“Hey, Press. Stan here. Did you see the AP this morning? I don’t know who that Harmon Burke guy is, but he did us an enormous favor, until he retracted his article and all the papers and Pharma followed suit.”
“I saw that. Very disappointing, and he admitted to stealing the material? What an idiot. Maybe you should prosecute him for terminal stupidity, Stan.”
“There you go. That’s an idea. It looks like Court Industries hasn’t copped to the fact that they have a real problem with their latest clinical trials, with more to come. I’ve hated that bastard Morgan Court since prep school—the ‘golden boy.’ Oh, no, that was me. He was the dark knight. Funny, he doesn’t seem to know about the family feud. He never knew I was a Brewster and hated his guts. I don’t think he remembered me from school during the trial either. Of course, I’m no longer a kid, and I have filled out some.”
“That’s just as well for our purposes. I don’t think you can instigate another investigation of Court Industries just yet. It’s too soon. It would look like harassment, and I’m sure their attorney, the delicious Harper Cameron, wouldn’t miss it. You’ll need a good reason. Maybe we should get in touch with this Harmon Burke guy and see what he knows.”
“Good idea. Why don’t I see about that? Maybe talk to him. I don’t know if I’ll play the fed card or not. Sometimes that loosens lips, and sometimes it clams them up.”
“Let me know what you find out, cuz. Want to play some squash at the Midtown Club after work?”
“Sounds good. See you there.”
* * * *
Harmon Burke sat across from Maurie Cullen in an uncomfortable chair in the editor’s office. Nothing good ever happened in this office.
“Burke, what were you thinking? Did you have a freak attack of conscience? You should have contacted me before you posted that retraction.”
“Sir, I…”
“Nevermind, Burke. It’s clear to me you have no future in journalism. You’re fired! I’m putting someone else on the Court story.”
Journalism? Ha! This is journalism? Well, good luck to him, whoever he is. This was not journalism by any standards he had learned in “J” School at NYU. He had killed himself getting through school, and he was still paying off his college loans. He was living in godforsaken-bumfuck-Brooklyn and driving an old piece-of-shit car. The red welts on his butt were still stinging and reminded him that he had gotten what he deserved at Le Club the night before. He had done some soul-searching while tossing and turning sleeplessly in his bed last night. He was lucky that was all that had happened at the fetish club. He’d had no earthly idea what he was walking into. It served him right for plain old stupidity, nevermind everything else he had done. He had decided that he could stay pissed and jealous and let it eat at him, or he could go in another direction. Maybe it was time to move out of the city, get a real job, and turn his life around. His close brush with a prison career had scared him shitless. The thought of a few years in Attica was terrifying.
“Maurie, you’re probably right. I don’t have a future at this paper.” He got up from his chair and walked out the door while Maurie stuttered around his unlit cigar.
Chapter Thirty-One
Morgan Court’s Office at Court Industries, New York City, Thursday, November 28, 2013, 3:30 p.m.
Morgan had skipped lunch as he reviewed a new protocol at his desk and wondered what had happened to Harper. He had not seen or heard from her since that morning at his apartment. He still had a slight nagging feeling in his gut that something was not right there. Maybe I’m just hungry.
He sighed with relief when his assistant buzzed him and said, “Ms. Cameron is on line two, sir.”
“I’ll take it, Katie.” He punched line two and said, “Where have you been? I’ve been worried.”
“And hello to you, too. I’ve been working at my office. I have some material I’d like to show you and get your opinion. I don’t know if it has any bearing on the current situation, but it could be something. I’m going to take a cab over. I haven’t eaten yet, so I’ll stop and pick up deli. Do you want anything?”
“Pastrami on rye with mustard would be good. Does this mean you’re talking to me again?”
“I guess it does.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear as Harper hung up the phone with authority.
* * * *
Harper stopped at a deli near her office on Wall Street before she hailed a cab to Morgan’s office on Madison Avenue. She had time to think as the cab made its treacherous way uptown as bicycle messengers and pedestrians took their lives in their hands to cross traffic.
She had heard the anxiety in his voice, and the memory of it made her smile, but then she felt guilty. He had been nothing but supportive of her, and she was feeling a little childish…and selfish…and stupid. She didn’t know why he was suddenly annoying her. Well, she did know. He had said he loved her, and that scared her senseless, although she knew she loved him and had for a while. That knowledge only made her more nervous. She really hated to feel vulnerable, but if there was anyone worthy of her complete trust and confidence, it was Morgan Court. He had proved it over and over again, and she knew he would continue to be there for her. Maybe it was time to grow up and get a life—a life with Morgan Court. There were worse things. Of the many worse things, the worst of all would be continuing to live the half life, or partial existence, she had been living until she had connected with Morgan and decided to trust him. She didn’t want to lose ground now. She had to press ahead. She wasn’t going to sabotage her own happiness any longer. She was going to kick emotional ass.
When she stepped into his office, she saw his expression change as he looked up and smiled at her. She felt her heart give a little skip and jump in her chest. He was just so incredibly beautiful. But that wasn’t really it. He was good, mostly, and kind, mostly, and incredibly smart and business savvy. No one was perfect, as she well knew, least of all herself with her ton of childhood baggage. But he wasn’t deterred by that and had jumped right in to see if he couldn’t make it better for her. And he had made it a lot better. She knew she had to do the rest of the heavy lifting herself. She was determined that she was going to get past all of that old baggage so she could start a new life.
“I did some digging in a different direction. I knew McGregor was working on the Eastern Shore angle, so I took a look into the past of Court Industries and found some rather interesting material. Let me show you.” She spread the articles she had printed out on his desk and let him look through them as she set out the sandwiches and poured them each a fresh cup of coffee. She watched as he read through the pertinent articles she had culled for him, and he processed what he read.
After a few minutes he looked up. “I think I knew most of this, but it was never relevant to my life, and I never really paid much attention when Dad and Granddad talked about the Brewsters. I never knew Great-Granddad Ignatius. Not that the Brewsters were a regular topic of conversation. I think they both just felt it was a part of our history, not a part of the present. Do you really think this has anything to do with our current problems?”
“I don’t know, but something in the back of my mind is bothering me, and I can’t put my finger on it. If I stop trying to think about it, it will come to me. I would suggest you get John McGregor to look into this as well. It can’t hurt, and we wouldn’t want to miss something.”
They ate in silence as he read through the articles a second time. He hit his intercom button. “Katie, get John McGregor up here again, please.” He looked at Harper. “You did a lot of digging to get this stuff. Thank you. I really appreciate it. Are you going to tell me why you were pissed this morning?”
“I’d rather not, but I guess I should.” She sighed and took a moment to get her thoughts in order. “I think my feelings were hurt because you brushed my opinion aside.” She held her hand up as he started to speak. “I know that’s ridiculous and that you have to make your own business decisions. I just couldn’t h
elp being hurt for a minute. More than a minute, but I’m over it now, so let’s just forget about it.”
“Fagedaboudit? I don’t think so, Ms. Cameron.” He gave her his best New York mobster look and grinned at her startled expression. He stood up and walked over to her chair and pulled her up and into his arms. He leaned back and looked into her face, his eyes sparkling. “I would never brush your opinion aside. I have been thinking about what you said all morning. But it was a business decision that I had to make, and it looks like it was a good one given what you’ve come up with here.” He brushed a kiss along her cheekbone and nuzzled her ear. She felt a quiver of awareness slide down her backbone, and she nestled into his chest. She knew she had been right. The feeling of peace and safety she felt in his arms, not to mention the sizzle, was worth dealing with any small doubts she might have harbored. She sprang back as John McGregor walked into the office.
“You need me, boss?” He looked a little embarrassed to have interrupted Morgan’s “legal” conference with his attorney. “Sorry to just barge in like that.”
“No problem, John. Harper has come up with an interesting angle that I think we need to look into.” He gave John a brief rundown of the Court-Brewster rivalry over the years and handed him the articles to glance through. “See what else you can dig up on this. Check out the current members of the Brewster family, and not just the ones that work in the family business.
Harper gave a startled cry. “That’s it! That’s it—that’s what’s been bothering me. Give me your file with the antitrust pleadings.” When he reached into his credenza and handed over the pleadings file, she sat down and started to leaf through the pages. When she came to the end of the first one, she glanced up with a look of triumph on her face. “I knew it! It’s signed by none other than Stanley Brewster Phillips, Esq., Assistant Federal Prosecutor. He should have stuck with ‘Stanley B.’ but you know how family pride can sometimes trip a person up.”
Morgan smiled a slow, deadly smile at her and turned to John. “Get on this immediately. I want to know everything there is to know about each and every fucking Brewster.”
He sat back down in his chair and reached for his pastrami on rye. He looked up and grinned at her. “They’re toast.”
“Wait. We’re not sure about any of this.”
“I’m sure. I can smell it. Holy shit! Come to think of it, I went to school with a Stan Phillips. Never liked the little weasel. We had a little bit of a rivalry going, but I guess I never understood why. Now it’s all becoming clear.”
* * * *
Harmon Burke looked up in surprise as a well-dressed corporate type approached him outside his Brooklyn walk-up apartment. “Can I have a minute of your time, Mr. Burke? My name is not important, and I would like to talk to you about your article on Court Industries.”
“Well, Mr. Not Important, that article has been retracted. Sorry, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, I think I can make it worth your while to talk about it. We would like to know a little more about the source of your information and why you retracted the article.”
Harmon was confused. What the fuck is this? Worth my while? He took a minute to think for a change—maybe for the first time, at least recently. He hadn’t done a lot of quality thinking in a while. Was this the new direction he wanted to go in, or was this the same old direction that had gotten his ass whipped and fired from his admittedly shitty job? He looked at Mr. Not Important and made a snap decision. For once, he was going to be an investigative journalist.
“What do you want to know, and how much worth my while?”
“Where did you get the information in your article? Is it true it was stolen? If so, you might be someone we would be interested in doing business with. It could be lucrative for you.”
“Yeah, I boosted the information, but I’m not going to go into detail about that. I’m sure you understand.” He waited for Mr. Not Important to up the ante, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“Mr. Burke, I’m sure you can make an exception for me. After all, I did say I would make it worth your while. I’d like to see the information.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you. I don’t have it anymore. I returned it to Court.”
“Didn’t you make a copy? Can you remember any of the particulars besides what was quoted in the article?”
“No, I didn’t get an opportunity to make a copy. I might be able to retrieve it, however. No guarantees. But first I want specifics on my reward, so to speak, and I want to know who I’m dealing with. No more ‘it’s not important.’ I’m not risking my ass without knowing what’s going on. That got me into too much trouble already.”
“I’ll have to talk to my associates and get back to you.”
“Fine. Do that, and then I’ll think about how much further I want to get involved in this.” Harmon’s mind was racing. Did he owe Court and Cameron anything here? Especially after last night? His butt was still a little sore, but he knew it could have been a whole lot worse. Liam had actually only given him a little taste and a damn good scare. Maybe he did owe them something. Maybe he should just make it right—his parting gift to them as a token of his appreciation of their not turning him over to the cops, not once but twice. He knew he wouldn’t look well in horizontal stripes.
* * * *
Morgan put the phone on speaker after Katie told him there was someone on the line named Mr. Burke. He looked at Harper and raised his eyebrows. “What can I do for you, Mr. Burke? I really wasn’t expecting to hear from you again.”
“And I wasn’t expecting to talk to you again either, but something very interesting just happened that I think you might want to know about.”
“And what do you want in exchange, Mr. Burke? Another butt whipping?”
“No, definitely not that. I don’t want anything in exchange. Let’s just say I want to make reparations. Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Spit it out, Burke.”
“Okay. I don’t know what it means, but some guy, who wouldn’t tell me his name, approached me outside my apartment. He wanted to know the specifics of that paperwork I took, and he said he’d make it worth my while if I got it back from you. I told him I might be able to do that, but that I needed to know who I was dealing with. He said he’d get back to me.”
“Hold on, Burke.” Harmon put him on hold and turned to Harper. “What do you think? Could this be the Brewsters on the prowl for more info? Can we trust him?”
“Put him back on the line and let’s see.”
“Harmon, I’m here with Ms. Cameron. Can you tell us what the man looked like?”
“He was a corporate type, tall, wearing an expensive suit. He had short blond hair and was carrying a briefcase. He seemed to be very interested in finding out more about the stolen papers.”
“That sounds like it could be Stan Phillips.” Harper continued, “Harmon, do you think you can set up another meeting with him? Get him to tell you who he is and why he wants the information?”
Harmon hesitated. “I think I can. I don’t know how to get in touch with him, but I have the feeling he’ll get back in touch with me.”
“If he does, let me know immediately. Thanks, Burke. This information goes a long way toward reparations.” Morgan hung up. “This is really interesting. I’m wondering why they want the protocols. The Brewsters would certainly know what kind of documentation provided the info that was in that article. Since they are the ones who skewed the results, I don’t know why they would want to see them.”
“Maybe because you haven’t disclosed the sabotage, and they want to make sure you know about it. But that doesn’t make sense. Maybe they want to force you to disclose it. It would certainly make marketing the drug more difficult. Who knows. I hope Burke hears something. Ha! It seems a butt whipping has improved Mr. Burke’s work ethic and integrity. I wasn’t expecting him to develop a sense of responsibility. I thought if anything he would be bent on revenge. You just never know
about people.”
“That’s for sure. It looks like we put the fear of God in him. I’m not ready to trust him, though.”
* * * *
That evening Morgan took a call from Harmon on his cell. “I just heard from that guy again. I told him I was able to get a copy of the documents from my editor, and that I hadn’t known the creep had made one. I acted like I was pissed off and had demanded my papers back. He wants to meet me at a bar on the Upper East Side at eight thirty. I told him I’d be there. What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll talk to my security team and call you right back. In the meantime, make up an envelope stuffed with blank paper so you’ll have something to bargain with.”
Morgan got McGregor on the line and arranged for him to cover Harmon’s meeting with the blond stranger. John McGregor made arrangements to have Tom Samuels, a friend of his in the NYPD major crimes squad, cover the meeting with him. Morgan knew that Phillips would recognize him should he try to monitor the meeting, so he and Harper just had to cool their heels and wait to hear how it all went down.
When Burke met with the man in the bar, the NYPD detective was sitting on a barstool right next to them recording the meeting. John McGregor and two of his men were seated at a nearby table as backup. He was able to identify the assistant federal prosecutor from a picture supplied by Harper. Phillips offered Harmon a thousand dollars for the stolen documents.
“That’s not good enough. I want five thousand dollars. I risked my neck to get them in the first place. Why do you want them? You still haven’t told me why you want them.”
Michaels, Skye - Harper's Submission [Golden Dolphin 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 17