Chapter 18: Hot Summer

“Whoa!” Kathy gasped behind him as he sat at his computer in their bedroom. She was alone on their bed, softly plucking her acoustic, compiling a Winter Festival playlist for each night.

Peter glanced at her, raising his eyebrows at her incredulous expression. “What?”

“I felt that!” she exclaimed with a high-pitched voice.

“What?” he asked, wondering if he missed an earthquake.

She gasped and stared at her lap. “There it is again!”

“What?” he demanded crossly. “What are you talking about?”

She gazed at him with wide eyes, “The quickening!” she breathed. “I felt it.”

He felt uncertain. “Uh, do you need a barf bag?”

“No!” she exclaimed, setting the guitar aside. “Lenna!” she called as she jumped off the bed.

Peter watched her dash out of the bedroom and returned to his computer, opening a query window. He typed Q-U-I-C-K-E-N-I-N-G and pressed Enter.

“What’s up?” he heard the other woman ask as he scanned the first article. His eyes flew open as he jumped out of his chair.

“I need a kit!” Kathy exclaimed. “I think I felt it!”

“What?”

“The quickening!” Peter exclaimed. He went to his wife and gazed at her excitedly. “Are you sure?”

“I dunno!” she replied, rubbing her belly. “But the test will tell us quickly enough.”

Lenna returned from her room holding an unopened pregnancy test, which she handed to her friend with a dubious expression. “Quickening won’t happen for three to four months, girl!” she stated.

It was Wednesday, July 1st. Peter calculated the time since their first intercourse when she confessed to stopping her birth control: Three days and four hours, with the time zone.

“I felt something!” Kathy insisted, taking the kit and stepping into the guest bathroom. Peter and Lenna followed her in, and she frowned at them. “Can I have a moment?”

“Oh!” “Yeah!” They stammered and tripped over each other, returning to the living room.

They waited quietly by the table, listening to her flow from the other room. The toilet flushed, and then they heard her washing her hands. Then nothing. They glanced at each other, daring the other to make the first move or speak. Peter opened and closed his mouth with a frown. Lenna turned to walk back to the bathroom and then hesitated. They glanced at each other again and made faces as they tried to decide what to do.

A joyful scream from the bathroom startled the four sleeping dogs, causing them to bark. He felt the blood rush to his feet as he realized her ecstatic tone and what it meant. He sat abruptly in a chair as dizziness threatened to overwhelm him.

“Yes!” Lenna cried, pumping her fist.

The door to Charity’s room flew open, and the teenager emerged, holding a detailing brush in one hand and a paper plate with dabs of paint in the other. “Who died?” she grumbled as she stared from Peter to Lenna. Kathy skipped jubilantly out of the bathroom, waving the positive pregnancy indicator. She grabbed the girl and hugged her joyfully, spinning her around.

“I’m pregnant!” she squealed.

“And now you’re covered with paint! “ Charity remarked, looking at the smeared plate in her hand.

Kathy stepped back and glanced down at the paint smears on her blouse. It didn’t dampen her elated attitude. “Who cares!” she laughed and jumped on her husband’s lap, hugging the stuffing out of him.

“And now he does, too,” the adolescent sighed, shaking her head.

Lenna backed away from the jubilant woman when she leaped to her feet and rushed at her. “Un-uh,” she declared firmly, waving her off. “Not this shirt, mama.”

“I’m preggos!” she repeated with a delirious smile.

“That’s nice,” the Apache woman replied. “Enjoy it while it’s fresh.”

“Oh, pooh on you!” Kathy made a face at her. “I’m gonna be a Mommy!”

Peter stood and hugged her quietly. “Wow!” he breathed. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know. Only took one try!” she giggled. “Or two ... maybe three?” She pursed her lips in thought.

“Keep that juju away from me!” Charity blurted and turned back to her room.

“What’cha painting, squirt?” the Puyallup girl asked, studying the stain on her shirt. She followed the girl into her room and gasped at the large face emerging from the wall above her desk. “Oh my...” she breathed.

It was a stunning likeness of Celeste recreated from a color print taken from across a small dining table at the Mall Café in London. Charity enlarged the image and sketched it directly onto her wall with incredible detail. She had applied oil colors to her crisp blue eyes, which seemed to materialize from the black-and-white drawing.

“Wow!” Peter exclaimed from behind. “She’s stunning!”

“Yeah,” Charity replied wistfully.

The meeting room felt more business-like and less formal than the previous hearing in Denver. They were greeted at the SEC headquarters lobby and led to a plain office suite. The conference room was ordinary, with a large rectangular table and prearranged seating. Peter entered wearing denim jeans, an embroidered Laredo shirt, and his Geronimo hat, with leather dingo boots covering his artificial feet. Maggy followed in an expensive Veronica Beard pencil skirt and blouse, a military-cut overcoat with gold tasseled epaulets, and her hair slicked back. Douglas Klaus wore a custom Dior black virgin wool suit, carried a thick briefcase, and pulled back Maggy’s seat before taking his own.

Peter smirked as he glanced across the table toward five empty seats. Triangular engraved name plates were staged on the table before each seat. They read, Hon. A. Devin, Hon. T. Franklin, Chmn. S. Trennins, Hon. C. Jenkins, and Hon. E.”

“Seems to be a few names short of the initial inquiry,” Klaus commented dryly as he removed a stack of blue folders from his briefcase. He selected five, arranged them in order, and slipped the remaining files back into the case, setting it by his feet.

“Pity,” Peter replied, “Something must have come up.”

They were the only occupants in the conference room, waiting patiently, refusing to check their watches as the minutes passed. After ten minutes, a door opened to their right, and two ‘non-official’ men appeared, one black and the other Hispanic. They appeared uncomfortable as they stepped behind the empty seats. The black man grabbed the chair to the right of the Chairman’s and removed it along with the placard for T. Franklin. The Hispanic man slid the remaining chair over and quickly rearranged the other seats to center them along the table.

Peter’s chuckle filled the room after they left the same way, taking the chair and placard.

“It seems Honorable Thomas Franklin won’t be joining us,” Klaus said, shaking his head. He slid a blue folder off the table and placed it with the others in his briefcase. “I was looking forward to that,” he mused.

“One little, two little, three little Indians...” Maggy sang softly with a humorless smile. Peter could tell she was wound up like a coiled spring despite her calm exterior. He envisioned her as a praying mantis—poised to strike.

Three minutes later, the rear door opened again, allowing six assorted men to march into the room and step over to the back wall where they stood at loose attention.

“Good morning, Edwin!” Douglas called politely to the tallest of the group. He was a stern-faced older man trying to stay the hands of time as they wore away at his receding hairline.

“Klaus,” the man replied abruptly, refusing to engage.

The door reopened, held by the Hispanic man. Four more individuals entered: three men and a woman. All were dressed in business casual with wary and unhappy expressions. Their demeanor and bearing wholly sabotaged any intent to control the hearing’s atmosphere and optics.

Peter watched them through narrowed eyes as they approached the four seats. They stood briefly, pulled out the chairs, and sat in unison. He secretly laughed at their discomfiture as they set folders and pads on the table. The Chairman was a stocky middle-aged man battling age and stress effects. He wore thin spectacles and cleared his throat as he set a tape recorder on the table. He pressed the record button and began speaking, stating the date (Monday, July 6th,1992), location, meeting purpose, and attendees.

Peter cleared his throat loudly, drawing attention as he shuffled in his seat and sat forward.

Chairman S. Trennins paused in his preamble and glanced up at him over his spectacles. “Yes? Mr ... Shipley? Did you need something?” His tone reflected his irritation at being interrupted.

Peter nodded, sitting back again. He pointed toward the artificially colored brunette woman across from him to the Chairman’s left.

Ms. Jenkins sat straighter and glanced back at him askance. “Are you indicating me, sir?”

He nodded with a sardonic smile, “Yes, ma’am,” he stated calmly and pointed to the table before her. “I assume you are Ms. Jenkins, but your placard suggests E. Bell.” He pointed to the elderly black man to her left. “And you don’t look like a ‘Caroline’.”

Color rose in her cheeks as she reached for the placard before her. She glanced at it, her face reddened, and the room became awkwardly quiet as she exchanged it with her colleagues. “Thank you, Mr. Shipley,” she mumbled politely.

“No problemo,” he replied casually, relishing the panel’s disarray.

“If we can continue,” Trennins murmured dispassionately. He proceeded with his preamble into the recorder before addressing the trio and asking them to state their names for the record. He then had the four-panel members introduce themselves.

“Before we begin,” the chairman said as he shuffled the papers and files. “I’d like to offer Mr. Shipley and Ms. Desormeaux the opportunity to submit opening statements while we give them copies of the extensive dossiers we have compiled.” He nodded toward the tall man behind the panel. “I’d also like to introduce Mr. Edwin Carlisle, who will act as our lead attorney during this board of inquiry and serve as a mitigator to resolve any areas of legal contention or confusion.”

He signaled the lead attorney, who stepped around the table and placed two official-looking folders marked ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ before Peter and Maggy. They casually slid them across to Douglas without even glancing at them. Peter guessed by touch that the chairman’s definition of ‘extensive’ meant four or five pages at most.

“These dossiers contain a list of questionable and egregious behavior on your part, including dubious investments and capital ventures—not to be confused with your recent gambling windfall.” His tone was confident and condescending. “We are offering them for your perusal in the interests of transparency and due process, as we will focus on these activities during this meeting.”

He stopped speaking and glanced across the table at the summoned while Douglas casually thumbed through the government dossiers. He maintained a bored expression as he exaggerated the reading. When the chairman cleared his throat, he saw the man glaring at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Chairman ... were you done? Speaking, that is?” He dropped the two thin folders onto the table indifferently.

“Yes, Mr. Klaus, I’m done. Would either of your clients like to make an opening statement?”

It was a poorly veiled attempt to pressure or trick them into incriminating themselves.

“No, thank you, Mr. Chairman,” the attorney replied matter-of-factly. “My clients wish to remain silent until you present a valid question.”

The Chairman’s face darkened at the reference to his long-windedness. “Very well. We shall begin. By the end of this hearing, we hope to understand how your client, Mr. Shipley, accrued over $980 million in under two and a half years...”

Mr. Klaus cleared his throat, cutting off the speaker, “My apologies, gentlemen,” he nodded toward the scowling brunette, “and lady. But before the ‘official’ portion of this hearing, I’d also like to provide you with dossiers we have compiled on yourselves.” He lifted the stack of blue binders and began reaching across the table. He handed the first two to Bell and Jenkins but was intercepted by the lead attorney, who relieved him of the last two. He smiled as he took his seat. “Ours are bigger,” he smiled.

“What is the meaning of this?” the African American man seated to the woman’s left demanded. His face showed shock and outrage. “I demand to know where you obtained this information!”

Caroline Jenkins opened her file and began reading it before her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth.

The chairman was outraged and torn by the sudden spiral beyond his control. He started to smack his hand on the table and noticed the lead attorney’s foreboding expression as he scanned his dossier. Chairman Trennins lurched awkwardly and snatched the file from the attorney. “Give me that!” he snapped, dropping back into his chair. It was behavior to avoid when dealing with an attorney, even a government one. He was oblivious to the lawyer’s dark expression as he opened his file. Mr. Carlisle scowled at the chairman’s head and tossed the last file dismissively to the Honorable Allen Devin, who snatched it up and opened it fearfully.