That’s as good a segue as any.
“Actually, I need to come clean about that.”
Doug lifted a brow. “So, I was right. You are up to something.”
“I wouldn’t exactly put it that way. It’s not like I was going out there to surf or anything.”
“Then how would you put it?”
Doug put his legs up on his desk, shoving some papers aside, and gave Jon a ‘can’t wait to hear this one’ look.
“Remember Ed Hernandez?”
“The reporter?”
“Yeah, he helped us a lot with the college killings investigation, if you recall.”
“What I recall is he bent the rules, almost as bad as you did.”
Jon had enough. “Jeez Doug, what is going on with you? You’re on edge all the time. Cut me some slack, will you?”
“Personal stuff. None of your concern. Go on.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Go on,” Doug reiterated.
“Ed called me a few weeks ago asking if I could help on a potentially big story. Something about companies illegally accessing employee DNA data.”
“Did you tell him that wasn’t your job?”
“I did, as a matter of fact.”
“But . . .”
Jon let out a lungful of air. “But then he got assaulted going to the gym. A guy stabbed him with a syringe full of sucrose, sugar essentially. Put him into a severe diabetic shock. He’s in intensive care now in critical condition.”
Doug put his feet back down, leaned towards Jon. “That’s some story. Let me guess. You decided you needed to investigate, do what he asked of you, because now you assume it’s related to his attack.”
Jon nodded.
“Why didn’t you just tell me this from the get-go?”
“Because you’ve been such an asshole lately,” Jon blurted out. “I know it’s not my job and I don’t want to jeopardize this position. But I’m here to tell you that I need to go back to LA. Ed’s associate, Luanne Parker, has uncovered some real evidence and she needs my help. I’m going. And I’d like to use my FBI creds to help Ed and whoever else is caught up in this.”
“You still haven’t figured out the hierarchy that comes with a real job. You’re supposed to ask, not tell.”
Suddenly hopeful, Jon said, “Can I have a leave of absence to help Luanne find Ed’s attacker?”
“No.”
Jon stood, defiant. “Then I’ll be handing in my resignation.”
“Sit down.”
Jon’s face was angry. He didn’t sit.
“I said, sit down, Jon.” Doug’s tone was firm and controlled.
Jon sat.
“As much as I detest your insubordination—and something tells me that’s not likely to change any time soon—it sounds like you may have a real federal case here. Send me what you have and I’ll review it. If it falls into our jurisdiction, I’ll allow you to work on it until the end of the month, as an FBI employee. Not as a rogue one or a civilian. Understood?”
Jon’s demeanor changed instantly. “Yes! That’s all I need. Thanks Dou—sir. I’ll send you my notes right away.”
***
Shortly before five, Jon received an email from Doug.
I read through your and Ms. Parker’s notes. There’s enough compelling evidence to warrant a preliminary federal investigation. For now, I’ll put another agent on the terror threats.
Attached is the manual for preliminary investigations. Read it.
You’ll see info about the expense account. Use it wisely. When conducting FBI research or communication, only use the secure interface. You have until the end of the month. If you are not back at your desk by then, you’re out. Next time, and I know there will be a next time, tell me what’s going on from the beginning.
Jon had a clear sightline to his boss’s office. Doug was looking right at him, then nodded. The look on his face was one Jon hadn’t seen in months. Determined, supportive. Agreeable.
Chapter 13
Los Angeles International Airport
Jon left a message on Melanie’s phone.
“Hey Mel. I’m in sunny California. Gonna be here for the next couple of weeks. Any chance we can get together? I’d love to see you.”
Then he deplaned his flight from New York.
***
Luanne was waiting for Jon at arrivals. She wore all black, a studded leather choker around her neck. And a new hair color. Fire red. She gave him a big smile.
“I see your boots are back. Not the typical Fed look of black suit, shades, and wingtips,” Luanne said.
“Not my style.”
He wheeled his suitcase to her habanero orange retro Beetle convertible, stuck it in the back seat. Other than her hair, it seemed to be the only thing she owned with color. And it was some color.
Luanne let the top down, donned her sunglasses and got behind the wheel. “I can’t believe your boss gave you the go-ahead. The FBI resources will make a huge difference.” She slowly pulled away from the curb.
“They already have,” Jon said.
“What do you mean?”
“I called the princess-wannabe. We’re meeting her tomorrow afternoon. I got us both flights to San Francisco.”
Luanne hit the brakes, turned to him. “What?”
“Whoa, take it easy. I told her I’m with the FBI New York office and need to speak with her.” Jon took a measure of pride at impressing Luanne with his clout.
“Did she question why?”
“I’m sure she gathered it relates to her breakup. She sounded overwhelmed and resigned. Said we could meet her at her Glen Park home. She was hoping we could help make some sense of the whole thing.”
“I’m going to need to prepare my notes. Organize my questions.”
“Relax, Lu. We know what we need to ask her. If we come across as too scripted, she won’t open up to us. We need to go in chill.”
She pulled into traffic. “Chill, okay, I can do chill.”
***
The corporate office of Farmstand Industries, a produce packaging facility, was located in southeast Los Angeles. Jon chose it as their first stop, at random. According to Luanne’s thorough notes, they had laid off sixty-two people in the last few weeks. One of her meeting participants, Simon Davidson—the lung guy—had been among them.
The lobby attendant directed them to the eighteenth floor. The elevator doors opened to a drab anteroom. Old paneling and flooring. The woman behind the desk looked up.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Jon took out his FBI ID tag.
“FBI? What’s this about?” she asked, alarmed.
“We’re here to speak with the CEO.”
She appeared nervous. “Do you have an appointment? He’s a very busy man.”
“No,” said Luanne. “We’ve tried to reach him several times to no avail. Please let him know we’re here.”
The receptionist picked up the phone. “Sir, there are two people here from the FBI.” A pause. “Yessir, that’s what I said.” Another pause. “I don’t know, sir. They want to speak with you.”
They could hear the raised tones through the phone.
“I tried, sir,” she whispered, her eyes welling.
Moments later a balding man in his mid-fifties, wearing jeans and a sweater vest, came barreling down the hallway. “What’s this all about?” he demanded.
Luanne responded. “Mr. Livingston, I work for The Times. I’ve tried to reach you without any reply.”
He peered at the receptionist: “You said two people from the FBI.”
The woman froze.
The man looked askance at Jon and Luanne. “What kind of game is this? I received nothing from the FBI.”
Jon knew it was a lie. The man was likely hoping the problem would go away if he ignored them. Jon showed him his credentials. “Ms. Parker is working with me. We’ve stepped up the investigation.”
“What investigation?”
The r
eceptionist’s head was bobbing back and forth between the parties.
Jon said, “Would you like to continue having this conversation in the hallway?”
“I would prefer not to be speaking to you at all. As a matter of fact I’ll call my attorney now.”
“What for? What are you scared of?” asked Luanne.
“Nothing! But it’s basic common sense. He’s in-house. I’ll get him here in ten minutes. Have a seat out here.”
Thirty minutes later a bespectacled, emaciated man in his late thirties came through the door.
The receptionist said, “Marvin, Mr. Livingston is waiting for you in his office.” She turned to Jon and Luanne. “You will be sent in shortly.”
The man scurried off to the back office.
They heard a door slam behind him.
Another ten minutes dragged by until they were escorted to the back. Livingston was seated behind his desk. “Okay Agent Steadman. I called your office. You’re legit. As are you Ms. Parker. Now what is all this about?”
Jon decided not to mince words. The man had wasted enough of his time already. “We have reason to suspect that your company is infringing on the privacy of your employees, grossly violating HIPAA laws.”
Livingston turned to his attorney. “I have no idea what they are referring to.”
Jon ignored him. “Your company has been using employee medical DNA to determine who should, in your assessment, be kept on the payroll and then firing the rest.”
Livingston looked at them stoically. “That’s absurd.”
Marvin glared at his boss, silencing him.
“Sixty-two of your employees were unceremoniously fired without the traditional two weeks of notice. A meager severance and gone. Some of those people have been with the company since its inception,” Luanne said.
“That’s business,” he spread his hands. “Nothing unusual. We had to make cuts.”
“Then explain how two thirds of the people you let go are facing serious maladies. Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
Livingston was about to respond when Marvin interjected. “I’m sorry but I must advise my client to discontinue this conversation. Mr. Livingston has been more than accommodating, speaking with a member of the press present.”
Jon fumed. “Accommodating? He hasn’t said anything useful . . . Marvin.”
The attorney’s cheeks turned red. “If you have further questions, please send us a subpoena and we can go from there.”
The wall was erected.
“So that’s it? No explanation?” Jon said.
“That’s it, Agent Steadman.” Marvin said. “There’s a proper procedure, and this isn’t it.”
Jon wanted to wring the lawyer’s scrawny neck. All this waiting for nothing.
He and Luanne stood. “Be warned Mr. Livingston. You and your company are now on my radar, and once I lock on, I don’t let up. They call me The Pitbull.”
As Jon and Luanne took the elevator down, she couldn’t contain her laughter. “They call me The Pitbull?”
Jon’s face reddened. Well, they did.
***
The next two companies they showed up at yielded similar results. They were belligerent and refused to speak with them without a court order.
“So much for my FBI creds,” Jon said, as they got back in the car.
Luanne seemed to sense his frustration. “If it weren’t for your creds we wouldn’t even be getting in the door.” She looked at her notes. “Next up is OBooks. Big cuts but sent off the furloughed employees in style. I emailed them again early this morning. Just got a response from their community outreach department. Whatever that is. Said we can stop by any time before three.”
Forty minutes later, they pulled up to a modern glass three-story building.
A young, stylish woman approached them as they emerged from the car. “Ms. Parker?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Luanne asked.
“I’ve been eyeing the front door waiting for you. Yours are the only new faces here. Peter asked that I show you around.”
“We’re here to meet your boss, not waste time,” Jon said. He had enough of the run around.
The greeter said, “He’ll be happy to meet you. He’s finishing up a meeting, so he thought this would be a good use of the time rather than sitting around with a magazine.”
Luanne whispered to him, “Come on, Jon, it will be informative.”
As soon as they entered the building, they were hit with a wave of cold air. Luanne wrapped her arms around herself. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“Research shows colder air boosts productivity. Sorry, I should have warned you about that in my email.”
The facility had a distinct vibe. It was divided into two sides. The west wing of the building was devoted to technology and designed with open spaces. There was no one over the age of thirty and most were dressed in casual attire. They appeared to be working in teams. One group was tossing around a ball while they brainstormed and coded on their laptops.
The east side of the building was for marketing and finance. Older employees, cubicles. Each species in its own domain.
“What exactly does OBooks do?” Luanne asked the greeter.
“We are an online book retailer, primarily showcasing works by independent authors. Think of us as a mini Amazon publishing outfit.”
“No hard copy books?”
“That’s right. Everything is electronic.”
Luanne shook her head. “No offense but there’s nothing like cozying up under the covers holding a real book in your hands.”
Jon said, “You really are an anachronism.”
“Maybe a reincarnation of some old spinster who loved to smoke weed, read, and write letters to her lovers.”
Jon smiled. “Sure, or that.”
The greeter looked at her phone. “We can head to Peter’s office now. He’s ready to meet you.”
***
Luanne’s first impression of Peter Cromwell was that he was gorgeous. Fit better on the cover of GQ than stuck behind a glass desk. He was tall, maybe 6’3”, dressed in distressed, skinny jeans and a cashmere sweater that zipped at the neck, just snug enough to show off his biceps. He stood to greet them.
“Hi, I’m Peter. Please come in.” The office was enormous and modern, with one wall of floor-to-ceiling glass, though not offering the most attractive of views. Awards for top California entrepreneur adorned the walls. Jon and Luanne took seats on the pale blue sofa.
Their tour guide quietly stepped out.
“Can I offer you some coffee? I just got this Nespresso machine and I’m addicted.” Jon declined but Luanne got up to check out the espresso selections.
“May I help myself?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
While the men sat in awkward silence, Luanne busied herself with the choices and made the froth. She took a seat beside Jon and sipped from her cup. “Divine.”
Jon said, “May we get started now?”
“How can I help you?” Peter asked.
Jon explained why they were there. Gave the same opening speech he’d given to the others. Only this time the response was significantly more collaborative.
“Let me pull up my most recent roster from human resources. Okay, here we are. Yes, you’re correct. Within the last few weeks, we’ve had to let go some good employees. It wasn’t just about productivity, but our bottom line.”
He looked up at them. “It may appear that our choices were haphazard in who we let go, but they were not. Many factors were taken into consideration. Their current pay grade, job redundancy, among other variables. It’s actually a complex formula. As anyone here will tell you it was very hard for me on a personal level to implement these cuts. But there was no choice. When I came on board here, I was expected to turn around a distressed startup. Since then we’ve had some highly profitable months, but it seems we’ve overextended ourselves. Grew our workforce faster than we should have. I take full resp
onsibility for that. Ultimately, if we hadn’t made the cuts, within a year, everyone would have been out of a job. It’s one of the toughest decisions I’ve had to make since I started here.”
Luanne said, “And yet unlike other companies in your situation, you provided excellent severance packages.”
“My CFO was livid about that, but I couldn’t in good conscience do anything else. Many of them have families. They’ll need a way to get back on their feet without worrying about paying their mortgage.”
Luanne nodded in agreement.
“Can you explain why so many of those you fired began showing signs of severe illnesses?”
Luanne was taken aback by Jon’s bluntness. It was more her style.
Peter frowned. “That’s awful.”
“You know nothing about that?”
“How could I? What do you think happened?”
“There have been too many similar situations with other companies. Has anyone approached you to review your employees’ medical data?”
“Of course not. I don’t even have access to that. Wouldn’t that be available only to the individual and their physician?”
“That’s how it should be. In any event, someone is using that information and deciding who to fire based on if they’re an expected financial burden to the company.”
Luanne added, “Either to save on hefty insurance costs the company would need to bear, or for loss of productivity when the employee is out for sick leave.”
Peter appeared riveted. “That’s quite a theory. Do you have any practical evidence?”
“We have many people who have recently come forward with critical medical conditions after being dismissed.”
“It must be a horrible coincidence. Again, I don’t have access to their medical records.”
The conversation appeared to come to a halt. There was nowhere left to go with it.
Jon stood first. “Thank you for your time. Here’s my card in case you think of anything that can help the investigation.”
Luanne followed suit. “And here’s mine. That’s my personal cell, if you need to reach me.” She smiled brilliantly. She caught Jon’s eye. He was glaring at her, seemingly annoyed.
Peter walked them to the door. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 7