Decoded Dog

by Dianne Janczewski

  “We have no interest—”

  “You may say that now, but when they put big numbers in front of you, you will be surprised how tempting it can be.”

  “The only reason we gave them a heads-up is so they could pull all the contaminated lots and determine if there are any other risks we don’t know about. When we go public, we want—”

  “Why do you want to go public?”

  “Um, because the public has a right to—”

  “Not good enough. You need to be confident in the repercussions if you don’t go public. Millions wasted in research dollars by those still searching for the cause, vets on a narrow margin still using the recalled vaccine, loss to the scientific community of the scientific discoveries you have made and the potential application to future problems. Not to mention your personal career loss.” She looks at each of us. “For all of you. They are going offer you some big bucks and counter that with all the vaccine lots recalled and destroyed, there is no point going public. You must not waver in your position or they will pounce on any weakness.”

  “Got it. Okay. Yes.” We talk over each other. Rachelle stands and we fall in behind. The cool air invigorates us as she leads us down the street into the building, into the battle.

  “This whole meeting frosts my ass,” Anna hisses as we spin through the revolving doors. “They have no interest in meeting with us except to find a way to keep us quiet.”

  Rachelle turns on her heel and stops dead. “Agreed. That is why you need to all react very slowly, weigh their questions carefully, and use measured responses. Show no emotion. The only thing you want from this meeting is to be able to say that you met with them to encourage them to work with you for the good of the public. Give them nothing.”

  I like her. I feel much better knowing that she will kick me under the table should I start to compromise our position. Although she is intimidating as hell.

  We are greeted at the building security desk by an executive administrative assistant who has obviously been sent to wait for us. Clearly she reports to the Chairman of the Board, and though entrusted with escorting us to the meeting personally, though she seems a bit indignant at having to lower herself to handling our motley group of scientists. She leads us to and up the elevator like a schoolmarm leading her charges on a field trip. We have to go through a second security checkpoint on the top floor where Regnum’s upper echelons are well-guarded.

  We are escorted to their main conference room. Large windows frame the far wall. Serious-looking 15th Street law offices fill the block. In the distance, the Washington Monument stands at attention. We are instructed to make ourselves comfortable. Austere, uncomfortable-looking leather chairs give us the eye, each with its territory delineated by a clean pad of paper, a company pen, and company-branded bottled water. Chris, Anna, Rachelle, and I sit along one side of the big mahogany table under the watchful eye of the Regnum logo on the opposite dark-paneled wall. I’m glad I wore my red frames today.

  Their team enters: the CEO, COO, CFO, and CSO, the Chairman of the Board, and of course their lawyers, plural. Introductions are made, and they sit. All men. They are stoic, somber. Their corporate headquarters is in Chicago, but here they are, all together in the land of lobbyists and Congressional hearings. They grace us with their executive presence. Chris had refused to wear a tie. I’m proud of him.

  The Chairman, Spencer Thorn, thanks us for coming; he is surprised that I brought the others, and there really is no need for a lawyer. He obviously does not want to acknowledge that he has faced Rachelle before. He commends us for our excellent work, and asks if we mind addressing some questions about our methods and findings. Each of them, each of us, has a copy of the notebook we prepared placed squarely above our paper pad. Rachelle points out that the original notebook had been marked Confidential and Do Not Duplicate. He assures us that these are the only copies and that they will be destroyed after the meeting. The Regnum team each reach for theirs, and turn to page one. We follow suit.

  I am questioned first. Why am I the only one who signed the cover letter? Other than those in the room, who else is on the team? Did the university approve of our research? Was the work funded by the university or any other grants that would have a claim to the results?

  I’m the lead investigator. The complete complement of team members will not be disclosed at this point. And yes, my university is fully aware of all of the work we did as evidenced by the cc: on the letter. It was funded by an undisclosed donor. They press for a name. I do not cave. They ask about our samples, whether Anna withheld any from the national sample collection effort in order to give me first access, whether any of the funding we received for Addison’s was used for this research, whether we had permission from the dog owners to use their samples for the study. They are on the hunt for weaknesses.

  The meeting is formal, tedious, and unproductive. Rachelle, in a do I have your attention tone, tells them that we are here voluntarily; we are not here to have them make subtle innuendos regarding our ethics or the validity of our work. This is not a legal proceeding, and they are not to be questioning anything except to clarify our conclusions, again, voluntarily provided by us.

  They sit stone-faced in their reactions, polite, and Stepfordish.

  The COO comments, “Then why bring a lawyer?”

  Rachelle stares straight at him and tells him there will be no further data provided; they have our summaries. We have an obligation to report our findings to the CDC, and we will do so on Monday. We have provided our summary simply as a courtesy.

  The CEO closes his notebook, folds his hands across the top, looks directly at me and says flatly, “We are prepared to compensate you for all your work, and to establish a fund for any follow-up work that might be necessary.” There is no mention of what they want in return.

  They are masterful in their assigned roles. They have carefully placed Milk-Bones on the double yellows down the center of the highway, hoping to entice and then eliminate their problem. I tell them we have no interest in compensation. They look to Rachelle, suggesting that she might advise her clients of the significance of their offer, implying we may not grasp the magnitude because we are obviously naive, idealistic scientists. She closes her notebook and nods to me to respond.

  “I will take your offer into consideration.”

  I can pee just as high on the tree.

  We are silent in the elevator and as we walk two blocks following Rachelle’s long strides, our pack is defiant. We enter the Caffeine Corner, a different, smaller shop from where we met this morning, and are greeted by the smell of fresh coffee.

  Without stopping, Rachelle says, “Would you please grab me a plain coffee with milk and I’ll meet you at the table over there?” pointing to a table away from the windows as she heads to the back of the store.

  As if a corset was released, we collectively exhale and welcome the difficult decision of which combo of caffeine, milk, and sugar to order. By the time we get our order, Rachelle is back.

  “Sorry, I drank way too much coffee earlier. Wow, you were great!” Rachelle says to me in a totally different personality, upbeat and friendly. “I thought they were going to choke when you said you weren’t interested in compensation!” I like this Rachelle too. “Neil said you could keep your cool, but I rarely see people who don’t at least flinch when faced with such a testosterone-infused wall of aggression with dollar signs in their eyes.”

  “It was rather amusing,” Chris says, giving me a one-armed hug. “But not surprising.”

  We chat about the unfortunate sellout of some of the men in the room; scientists turned corporate, trading in their jeans and lab coats for neckties and business cards. Neil never quite fit in with this crowd. Rachelle says that we don’t need to have any further discussions with them, we’ve done our duty, and it’s likely that we won’t need her any further, but she gives us each her card just in case. She elbows me and says that the university lawyers would probably resent her involvement,
but if Anna or Chris want any counsel, she’s available.

  When she finishes her coffee, Rachelle turns serious. “Don’t discuss, don’t debate. Wait to see what Neil has to say.” She obviously knows that I’m meeting with him later. She stands and commands all of our full attention. She looks directly at me. “They are going to come after you, so steel yourself,” she says. “It’s been a hoot! Stay strong.” And she leaves.

  Neil and I have agreed to meet for dinner, though out of town in Ballston, away from watchful eyes of Washington suits. Anna and Chris are staying in DC, keeping their distance; I’ll head back in when Neil and I are finished and they will pick me up from the metro for the drive home.

  Neil looks tired. He is already seated and has a half-finished Scotch in front of him. He rarely drinks. I take off my coat and sit, skipping my usual kiss on the cheek. We make a few comments about the coming of spring, what’s good to eat here. I order a drink.

  “My lawyer is insisting that I distance myself from you and them, but I have made it clear that I stand on your side if it comes down to it,” he says.

  “That’s good to know. Why do I sense there is a but coming? Wait, what lawyer?”

  “You have to separate yourself from me, too,” he instructs. “I don’t want your reputation sullied.”

  “What? What are you talking about? Association with you won’t ruin my reputation. It may have when we were in graduate—” He is not responsive to my kidding. “You’re serious. What are you implying? There’s no evil plot that involves you.”

  He looks me dead on. His tone is, what, resigned? “Really, Claire? You are one of the smartest people I know. Think about it. They could easily craft a scenario that pins the whole thing on me.”

  “What the fuck?” I say a bit too loudly. “Where is this coming from?” I can see a few people around us judging my mouth.

  Spreading his hands to create a headline in the air he announces in a hushed voice, “Former CSO created CRFS for personal gain.” He drops his hands and leans in. “Followed by the made–for-TV story. While at Regnum, former CSO conspired to engineer CRFS in order to create a panic in the dog world. After distributing contaminated vaccines across the country, he abruptly resigned, and subsequently funded and collaborated with a long-time friend—who was also duped by him—to identify the link to the cat in order to profit from the solution.” With a big fake grin he said, “You like it? I even purposely did not award you one of the Regnum grants so you would not be involved in collaborating with Regnum on the early research. Otherwise you may not have been so willing to work with me after I left. Pretty ingenious of me, wasn’t it?”

  I’m drowning. Trying to keep afloat but struggling to swim to the top. In a careful and measured delivery I say, “But there’s the flaw in their story. There is no antidote, no remedy, no treatment from which to make a profit, and in fact, your investment is—Crap, I just realized you aren’t going to get anything back from your investment!”

  “You and I know that, but they will claim there is big profit to be made from grant money and other future financing from donors and dog-loving philanthropists who want to thank the saviors of the dog world.”

  “They actually said all this to you? In front of your lawyer?”

  “They are way smarter than that.” He shakes his head, a snide look on his face. “I got a phone call within an hour of you leaving their office, from my buddy Jon Bosto. He asked me to meet with him right away at a coffee shop—Caffeine Corner. You know it?” My eyes are wide as I grasp the implication. “Yes, you were followed,” he informs me. “Jon made sure he let me know they were in control.”

  “There wasn’t anything we said, or, anything we did that was—”

  “It was an attempt to intimidate, with more to come, I’m sure. And he was testing me to see if I would flinch when I heard the location. He suspected that I would be standing by waiting to hear from you on how the meeting went, so they were keeping tabs on both of us.” I was speechless. “You apparently left just before I got there. Don’t really know how they intended for this to go if he showed up and I was there with you.”

  “This is . . . I can’t even think of a word! Outrageous? Sinister?” I looked over my shoulders. “Could they have followed me here? Should I be concerned?”

  “I doubt their type likes to ride public transport, but I wouldn’t put it past them to try something else to intimidate you. But they already made their big move with respect to me. Bosto was given the task to engage me. He said he might be able to help move things along.”

  “So you went without any witnesses.”

  “Without my lawyer, yes. I needed to hear the unfiltered version. Interestingly, they put him up to it to avoid involving one of the board members or their lawyers.”

  “Did he actually keep a straight face?”

  “He was scared shitless, and I told him as much when I asked him why he would do this. Why would he agree to confront me like I’m the bad guy? He knew me well enough.” Neil orders another Scotch. “Jon said that he was told about my involvement and about your threats—yes, threats to go public—and they asked him if he would convey their desire to put this all away quietly. I guess they think that if you know they have this hanging over me, you might stay quiet to save my skin.”

  “Do you think he knows the truth? That you had nothing to do with this?”

  “I wasn’t sure, until I asked him point blank.” He closes his eyes for longer than a blink.

  “And?”

  “And he asked me how I could have done such a thing. Killed all those dogs.”

  In all the years, I have only seen Neil moved to tears one time, when his brother died. Now his watering eyes stare unfocused towards the bustle of the restaurant. I reach for his hand, he registers my touch until he looks down at our hands and moves his thumb over mine. He faintly shakes his head, let’s go, and sits back, looking me in the eyes. The waiter comes, trying hard to ignore the intensity of our engagement. Tonight’s special is pecan-encrusted trout with a side of grilled asparagus and garlic mashed red potatoes. We place our order, though I doubt either of us will eat much. Having successfully completed his task, the waiter turns and leaves us to restart.

  “What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything.”

  “You will not do anything—anything at all—that they ask.” He is adamant. “You will however, work with your university communications office to set up a press conference, as soon as possible, as in the next day or two.”

  “I—”

  “Listen to me. They don’t have all the pieces in place, especially how I supposedly created CRFS, so the sooner you go public, the better chance we have of discrediting any story they invent, and more importantly, bringing CRFS and them to their knees.”

  “I like the sound of ‘we.’”

  “I’ll be there in spirit, but I don’t think it would be wise to have me standing in front of cameras with you while there is still a risk I might get nailed for this.”

  “But they have no proof! It would have taken coordination with a whole lab at Regnum to conspire with you. You haven’t done bench work for centuries.” I smile, faintly. “No offense. No one would reasonably believe that you could or would have done this.”

  He smirks. “Quite true, but I’m sure they can create proof. Lab techs don’t make much money and I had a convenient habit of walking through the labs every few weeks to promote the all-for-one team spirit. I actually knew many of the managers and even some of the techs by name. It would be easy to craft a story that I was micromanaging through these visits for my benefit.”

  “I’m sure Regnum benefited from your approach, as they did from all of your other ideas. By the way, you never told me why you left.”

  “You never asked.”

  “I am now.”

  The waiter brings rolls, sets them on the table, refreshes our water glasses. “Will there be anything else? Your order will be out in a few minutes.” He is diplomatic is the face
of our disquiet.

  “They were taking the company in a direction that I didn’t like. Moving towards capturing the best technologies and advancements by buying small start-ups on the verge of bankruptcy, but with an innovative marketable product.”

  “A lot of companies do that.”

  “True, but they were moving away from almost any investment in in-house research. It looked more profitable just to let others do the research, buy them out cheap when they couldn’t afford to take their product through the regulatory phases to get to market, and turn a bigger profit. Look at what they did with CRFS, they gave out grants in the hope that they would get the credit and profits from any solution. I felt that they needed to retain a strong core of researchers if they were to maintain their standing as a premier scientific company.”

  “Were they planning to let any go?”

  “They did. Shortly after I left, they pushed out at least twelve Principal Investigators. They used to tout themselves as ‘investors in research for the betterment of mankind.’ But that is no longer true philosophically or according to their books.”

  “Are they doing anything illegal?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. Just a lot of smoke and mirrors and tax write-offs for investments, sponsorships, and losses—almost deliberate losses—that as CSO I was not willing to endorse. So I left.”

  Our food comes. An extra steak knife for Neil, ever the carnivore with his order of ribeye, medium rare. “Black pepper for your salad or steak? Would there be anything else?”

  “No thank you.” I respect the waiter’s job but am barely able to show it.

  “Are they nervous that you might know too much?” I ask as he slices into meat. I am surprisingly hungry, ravenous actually.

  “I don’t think that is their motivation here. They have great lawyers who could run circles around anything I might know or claim. Regnum’s role in CRFS, like I said the other night, could bring down the company. They are in damage control mode.”