The Last Lie

by Dana Killion

  “Andrea, how lovely we could finally get together. Please, sit,” she said, setting her phone back in her bag and smiling warmly. “I remembered that you were a tea drinker. I hope I wasn’t being presumptuous by ordering.”

  “How very thoughtful of you,” I said, settling into the role of a woman who frequents luxury hotels for afternoon tea service instead of standing at Starbucks with a paper cup.

  I hung my wool coat on a hook at the end of the booth and took a seat. A waiter appeared immediately and opened a mahogany box for me. I pulled out an organic Earl Grey and thanked him.

  I could tell Candiss took satisfaction in anticipating my preferences. It was the kind of thing an attentive hostess made sure to know. She’d ordered coffee for herself and the table was set with an assortment of pastries and a plate of fruit, perfectly ripe and beautifully arranged, garnished with mint.

  “How are your fundraising efforts from the gala coming along?” I asked, choosing an easy segue.

  “Despite the unfortunate incident, we managed to raise nearly $1.5 million. One of our most productive evenings. Perhaps the incident made everyone feel a little guiltier.” She leaned in with a little bit of a smile.

  Unfortunate incident? An interesting choice of words. Or maybe I was just feeling cynical after speaking with her husband.

  “Good to hear. Drea is such a worthy cause. How long have you been involved?”

  “Oh, for quite a number of years. Initially it was simply as a financial contributor. I’d occasionally host a luncheon, cajole my friends into making a donation, small things. I didn’t really have time back then. As my work situation eased up, I was able to get more involved. I took over as the director about four years ago.”

  “I understand you were involved in your husband’s company prior to your time at Drea,” I said, smiling and keeping my voice light. I was also allowing her to speak openly in hopes of getting closer to learning more about VTF.

  “Yes, I was the chief operating officer for a number of years as Aaron found his footing. He’s essentially a salesperson at heart, and salespeople, well, let’s just say, they have their strengths and weaknesses.” She smiled the way wives do when they really want to call their partners a lovable dumbass. “I came in to give the organization a more stable footing operationally.”

  Somehow I sensed there was a story behind her involvement. Some instinct perked up my ears, but I couldn’t be sure if it was her tone, her eyes, or just knowing how often women were called upon to fix messes. Or maybe it was a reaction to the impression I’d gotten of her husband as arrogant.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said, taking a drink of my tea. “There are always the rainmakers and then the people who actually make things happen.”

  “Exactly. Aaron just can’t seem to be bothered with the how of getting things done. I swear his attention span is about fifteen seconds,” she said, pursing her lips. “But then again we all have our talents.”

  “How did you get him to realize he needed your, ah, special brand, of help?”

  I got the sense Candiss was a woman who didn’t suffer fools or foolishness. The fact that she’d had an operational role at her husband’s firm didn’t surprise me, but I wondered about the dynamic.

  “These are the things men like him only realize when they’re deep in the middle of a mess and don’t know where else to turn. Since I have both an accounting degree and a JD, it was a pretty easy skill set to match. The hardest issue for me was it meant walking away from a position as General Counsel. But I didn’t really see that I had much choice. Aaron needed me. Nadell Capital needed me.”

  “I didn’t realize we had that in common, both former attorneys no longer practicing.”

  “I think there are a lot of us.” We both laughed knowing exactly what she meant. The long hours, the endless stress, the lack of a social life, were all particularly hard on women. At least women who were unwilling or unable to put in the 120-hour work weeks many of our male counterparts did, or simply didn’t use the proper locker room at the East Bank Club. Outside of family law, it was still largely a boys club.

  “I suspect were both happier now,” I said. “Or do you miss the law?”

  Accountant, lawyer, and COO. The woman had an impressive resume. She could probably run rings around her husband intellectually.

  “I did at the time. It wasn’t an easy transition for me personally, but one makes sacrifices for one’s family. And this was one of those moments where I was the one who needed to sacrifice. I was the one who needed to give up something for the greater good of my family.”

  I thought back to the years after my mother died. To the years I had sacrificed being a carefree teenager, being forced, well, that wasn’t really accurate, no one forced me. I took it upon myself to try to fill in as a stabilizing force in my family. I knew it changed me. I knew I’d missed out on those carefree days while friends worried about prom dates and dresses. And I worried about my father’s mental health and whether my sister was going to make it home in one piece or at all.

  “I think most women can relate to a moment of sacrifice in their life. Particularly when families are involved,” I said, admiring her strength and commitment, but also wondering if she had regrets. “Something must’ve changed so you felt that you could move on and work with Drea?”

  “I’d spent six years working with Aaron. I set up an organizational process, a solid accounting system. Basically, I felt that he had a structure in place that could operate on its own. All they had to do was execute the plan. And that’s when I moved on. That’s when I joined Drea.”

  A waiter arrived to refresh our drinks. As he poured, I looked more closely at Candiss, wondering about her resilience, scanning her expression for emotion behind the practiced face.

  “And were you involved in any of the financial investments at Nadell Capital?” I asked. “It must be fascinating to watch the growth of new companies. To see them blossom, given the right financial freedom and guidance, of course.”

  My legal training was useful once again as I navigated the conversation toward my agenda. A natural opening had occurred and I pounced, hoping for a tidbit.

  “Of course, I was aware of how our assets were invested, but I played no role in those relationships, beyond monitoring the performance.”

  Candiss stirred cream into her coffee, then waved at a woman three tables over who was trying to get her attention, imagining that wasn’t uncommon.

  “Does Nadell Capital specializes in startups?” I asked, spearing a piece of pineapple and continuing to keep the dialogue light.

  “A better way to put it would be we specialize in high-growth opportunities.”

  “In other words, high-risk, high-reward opportunities.” It wasn’t lost on me that Candiss had used the word we, instead of referring exclusively to her husband.

  “Well, that’s where the money is, isn’t it? Aaron thrives on the adrenaline rush. He just gets excited by the possibilities,” she said, smiling again and clasping her hands in front of her on the table. “I’m the moderator in the family. I encourage him to be a little more balanced, to mitigate risk for the long term.”

  “The way I see it,” she continued, her face now pensive, “the power of patience goes a long way in building our dreams. But, sadly, discipline is a lost art today in this world of immediate gratification.”

  “Are there specific industries that he focuses on?”

  “Goodness, how did this conversation turn into background on my husband’s company?” She laughed. “You’re not letting me do my sales job. I’d really love to have you on the board Andrea. Is that a possibility? You’d be a great asset, both as a role model to the girls, but you’d also bring your business leadership to the board. As you know, nonprofits tend to have, shall we say, people with a lot of time on their hands versus business experience.” She had leaned in and lowered her voice.

  “It would be an honor, Candiss.”

  “Terrific. I’m
so pleased. I know it’s short notice but I’m hosting the board for cocktails tomorrow evening. Very informal. I’d love for you to join us. It would be a good opportunity to meet everyone. I’ll send you an email with the details.”

  I let the conversation stay on the Drea Foundation and the near-term objectives of the organization but I wasn’t done with my exploration into Nadell Capital. As we were finishing our drinks, Candiss made reference to the post-gala work she was doing, and I saw another opportunity.

  “I understand your husband was an early investor in Seth Bowman’s company.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, we were,” she said, drawing back a little with the comment. “I forget that you’ve known Seth for a number of years as well. I knew him to be ambitious, smart, and quite frankly, early to catch a trend. So I introduced the men. They got along, and one thing led to another. Aaron saw the potential in the business.”

  “So that means Aaron will do quite well with the IPO.”

  She looked flustered for a second. “I wasn’t aware that information was getting out.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s public knowledge, but given what happened at the gala, Seth chose to share that with me.”

  “Oh? Does he feel there’s some connection? Beyond the terrible publicity, I mean? Although, I guess some ascribe to the view that any publicity is good publicity.”

  I wasn’t quite sure where I was going with this. Seth had thrown competition out as an explanation for Cavanaugh’s action. Maybe I wanted to see whether Aaron Nadell had said the same to his wife? Our conversation would certainly get back to him. How would he react knowing a journalist had spoken to his wife? I decided to push the envelope.

  “He thinks it’s a possibility. Perhaps competition trying to influence whether the IPO is successful.”

  “He’s suggesting that the shooter, Cavanaugh, is working for the competition?” She looked appalled.

  Not exactly what I said, but I noted her response.

  “I’m sure you know that Cavanaugh believes there’s a connection between the drink and his daughter’s death. What you may not be aware of is that CPD has found contaminated product.”

  “Contaminated?” Her face went pale. “With what?”

  “A botanical ingredient, belladonna. It’s a toxin. What isn’t clear is how it got there. And whether Seth Bowman was aware of it.”

  How long would it take Candiss to phone her husband in a panic? Seemed like a good time for Brynn to call Nadell Capital for a comment on the situation. Pending litigation was often a good way to get people to talk.

  31

  I was back at the diner in the loop where I’d met Olivia earlier in the week. This time the early dinner crowd was in full throttle. Plates of pot roast and thick Ruben sandwiches, oozing with corned beef and sauerkraut floated by. While the smell was divine, it had been years since I’d eaten beef and my stomach cramped at the thought. I ordered a chef salad, skipped the ham, and sipped an iced tea while I waited for Olivia.

  She’d sent me a panicked text an hour ago saying the plant was going to be closed again tomorrow. But it wasn’t her work schedule that I was interested in. She and Luke Cavanaugh were my inside view to VTF, and I wanted to keep the conversation going.

  How long had the belladonna been in the drink? And why? As I waited, I considered the situation and how to proceed. Seth hadn’t been honest about much of anything, so expecting straight answers from him was foolish. Michael would be scouring company records for explanations, but I couldn’t be certain what he’d share with me or when. All of that meant I needed to keep my own sources active and see what played out first.

  Given the pending assault charges against Cavanaugh, Michael had a revenge theory on his brain and I was certain that CPD considered Cavanaugh the primary suspect. I understood that from a logical and legal standpoint, but my gut said Cavanaugh wasn’t the guy. But gut feelings weren’t fact.

  Then there were the legal challenges. There were any number of potential legal challenges ahead, depending on what the medical experts had to say about cause of death for Jeremy Wolanski and Kelly Cavanaugh, in light of the new information. I didn’t know enough about how belladonna metabolized to know if it could be traced back to Kelly were her body to be exhumed. Or how litigious the parties might be. Although, a good class-action attorney would have no problem bringing a case, when anyone who ever drank VTF product came out of the woodwork and claimed to have been caused harm.

  Any way you looked at it, this was a PR nightmare for VTF. With the plant closed, mouths would be flapping with speculation. Whatever Seth had been hoping to accomplish by minimizing the issue, he’d better wise up and start talking. This IPO was toast. If he wasn’t smart, his company would be as well.

  Olivia arrived as my salad was being delivered. I pushed a menu at her. “Go ahead, my treat.”

  Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, German chocolate cake, and a Coke to wash it down. I guess she was right when she’d said she didn’t follow the VTF diet.

  “Have you heard anything from Martin today?” I asked. “Other than don’t come in to work tomorrow.”

  “He’s totally freaked out. Mr. Bowman won’t tell him what’s going on and it’s driving him nuts. We’ve got shipments that were due to go out today. Employees are calling every five minutes and he’s got nothing to tell anyone.” She looked up at me, her eyes damp. I was reminded how young she was, I guessed twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. Even people much older would be terrified by CPD invading their workplace. With Seth immersed damage control and Martin on his own to figure out how to handle operations and the staff, she had to be flailing.

  “Has he spoken to CPD?” I asked, aware that the question might be crossing the line. I wasn’t going to quote her, but it would give me information I could feed to Brynn, who could then press CPD.

  “He said they questioned him for about an hour, mostly about where we get our materials, who handles the product. Basic stuff I guess, but he would’ve answered the same even without six guys wearing guns tearing his shop apart.”

  She dug into her meal as if it were the first one of the day. Perhaps it was. She’d said her mother had passed away and her father wasn’t part of her life. I pushed around some limp iceberg lettuce in my bowl and gathered my thoughts. Olivia, Martin, and Cavanaugh were the three people who knew the production process best. If anyone had a clue about how belladonna had gotten into the drinks, it would be one of them.

  “It sounds terrifying,” I said. I wasn’t sure if she just needed a shoulder to cry on or if she thought I had some information because of my relationship with Seth. The best course of action seemed to let her talk, for now.

  “Nobody knows what to do.” She dragged her fork through the potatoes, watching the trail of gravy as it formed. “The cops didn’t speak to me but they took my info, you know, to talk to me later if they needed to.” Her voice was back to the frightened little girl I’d heard earlier. “Are they going to shut us down?”

  I felt bad for her. It was too much legal drama for someone her age. I imagined she’d be wondering soon about whether to start job hunting if she wasn’t already. Kids her age rarely had financial cushions, tending to live paycheck to paycheck, and she had no parents fall back on. It wasn’t clear how VTF would handle this set back.

  “I don’t know. But I do know is that there will be lots of people asking questions and trying to figure out if there’s any cause for concern. I’m sure Martin and Mr. Bowman will communicate when they can.”

  I paused and took a sip of my tea, knowing I wasn’t being much comfort.

  “Can you help me? I feel like I need a lawyer or something. What if they accuse me? What if I say something wrong?” Her eyes were wide, expectant, as she looked at me and there was a slight tremble in her hand as she fiddled with the straw in her drink.

  “I’ll make a few calls,” I said. “But let’s not jump the gun. CPD hasn’t asked to see you yet.” I paused. “When we met the other da
y, I mentioned that my sister was in the hospital. She got sick from the VTF drinks too.”

  Olivia stared at me, mouth open. Then ran her hand over her forehead.

  “Can I ask you a few questions about VTF?” I said. “Maybe we can figure out how this happened.” She nodded.

  “Can you think of any reason that a contaminant would get into the drinks?” I asked.

  “A contaminant? You mean like bacteria or something?” she said, dropping the straw. “Our sanitation process is really strict. Martin makes sure of that. The bottles and caps are sterilized. We keep a log at every stage of the process. Gloves, hats, wash your hands three times after you pee. If you’re thinking something happened to the product, while it was in the plant, I can’t imagine how.”

  “What about a contaminant in the raw materials delivered to you? Is it possible that you didn’t get what you ordered or that one of your suppliers substituted an ingredient?”

  How the belladonna had gotten into the drink was the central question in my mind. If I could figure out how, then who and why become easier to answer. She was quiet for a moment contemplating my question.

  “I suppose it’s possible something weird happened at one of our suppliers. But if Martin caught it that would be the end of their business with VTF. Why would they throw away such a big account?”

  “I don’t know that anyone has, it could have been accidental, but one possibility would be to increase their own profits. If they could make a little more money by substituting a cheaper ingredient or a filler, they might be tempted.”

  “You mean like street dealers cutting coke with corn starch?”