Chapter 13: Expendable

Frank hung up the telephone. He'd been discussing his plan for putting together the new financing package with the Company's investment banker in New York.

The intercom buzzed. "Agent Henderson would like to see you," Jeannette announced over the speaker.

Henderson walked into Frank's office with the employee roster in hand. "Do you have a guy named Fishberg working here? I don't see him on the printout."

"It's Fishman," Frank answered. "He's a Financial Analyst; he works on the sixth floor."

"Whatever his name is, I've got to talk to him."

"Since you called him 'Fishberg' I'm sure that you got his name from Jason Lowell," Frank said. "Aaron's small potatoes—only a few years out of school. He may not even be thirty years old."

"Lowell tried to use him to bait 'n' switch me and figured I'd bite because the guy is Jewish," Henderson said. "I didn't like it much, but the fact is I've got to talk to him. From what he said, he's the one who put the forecast together and that makes him privy to inside information. I can't let that slide."

"I can't deny that," Frank admitted. "I'll have Jeannette call him upstairs. Do you want him to meet you in the Controller's Office?"

"Yes, but don't tell him what it's about," Henderson asked. "It shouldn't take long."

Frank flipped the switch on the intercom. "Jeannette, would you find Aaron Fishman and ask him to come up to the Controller's Office right away, please? Don't tell him what it's about; tell him he'll be filled in when he gets there."

"Thanks," Henderson said. "Like I said, it should be a quick interview."

"Don't be surprised if he's already figured out the subject," Frank said. "Secrets are hard to keep around here. By the way, how did it go with Jason Lowell?"

"Can't talk about that," Henderson said.

"I should have figured that." Frank looked at his watch. "Can I help you with anything else? If not, I have a meeting with Mr. Warner."

It was late in the afternoon. Alvin poured Frank a scotch and a bourbon for himself from his private stock.

"I don't usually drink at the office," Frank said. "I'll make an exception today."

"Bad day?" Alvin asked. "Does it have anything to do with the FBI guys running around here?"

"Mostly," Frank answered.

"Fill me in—but after we meet with Al Crossman. He's on his way up right now. He says he has news about the hearing for the injunction."

"It must be good news if he came all the way over here to deliver it," Frank said.

Before Alvin could answer, his secretary came on the intercom to let them know that Al Crossman was waiting outside. "Tell him to come on in," Alvin said to the speaker on his desk. "He knows the way by now." Al Crossman walked through the door and Alvin got up and walked to his minibar. He clinked some ice cubes into a glass. "What're you drinkin', Al? Frank and I started without you."

"Jack on the rocks," Crossman answered. He reached out his hand and took the glass of whiskey from Alvin as he made his way to a chair in front of Alvin's the desk. "There's good news and bad news," he uttered as he sank into a chair.

"Give us the good news first," Frank sighed.

"They kind of go together," Al replied, "so I'll give it to you all at once—the molasses mixed with the sulfur." He took a swallow of the whiskey and then took a deep breath before he started. "We got the injunction from a Federal Magistrate."

"That's great news," Alvin said in a buoyant voice.

"Not so fast," Crossman cautioned. "As soon as the injunction was signed the SEC attorneys went upstairs and got a stay from the District Judge. It's a temporary stay to give them time to appeal."

"So, we're back where we started," Frank said.

"Not exactly," Crossman said. "The other side's on defense now. They have to convince the District Judge to overturn something that's already done. I don't think they can. It's Judge Stenson. I believe he'll rule for us."

"When?" Frank asked.

"A week from today. Of course, the SEC could take it higher if things go our way."

"What's the chance of that?" Alvin asked.

"It's hard to say," Crossman replied. "It depends on how Stenson words his ruling—if they think he's left them an opening."

"That's assuming Judge Stenson rules for..." Frank began to say.

"Of course," Al interrupted. He took another swallow of his drink. "How's it going with the FBI?"

"Alright, I guess," Frank answered.

"Let me tell you, Henderson is their best. He's not about to whitewash anything. I only asked them in to keep the SEC out."

"He looks tough, that's for sure," Frank acknowledged.

"That, he is," Crossman confirmed. "He won't look favorably on any funny stuff—so make sure he doesn't get any."

"Too late for that," Frank said.

"What?" Alvin gasped.

"Jason was scheduled to be interviewed by the Feds late this morning. He took a powder instead of showing up."

"You're kidding!" Crossman exclaimed.

"Goddam that guy!" Alvin uttered. "Is that what you were trying to get to me about while I was meeting with Rigby?"

"That's it," Frank said.

"Where in hell is he now?" Crossman asked.

"I found him at about two o'clock. He snuck upstairs and Jeannette let him into my office. I convinced him to find Henderson and talk to him. I don't know where he is now."

"You didn't see him afterwards? He didn't say how it went?"

"Henderson came in to see me and told me that Jason tried to finger Aaron Fishman."

"Who's Fishman?" Crossman asked.

"Yeah, who is he?" Alvin repeated.

"He's the young guy from downstairs who helped us put the forecast together," Frank reminded them. "We needed some extra help because we haven't hired a Controller yet."

"I see," Crossman nodded. "What's more important, why did Lowell do a disappearing act. What's he afraid of?"

"Damned if I know," Frank answered. "He's not an easy guy to figure out."

"Could he have been in on anything?" Crossman asked.

"Anything's possible, but I doubt it," Frank said. "It wouldn't add up. Jason isn't that smart, except when it comes to chemical formulas; and he hasn't got the guts for it either. We discussed it this morning—my opinion is still the same."

"Greed can make people do strange things," Crossman said.

"Right," Frank acknowledged, "but Jason's earning many times more than what he ever made as an Engineering Prof—even as Dean of the Engineering School." Frank shook his head. "He's too dumb, too scared and he's got more money right now than he ever thought he'd have."

"We'll have to keep an eye on him," Alvin declared.

"Right," Crossman agreed. "He didn't run from Henderson for no reason at all."

"I think that he just wasn't thinking right," Frank insisted. "These R&D types are all a little goofy."

"And what about this Fishman?" Crossman demanded.

"I have to admit that it's legit for Henderson to interview him. He was in on every step of the forecast. He knows as much as we do about what's in it—probably more."

"You think he's clean?" Alvin asked.

"Sure," Frank said. "I have no reason to suspect..."

"It would be nice if he isn't," Crossman thought out loud. "That would mean that Jason is clean, after all."

"I see what you mean," Alvin said, rubbing his chin.

"I don't get it," Frank admitted. "Why should we want either of them..."

"We don't," Alvin said, "but if it has to be one of them..."

Crossman turned to Frank. "I'm sure that I don't have to tell you. After the beating your stock has taken on Wall Street, if your head of R&D is implicated..." Crossman paused and finished the whiskey in his glass. "There'd be hell to pay."

"We'd be taken over, for sure," Alvin said.

Crossman and Alvin stood and went to the bar to pour themselves another drink. Frank looked at them, but the two older men turned away.

"What are you saying?" Frank asked.

"Just what I said," Alvin answered. "If Jason's implicated in some kind of bad deal Wall Street will assume the Company's falling apart. It would be a disaster."

"You'd be easy pickin's for a takeover firm," Crossman added. "It wouldn't be pretty."

Alvin handed Frank a fresh glass of whiskey. Frank set down his old glass and took a gulp of the stronger replacement. "I think Jason will be cleared in the end. I told you what I think happened."

"What if he's not?" Alvin challenged. "Are you willing to take that chance?"

"If he did do something, there's nothing we can do to turn back the clock," Frank argued.

"We need a replacement," Crossman said. Frank looked at Alvin, who was looking at Crossman and nodding in agreement. "We need to feed them someone so they take the pressure off Lowell."

"To take the pressure off all of us," Alvin added.

Frank took another gulp of his whiskey. He lowered his glass and looked at the two men who were looking at him. It gave him an uneasy feeling. "Al, it was just this morning you told me you hung Jason out to dry. Now you want to protect him. What gives here?"

"I had no idea Lowell would go on the run like he did. I thought he was innocent. Now—let's just say there's some doubt We've got to be nimble," Crossman retorted. "The situation's changing; we've got to change with it. I think we've got a better alternative available to us at this moment."

"You want to give them Aaron Fishman, don't you?" Frank said. Alvin looked down at the plush carpet below his feet. Crossman took a deep breath, but then stopped short as he was about to speak. Each of them took another pull on their whiskey. Frank waited for them to set their glasses down and then he spoke. "Aaron isn't guilty of anything. He was only doing his job—the job I asked him to do."

"It's hardball, Frank—I know." Crossman said. "It's survival, too, and it's the logical thing to do. Sometimes the logical thing is what takes the most guts to pull off."

"Don't lecture me about hardball," Frank answered back. "I've thrown 'em—and I've caught a few, too. There's a time for it; and there are other times when it's not called for."

"This is no time for Mr. Nice Guy," Alvin warned. "It's sure that someone's guilty. If it was Fishman, we could cut our losses."

"And get this whole thing over sooner and not later," Crossman added.

"This is crazy," Frank protested. "I've been with this company a long time. We've had tough times, but we've never..."

"I don't like it, either," Alvin said to Frank, raising his voice. "I don't like having to choose. It's not between the Fishman and Jason. It's between Fishman and all the shareholders. They'll get crucified in a takeover—pennies on the dollar."

"We're not saying that we want him convicted of anything," Crossman said, "or even arrested. We just want the Feds to focus on him instead of Lowell."

"That would give us time," Alvin explained. "We can bring in someone more senior over Jason. We'll call him Chief Technology Officer, or something like that. After the new guy's in place, well shoehorn Jason out."

"We can't start feeding innocent employees to the FBI just to keep them busy. Pretty soon everyone will be watching their back instead of doing their jobs—from every vice-president right down to the janitors," Frank warned. "And, I don't think Henderson will buy it, anyway."

"They'll get over it," Crossman said as he looked out the window.

"So you knew about this before I came in," Frank said. "You've got it all figured out."

"We didn't know about his latest caper, but Jason's been on the radar screen for a while. This latest thing is more an opportunity than a threat."

"You can do it without pulling down Aaron Fishman," Frank insisted.

"Not now, if Lowell's under suspicion. It would be too obvious," Crossman explained. "We've got to do this right."

"Look Frank, I admire you wanting to protect your people," Alvin said. "Don't worry, we'll take care of him. A nice severance package, outplacement; we could get Jim Sweeney to get him a job at his former oil company down the street."

"He may even thank us when it's all done," Crossman mused. "He'll fall on his sword for the Company and come out looking golden, too. We'll call it the 'Golden Sword'."

"Thank us?" Frank shot back. "We say, 'Aaron, we're trashing your reputation. Here's some money—now go away'."

"C'mon Frank, you're not on the team here," Alvin said.

Frank didn't answer. He saw the two men looking at him expecting an answer. He set his drink on the coffee table and buried his face in his hands.

"There are directors who wanted you out," Alvin said. "You could have been out—you're still here. One hand washes the other."

Frank looked up at Alvin who was standing over him. "At least, let's see if Jason's in trouble or not."

"And then..." Alvin started to say.

"We can wait until then," Crossman said quickly before Frank could answer. "No need to pressure Frank about this now. He'll do the right thing if he has to."

Frank slowly exhaled and then stood. Alvin slapped him on the back and then put his arm around his shoulder. "Fix yourself another," Alvin said, motioning Frank to the bar.

"Thanks, just the same," Frank answered. "I'm past my limit already."

When Jason arrived at his house, he expected Darlene to meet him at the door. She didn't and he was disappointed. "Where could she be? I was sure that she'd be home." He set out to find her. Perhaps she had a late errand to run. He decided to go upstairs and change his clothes. At the top of the stairs he heard the muffled sound of the radio and it seemed to be coming from their bedroom.

"Darlene, Darlene," he called out. "Are you up here?"

He waited a few seconds for a response. He'd nearly given up when he heard her reply.

"Jason!" she yelled back. "What are you doin' home at this hour? Ah'm busy; Ah'm takin' a bath."

A smile lit up Jason's face.

"Half-way home."

He sauntered in—so as not to seem in a hurry—to the bathroom door. He stopped before going in, wondering whether to announce himself first. He thought not, and gave the door a little push so that it creaked open...

He continued into the bathroom without fanfare, stopping at the counter to turn off the radio. The air was warm and moist, laced with a perfume scent. Darlene sat in the tub beneath a pool of steaming water and a mountain of suds. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked. He slipped off his suit jacket and hung it on the hook on the door.

It was just as he pictured her. Her hair was up, make-up steamed away. She looked vulnerable. A glass of white wine rested on the ledge of the tub. Beads of condensation rolled off the glass as proof of the coldness inside it. As he approached the tub she sank lower into the suds, although not low enough to get her hair wet. The foam rose up around her collar bone. Jason could only see the crests of her breasts in the sudsy water; at least, he could see more in his mind's eye. By sinking down, her bent knees broke the surface of the water. Spare suds dripped off her thighs and they glistened. Her legs looked slippery. It made Jason think of another slippery part of her. He would find it if he could only start his hands on those glistening thighs and follow wherever they led him. He loosened his tie.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he repeated, only this time more demanding than the first time. At least that's the way he'd intended it to sound.

"Ah asked you first, Jason," she replied, not moving from her protective layer of bubbles. "What are you doin' home at this hour? Ah wasn't expectin' you home until at least six."

"I ... I kind of ... I decided to call it an early day."

"Early day?" she queried

Jason winced a little. He should have covered that base during the drive home. He should have been ready for that question. "I thought we could have some extra time together, Darlene." He started unbuttoning his shirt. "It looks like I was right." He pried a foot out of his shoe.

"Jason! You know this is mah private time o' day," she protested. The cheeks on her face were getting red, in contrast with the white mass of suds. It was an interesting coloration, but it made Jason's hopes sink because he knew she was angry.

"Oh, c'mon, Darlene. What would be the harm?" He looked down, his mouth formed into a pout. He scuffed at the tile floor with his remaining shod foot. Pouting almost always worked. It ignited her motherly instincts. If pouting didn't work, he'd have to give up.