Chapter 10: Epilogue

Tony leaned back and rested his head against the plaster wall of the almost empty room. He was thinking. He had plenty of time to think. At least as much as three years to think. Ralph Cummings would be arriving soon, and it would be back to work. Work on the story of his "life," if that's what you could call it. Ralph was a god-send, actually.

Tony had been wavering between despair and frustration for the past three months. Three months since the sentencing. Three months away from Nina and his family. Three months away from his new friends who had helped him so unselfishly. How would he explain it to them? He was having trouble explaining it to himself. In truth, he was bitterly disappointed in himself.

The door to the sparsely furnished room opened and a uniformed guard entered.

"Mr. Cummings is on his way."

"Thank you." At least it would be something to help him straighten out his mind. The damaged memory with little pieces still missing. The exercise of reciting his past life was a different kind of therapy, but it was a therapy.

A few seconds later, Ralph Cummings walked into the room, closing the door behind him. They were not alone. A pair of CCTV cameras watched constantly.

"Good morning, Tony. How are you today?"

"I'm OK, thanks Ralph. Good to see you again."

Cummings placed a spiral-bound notebook and a small recorder on the table in front of them and sat down.

"I can't imagine how difficult it is to get used to being here, Tony. I want to talk about that later, but not right now. I guess you can be grateful it's a minimum security institution."

"Yeah ... grateful," Tony said with a rueful smile.

"OK ... let's get going again. I've done up the notes from our last meeting and I had a couple of points I wanted to clarify.

"You said you had figured out that at least two of the partners were taking funds from some of the investor accounts. How did you latch onto the third ... Mahon I think it was?"

And so it began again, Tony recounting what he could recall from the months leading up to reporting his discovery to Stanton Mellows. It was a tedious, detail filled accounting of the fraud perpetrated by the three Vice Presidents. Then the reluctant acknowledgement by Mellows, and finally his meeting with Carter Woolman at the S.E.C. office.

This was the third meeting of the two men. It had been difficult to engineer. The Department of Justice cited the prohibition against profiting from crime. Picardo Publishing's lawyer had argued successfully that any new information about the crime could be documented and handed over to the FBI. They would have complete access to all Cummings' notes.

The monies promised in the advance had been frozen by the court, subject to a small living allowance for Nina and the children. The balance would be unavailable until the conclusion of his sentence. Ultimately, it would pay his legal fees and still leave Nina and the children enough to get by on. Then what?

The look on her face when they arrested him was haunting him constantly. The horror and fear mixed in her reaction was palpable. Worse yet, he had let her down again. She was going to suffer through his humiliation, even as she chose to stay with him.

But there was something more frustrating. He had no memory of committing the crime. He was accused of stealing something close to ten million dollars and he had no recollection of doing any such thing. The trail, according to Van Hoote, led directly to him, although he had covered his tracks cleverly, making it appear to have been the others who took the money.

His lawyer, Nolan Matthews, had gone over the evidence with another accounting expert, and had come to the conclusion that the evidence was indeed solid and that Tony's best defence was to plead guilty with mitigating circumstances. He would make full restitution, since none of the money had been spent. He couldn't prove he didn't remember the act or where the money was, but it made no difference to the court in which life Tony Milano committed the crime. The court did, however, take into account his cooperation with the FBI and his testimony on their behalf.

Nolan was Major Tom Matthews' brother, an adept criminal defense lawyer with an impressive record. Tom had stood by Tony and had prevailed upon his brother to assist his new friend. Whatever the investment broker might have been in his past life, he was something entirely different today.

His sentence, three to five years in a minimum security facility, was considered light in comparison to the heavy sentences Mahon, Blyer, and Stainsby had received. They would be the guests of the Federal Penitentiary system for at least twenty years. Blyer and Mahon were at least fortunate enough to rate medium security. Stainsby, due to his involvement in the attempted murder of Tony, was sentenced to twenty-five to life in maximum security. It was unlikely he would ever leave prison.

Stanton Mellows never faced trial. He died of a heart attack three weeks before his court date. Tony almost felt sorry for the old man. The look of him on the floor of Amnesia! after his aborted attack was enough of a memory for Tony.

But Tony could only regret that he too would have to serve his sentence. He had come to believe that he was guilty even without the recollection. The prison psychiatrist suggested it was a repressed memory as opposed to amnesia. Something Tony would rather not remember because it conflicted with his new personality and his new life. There was a certain logic to that, Tony felt.

He finished the session with Ralph Cummings and returned to his room. As prisons go, FCI Candlehurst wasn't that bad. Most of the inmates were white-collar criminals, druggies, and the odd sex offender. They were considered non-violent and likely candidates for rehabilitation. It could have been worse, Tony thought.

He had applied to work in the prison kitchen, but there were no current openings. He had made it known to Asst. Warden Kettleworth that he was a qualified cook. It made no difference. Until his number came up, he would be assigned to other work-related projects. He was currently in the laundry, one of the easier but more boring assignments. He had to once again prepare himself for the menial tasks just as he had when he began as a dishwasher at Mr. Leung's restaurant.

Nina would be coming Saturday, as she had promised. That was one thing he could look forward to. The distance prevented her from being there more than once or twice a month, but he was grateful for any time he could spend with her. Federal prisons did not permit conjugal visits. It would be a long, lonely time for both of them.

As he walked back to his room, he thought about his fate. If there was one bright spot in the whole sordid mess, it was the loyalty of his family and friends. Not a single one of them had abandoned him. They were almost unwilling to accept his guilt; even when the evidence said he surely was. Even Martin Polikoff, the supposedly hardened NYPD detective, had stuck by him.

But it was Nina that meant the most to him right now. She would be waiting for him whenever he was released. She was not going anywhere without him. When they said their vows and the part "for better or worse" was uttered, she truly meant it. Every word of it. If there was nothing else to motivate him, that would be sufficient.

Amnesia! was running well with Muriel and Erik at the helm in the kitchen. The new restaurant had been put on hold until Tony was released and could reassess the viability. The sale of the two properties in Westport and Nantucket had provided more than enough to secure the townhouse in the Bronx. Nina was sheltered from the liability of his crime. She and the children would be able to cope financially during his incarceration. It was the best he could hope for.

It seemed like an eternity until Saturday afternoon when Nina arrived. It was a five hour drive from the Bronx and she would be exhausted. Their two hours together would be the one bright spot in the next two to three weeks for both of them. Tony found himself pacing the floor in his room until her arrival was announced.

"Hello, my love," Nina smiled as she sat across the table from him. There would be no touching other than briefly holding hands, but even that small gesture had become precious to them.

"It's so good to see you again, Nina. Thank you for coming. I know how long it takes. I know it must be very hard on you."

"My only worry is when winter comes and I won't be able to get here easily."

"I know. Don't worry about that now, Nina. How are the children?"

"They're fine. But they are determined to come and visit you. Please, Tony, please let me bring them to visit you. They love you and they want to see you."

"You know how I feel about that, Nina. I don't want our children to see their father in prison wearing prison clothes. I don't think I can handle that ... much less them."

"Tony ... they love you. They know where you are and why you are here. They want to see their father. Please allow them to visit at least once. Please, Tony."

He bowed his head in thought. Would it be wrong? Would it harm them? He couldn't make up his mind.

"I'll think about it, Nina. That's all I can promise."

She nodded and smiled. It was a step forward. Until now he had steadfastly refused to allow the children to visit.

For the rest of their time together they spent it talking about their friends and Nina's life in the city. Mama Novak was being a guardian angel and sister Magda was constantly with her for support. She never felt abandoned until night, when lying in her bed she longed for her Tony. The tears were ever present as she steeled herself to survive the next three years.

When Nina left to return to the city, Tony felt that pang of emptiness that just wouldn't go away. She had become so important to him in this past year. With too much time to contemplate his life then and now, he desperately needed her to help keep him sane. She was his reason for living. She was more important now than at any time in their married life.

The late fall and winter came and went. Luckily, the weather always seemed to cooperate with Nina's planned visits. She seldom had to delay her trip for more than a day due to snow or freezing rain. Just before Christmas, Tony had relented and allowed Nina to bring Jared and Nadia to visit. He had also added Ben to the approved family visitors list. It was only a two hour drive for Ben from Cornell.

The first meetin between Tony and his oldest son was awkward. They had seen little of each other since Ben began living on campus. The boy had left home before his seventeenth birthday to further his aspirations. He was determined to obtain a degree in Alternate Energy Engineering. He had won an academic scholarship in his final year of high school and chose Cornell because of its Ivy League reputation and the curriculum.

Nina described Ben as nineteen going on thirty. He had matured at a very young age and was virtually self-sufficient at age sixteen. At a shade under six feet, he was a sturdier build than his father; more like his grandfather Janos. Dark brown hair and eyes, his handsome features should have attracted the girls in droves. He hardly noticed, such was his drive to succeed. Like father, like son.

But there had been a price to pay. The separation, summer jobs in distant places, and the remoteness of his father had all made him less family orientated. Nina and Tony knew he loved his family, but like his father was at that time, he had difficulty showing it. He almost seemed embarrassed by displays of affection by any of the family members, particularly Gramma Novak.

So, it was quite a surprise to Tony when Ben was announced as a visitor one Thursday afternoon in March.

"Hi, Dad," Ben smiled as he sat in the chair opposite his father.

"Hi, Ben. Good to see you. This is a pleasant surprise."

"Mom told me you changed your mind and would let us come and see you."

"Yeah ... I guess I was being unfair ... selfish. She made me understand that it should be your choice."

Ben nodded. "You know we don't really think you should be here, don't you?"

"Yeah. But here I am ... and ... well ... the evidence says I did it ... so..."

"This place doesn't look too bad, Dad. Not like those prisons you see on the TV shows."

"No ... it's minimum security, so there's a bit more freedom. A bit more privacy. But ... it's still a prison."

"What are you going to do when you get out? Are you going back to Amnesia?"

"I don't know, Ben. I don't know if they'll want me or need me. I may have to go out on my own. Start my own restaurant. I guess there's time enough to think about that."

"You know they'll want you Dad. Mom says Muriel will retire soon. Eric can handle his own kitchen now, so he'll probably move on. I don't think you'll have to worry about Mr. Leung. Mom says he asks about you every time she comes back from visiting you. I don't think you have anything to worry about," Ben said confidently.

"You seem to be keeping up on the goings-on at home pretty well. I gather your mother is keeping you informed?"

"Yeah. We all want you back, Dad. This is wrong. I can't believe you did what they say you did. It just isn't you. It doesn't fit. But ... whatever ... we just want you back home."

Tony looked at his son and smiled. It seemed to him that they were closer now than when he left for Cornell. He had ambition and drive and intelligence. Now, it seemed he was gaining maturity in his relationship with his family. He was a son to be proud of.

Ben left at the end of the permitted visiting hours, promising to return as soon as he could find time. Tony thanked him for making the effort. It was an opportunity for him to reconnect with his oldest child and now wondered why he was so reluctant to allow the meeting. That had been a mistake he wouldn't repeat.

One month later, Asst. Warden Kettleworth sent for him. He was to be allowed to transfer to the kitchen if he still wanted to. Tony jumped at the chance. It didn't turn out quite as he expected, but at least he was in an environment he could influence.

In a way, the kitchen was something like Mr. Leung's at the Bamboo Terrace. Formula food prepared in large batches and dished out in controlled portions. When Tony looked at the menu, he saw a carefully balanced diet spread over seven days. If it was Friday, it would be sole, or cod, or occasionally, halibut. The preparation, however, lacked imagination. The meals were bland and to most people's taste, boring. Tony wondered if there was anything that could be done about it.

After three weeks, Tony realized something else. Something that was a good deal more disturbing. It would appear that the produce and meat suppliers were sending in less-than-retail acceptable product. No grocery store that Tony knew of would accept some of the produce and meat cuts that he saw arriving. It caused him to wonder. Was this what the contract called for, or was it someone thinking it was a way to cut costs.

He had thought about discussing it with some of the senior inmate cooks, but decided against it. No good would come of stirring up trouble among his fellow prisoners. He had already established that they were no happier with the quality of foodstuffs being sent in every two to three days.

The waste in fresh fruit and vegetables was appalling to Tony. He would have been out of business in a month if he had run Amnesia! this way. The question was what to do about it? The last thing he wanted to do was to cause trouble that might prevent him from gaining his early release. It would be easy to just ignore the problem and carry on. But it didn't sit well.

He took a week to mull over his options. Finally, summoning his courage, he asked for an appointment to talk to Warden Kettleworth.

"What do you want to talk about, Mr. Milano," the assistant warden asked in a curt voice.

"It's about the kitchen, Mam. I was curious about whether the contract for the food service was a public document?"

"Yes ... this is a federal institution. The contract is available for viewing. Why do you ask?"

"Uhhhmmm ... as you may know, I ran a restaurant kitchen myself, Mam. I was responsible for purchasing all the food. I have a pretty good idea of what represents fair quality and fair prices. I was curious what the contract for Candlehurst specifies," he said carefully.

The eyebrows on the middle-aged woman rose and he cheeks colored.

"Are you suggesting there are problems with our suppliers? Something irregular going on?" She had a demanding tone and Tony worried that he had stepped over the line.

"No ... no ... of course not," he scrambled. He paused for a moment before regaining his courage. "Mam ... there is a lot of waste in the product we are bringing in. For every ten pounds of unpeeled potatoes that we are buying, we are only getting six pounds of acceptable product. It may be that we are buying a lower grade to keep costs in line with a budget. That's what I was curious about."

"Just potatoes?" she asked, now curious.

"No, Mam. Meat cuts with too much bone and fat. Fresh fruit that is past its best. Not every product or every shipment, mind you, but enough that I think we are not getting fair value if we are paying for retail quality foods."

The woman sat, looking intently at Tony. Tony looked directly at her, not daring to flinch or turn away.

"Wait here for a moment, Mr. Milano." She rose and walked to file cabinet in a small alcove. She opened the top drawer and after a few seconds, pulled out a manila folder. She tucked it under her arm and then bent to a lower cabinet, opened it and again, withdrew another manila folder. She brought them back to her desk and sat down again.

She opened the top folder and looked it over for a minute or so. Her head rose then as she looked at him.

"It says here you were the cook at a tavern restaurant in New York City. Is that the place you were referring to?"

"Yes, Mam," Tony said relieved. "It was called Amnesia! ... after what happened to me."

"I see. And you purchased all the food supplies for this restaurant?"

"Yes, Mam."

"What do you want to know, Mr. Milano?"

"I'd like to compare the contract for Candlehurst with my former suppliers and see how they stack up. I can do that on-line without any cost to the prison," he said quickly.

"Why?"

"Mam, the waste is excessive and I believe that if the institution has been buying lower grades to save money, that any savings are lost in that waste."

"And you can prove this how?" she asked skeptically.

"We know what the yield is for most products we purchase here. Our cooks know that because that's how they know how much to order and how often. I know what my yields were in the restaurant. I had to for the same reason. How much to buy and how often. It wouldn't take much to compare the number and work out what the dollar difference was. I could do that on my own time, of course," he hastened to add.

"Of course," she said with the faintest hint of a smile. She sat for a minute, her eyes shifting from Tony to the second file folder. Finally, she extracted two pages from the folder and pushed them across to Tony.

"The top page is the contract summary for produce and the other is for the meat purveyor. Is there enough information on that to make your comparison?" she asked.

Tony looked over the two documents. "Uh ... no, Mam. This just says they agree to supply FDA approved produce and meats and that the prices will reflect current market prices, adjusted monthly. It doesn't spell out the quality standards or the individual costs." Tony lapsed into silence, waiting for the woman's response.

She leaned back, tapping her chin with her forefinger, not focusing on Tony. At length, she reopened the folder and began searching through several different sheets. It took her a couple of minutes, but she found what she was looking for.

"Here are the quality guidelines for the produce. Why don't you look at these and tell me what you think," she suggested.

Tony took the sheet from her and began to read. It took him more than a couple of minutes to read and digest the information, but when he was done, he sighed and passed the document back to Warden Kettleworth.

"Well?" she asked, her eyebrow cocked.

"We aren't getting what we are supposed to get," he said. "The contract calls for Grade A, what I would refer to as retail quality. That is, the same quality you would expect to find in a large grocery store. What we're getting some of the time is stuff they wouldn't put on their shelves."

"How often is this happening?"

"I haven't documented it, but every shipment seems to contain some items that don't meet the standard. So, it's happening on most deliveries, but not with every product."

"I see." See sat quietly, absorbing what he had told her. "You said you could calculate the extra cost in waste."

"Yes, Mam. It wouldn't be easy, but ... yes. I could do that."

"Very well, Mr. Milano. You may have uncovered a corrupt supplier. Or it may just be someone not paying attention to the contract. Let's get our ducks in a row first. Then we can address the issue with our suppliers."

"Yes, Mam. With your permission, I'll get started on the cost comparisons. I'll get current costs on ten items that I know we purchase here and you can compare them to the invoice costs. Based on that, we should be able to calculate the cost of waste."

"Good. You have privileges on the internet with my permission. When you need to use it, let me know and I'll arrange it. In the meantime, please don't discuss this with any other inmate or any of the staff."

"Yes, Mam. Thank you for listening to me," he said, turning to leave.

"Mr. Milano," she called as his hand reached the door knob. "Thank you. I know that took some courage." She had that small smile that made Tony feel the risk had been worth it.

It took Tony two days to gather the information he needed from his former suppliers in New York. He gave no explanation for wanting it and none was asked for. In the meantime, he had begun to calculate waste on the ten selected products; seven produce items and three meat items. He had ignored the fish supplier since they did not seem to demonstrate the same problems. Their product was invariably fresh, properly cleaned, and well presented.

By the end of the week, Tony had the data he wanted. The formula for calculating the costs was in place and all Warden Kettleworth needed to do was to fill in the blanks. He contacted her and indicated he had the information they had agreed upon and she quickly agreed to see him.

As Tony stood before her desk, he passed her the paper he had prepared and was about to show her where to input her costs.

"Have a seat, Mr. Milano," she said pleasantly.

"Thank you, Mam."

"This looks very comprehensive. I assume I can fill in our costs and use the formula to calculate the difference?" she asked, looking up from his work.

"Yes, Mam."

She continued to review the paper and Tony could see her eyes begin to widen as she read further.

"Are you certain of these waste figures?" she asked, her forehead wrinkled in concern.

"Yes, Mam. They are the exact figures by weight for the entire week, by item."

"How in the world did you manage that?"

"Not without some messy after-hours work," he smiled.

She shook her head, looking back at the figures on the page.

"I had no idea that our waste was this high. Did the other kitchen staff know about this?"

"Yes, Mam. I'm sure they would have said something, but..." He left his comment unfinished.

"Yes ... I can guess ... no good deed goes unpunished," she murmured. "Thank you again, Mr. Milano. I'd like to review these figures and discuss them with my superior. I'll get back to you." She smiled and stood as Tony rose to leave.

The next morning, Tony was summoned to the assistant warden's office once again.

"Good morning, Mam," he said as he entered.

"Have a seat, Mr. Milano. Warden Meyers will be joining us shortly," she said with a level voice.

Tony felt a nervous jolt go through him. The Warden was a notoriously tough character, despite the low-key nature of the institution. Many of the inmates thought he was better placed in a maximum security facility where he could use his hard-nosed attitude to effect. Tony had never met the man.

A minute later, the office door opened and the tall, lean, mid-fifties warden entered, acknowledging Ms. Kettleworth and then looking at Tony with a stern gaze.

"So ... are you the guy who's stirred up this business about the food supply?"

"Yes, sir," Tony answered promptly.

"Hummphf," he snorted, sitting on the edge of Kettleworth's desk. "Warden Kettleworth says you've uncovered quite a little racket here."

"I'm not sure about that, sir. I'm just reporting that I think we can do better. Save some money," Tony said carefully.

"Hummphf," the man replied. "Looks like something more than that to me."

Tony remained mute. He had learned early on that you spoke only when spoken to and answered only when questions were asked. There was a routine formality that had to be followed and Tony was mindful to follow it to the letter.

"I've given Warden Kettleworth the assignment to follow this up. She will choose who works with her. I think you can assume you will be on her team," the man said, this time with a faint grin.

"Thank you, sir."

"No ... thank you, Mr. Milano. It shouldn't be any surprise that this institution is under a great deal of pressure to reduce or at least maintain our costs. It's been a real struggle and no one wants to curtail programs because we haven't got the funds to continue with them. If Warden Kettleworth's calculations are correct, there are over one hundred thousand dollars that might be saved annually. That's big to us." He was nodding as he finished his comments.

Tony remained silent. The warden slipped off the desk and walked toward him, extending his hand. Surprised, Tony stood and took it. The warden's handshake was firm and brief.

"Thank you again, Mr. Milano. I'm sure I'll be seeing you in the future." With that he nodded to Kettleworth and left the office.

Tony blinked in surprise. He stood beside his chair, assuming he was dismissed, but again, the assistant warden motioned him to sit.

"Mr. Milano, we're going to void the contract of our two problem suppliers. We can't really do that until we have secured alternative sources. I would like you to lead the team that will vette our potential suppliers. You know what standards are required and you can determine their ability to supply to those standards. Do you agree to assist?"

"Yes, of course Mam. Thank you for the opportunity."

"You've earned it. I'd also like to discuss the menu with you at some point. As a chef, I'm hoping you can help us vary the menu without losing sight of the need for healthy meals."

Tony smiled. "I'd be delighted to do that, Mam. I'm sure several of the other cooks would like to participate as well."

"No doubt ... but you know what they say about too many cooks," she smiled.

Within a week, Tony was meeting with three potential produce suppliers and two meat suppliers. All of them were established companies, some of whom Tony had done business with. He was confident that their quotes would be competitive. The prices in New York City were high because of the high costs of doing business there. They should be noticeably lower out here in the western part of the state, with some allowance for additional delivery costs.

A week later, he had the five assembled bids and was reviewing them prior to discussing them with Warden Kettleworth. His committee had consisted of two other cooks and a third inmate who had been an accountant in his former life. The four of them reviewed the quotes and discussed the likely best option for the institution. At first they were wary of committing to the project, but as they became familiar with Tony and his background, they involved themselves completely.

It took only a day for the four men to come up with a proposal and the potential cost savings. They continued to use Tony's formula with confidence that the numbers would stand up. In fact, the two cooks wondered if his numbers weren't too conservative. The accountant laughed and slapped Tony on the back. He suggested coming in with better numbers than planned was always easier to explain.

The committee met with Assistant Warden Dorathea Kettleworth and laid out their proposal. All of the bids were close, with no clear-cut winner on cost. However, there were some benefits with one supplier who had a regularly scheduled daily run that went past the prison. It would mean they could reduce their order sizes and increase the frequency with no added cost to the supplier. They would place a weekly bulk order to help the supplier plan, and then take daily or alternate day deliveries as required. It gave them flexibility and reduced the amount of perishables on site.