FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 8 – Richard met Bruce McKinney and David Smith in the foyer at Bruce's downtown club at 6:15. They discussed together the fact that the Fairchild stock price had stayed below 20 all week, hovering between 17 and 19 until that afternoon, when there had been an up-tick to 19.5 at the end of the day.
“Marty Tsongas and I have worked through all of the documents,” Richard said, “and they're ready to go. Frankly, we could close any time now, contingent on what happens this evening.”
They did not have long to wait. Patrick Tomlinson and Marty Tsongas came through the front door right at 6:30. There were greetings and handshakes all around before they adjourned to the small private dining room Bruce had reserved for their dinner meeting.
During the excellent meal, the talk was about the McKinney and Smith expansion plans on the one hand and about the freefall of the Fairchild Textile stock on the other. Patrick Tomlinson, in his early thirties, was trying to fill his father's shoes, with the help of old and trusted advisors like Marty Tsongas. Bruce McKinney had begun the relationship with Patrick's father over ten years ago, when he cold-called him on one day and was given the opportunity to invest 10 percent of Mr. Tomlinson's portfolio for twelve months. Bruce did so well with that assignment that their relationship expanded every year, and Patrick grew up in the business hearing his father's praises for the good work of McKinney and Smith.
So it had been a natural for Bruce to approach Mr. Tomlinson to become an investor in their company, and his son had carried on the negotiations after the unexpected death of his father.
As they sipped their coffee at the end of the meal, Bruce McKinney finally brought them to the crucial purpose of the meeting.
“It goes without saying, Patrick, that with the Fairchild stock price now below 20, you have the opportunity to cancel your investment in our company. Obviously we hope that you won't, because we have made plans and are looking forward to having your input on our board. We assume you've followed the Fairchild stock price as closely as we have, and so we're interested in what you intend to do.”
Patrick Tomlinson looked up from his coffee and glanced at Marty Tsongas, then proceeded. “Bruce, I know that none of us expected the Fairchild stock price to fall so precipitously, and it would not have except for the recent foreign acquisitions of its competitors. Unfortunately, as you know better than almost anyone, a major portion of our portfolio is still held in Fairchild stock, so there simply is not as much liquidity as we had all expected when these negotiations began.
“Marty and I and others whom I trust have talked about this situation at length, and we would like to propose to you that you consider doing the same transaction, where we purchase the same amount of McKinney and Smith stock, but that the purchase price will have to be reduced from $1,000,000 to $900,000. If you can live with that change, then we are prepared to go ahead with the closing.”
Richard held his breath. Although it would be difficult for Bruce and David, the infusion of $900,000 into their company was certainly much better than no infusion of capital at all.
Bruce and David looked at each other. David asked, “Is the change in the price the only modification we have to make?”
“Yes,” said Patrick, “there just isn't enough cash in the till. But otherwise we still think very highly of your firm and want to join you in ownership.”
“Well, if David says yes, then I certainly do,” said Bruce. David smiled and nodded his head. Richard exhaled a great sigh of relief—he could almost see the $66,000 moving back to his side of the table. There were smiles all around.
Bruce reached across and shook Patrick's hand. “Then that's settled, and Richard and Marty can finish up the paperwork. I'd say that this calls for some celebration and relaxation. What do you say we adjourn to the Platinum Club?”
As Richard was finishing his main course downtown, Tommy was headed out the back door to get on his bike to ride over to Brent's house, his overnight bag strapped to the rack. “Zane's going to take us out for hamburgers, Mom, and then we'll probably rent a movie or two and watch them at Brent's house. His mom and dad will be back around eleven.”
“Fine, dear,” Janet replied. “If you need anything, just call me here. I guess your father will be in about the same time from his business meeting. And Susan and Drew are at the football game tonight. By the way, why aren't you going to the game?”
“Didn't want to,” was his only reply. Tommy sped over to Brent's house, where the Holcombes were backing out of the driveway. He pulled up on his bike and waved to them. Zane was already on the phone to his friends, letting them know that his parents had just left. Ten minutes later, Paul and Derrick arrived with Roger. The six boys piled into Zane's car. Their plan was to eat a simple dinner at the Rathskeller and then head downtown to the adult book store, where the high school seniors would rent videos for their evening together.
Parking was always a problem in the area of the city around the Platinum Club, almost every night of the week. In addition to the huge club itself, there were several bars, restaurants, and adult book stores in the surrounding blocks. Richard, Bruce, and their guests found a space about two blocks from the club, and they began walking along the sidewalk toward the gaudily lighted former warehouse which now paraded naked women for men to watch seven nights a week.
“You won't believe the girls in this place, Patrick,” Bruce said. “They are so wholesome looking—and so naked! We should be able to get a table and have one or two dance just for us. Which do you guys like, blondes or brunettes?”
“How about a matched pair?” Patrick volunteered. Everyone laughed. “This place is almost on the national register,” Patrick added. “Every conventioneer—well, every male conventioneer—who has ever come to your city, it seems like, has been here. I can't wait. But, hey, Marty, let's not mention this part of our visit to Kate. I don't think she'd understand why I want to see hundreds of naked young women…”
“My lips are sealed,” Marty smiled, and everyone laughed again.
Just then, as they came to the corner of the building across the street from the Platinum Club, they ran into a group of teenage boys who had been walking up the cross street and whose leader had been turned around, talking to his friends, not watching where he was going. Their paths had been shielded from each other by the building itself, and the two groups literally ran into each other at the corner.
The teenager in the lead was carrying a bag, and in the collision with Bruce McKinney, he dropped it. Three video tapes bounced out onto the sidewalk. “Hey, watch it,” the teenager said, swearing loudly. Richard, who had been in the middle of their group and had his shoe stepped on, looked up and saw his son Tommy, with Brent and Zane and three boys whom he did not recognize.
Richard looked at Tommy, who had not spoken, but instead stared back at him. Then he looked at the videos on the sidewalk, at the earrings in Derrick's ear, at the hippie clothes on Paul, again at the titles of the videos, and at the wild look in Roger's eyes. In that one instant he completely understood the last six months of Tommy's life. It was as if a knife pierced his heart, and he lost his breath at the same time.
Tommy, looking in his father's eyes, saw the revelation, the understanding, and the disappointment. It was as if a knife pierced his heart as well, and he lost his breath at the same time. He wanted to cry out to his father that he hadn't wanted to come and that it was all a mistake. Please, Daddy, take me home, and let's be happy again like we used to be when you and Mom didn't fight.… were the first thoughts in Tommy's mind.
The men sensed the recognition, just as Richard was finally able to speak. “Tommy…Brent…Zane…what are you doing here? Who are these guys? And what are these videos? Look at these.” Roger was quickly putting the videos back into the bag, but the subject matter of at least two of them had been obvious to all five men.
“Hi, Mr. Sullivan,” Brent spoke up. “Uh, we were just down renting some videos.” He stood still and smiled.
Inside Tommy, the bleeding in his heart turned quickly to venom. A voice told him that here was a real chance to hurt his father, the same way he had so often been hurt. He regained his composure and almost leered at his father, “And what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at a ‘business meeting’? That's what Mom told me. Does she know you're here?”
This was not the sort of conversation Richard's compatriots had come to the Platinum Club to hear, and they moved a few paces away, toward the club, both fascinated and horrified by Richard's plight. Tommy's friends were uneasy as well, and they moved in the direction of Zane's parked car. Tommy and Richard were left on the sidewalk, facing each other.
“Tommy, I'm here on business, but I probably need to take you home,” Richard said quietly.
Tommy laughed and said, “Yeah, right. Exactly what business do they do in the Platinum Club, Dad?”
“Tommy, why are you so angry?” was all Richard could think to say.
“You figure it out. Have a great time, Dad.” Tommy turned to join his friends. “First one home tell Mom not to wait up!” And he ran off.
Richard, drained and in shock, rejoined his group. “Weren't those the Holcombe boys?” Bruce asked, trying to make conversation.
“Yes. I vaguely remember Janet saying that Tommy was going to be over at their house tonight. I wonder how long he's been doing this?”
“How old is he?” Marty asked.
“Fourteen.”
“Mmmm,” was all that Marty could say.
Richard, realizing that his family encounter was throwing a damper on an important night, smiled, put his hand on Patrick's shoulder, and said, “Well, boys will be boys. Heaven only knows what I did at that age. Come on—let's go have some fun.” And they went inside the Platinum Club. But all night, as the girls danced lewdly on his table, Richard thought about Tommy, the three older boys, and the pictures on the covers of those videos.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9 – On Saturday morning, Richard rose early, despite the previous night's late hour, and went to the office, as was his custom. Only this Saturday morning he had a hard time focusing on cleaning up the files from that week. Instead, a thousand thoughts of Tommy, from when he was a little boy until last night, pulsed in his head. He felt terrible about all the hours and days that were gone forever—the hours and days he could have spent with Tommy, but didn't, because other demands seemed more important at the time. What exactly had Tommy been doing? Was he really a homosex…Richard couldn't bring himself to think the word. What about that Caroline Batten in Vermont? What was going on? And how could he not know? How could he be so blind to his own son?
Richard managed to do about a half hour's worth of work in the two hours he sat at his desk. Finally he gave up and drove home, hoping to find Tommy and take him to lunch so they could talk.
But Tommy had already left for Brent's house, Janet told Richard. She acted as if nothing had happened, so Richard presumed he and Tommy had a common secret, at least for now. Well, in a strange way, maybe that's a start to a relationship, he thought.
Tommy did not come home until almost dark, and he was careful to stay near Janet until his parents left for his grade's parent support group meeting, scheduled long ago for that same night. So Richard was unable to talk to Tommy one-on-one that day.
Meanwhile, Amy and Bobbie went on a double date. Thomas brought a friend from his high school, Ben Forbes, who shared his faith, as a blind date for Amy. Much to the anger of Zloy and Nepravel, Amy liked Ben and was soon trying to talk him into coming to their youth group the next morning.
But the good news for the demons was that Drew convinced Susan to lie again to her parents and to spend the evening together in another motel room. By the end of that evening, Susan was still dreaming about how they would go to college together, but Drew was simply focusing on the next Saturday night at another motel.
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 10 – On Sunday morning, Richard remained in their breakfast room until Tommy finally came down, late in the morning. “After you get something to eat, Tommy, let's you and me take a walk to the park.” Tommy said nothing, which meant a grudging OK.
It was a beautiful morning, still summer, really, with just a first hint of fall in the lower angle of the sun. As they walked along Devon Drive thirty minutes later, Richard, who had rehearsed this moment in his head fifty times in the past twenty-four hours, said, “Tommy I'm not here to throw stones or to be judgmental. I just want to understand. Do you mind telling me who those boys were you were with on Friday night, and what you were doing?”
Tommy had also rehearsed. One voice told him to hurt his father by telling him the truth. Another voice told him to hurt his father by telling him nothing. I win, either way, it occurred to him. No voice could be heard telling him to seek help or love from his father. He decided to give his father pieces of the truth, but he saw no reason to tell his father everything. It was his own business, after all.
So Tommy coyly answered that they were just friends from high school. There followed a thirty-minute cross-examination, as they walked around the park, during which Richard finally pieced together that Tommy had been “doing videos” with his friends for some months, when he and Janet had thought they were elsewhere. “Doing videos” apparently involved some sort of mutual stimulation, and Tommy had enjoyed both “girl” and “boy” videos. In fact, Tommy told his father, he liked both girls and boys, which, as Tommy hoped it would, turned his father's stomach.
The more Tommy tried to be assertive and in control, the more Richard realized the depth of his son's anger and confusion. A couple of times Richard lost his train of thought, wondering what had happened in just a few short years to the little boy with whom he had played T-ball in the back yard.
Richard had sworn to himself that no matter what Tommy said, he would not lose his temper. For once he kept his control. There was no resolution from their walk and talk. But Richard listened. By the end he didn't know whether Tommy needed professional help or was just part of the “alternative lifestyle” which was bombarding everyone with its legitimacy these days. It never occurred to Richard, of course, that Tommy might need spiritual help from someone strong, like both a natural father and a heavenly Father, to believe in explicitly and to trust. Richard was frankly as confused as Tommy, which didn't help the boy. Did Tommy need psychological help, no help, more fathering, less fathering, what? By the end of their walk, much of their tension was gone, but Richard was now an active part of Tommy's problem, as much as a simple adversary. Both of them sensed Richard's impotence, but neither of them knew what to do.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 11 – Bruce McKinney called Richard early Monday morning. “Did we do well on Friday night or did we do well?” he asked, the joy obvious in his voice.
“We did well,” Richard agreed. “In fact, I just got off the phone with Marty. I'll draft a waiver for them on the stock price, and a modification to the purchase price. Then we need your final payables and inventory to fax to them so we can pro-rate everything to Friday. We seem to be in pretty good shape. I gave him our bank escrow account number so they can wire in the funds.”
“That's great, Richard. Thanks for all your help. By the way, how's Tommy?”
“He's fine. Just a little mixed up, I think. But we're working on it.” Richard tried to move on. “Does the deal look OK to you?”
“I don't like losing $100,000, but it will be good in the long run to have Patrick as an owner.”
“And in the short run, the $900,000 won't hurt,” Richard concluded as they said goodbye.
Janet was running late that afternoon. The controversy and the publicity surrounding Friday's upcoming kick-off of “911 Live” were growing so quickly that she was having trouble keeping up. There had been several interviews for Network—even other network—news shows. And with newspaper tie-ins to the local station's involvement in the test run that summer. The local advertising time was all sold, and at a very high rate for an unproven show. Nearly everyone at the station was involved, especially since they had lost seven members from their staff. So Janet was late leaving the station.
As she drove into the garage, she looked at her watch and decided to call for a pizza delivery for the kids. She and Richard could have a salad. After putting her things down, she phoned their favorite pizza restaurant and placed an order. Looking in her wallet, she realized she didn't have enough cash, so she climbed the stairs to ask for a loan from Susan or Tommy.
Janet knocked on Susan's door but heard the water running in her shower. She opened the door. The door to Susan's bathroom was shut, but her purse was on the bed. Hoping to find fifteen dollars, Janet opened it and instead found Susan's birth control packet. She pulled it out, thinking that somehow her own had been misplaced, but the label, from their pharmacy and from their own doctor, clearly read “Susan Sullivan.”
Janet sat down on Susan's bed, the container in her hand. She opened it—almost the entire month had been used. She closed it and closed her eyes. “Drew,” she whispered.
The water went off in the shower, and a few minutes later the door opened. Susan came into her bedroom, a towel wrapped around her. She was surprised to see her mother on her bed, staring at her. Janet opened her hand, revealing the birth control pills.
“I didn't hear you come in and open my purse,” Susan said.
“I was looking for pizza money. Is there something you want to tell me, Susan?”
Susan smiled at the thought and walked to her bureau for a brush. “No, I hadn't exactly planned on telling you about those. But now that you've been through my things and found them, I guess they're no longer a secret. Drew and I are sleeping together. But I'm not pregnant and I won't get a disease, so you don't have to worry.”
“Oh, that's great,” Janet smiled. “Our seventeen-year-old daughter is sleeping with her boyfriend, but we don't have to worry.”
“Mom…” Susan turned, anger now in her voice. “It's not like that at all. Drew and I love each other very much.”
“How long have you two been having sex, and where?”
“I don't think it's any of your business, but we've been making love for a long time,” she lied, “and we usually go to a motel.”
The mental image of Susan and Drew at a cheap motel together invaded Janet's mind and almost caused her to jump, physically. She closed her eyes for a moment and then said, “Don't you think your health and happiness are the business of your parents? We love you and don't want anything to happen to you. What if you do become pregnant, or contract AIDS?”
“I won't. Believe me, we know what to do to take the right precautions.”
“If they all work. But what about your mental health? You're just seventeen. You and Drew are playing with fire.”
“Mom, I'm the age of most women when they married a century ago. I know what I'm doing. And besides, I'm just following your advice.”
“What?”
“You told me that day when we played tennis that the only meaning to life would be to fall in love with a good man and raise a family. Drew is a good man.”
“Not as good as he was a little while ago. Anyway, I meant when you are in your twenties, after college, when you've had a chance to experience other things and get married. Not now, when yesterday you were a little girl.”
That remark angered Susan, and she was about to speak when the doorbell rang. “The pizza man must be here,” Janet said, rising from the bed. “Here are your pills. I guess one day I'll understand all of this, but for right now I'm very disappointed in you.”
“Mom?” Susan asked as Janet reached the door, “Are you going to tell Dad?”
“I don't know. Probably. I'm sure he'll be really pleased.”
“Mom, it's not that big a deal.”
“Not until you get pregnant, or ill, or die, or have an abortion, or have a baby, or Drew leaves you. You're absolutely right, young woman.” And Janet left Susan holding her pills.
Janet decided she would sleep on what she had learned before deciding whether and how to tell Richard. But after Susan and Tommy had gone to bed, she and Richard were sitting alone in the den, both working on stacks of papers brought home from their offices, when Richard said, “Janet, I think Tommy may have been having some fairly significant homosexual experiences with Brent and other boys, and I'm not sure what to do about it.”
For the second time in one evening, Janet was speechless. “How…how do you know, Richard?”
“Friday night the investor we had dinner with wanted to see the Platinum Club.” Janet squinted her eyes a bit, and Richard hurried on. “And since my car was back at the office, and I didn't want to be inhospitable,” he shrugged, “I went along with them for a short while.” And then Richard recounted the story of their collision with the boys and of his talk with Tommy the previous afternoon. “So I don't know whether it's something he just did as a ‘stage’ or whether he's permanently homosexual, or bi-sexual, or what. I do know he's angry and confused. Unfortunately, those are the best two adjectives to describe me at this point too. I mean, is this something to be worried about, or just to accept, like the color of his hair? One thing that is obvious is that he's been lying to us for some time about what he and his friends were doing and where they've been. So I guess we can't trust him any more.”
“Well,” Janet started slowly, “before you get too down on Tommy alone, I found out tonight that Susan has been taking birth control pills and that she and Drew have been sleeping together.”
Now it was Richard's turn to be speechless again. The same knife that had pierced his heart on Friday night stabbed him again. And again. Someone kicked him in the stomach, robbing him of his breath. But his mental images worked well, and quickly.
Seeing that he could not speak, Janet continued, “She claims they've been at it for some time, but I don't believe her. The date on the prescription—from our own doctor, by the way—is just last month. I would imagine that they started either just before or after our trip to Vermont.”
“Where?” he managed to ask.
“She says in motels.”
The mental image of his daughter Susan naked in a motel bed with Drew exploded in his mind. Richard vowed, “I'll kick his butt from one end of the street to the other.”
“Well, you better kick Susan's too. She's the one who bought the pills, and it takes two to tango.”
Richard slouched back in his chair. Nepravel, who had been watching the discussion from the mantel over the fireplace, smiled. “Isn't it something, Richard, when they grow up to be exactly like you?” he laughed. “You should be proud. Following in their father's footsteps. Don't kick them, Richard—compliment them! And maybe their children—your grandchildren—will do the same, or worse!” and he laughed so hard that he slipped off the mantle and would have fallen to the floor, if gravity had affected him.
After a minute of thinking, Richard said quietly, staring at the floor, “So we have a fourteen-year-old son who may or may not be a homosexual, who lies to us, and who goes places at night we don't know about with people whom we don't know. And we have a seventeen-year-old daughter who is sleeping with her boyfriend, who lies to us, and who goes to motels on a regular basis, also taking birth control pills. Do you think we need help?”
Nepravel stood on the mantel and pointed at Richard, fire leaping from his mouth and eyes, “And what about you and Kristen! Tell her the whole story, Richard! Don't stop with the kids!”
“You may be right, dear,” Janet said, the sadness in her voice matching his. She started to tell him that they should have spent more time with their children, but she decided to save that point for another day. The news by itself was depressing enough.
“How do we fight all this, as parents?” Richard said, not realizing that he was looking right at Nepravel. “When did all of this happen? What did we do wrong? Is this how it is with everyone these days? Are there no values left?”
Nepravel almost fell off the mantel again, he was so delighted with Richard and Janet's agony as parents. “You reap what you sow, folks. At least your kids have two parents. Think of all the children trying to make it without the help of good folks like you!” and he smiled in contentment.
“I guess an immediate issue is what we let them do now, this coming weekend,” Janet said. “I mean, do they continue to lie about where they are going? Or do we forbid them to see Brent and Drew? Or do we buy them boxes of condoms and wish them ‘Safe Sex’ as they go out the door? What do we do?”
“I think we need professional help, Janet. This is beyond my experience. Tomorrow can you call their school, maybe the nurse, and see if they can recommend any family therapists?”
“Yes. And I've heard a few names from other mothers. I'll make some calls. I guess we should go as soon as possible. Maybe we can get them to hold off on their sexual urges for one weekend, while we try to sort this out.”
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 12 – Richard was still reeling from their Monday night discussion when he arrived at work on Tuesday. At least he had “lunch” with Kristen to look forward to.
About 11:00 his intercom hummed. Mary said, “It's a Mr. Dowling from California.” Richard couldn't quite place the name, but he told her to put him through.
“Hi, Richard. This is Peter Dowling in San Francisco. We met several months ago at a symphony there. I was with Kristen Holloway. Do you remember me?”
“Of course,” Richard replied as friendly as he could, remembering the awkwardness of that evening. “How are you, and what can I do for you?”
“I'm fine, thank you. And Kristen certainly said a lot of nice things about you. She must know you pretty well.” Richard was silent. “Well, anyway, she suggested that night that I call you if I needed some help in the financial sector of your city, and so I'm following up, if you don't mind.”
“How can I help?” Richard asked, mildly curious.
“Well, as you may recall, I'm an investigative reporter for the morning newspaper out here. For over a year I've been working on and off on a possible story about Far West Securities. The rumors have been that they've pledged or sold stocks and bonds held in trust for others to raise money for themselves when times were difficult. Obviously this is quite illegal. The rumors have been around for several years. Apparently they've always been able to replace one sold stock with another, when they had to, so they have never been caught short.
“When I was there earlier this year I was checking out a new part of the story, but I could never confirm it. That story was that Far West had worked out a secret deal with a securities firm in your city, which was doing the same thing, ‘swapping’ the stocks or bonds each firm needed to pass its quarterly audit by the National Securities Examination Association. In other words, if Far West needed a particular group of stocks or bonds to show the auditors that their physical holdings matched their book records, the firm in your city would express them out for a few days. Then Far West returned the assistance with their holdings when the other firm was audited. The audits are scheduled in advance, so they had time to prepare. And if an occasional spot check by a young auditor produced a discrepancy in the stock register numbers, it was blamed on a typing error, and they promised to correct it. So long as the total volume of assets always matched the books, that was the main thing.”
“Sounds ingenious, and, as you say, quite illegal,” Richard said. “But what does it have to do with me?”
“Nothing. But yesterday a very unhappy and very recent former employee of Far West called me and gave me a name in your city. He said that this is the name I was looking for when I was there earlier. Have you ever heard of someone named Bruce McKinney?”
Richard's blood froze. “Yes.”
“Well, allegedly his firm has been doing these illegal swaps of escrow stocks with Far West for all these years, and I wondered if you might know someone with that firm whom I might call to try to develop a relationship with, so I can slowly try to uncover whether this is all true or not. I'm not asking you to do anything yourself. I thought you might just know a broker or someone with whom I could start.”
Richard's legal training finally kicked in. “Peter, I wish you had asked me the name first, instead of telling me the story first. The fact is that I'm the main attorney for McKinney and Smith. Now I know something that may or may not be true, and I wish I didn't know it. I'm going to have to think through my ethical position, but it's obvious that I can't help you in any way.”
“What a coincidence,” Peter agreed, “in a city as big as yours. Well, I'm sorry, too. I understand, and I guess I did do it backwards. If you have to tell them, how about deleting my name for now, so I can keep working from this end?”
“I'm not sure I can, Peter. This is suddenly quite a mess. But I'll do all I can to protect your identity within the bounds of my responsibilities to them.”
“Well, thank you, Richard. I'm sorry for the call, for any number of reasons. I guess I'll have to fly back there again myself and dig around on my own. Goodbye.”
Richard swiveled in his chair and looked out across the city in the direction of Bruce's office. He could not believe the conversation and even imagined for a moment that it was some sort of bar association test of his own ethics. But in the pit of his stomach he could imagine that if times were tough enough, Bruce McKinney was at least capable of doing what Peter had described. But had he?
Turning back around, Richard called Kristen's beeper number. He only had to wait forty-five seconds before his own phone rang. “Listen, dear, something very important has just come up, and I've got to go out. Just now. I hate it more than you do, but I can't have lunch today. I'll try to make it up to you on Thursday.”
“Is it really that important?” she pouted.
“Yes, I'm afraid so. It's business, and I've got to take care of it.”
“OK. But I want three hours on Thursday.”
“You're on. See you then. I love you. Bye.”
Richard pushed the button on his phone for a new line and dialed Bruce's number. The receptionist put him right through.
“I was just heading out the door to grab a bite to eat with one of our trainees, Richard, but I always take your calls. What's up? Is everything all right?”
“I hope so, Bruce, but I need to talk to you, face to face. Can I come over now?” The concern in his voice was apparent.
“Sure, Richard. I'll take my young broker to lunch tomorrow. I'll order us some sandwiches, and we can meet right here over lunch. Is that OK?”
“Yes. Fine. I'll see you shortly.”
When Richard arrived in Bruce's paneled office, two club sandwiches and chips were waiting on china plates at the small conference table beside the large window.
“Have a seat and some iced tea and tell me what's up.” Bruce smiled and motioned Richard towards the table.
After they both sat down, Richard took a sip of tea and asked, “Bruce, have you ever heard of Far West Securities?”
Bruce paused for an instant, took a sip of his tea, and said, “Yes, they're a large brokerage firm in California, based in San Francisco, I think. Why?” His eyes narrowed a bit.
“Have you ever traded stocks or bonds from your escrow safe with them?”
“Who have you been talking to, Richard?” his eyes narrowed even more.
“I'm in an impossible ethical, and perhaps legal, position at this point, Bruce. I'll probably tell you the name, but for the moment I just want to get to the bottom of the facts. I've known you for years. We're neighbors. I've guaranteed your loan. Now what I want to know—plain, simple, and true—is whether you've been selling or pledging other people's stocks and working with Far West to cover it up?”
“The short answer is yes, Richard, but I want you to hear the rest.”
Richard leaned back in his chair, exhaled, and swore. “Bruce, how could you?…Wonderful. Tell me the details.”
“David and I started pledging a few stocks owned by trusts that never sold anything, over ten years ago. We hated to do it, but we had poured every cent we had into the business, and the banks wouldn't lend us any more money without collateral. It started out very simply. We had a big fee coming in on a Monday, and we had to meet our payroll on the Friday before, so we just took out a short loan to cover the weekend, and it worked perfectly, using the escrow stocks from our safe as collateral.
“We didn't do it again for several months, but then we needed more money for a longer period, or we faced closing our doors, losing our homes, everything. So we took out a thirty-day note, and we made enough money to pay it all back and to retrieve the stocks in plenty of time for the audit.
“We did this on and off, but only when we had to, Richard, for a couple of years. Then at one of our national conventions, I met the owner of Far West Securities—I'll give you his name when we get to that point—and we wound up going out for dinner and drinks one night, just the two of us. We were talking about our business and our problems and having a few rounds, and before long we both had hinted in a roundabout way that we had beefed up our collateral on occasion with stocks readily at hand.
“I don't remember, exactly, but we somehow actually started discussing what we had done, and he lamented how unhelpful it was that we had these quarterly audits when we had to produce the stock certificates. That's when we more or less simultaneously hit upon the idea of helping each other out, to get through the audits when the stocks had been pledged.”
Richard reached for his tea again. “How recently have you done this?”
Bruce looked out the window. “I hate to tell you, Richard, but right now we've got a loan for $150,000 at the bank, secured by stocks we don't own.”
Richard's chest felt hollow. “So on Friday, among other problems, I'm supposed to give our firm's legal opinion to Patrick Tomlinson about your good standing and the accuracy of all the representations in our financial documents, while you have ‘borrowed’ your clients’ stocks and colluded with another securities firm to defraud a bank and those same clients?”
“You asked and said you wanted the truth. You're our attorney, so I told you.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your faith in me…Now what in blazes do I do?”
“Look, Richard, David and I don't like this any more than you do. We've hated to do it over the years. And one of the reasons we want the Tomlinson investment is so that we can wipe out that loan and never have to do it again. We obviously haven't told anyone, but we built that loan payoff into the equity infusion from the beginning. Don't worry. The loan is mentioned, just not the specific collateral. So my suggestion to you is that you do nothing, and let the closing occur. David and I will never borrow any funds in this way again—or help Far West again.”
“That sounds so simple.”
“It is simple. If you blow the whistle and stop the closing, our company will be finished, David and I will lose everything we have, your firm will be out a big legal fee, you will be out your personal financing fee, and you will still be guaranteeing a $500,000 loan at the bank.” Bruce paused to let those results sink in.
“Or we can have the closing, the cash will come in, we'll pay off both loans, you will have your fees, our company will be in good shape, no one will have been hurt, and that will be the end of it.”
Richard sat quietly and thought. Neither of them had yet touched his sandwich. “But I'll have to lie. I have to certify your standing and your records. And I now know that there is the potential for criminal and civil action against you. What if this reporter keeps digging and uncovers more?”
“I'll call Far West and have whoever is unhappy made happy, so he or she will shut up. Then the trail will die, and after a few weeks, there won't be a trail. No harm, no foul. No one will be out any money, and if something is made of it several years from now, we'll explain it as an overzealous clerk and accept a quiet reprimand. When the public is not hurt, the regulators don't like to make a big fuss—it's bad for the whole industry. Whatever else might happen, anything is better than the disaster that will occur if the closing doesn't take place. Trust me on this, Richard. You are our attorney and are not supposed to reveal privileged information, anyway. No one can ever be mad at you. Just let it all happen like it's set to happen, as if you'd never heard any of this. Then we all come out OK, you included.”
“Well, but I've got to give an opinion for the closing…Maybe I can play around with the words a bit so that it's not quite as strong as usual, but still legal sounding enough not to raise any suspicions. I don't think they're really looking too hard for problems anyway. They trust us.”
“That's right. And they'll be fine, too, or I wouldn't ask you to do this. Everyone, and I mean everyone, comes out OK if the closing goes forward.”
“And if you and David also stop this practice, once and for all.”
“You have my word, Richard.”
“Well, I've got to think it through again, but I guess I can do it, since no one will be hurt.”
“That's good. I understand that the papers are to be signed on Thursday morning, and the money wired in first thing on Friday, right?”
“Yes, that's how we've set it up.”
“Well then, if that's settled, let's have some lunch.”
On the way back to his office, a small voice tried to tell him that mixing his legal work and his investments had created this problem and that he should do the correct thing. But a louder voice reassured him that it would all blow over, everyone would be paid, and no one would be hurt. He just had to change a few words…
Back at his office, Richard summoned his paralegal and told her that he wanted to make one last review of the McKinney/Tomlinson documents before expressing them to Marty Tsongas that afternoon. He then went through the opinion letter to be issued by his firm, removed a few absolutes, and added an innocuous-sounding catch-all phrase, stating that their opinion about McKinney and Smith was subject to the “customary requirements for client confidentiality.”
Once the document was modified, they expressed the entire package to Marty for his review on the following day. Marty and Patrick would then fly in to sign all the papers during a brief ceremony on Thursday morning.
That night at home, sitting again together with Richard in the den, Janet explained to him about the several psychological and psychiatric programs she had investigated on the telephone that day.
“Most of them want to see all four of us on the first few visits, then break up and do therapy for anywhere from six months to many years. But, you know, Richard, these sounded like programs for really messed up kids—I mean like drug addicts, robbers, and that sort. Do you think Tommy and Susan need that sort of treatment?”
“I don't know, Janet. I'm not feeling very good about my parental judgment right now.”
“Do you think we could just talk to them and ask them to stop what they're doing?”
“I would hope so, but I don't hold out much hope that it would last very long. I mean, how do you ever really change someone?”
“Well, I'll call back the two places that sounded the most low key and talk to them again. Then we can decide. But what about this weekend?”
“We'll have to talk to them tomorrow night, I guess.”
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13 – Amy, Bobbie, and Susan sat alone again at lunch on Wednesday. Alone except for Pitow, the demon in charge of the forces of darkness in the school, who hovered above the fourth chair at the table. “I think it's time for another slumber party,” Amy announced, “and this time we can do it at my house. I've checked with my parents, and Saturday night will be fine with them. Then we can all go to Morningside Church again. Susan, I think you'd really like it.”
The other two girls looked at Susan, who had been acting a little aloof for the past two weeks. “I don't know. Isn't a slumber party a little childish for seniors? I think I'd much rather spend the evening with Drew, maybe even in a motel room, than at a slumber party in a basement.”
Bobbie and Amy looked at each other—the put-down had been obvious. “So you and Drew are shacking up in motels now?” Amy asked.
“I wouldn't call it ‘shacking up.’ We love each other very much, and he is wonderful. My mother even knows, and she hasn't stopped us.”
“Your mom knows?” Bobbie asked.
“Yes, she found my pills.”
“What about your dad?”
“Not unless Mom told him. I don't know.”
“And she didn't say anything at all?”
“Well, she wasn't overjoyed, but she hasn't said we have to stop. How could she, really? She told me this summer that finding and loving a good man is the most important thing in life, so I think she understands us.” Pitow nodded in silent and amused agreement.
“My parents still don't know what I went through,” said Amy. “I hope someday I can tell them, when I'm older.”
“Finding a good man is important,” Bobbie added, “but it's not the most important. Loving God is the most important. If you do that, the other stuff just comes, according to His will.” Pitow was enraged, and rose three feet above the table. He hated it when the few Christians in the school actually spoke up, even in private. But just try it in public! Then they'd see his power!
“Well, maybe,” Susan smiled. “But right now I sure am enjoying Drew. You ought to try a motel sometime, Amy. It sure beats parking in a car. You might get back into boys if you had the right place to go.” Pitow watched Amy's eyes for a spark of lust, but was terribly disappointed.
“I'm into boys,” Amy said, not smiling. “I'm just not into that part of boys right now.”
“Well, they say it's just like riding a bicycle, only a lot more fun. Maybe we could double date sometime and get adjoining rooms!”
“Come on, Susan,” Bobbie said, “you sound like some kind of hooker. You really need to come to our youth group. Everything I've read, including God's Word, says that you're playing with fire and will regret it, sooner or later. The only questions are how bad the hurt will be, and who will suffer the most.”
“Don't you think I know more from experience than you do from books? It's real life. What about you, Amy? Are you a jumper and shouter yet?”
“You aren't going to understand this, Susan,” Amy said, “but the Bible I've been reading seems like real life to me. At least I feel like it's telling the real truth to me. And I feel loved and wanted by the people at Bobbie's church. So right now that's a very happy reality for me, and I don't need a motel room with a boy to make me feel good.”
“Well, excuse me. Let me know,” Susan said, getting up to meet Drew, who had just walked into the cafeteria door, “when you're ready to relax again.”
As Susan walked away, Bobbie asked Amy, “It's not easy, is it?”
“No, it's not. But I know inside that it's right. In fact, I might ask you and Glenn to pray with me after youth group on Sunday. I may be ready to turn over my life to Jesus. If Susan is the alternative, then I'm running as fast as I can to God!” Pitow was flabbergasted. This is not what Nepravel and Zloy had expected from her. Balzor would be furious!
Bobbie was quietly thrilled by Amy's finding the Lord's power acting in her life, and on the way back to class she said silent prayers for both of her friends.
That afternoon the national crews for “911 Live” arrived at TV5, which would act as the control center each week for the satellite relay back to Network in New York. Janet had arranged for their accommodations and for their appointments at the police, fire, and ambulance stations where the equipment was to be installed. Because of all the controversy surrounding the show, the arrival of the crew was “news,” and the local newspapers sent reporters to cover the equipment installation.
Janet rode with the team to the police station. The equipment was familiar from their trial run, except that Mark and Bob had accelerated the purchase of tiny cameras which could actually be worn on the helmet or on the hat of emergency personnel, linked back to their vehicle for up to five hundred feet and amplified back to the station. So now it would actually be possible to go along with 911 personnel into a building, which did not comfort Janet, but at this point she was not prepared to say anything.
By the end of Wednesday it looked as if they would be finished in plenty of time to roll on schedule, an hour before the 7:30 broadcast started, in just two more days.
Janet and Richard talked on the phone later that afternoon, and it seemed that perhaps the program run by the Sequoia Center might be low key but powerful enough to have some effect on their family. So Janet had tentatively signed them all up for an initial interview on the following Tuesday afternoon.
After dinner that night, the parents met and decided that they would ask—it would not be “appropriate” to demand—that their children refrain from their sexual activity that weekend, given their family interview scheduled for Tuesday. And they decided that they would each ask the child of the opposite sex.
So Richard headed upstairs to talk with Susan for the first time about her involvement with Drew, and Janet asked Tommy to turn off the television at the end of his show. She had a fairly easy time with her son, who had not particularly wanted to get back together with his group so soon anyway. At her request, he promised that he would not lie about his activities that weekend and that he would not “do videos” or any other similar behavior until their interview. Tommy was frankly relieved to have his parents ask him to slow down, as tenuous as their request was. And he wanted to figure himself out as much as they did. Although he was not prepared to give up his fun totally, he actually looked forward to their meeting on Tuesday.
Susan was not so happy or so agreeable. Richard tried to control his anger, his disappointment, and his discomfort when talking to her, but all three were clearly just below the surface.
“Susan, this is not easy for me, but I just don't think that you should be…sleeping…with Drew at age seventeen, with all the risks involved. But I'm in over my head, and your mother and I would like for all four of us to go see a counselor together. We've scheduled a meeting for Tuesday afternoon.”
“What on earth are we going to talk about?” Susan asked.
“I honestly don't know. But because we think what you're doing is wrong, and because of this meeting, we'd like you to promise that you and Drew will not sleep together…this weekend, until we've all had a chance to hear what the counselor has to say.”
“I don't know, Dad,” Susan replied, to Richard's astonishment. “I don't think Drew and I are doing anything wrong. I mean, if we use birth control and a condom…” Richard felt himself blushing, but noticed that Susan wasn't. “…then what's wrong? We're not hurting anyone, and we love each other. Those are the criteria you and Mom have always given me to decide right from wrong. So tell me what's wrong.”
Richard had expected her to do as he asked, just as she always had, and not to debate him. She waited for his answer, and to his amazement, he could not think of one. He knew it was wrong for her to be sleeping with Drew, but he could not articulate why. He had to admit that he didn't really know why, especially given the fact that he and Kristen would be enjoying “lunch” together the next day. He quickly suppressed that thought! Why was it wrong? He certainly couldn't say, “Because it says so in the Bible,” but that's what he found himself thinking. How unexpectedly bizarre!
“We just think it's wrong for you to be running the risks of disease and pregnancy, Susan. Either one would be terrible.”
“But I said we know how to prevent those. And I love him. He's a great guy, and I hope we can go to the same college and maybe get married some day. We're not hurting anyone, and we'll always be careful, I promise.”
Richard knew he had lost. It astonished him that he couldn't give his seventeen-year-old daughter any good reasons why she shouldn't be sleeping with her boyfriend in motels! Maybe there aren't any, he thought. Maybe she should just do what she wanted, and Tommy should do what he wanted. Maybe that was the way today, a voice told him. But he hung in for one more try, not wanting to face Janet otherwise.
“Look, your old man is at his wit's end. Perhaps I can't tell you now what's wrong. That's why I want to see a counselor. I'll even concede that maybe you're right. But can't you please just humor me for one weekend, for old times’ sake, and do something else until we see this expert?”
Susan relented, when asked nicely. “Oh, all right, Daddy. I'll do as you've asked this one weekend, but that's all I'll promise. And we'll see what this expert has to say. Now I've got to finish this homework.”
Richard rose and kissed her on the forehead, then left, feeling he'd won the battle but lost the war.
At midnight the broiling mass of hateful demons met over the city to review their work during the last twenty-four hours. Tymor asked to address the horde, and Balzor nodded.
“Good news. We've ‘helped’ a professor at the seminary in the university ‘discover’ that the story about Jesus, the possessed man, and the herd of swine on the hill was actually a parody of an earlier Greek allegory, and he's going to publish that finding next month in a scholarly journal on religion, discrediting Mark and Luke as the authors!”
Balzor and the others laughed. Plando, one of the streetleaders, spoke up from the ranks. “I was there. It was awful. He ordered us out of that man, and we had to obey. I've never been so humiliated, so we killed those pigs. But, hey! I'm glad to hear now that it never happened!” And they all laughed again.
“We're working with the seminary scholars on more such ‘discoveries,’ and the press will give us full play with every one,” Tymor concluded, to everyone's delight.
But soon Pitow reported on the conversation between the three girls in the high school cafeteria that day. Balzor was furious to learn that Susan, while in excellent shape herself to be permanently theirs, was nevertheless driving Amy toward the Light. He turned on Nepravel and Zloy, who cowered at the edge of the mass.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “She may be lost to us forever on Sunday!”
Without answering the question, Nepravel countered, as bravely as he could with Balzor hovering directly over him, “It's those prayers. The Meredith girl has the whole youth group and the church Prayer Warriors praying for Amy every day. Look down there.”
The demons looked down toward Devon Drive, and even at that late hour they could see the streaks of light, incoming to the Bryants’ home, from all over the city.
“All those prayers are silencing the voices as soon as we start them. Unless we stay right there, she won't hear them. And with all those prayers, there's likely to be an angel nearby, so we'll need an army. Is one girl worth all that?”
Balzor backed off a bit and considered for a moment. “No, not with all that we have planned for her neighbors, the Sullivans, in the next few days. We need our best resources there. Let's hope that something keeps her from committing to that Son of God on Sunday so we can work on her again next week.” And, much to Nepravel's and Zloy's relief, Balzor turned and resumed his place above the assembled gang of liars and haters, to hear more reports.