by Dana Killion
“Do you know what the issue was?” My question seemed prying, but under the circumstances, any little detail could be relevant.
“She was getting a lot of ugly crap on her Twitter account. She’d block them, but others kept popping up. It scared her. She was trying to find out if she should call the cops. I guess the comments got pretty bad, woman-hate stuff.”
Another connective thread. Both women had been the target of nasty Twitter tirades. Did that mean something? Woman hate. Sexism had again reared its ugly head.
“Thanks, Tanya. I appreciate your help.” I flagged my waitress for the check.
What about my own situation? Was sexism at the core of Ramelli’s plan? And what did I want? Sooner or later I was going to have to answer Ryan’s question, if only just for myself. Right now, my priority was to maintain my options. I wanted to be the one to decide my own future. And if I left, I wanted it to be on my terms, not theirs. After last Friday, I knew I didn’t trust these guys. There was an ulterior motive, or three, and it was time to get my head out of the sand and deal with it.
I picked up my phone and made an appointment with my attorney for first thing in the morning. A review of my contract would help me understand my vulnerability.
A text popped up. Brynn.
Can you meet me downstairs in the coffee shop in five minutes?
I’ll need ten, but I’m on my way. My gut clenched. What now? I laid some cash on the table and headed out to flag a cab.
She was at a back booth when I arrived, her normal monster cup of java in front of her and a slice of chocolate layer cake big enough for four. But that was the only thing that looked normal. Her eyes were rimmed red, and she seemed to have shrunken into the booth.
“I haven’t seen you all day. Sorry about that. What’s up? You look like you’ve lost your best friend.” I slid into the booth, removed my coat, and tossed it on the bench beside me. Whatever Brynn was upset about needed undivided attention.
She wrapped her hands around her mug and stared over my shoulder before answering. “I just spent a couple hours with that consultant, Ryan Molina. I didn’t want him and Borkowski seeing me run right to you afterward. Things are tense enough, I don’t need to get in the middle of this turf war.”
“How bad was it?” I asked, steeling myself for the worst.
She bit her lower lip and looked at me. “They canned me.”
“What? They can’t.” I was so stunned and angry, I couldn’t form a complete sentence. I stared at Brynn, questions bombarding my brain, unable to understand what Borkowski had just done or why. How could he have fired her without consulting me?
“I spent about an hour and half just with Molina,” Brynn continued. “He asked all kinds of questions about what I was working on right now, how I structured my day. Real stupid stuff. He had no interest in my background or what I wanted out of the job. Actually, most of his questions tied back to you.”
“About me? What kind of questions?”
“What projects you had on your plate? What work was I doing for you? And a whole bunch of questions about whether Borkowski had approved that work.” She looked at me as if there was something else she wanted to say but didn’t know if she should.
“There’s more?”
“He asked a question I found particularly odd.” She paused for a drink of coffee. “He wanted to know about Detective Hewitt. Whether you were friends.”
Although I hadn’t said anything to Brynn, or anyone else at work for that matter, about my romantic life, I could tell by her expression that she knew. I hadn’t been silent because I was hiding anything; it simply hadn’t seemed important to share.
“And what did you say?”
“I told him the truth. That I knew you were acquainted, but if he has more questions about your friends, he should ask you himself.”
I laughed. “I’m sure that was well received.”
“What else was I going to say? Men can be such cowards. Anyway, when the meeting was over, Borkowski called me into his office and told me I had two weeks. Said he was doing some reorganization of the staff and I wasn’t needed anymore. I said fine, asked him if I’d still get my vacation pay. And that’s how we ended it.”
“I don’t know what to say, Brynn. I’m so angry I can’t see straight. He completely blindsided me.”
I’d given Borkowski responsibility for staffing when he took over as general manager, but if there was a need to reduce head count, that was not a decision to be made without me, let alone making Brynn the first target. It did confirm that Borkowski was fully in bed with Ramelli, or he was being used. Either way, this was a power move intended to undermine me.
“I know you had nothing to do with this, and you’d never have handled it so poorly. It’s just that with my mom and all, money is really tight. I guess my decision about looking for another job is being made for me.”
I pulled out my wallet. “Don’t argue,” I said, handing her a check. “It will give you a little cushion. If I can’t work out something with Borkowski, I’ll put in some calls for you, and you’ll have the most glowing reference your new employer will have ever heard.”
Tears ran down Brynn’s face and mine as I stood and gave her a hug.
“You might want to stay down here for a while,” I said, grabbing my coat. “The windows are going to be rattling when I get ahold of that backstabbing son of a bitch.”
26
I stormed back into the office filled with rage. Who the hell did Borkowski think he was, firing Brynn without even consulting me? This was my damn company! I looked around the room, hoping to catch both him and Ryan still in the office. The staff shot me confused looks as I stomped through the space. I didn’t imagine I was hiding my anger terribly well.
“Where’s Borkowski?” I barked at Raquel, the poor admin stationed outside his office and therefore stuck with my abuse.
“He and Mr. Molina left a few minutes ago,” she said, her brows drawn.
“Are they coming back?”
“I don’t think so,” she mumbled. “Mr. Borkowski said something about a meeting. Should I put you on his calendar for tomorrow morning?” She barely looked up, probably afraid to hear my answer.
“Block out his schedule first thing in the morning. Unless I get to him first, in which case he’ll be on crutches.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she caught herself. “Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else?”
“I’ll take care of everything else myself. Thank you.”
As I turned, the employees within earshot quickly busied themselves in their work, pretending they’d heard nothing. I was too mad to care.
I was on the phone again with my attorney’s assistant even before I’d reached my office, asking that he call me at home this evening instead. I may have been naïve about the games Ramelli was willing to play, but I was a fast learner. The future of my company was at stake.
Too pissed off to be in the office, I grabbed my coat and texted Cai. I needed an intervention, could she spare ten minutes for coffee?
My phone rang seconds after I stepped out of the Link-Media building.
“What’s wrong?”
“Borkowski just stabbed me in the back. Looks like he’s on the Ramelli team. The SOB just fired Brynn without consulting me. Do you have some time?” I marched east on Erie toward Wells, keeping my eyes open for a cab, oblivious to the puddles on the sidewalk.
“Sorry. I’m prepping for a trial tomorrow, so I’m chained to my desk for the duration. Tomorrow night? Maybe a glass of wine?”
“No problem. I’m just feeling stupid and naïve that Ramelli is getting the upper hand and using my own employees against me. Let’s talk tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll go fashion up a voodoo doll or something. Good luck with your case.”
Now what? If I couldn’t yell at Borkowski or download to Cai, what was I going to do with all the nervous energy and anger running through my veins? Walk until I came up with another option or until my fe
et froze, I guessed. I crossed Wells, moving vaguely in the direction of Eataly. By the time I got there, I’d either be halfway frostbitten or ready for a very large Cabernet. Either way, I could pick up takeout and remove the dinner debate from my decision list.
Whatever Ramelli’s end game was, clearly I had underestimated the urgency of the situation. Why hadn’t I met with my attorney immediately? I’d also underestimated Borkowski. I could only imagine he’d been promised something big to play the role of hatchet man. His involvement burned me most of all. I’d promoted the man, and now he was teaming up with Ramelli to get me out of the business.
But what about Ryan? I knew he’d been competitive with Erik. Was this just one last win when Erik wasn’t around anymore to do something about it? Was that why he’d come on so strong Friday night—I’d become a prize?
As I stomped through the slush, a text came through from one of my inside sources, a clerk at the courthouse. “You might want to get down here. Last-minute schedule change. They are sneaking in Wright’s arraignment.”
I jumped the snowbank and flagged the first cab I saw. Time to send her another case of champagne.
The crowd had already built up outside the courthouse by the time I arrived, just minutes after the call. My source had been good, but her timing lagged. This arraignment was already underway. Damn!
Whatever the legal team thought they were accomplishing by trying to keep attention focused elsewhere was obviously in vain. The word was clearly out. A throng of reporters and various legal groupies huddled around the entrance. From the looks of it, well over a hundred people were crowded around, trying to get a line of sight to the door.
Police officers were stationed around Daley Plaza, keeping observers at bay while the press panned the crowd. Security personnel stood stationed at the entrances inside the glass-walled lobby, denying anyone without official business access. It was late in the day for trial activity, so that meant no one was getting in.
I scanned the area, looking for better positioning and familiar faces. It wasn’t unusual for people who had connections to a case to show up for key moments, giving me the ability to snag an impromptu interview.
As I maneuvered into position next to a pillar under the overhang, hoping to get a good camera shot of Wright as he was escorted out of the building and back to jail, voices rose behind me. About thirty people were marching north on Dearborn toward the building. I could see them across the street as they began to cross over into Daley Plaza. I could make out the angry tone of their chant but not the words.
As they filed into the plaza, the first thing I noticed were the homemade signs lifted in their hands and waving above their heads. Then I heard them. “Men will not be denied.” “Know your place.” “It’s God’s will.” “Women will be subservient.” “Free Gavin.”
I tensed with disgust. It was only then that I looked more closely at the group. Men, most of whom I guessed to be in their thirties. And all Caucasian. Anger invaded their rhetoric as they chanted and waved their hate-filled signs.
I tapped the video app on my phone and pointed the camera, feeling the hatred and anger emanating from the men. My chest tightened as they stormed toward the entrance, pushing their way through the press as more cameras turned. They walked en masse until the police presence slowed them down, then stood in formation, making their voices heard, spouting ugliness and supporting a man accused of killing his wife.
As the crowd shifted ever closer to the doors, I was pinned between the pillar and the hate-filled men as they grew agitated. For the moment, the men were too distracted by their mission to pay any attention to me, but I was vulnerable, and a rush of fear ran up my spine.
A commotion at the front of the courthouse caused me to swing my camera. Two officers led the way, followed by Gavin Wright, hands cuffed behind his back, eyes to the ground, alongside his defense attorney. Additional officers were at his flank. The men next to me cheered when they saw him, then chanted even louder as Wright was led toward a police van waiting at the curb. As I pivoted my camera toward the vehicle, one of the protesters caught my eye. A familiar face.
In the middle of the group, five feet in front of me, Marcus Bennett stood shoulder to shoulder with the other men spewing hateful things about women and male superiority. With their target now in sight, the men cheered, chanting, “She deserved what she got” as I filmed the entire exchange.
Adrenaline surged in my chest as the men rallied. Ignoring my discomfort, I slid between the bodies, holding my camera high to keep Wright in the frame. As he was led to the vehicle, the mob became frustrated with their restraints, pushing forward and pulling at the cops. An elbow landed in my back. Bodies were shoved around me, arms reached out. I swung my head, looking for an exit path, uncertain which direction was safe as all of us, protestors and journalists, were caught in the fracas.
Additional officers rushed in, holding the line as the men struggled to get at Wright. As the cops pushed back, the chanting grew louder and bodies in front of me stumbled. A man was shoved back into my chest, my body breaking his fall. I wobbled but regained my footing, and we stood face-to-face. Marcus Bennett.
“You bitch,” he growled, before turning and disappearing back into the crowd.
27
Plans of takeout from Eataly long forgotten, I was nestled safely back in my apartment after my encounter at Daley Plaza with a glass of Cabernet and Walter on my lap, contemplating what the hell I was going to do now.
The first issue was a relatively easy one. Victor needed to know about the ugly viewpoint Marcus Bennett espoused. This was beyond a brief moment of subtle chauvinism. It was public hate, verging on violence. The palpable anger and hostility I felt from the group of men protesting the fact that one of their own had been sent to jail was terrifying. Had these men claimed Wright, a man of mixed race, as one of their own after assuming that he had taken charge of the woman in his life? Normally, I would’ve expected this type of hate group to be as racist as they were misogynistic. Perhaps in their minds, his bold move of getting his wayward wife out of the way trumped the tint of his skin.
I’d seen no indication that Wright himself had ever displayed such archaic views of women’s roles. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Wright specifically and everything to do with a man putting his woman in her place. I was disgusted, and angered, and fearful of what I had witnessed today. It was a terrifying reminder that despite all the advances women had made, hate and misogyny were as alive and well as racism. It simply hid under the surface until someone felt emboldened enough to express it publicly. Or it took strength in numbers to say things publicly that would never be said otherwise.
Regardless, Victor could not continue to have this man in his employ. He could not let these archaic and horrific views be released anywhere near his clients, nor could he allow these viewpoints to influence the work his office performed. I hated to insert myself in the running of his business, but there was absolutely no choice. Victor needed to know and would do the right thing. I picked up the phone, getting him on the second ring.
“Victor, I’m sorry to call you this time of night, you’re probably getting ready for dinner, but I needed to share something, and it couldn’t wait until the morning.”
“Not a problem, Andrea. What is it? I’ve just gotten home. You’re not interrupting anything.”
“I was at the courthouse late this afternoon. Were you aware that Gavin Wright was arraigned today?”
“Yes, I was informed.”
“Do you know where Marcus Bennett was this afternoon?”
“I know that he left early, something about an appointment.” I could hear the puzzlement in his voice. “But quite frankly, I don’t keep track of those things. My office manager handles scheduling requests. Is there something wrong?”
“Yes, unfortunately. He left early to come to the courthouse.”
“Why would he take off work to see Gavin Wright arraigned? I don’t understand.”
; “He was there as a private citizen, expressing his viewpoints. He and about twenty other men. White men,” I added. “They were at Gavin’s arraignment protesting his arrest. The group of them were aggressive, ugly, and chanted things like ‘She deserved what she got.’”
“What?”
“I was there. I was in the middle of it all, and this appears to be a group who believe men are superior to women. Masters of their house, if you will.” I paused for a moment, letting what I was saying sink in. “It was really ugly, Victor.”
“And my Marcus, my paralegal, was part of this group? He was part of this hate speech?”
“I’m afraid so. And I have him on film. I’m going to email you the clip. There is no question Bennett was not only a part of this group but a loud, vocal, willing participant. I knew you’d want to know.”
“No, that is absolutely not something I ever wanted to know about one of my own employees.” His voice was filled with disgust. “I couldn’t possibly tolerate that kind of behavior. That kind of thought. Good Lord. I knew he had very conservative viewpoints, but this is beyond comprehension. I don’t suppose you were the only one who filmed this?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Obviously, we don’t know yet whether his face will be visible in whatever news clips are used, but I wanted to give you advance notice.”
“Well, there goes my quiet evening.” He sighed. “Send me the file. Then I’m going to fire that little bastard faster than he can have his wife bring him his slippers and his pipe. I’m appalled, but thank you for telling me, Andrea. I couldn’t possibly have such hateful views publicly attached to my business. I’d never get another female client again. And I have no interest in changing my business name to Chauvinists ‘R’ Us.”
“Sorry, Victor. I’ll speak to you soon.”
And speaking of ugly men, I was tempted to call Borkowski and hand him his pink slip too, but being impulsive wouldn’t get me anywhere. Firing him wouldn’t get Ramelli off my back. If I was going to beat these guys, I would need to beat them at their own game.