didn’t say anything, but his disappointment was obvious as he turned and left.

  Sean walked over to the edge of the deck, Jon trailing behind. At that moment Sean wanted nothing more than to board the Cantor, to see firsthand what was really going on with the spill—and, he had to admit, to see Elizabeth in person. She’d been strangely mute in her emails. She was probably wrapped up in her work, especially during something as big as this. Still, it was unlike her.

  “So close,” Sean muttered, staring out over the water. “Yet so far.”

  “Bureaucracy sucks, doesn’t it?” Jon said.

  “It does when it’s used for these purposes—to get in the way and delay. That’s when I dislike it the most.”

  Neither said anything for quite a while. There wasn’t much to say. They could only wait for some break in the system, for something to change the equation. Without it, their trip may have been nothing more than expensive vanity.

  When Kirk returned, he was practically running. It took him a second to catch his breath. “We gotta go,” he said finally.

  “What do you mean, ‘go’?” Sean asked.

  “We have to leave the area. The captain is ready to haul up the anchor and move out.”

  “Did he get permission to proceed somehow?” Jon asked.

  “No. The weather did it for him.” Kirk’s eyes blazed with intensity. “There’s a hurricane headed our way. Like in the next 24 hours. And we have to make a choice. We can either try to ride it out here or head to the nearest coastline. But if we do, we need to leave right now . . . before it’s too late.”

  Sean shot a glance Jon’s way, and his friend gave only a simple nod.

  Even Mother Nature seemed against them achieving their goal to board the USS Cantor.

  But Sean was sure they weren’t the only people who were unhappy right now. Bet ol’ Sandstrom is about to blow a gasket.

  He’d never much liked the guy. Sandstrom was a little too slick, a little too corporate. Sean vastly preferred the Kirk Baldwins of the world. You never had to wonder what they were thinking or doing because everything was right out front. No deception. No coddling. Straight-out truth.

  That was a refreshing concept in the complicated world of a Worthington.

  36

  NEW YORK CITY

  It was a curious thing. Will had spent most of his adult life believing that everything he’d ever worked for would logically culminate in attaining one goal—being the CEO of the world’s largest company at a great time of need. He’d been so certain of that path. He’d almost come to believe there was a measure of fate or destiny involved.

  He’d spent so much of his life looking over his shoulder, worrying and wondering if what he was doing was good enough, or if he was doing everything that was required of him because so much had been given to him.

  And then it all had changed in one blindingly clear moment. As Will had worked to put the puzzle pieces of his life together, the still small voice had spoken. He now knew precisely what he had to do, and what that looked like.

  He called Kiki Estrada back first. He already knew which direction the AF fight would go, so he might as well get the ball rolling on the Senate campaign.

  “I’m in,” he told her. “But hold off on announcing it or saying anything yet. I have a public fight I need to start first, and then we can get to an announcement about the Senate race.”

  “Great!” she said. “You’ve made my year. So you’re definite?”

  “I’m definite.”

  “I’ll get one of our attorneys working on filing papers, and some staff to help with signatures,” Kiki promised. “Just remember. There isn’t much time before the primary.”

  “I’ll be ready. And we both know that I don’t need to worry about raising money. I’ll loan my campaign what I need for the primary.”

  Next he called Drew and asked him to start pulling together all of the information on the Worthington Shares holdings in AF—just in case.

  “Do you need to talk to your father about any of this first?” Drew asked.

  “Maybe. But he’ll support this. He’s actually gotten more progressive, not less so, as he’s gotten older. He’ll think of it like our own personal divestment campaign in fossil fuel industries. I have no doubt he’ll think this is a good idea.”

  “And what about you? Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” Drew pressed. “I mean, this could blow up in our faces. The financial press will see this as a power struggle. It’ll be a donnybrook.”

  “Good,” Will said firmly. “It needs to be. We should never have drilled in deep water in the Arctic. It was a colossally stupid thing to do, and I should have fought much, much harder against it at the board level. I can’t believe it’s taken me all this time to see it so clearly. Now the whole thing is a huge mess. If Worthington can’t use its shares as leverage to force the right decision—to get out until we have more answers about the risks involved—then we walk. No matter the consequences. We don’t need to hold on to American Front
ier stock because it’s made us money. There are plenty of other ways to make money in New York.”

  “And the CEO job?” Drew asked, his concern clear.

  “It will take care of itself,” Will answered with more conviction than he’d felt in some time. “Eric Sandstrom was never going to walk away without a fight. So now he’ll get it, and the board will decide whatever it’s going to decide.”

  “Understood,” Drew said simply. Will could hear the relief.

  Finally, Will called his little sister. “I’m heading over to your office right now, if you’re around. I want to talk about the shareholder lawsuit—and the criminal negligence case, if you’re able.”

  “I’m here, Will,” she said. “And let’s talk. It’s proceeding.”

  “Good. I intend to help. Worthington Shares will help.”

  Sarah had never seen her older brother like this. He had always been such a people pleaser, not a fighter. “So you want Worthington in the shareholder lawsuit? That will change the dynamics quite a bit. It will get the Street’s attention, the financial press too. It will become an awfully public fight—you against Sandstrom.”

  Will’s chin firmed in determination. She knew what that look meant.

  “It will also get the board’s attention,” he said. “They’ll be forced to make a decision one way or another. They sort of drifted onto this path because Sandstrom and the executive team kept pressing, and they didn’t say no. Now they’ll have to make a firm decision.”

  “And if it goes against you?”

  “Actually, I assume that it will, but we still have to try. Sandstrom is in too deep on this, and he’s dragged the White House into it as well. They have no choice but to defend this position, no matter the consequences. They’ll do everything they can to stay the course. So I’ve already told Drew to get the paperwork ready in case we need to sell our shares in AF.”

  Sarah’s heart ached for him. For all their differences, he’d always been there for her, backing her up. Now, for the first time ever, it was her turn to support him. “So then what—for you, I mean?”