Attorneys Sam Quinn and Emmett Wallace stood before the judge's bench in the wood-paneled courtroom. From the canvas on the wall, Lady Justice oversaw the scene. It was Monday morning, and the judge was about to give her decision in Just the Truth versus the Bureau of Elections.
Laura Taninger sat in the spectators' section of the quiet courtroom, her auburn hair fanned over her shoulders, her brown eyes wide and intelligent, her face serious.
The voluminous gown of Judge Marianne Rogers rustled as she entered carrying a folder.
"Good morning, Counselors." She took her seat and opened her file on the case. "I have decided that the plaintiff's claim is just and should be fulfilled expeditiously."
Sam Quinn's face brightened.
"However, the Bureau of Elections does indeed have exceptional circumstances for its delay, granted its unusual workload in getting the new voting system ready in time for Election Day," the judge continued.
Emmett Wallace's face brightened.
"I, therefore, rule that Just the Truth has not yet exhausted its administrative remedies."
Wallace broke into a smile while Quinn frowned.
"I'm going to give the Bureau of Elections more time to hand over the requested documents to Just the Truth. With that, I'm dismissing the case without prejudice. If Elections is not forthcoming with the requested documents within the next ten working days, I recommend that Just the Truth seek judicial review at that time."
Laura closed her eyes in defeat. The strike of Judge Rogers's gavel sounded like a door slamming in her face.
Later that day, Laura watched Sean Browne's daily presidential briefing on her office monitor. He faced an array of microphones at his lectern, a cluster of camera operators hovering on one side of the room, and rows of reporters with pads on their laps sitting before him.
After reviewing the president's itinerary and various news items of the day, he opened the briefing up for questions. He looked as if he dreaded it, but knew he had to call on Vita Simpson.
"Sean," Vita began in her spirited tone and self-confident manner, "as you know, the Bureau of Fair Trade has opened an investigation of Taninger News as a monopoly. The activities of Taninger News have been going on for years, yet just now, when Laura Taninger has voiced persistent criticism of SafeVote, Fair Trade decides to take this action. How can this not be meant to intimidate the free press? How can this not be a serious abuse of power?"
"Let me put your mind at rest, Vita," he said in a patronizing tone, smiling as he spoke. "The People's Manor categorically denies any association or interface with the investigative activities at the Bureau of Fair Trade." He periodically glanced down at his notes as if referring to his pre-assigned talking points. "You have to realize that the Bureau of Fair Trade has thousands of attorneys that handle a multitude of cases every year. If the practices at Taninger News are among their many inquiries, you'll have to ask Fair Trade about that. We would have no knowledge at all of their investigations."
Laura fumed.
The day seemed longer than usual for Laura as she turned off her computer, rose from her chair, and swung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Her show was over for the night, and her staff was leaving. She waved to her producer Tom Shiner as he headed out of the control room. Still feeling the pain that had gripped her three days ago—when she had learned that the Bureau of Fair Trade was suing Taninger News—she closed the door of her office and slowly, dejectedly walked to the elevator.
She hailed a cab and gave the driver her home address. Leaning back in her seat, she opened the news feed on her phone and entered James Spenser's name in a search. She could find no new information from law enforcement on his killer, who remained at large and unidentified. The media had lost interest in the case, with nary a news item about it appearing in weeks. The Taninger News reporter that she had following the case also had nothing more to report about the investigation since the first news conference the police had held shortly after Spenser's death.
It occurred to Laura that there had been no news coverage of Kate or Collier University in the four days since the protestors had disbanded. She was relieved that Kate was no longer the target of rioters and their enablers, but the media had been almost too quiet about this issue. The People's Manor, she knew, fed their cadre of sympathetic journalists daily talking points, virtually writing these journalists' stories for them, so the administration had also gone silent on the matter. Her suspicions heightened.
She searched the news feed for articles relating to Kate, the protests at Collier University, and the Foundation that had spearheaded the demonstrations, but she found no mentions in the main news stories of the day. Then, she looked deeper, and a small piece caught her attention.
In an obscure section of the news feed that hardly anyone would read, Laura found a terse announcement from the People's Manor: Jack Anders, the director of the Foundation to Enrich Student Life, had been appointed the Assistant Secretary of Education for the Martin Administration.
The next day, the airport bustled with people. Many were traveling for business that weekday in early October, walking briskly along the terminal with attaché cases or working on laptops at the gates as they waited to board. Laura headed toward her gate. When she approached it, she stopped in mid-stride, surprised to see someone holding one of those attaché cases, a man she hadn't expected to be there.
"Sam, you're not coming!" Laura declared.
The attorney for Taninger Enterprises looked odd without his suit and tie, dressed in jeans and ready for a long flight. Outside the terminal window, the transatlantic jetliner that Laura was about to board sat at the gate.
"How could Sharon book you a seat without clearing it with me?"
"Easy. I told her you authorized it," Sam Quinn replied. "And I got the seat next to yours."
Someone listening to them argue would not have been able to determine who was the boss and who the subordinate. The combination of bluntness and affection in their voices made their argument sound more like a family squabble between a father and daughter.
"Sam, my father has already threatened to fire you for helping me. If he finds out you went to Ireland with me, you'll be creamed for sure."
"I'm not letting you go there alone. Someone involved in this matter has already been killed. You're not to forget that!"
Despite her anger, she smiled. For one disarming moment, she felt like an abandoned child who had found a protector.
After Judge Rogers gave the Bureau of Elections more time to turn over documents, stalling the probe of Integrated Foxworth Technologies once again, Laura had arranged for a guest host to fill in for her on Just the Truth. That way she could travel to Ireland to continue her investigation in the country where the contractor's business was registered.
When she had informed her father of her plans, he'd still been reeling from the shock of her Daily Memo on the previous Friday.
Clark had said, "If your guest host works out, that can be our new prime-time anchor. You can stay in Ireland, marry a nice Irishman, and write me a letter now and then!"
Only the childless Sam showed her any paternal fondness and concern.
"Besides, uncovering information about the elusive IFT could be easier if you have an attorney with you," Sam observed.
"I'll hire a lawyer there if I need one."
"You have one."
"But I don't want you to come with me."
"JT would've wanted me to."
"JT's been gone for two years. He's no longer your boss."
"For thirty years before that, he was."
With pursed lips and crossed arms, she faced the man self-appointed as her guardian and grandfather incarnate. "Sam, I'm not getting on this plane unless you leave the airport right now!"
Shortly thereafter, Sam was sipping a cocktail onboard, and Laura was sitting next to him, reading reports from her management staff. The plane took off with the sun setting behind them. After handling a few business matters, Laura strategized throughout the flight. She had a lot to do when she arrived. Then she slept briefly before the pilot announced that they were approaching Dublin. The plane landed with the sun rising ahead of them on a new day.
After checking into their hotel, they ventured out into the city's medley of steel buildings and stone castles, cable bridges and cobblestone streets, loud pubs and age-old cathedrals. They took a taxi to Dublin's civic center, where its administrative offices were located.
Their steps echoed on the tiled lobby of a modern office building as they walked across the entryway and down a corridor to a door marked Office of Business Registry. After giving their business cards to a clerk behind one of the counters, someone was sent to escort them into an office, where Laura and Sam were greeted by a cheerful, bow-tied man. With a sprightly step he rose from his desk and walked up to them.
"I'm Adam McCarthy, the Director of the Registry. How'd you do?" he said, bowing slightly.
Laura and Sam shook hands with him.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. McCarthy," said Laura.
"Thank you for seeing us," added Sam.
"Please, have a seat." He gestured for them to sit on the couch in a small sitting area of the office while he closed the door and sat on an easy chair facing them. "I've heard of you, Ms. Taninger. Your broadcasts reach us, and our tabloids carry stories of your political intrigues," he said with a chuckle.
I always wanted to be the queen of the tabloids, Laura thought as she smiled politely.
Sam began, "We were hoping you could help us with a matter—"
"I say, when we recently updated our systems, our office made news here, but to have us checked out by the American press, well, that's a bit of a surprise," he said excitedly. "With our new procedures, businesses can now register in Ireland in record time. Americans who form businesses here say it's a lot easier, and there are many other advantages to setting up here rather than in the States. So we open our doors to coverage by your press to attract more businesses our way—"
"Mr. McCarthy, I'm afraid we're here about another matter," interjected Sam.
"Oh?" His exuberance tempered.
"We're here to find out all we can about a company registered here called Integrated Foxworth Technologies," Laura added.
"Oh." Their host frowned disappointedly. Then he shrugged, seeming to make the best of it. "Of course, we can help you with that."
"We looked the company up in your public records, but the information there was limited. So we came in person to see if there was anything more you could tell us," said Sam.
"We can call up a complete file on a business in a matter of seconds. What did you say the name was?"
Laura repeated the name as the official rose and opened the door. He called to an assistant outside. "See what we have on Integrated Foxworth Technologies for our American visitors."
The assistant soon appeared, handed her boss a document of several pages, then left the room.
"Have a look," Adam McCarthy said, offering the information to his guests.
Laura took the material and read the first page. "The company name is Integrated Foxworth Technologies, and the president's name is Frank Foxworth, which we already know. He's an American. The business was registered here six months ago. There's a street address and phone number for the headquarters in Dublin." She thumbed through the subsequent pages, then looked up. "But Mr. McCarthy, there's nothing else here."
She handed the material to Sam, who examined it.
"I see that most of the information asked for on the form was left blank," Sam said. The face of their host reddened. "Mr. McCarthy, there are no names of any other principals, no board members, no company description, no profile, and no operating documents. No bank accounts or mortgages are listed—nothing."
"That can't be!" said McCarthy.
"See for yourself," Sam said, handing him the document.
The official thumbed through the pages in disbelief.
"This is bloody unacceptable!"
"I'd like to try the phone number, if I may," said Laura. McCarthy showed her the number on the form. She took out her phone and dialed.
"Oh, no," she said. "There's an announcement. The phone number is not in service."
McCarthy rolled the report into a cylinder and nervously tapped it against the palm of his hand. "This Mr. Foxworth, whoever he is, fancies he can just do as he pleases. Well, I shan't let him get away with this. His company will be removed from our list for failure to comply with the requirements of this agency! He'll be enjoying no corporate liability protection or any other benefits from us!"
"Mr. McCarthy?" Sam spoke softly, testing whether the official was finished.
"I need more money and staff to catch these rascals! They go to a St. Paddy's Day Parade in the States and—poof!—they pop in here and think we're all fun and games. I need more power!"
"Mr. McCarthy?" Sam tried again.
"Yes?"
"Is there anything else you can tell us about Integrated Foxworth Technologies?"
"I'll check."
He left the office to confer with his assistant. When he returned, he said, "Unfortunately, there's nothing more we have on them!"
"Well, then, thank you for your time," Laura said, as she and Sam rose to go.
"Is this where you want to be dropped?" the taxi driver asked skeptically.
Sam consulted the map he had pulled up on his phone and said, "This is the address all right." He looked at Laura and shrugged.
The two of them exited the taxi in a run-down area of the city and walked toward the building that was listed as the corporate headquarters of Integrated Foxworth Technologies. It was an abandoned office building.
Laura and Sam paused to observe the blighted site. The concrete steps at the entrance were cracked and littered with debris. The white stone facade was covered with layers of soot. The three stories of windows contained many panels that were cracked, missing, or boarded.
"This can't be it," said Laura.
"But it is," said Sam.
Laura took pictures with her phone throughout their visit, so she had evidence to present back home.
They walked through a gaping hole under an arch that once held a door. Inside there was a wide expanse of emptiness, with cubicle dividers tossed aside, along with smudged chairs, dented file cabinets, dilapidated desks, and more debris—all of it forming obstacles in their path. Laura and Sam looked around dumbfounded. A trip up the stairway displayed empty offices, paint peeling off the walls, mounds of dust, and more discarded furniture. They opened desk drawers and file cabinets but found nothing.
When they returned to the main floor, their voices echoed in the hollow cavity of the building.
"Looks like no one's inhabited this place in years," said Laura. "Since IFT is only six months old, we can be sure it's never done any business from here."
"Right," said Sam. "This is just a front."
"This is a huge story!"
"It is." Sam nodded, his face a mixture of anger and disgust.
"What are the Feds covering up?"
"We'll find out."
"Let's call up the property records on this place," said Laura, as they stood outside, waiting for a taxi they had called to pick them up.
With her phone, she searched for the records on the abandoned building. "The local Property Deeds Authority has a public record on it," she said. Answering a few prompts, she found the title information. "It was purchased six months ago by Integrated Foxworth Technologies in a cash transaction. The seller was a real estate developer named Gallagher Properties. I have their address. I'll call for an appointment."
"How'd you do?" Keith Gallagher, the president of Gallagher Properties, greeted Laura and Sam. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," said Laura.
"Not every day that a major figure in the American press pops in for a chat, Ms. Taninger."
Gallagher had the cool blue eyes of a savvy businessman and the unsmiling face of a cautious one. His trim body held the vigor of youth, while his graying hair suggested years of business experience.
"What can I do for you?" Gallagher asked, sitting behind his desk, facing the visitors.
Sam explained, "We're looking for information about the buyer of a building you sold about six months ago." Sam gave him the buyer's name and the street address of the property.
Gallagher sat at his desk, looking at them with a tinge of suspicion. He made no attempt to look up any records on his computer or consult a staff member about the matter.
"Do you remember the transaction, Mr. Gallagher?" asked Laura.
"All the details are with the public deeds office, so I'm afraid I have to refer you there to look it up."
"We already have. We wondered if you had anything more you could tell us about the buyer," said Sam.
"I never met the buyer. The transaction was handled by my solicitor."
"And that would be Rebecca Doyle, whose name is on the record?"
"Quite right."
"Mr. Gallagher," said Sam, "the company that bought that abandoned building from you and claims that address as its headquarters is now doing a big job for the United States government. We visited the building and saw that it's been long abandoned. The Foxworth firm has not set up shop there at all." Sam leaned forward, trying to reach the detached Keith Gallagher. "Do you have any idea what Integrated Foxworth Technologies was going to do with that building? Why they were buying it? Who they are? Or where we might find them?"
"None at all."
"The sale price was listed at several times the amount you paid for the property just a short time earlier," said Laura. "So I thought you might remember some details of what was such a good deal for you."
What Laura intended as a benign comment had unwittingly hit a hot button. Keith Gallagher's eyebrows arched, and his voice became testy.
"You want to know, do you? Right, I made a killing on that piece of crap of a building. The previous owner was desperate to sell it, and I squeezed him for quite a good deal. Then, when I went to flip it, along comes a buyer with no business head at all, who pays my first, outrageous asking price. That's what I do." He flashed a gloating smile. "I buy low and sell high, and I'm brilliant at it." He cocked his head, observing his guests curiously. "Tell me, why does the media slam me for what I do? I'll never understand it. I've been called greedy, callous, unfeeling, anti-social—everything but successful."
"Not by me, you haven't," said Laura. "I'm in business, too. I'm not here to do a story on you or slam you in any way."
"But you media types have a nasty way of spinning things."
"Our business here has nothing to do with you," Sam said forcefully. "It's all about Foxworth. That's who we're focused on."
"Regardless, you're still the press, and while I'm obliged to deal with you newspeople because I'm in business, I rather try to dodge your inquiries whenever I can." He smiled pleasantly to soften the dressing-down. Then he rose to end the meeting. "Frankly, I don't know anything about the buyer, so I really can't help you even if I wanted to."
As Laura and Sam were leaving, Gallagher made a final comment. "If you do find the purchaser, I hope you won't give him a dose of buyer's remorse. I have a no-returns policy."
The next taxi took them to a modern business section of the city, where they entered a building and located the office of Ryan, Byrne, and Doyle, Solicitors. They entered a carpeted, well-furnished waiting area, and gave their cards to the receptionist behind the counter.
Laura's name and company once again were recognized—and this time warmly received.
"You're Laura Taninger!" said the receptionist. "I watch your show all the time! Many of us keep up with your investigations. It's lovely to meet you."
The receptionist vanished into an inner sanctum; then she reappeared, saying, "Erin Smith will be out to see you straight away, Ms. Taninger." Poor Sam remained unnoticed.
Soon an attractive woman in a business suit approached them, extending her hand.
"I'm Erin Smith," she said, "the legal secretary to Ms. Doyle."
She escorted them into her small but well-organized office. "Keith Gallagher rang us, so I know why you're here. He wishes us to keep the details of his property deals confidential, which we would do anyway. Ms. Doyle asked me to tell you that regrettably she can't meet with you or provide any more information."
Laura and Sam prodded, but Erin Smith stood her ground. "I'm sure you understand, we respect our client's confidentiality."
After the legal secretary escorted them back to the lobby, Laura and Sam lingered in the reception area until Ms. Smith returned to her office.
Laura walked to the receptionist's desk, where she received a broad smile from the young woman manning it.
"Say, what's your name?" Laura asked the receptionist.
"Anna," she said cheerfully. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with the unjaded look of someone who expects life to be an exciting adventure. Her silky hair, intelligent eyes, and animated face reminded Laura of Kate.
"I'm so happy you watch my show, Anna!"
Sam took a seat in the room, leaving the two women to converse.
"You're the reporter who gets in trouble," Anna said admiringly.
"Is that what your press says about me?"
"And a bit more. They can be quite cheeky."
"But you like my show, don't you?"
"Love the way you stir things up. We need some of that here."
"That's how a reporter thinks. Did you ever think of becoming a reporter?"
"Oh, that would be absolutely fantastic! I always wanted to do something big with my life. Instead, here I am stuck working the front desk for my aunt, Ms. Doyle, and her partners."
"Ah, working with family. I certainly can relate," said Laura.
"I appreciate the job, but Aunt Rebecca knows I'm only biding time here until I find something more . . . exciting."
"Anna, maybe you can help us with some reporting. We're just trying to get a little basic information about how you do things here."
"Sure."
"We're interested in how foreign real estate deals work."
"We do quite a lot of them here."
"For example, we have this deal your firm did with Integrated Foxworth Technologies, a company set up by an American named Frank Foxworth. The firm bought a building from your client, Gallagher Properties."
Anna immediately keyed the information into her computer, and a screen of data came up.
"Yes," she said. "I have the record here. This part of the transaction is public information, so I'm sure there's no harm in explaining it to you."
"How do these deals work?"
"When we represent the seller in a property sale to a foreign buyer, we rarely ever meet the other party. We talk on the phone and send documents for signing electronically. We represent our client, transact the sale, provide the buyer with the deed, and collect our fee. In this case, our client, Gallagher Properties, received a cash payment from the buyer, Integrated Foxworth Technologies, so there was even less interaction, with no mortgage involved."
"Anna, we tried to get information on the solicitor that the Foxworth firm used in the transaction, but we could track down nothing other than his name. Can you tell us anything about the buyer's solicitor?"
"Most probably. I have a directory of solicitors," Anna said eagerly. "The buyer's solicitor is indicated right here in the transaction record . . . a Peter J. Sullivan and Company."
She typed the name on her keyboard, and a table of solicitors appeared on her computer screen.
"That's odd," said Anna. She looked at Laura, puzzled. "There's no listing in the data base for any Peter J. Sullivan and Company. There's no address, no phone number, no record of any kind. I've never seen that before. Here, let me look further." She did another search. "Funny, there's no website for him, either."
Another dead end! thought Laura. The abandoned building, the fake phone number, and now the phantom solicitor.
"This is quite peculiar, Ms. Taninger. It's like a mystery is at work here."
"Yes," said Laura.
"I wish I could help you unravel it."
Laura smiled fondly at the eager young woman. She took out a business card. "Anna, if you think the news business might be a field with the excitement you're looking for, contact me. Taninger News has a team of international reporters, some of whom are based here, and I'd love to help a woman who is clearly a journalist at heart."
Anna placed the card in her palm and peered at it as if it were a jewel. "Oh my, that would be too massive a payment for me for trying to help you, which I didn't succeed at anyway."
"It's not for helping me. It's for being smart and earnest and having a desire to unravel mysteries. Journalism needs what you have."
Anna looked as if she had just learned something about herself that she hadn't realized before, something important that lifted her face with pride.
"Email your resume to me," Laura suggested.
"I certainly will! Do you really think I could . . . do something important . . . like you do . . . someday?"
"I absolutely do think so."
Laura and Sam remained in Ireland another day, trying to find out more information about Frank Foxworth and Integrated Foxworth Technologies, but as in America, they uncovered no trace of the man, his company, or any business dealings in the country where the firm was registered.
On their flight back to America, they encountered turbulence. Their cabin was rocked by a capricious wind, while the massive engines prevailed in plying through the disturbance and keeping them safely on course. Fastened in her seat, Laura thought of the headwinds she would face when she returned with her incredible story. What was the engine driving her through the turmoil?
Even as a child, Laura had taken things seriously. She never remembered a time in her life when she had accepted injustice. Whether it was a school friend being bullied, her grandfather being falsely attacked, or . . . Reed Miller getting shafted by the government, she had always fought to right the wrongs she saw. Now, she was more determined than ever to stay the course.
When the air steadied, she and Sam ordered drinks and discussed the matter.
"So now we find out that Integrated Foxworth Technologies is a company that has no physical location, no phone number, no records of any kind in the country where it's registered or in America. And this company did updates and patches to SafeVote. This has to be the company that aroused James Spenser's suspicions," Laura said in summary.
"And James Spenser is now dead," Sam added.
"Sam, this is a huge scandal. When I go back and tell Irene, Billie, and my father what we uncovered, they've got to give me their support. They can't ignore this!" She sipped her drink, leaned back, and continued, "The untraceable contractor, the stalls, the attacks on me, the strong-arm tactics against my family—the unsolved murder of James Spenser—all point to something more sinister than a case of patronage or embezzlement. What we're up against is something else."
"Yeah, like a carefully calculated plan to . . . rig . . . the presidential election," Sam concluded.
She nodded grimly. "I'll call a special executive management meeting to let my family know what we discovered."
She took out her phone and was about to send a message to her father and siblings. "Wait, I have an email from headquarters that's marked 'urgent.'" She scrolled down the message, her face reflecting new shocks.
"What is it, Laura?" Sam seemed alarmed at the sudden dread on her face.
"Sam, I'm being notified that the board of directors is holding a meeting on Monday, and I'm required to appear to—What?" She reread the message. "I'm required to appear to defend myself." She dropped the phone into her lap and looked at Sam. "The topic is whether or not I should be removed as president of Taninger News."