You are on an airline and an executive from one of your competitors is sitting next to you. She gets up to use the rest room, leaving her firm’s business plan on the seat. What do you do?
You are at an industry convention and are having a few drinks with an executive from one of your competitors. He becomes drunk and begins revealing information about his firm’s upcoming product line. What do you do?
Iris refolded the brochure. The title was, “Ethics Seminar for Executives.” She slipped the brochure into her briefcase and mused over a dilemma that was not among those mentioned in the brochure.
You have been asked to manage a valuable investment portfolio for a prominent City Council member. You know that the council member, a former police officer, was involved in the secret beating of a suspect in custody who later died. What do you do?
She picked up the manila folder that contained her research on Gil Alvarez’s investment portfolio, slipped it into her briefcase, and flicked the brass fasteners closed. She pulled her suit jacket from the hanger behind the door, put it on, got her purse from the top drawer of the filing cabinet, hung the strap over her shoulder, grabbed her briefcase and left.
Gil Alvarez’s secretary was filing her nails. She was sitting very erect in her desk chair, her breasts straining against the light fabric of her sleeveless sheath dress. She held her palm out to admire her nails, then bent her fingers toward her again and whacked the edges with the file.
Iris sat on a corner of the couch, flipping through but barely seeing a magazine. She smelled nail polish and looked up to see Alycia applying the final touch-up.
The office door burst open and Gil Alvarez entered, bustling and smiling and looking every bit like a man on top of the world. Jeff Rosen was close behind.
Iris leaped from the couch, virtually at attention. Alvarez breezed past her on his way to the inner office and as he did so, he grabbed her upper arm just above the elbow and whooshed her inside with him.
“So how’s my favorite money manager?”
Iris smelled booze on Alvarez’s breath.
Rosen followed, closing the door behind them. He excitedly rubbed his hands together and began pacing back and forth.
Iris stood her briefcase next to her feet. With all the good humor in the air, she distinctly felt like a party pooper. She grinned, pretending that some of their ardor had rubbed off on her. “What’s all the excitement about?”
Rosen reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to Iris. “We’ve just finished talking with a friend over at The Los Angeles Times. We got the Times’s endorsement—”
Alvarez jutted two thumbs into the air.
“—which we were confident we’d get. And that article’s going to run tomorrow morning.”
Iris unfolded the paper.
WILLIAM DELACEY POSSIBLY INVOLVED IN MURDER COVER-UP
Did Developer’s Plan for Historic Property Lead to Foul Play?
A recent reinvestigation into the 1971 murder of Gabriel Gaytan at the historic Rancho Las Mariposas has uncovered evidence that Humberto De la Garza, Gaytan’s cousin, may have been falsely accused of the crime. A new examination of the case files revealed discrepancies in William DeLacey’s description of the events surrounding the discovery of Gaytan’s body the morning of February 9, 1971.
Alvarez opened an embossed leather box on his desk and took out a cigar and a chrome cutter. “We’ve got him on the run now.” He tipped the box toward Rosen.
Rosen grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Gilbert Alvarez and Ronald Cole were the first two police officers on the scene. Alvarez, now the incumbent in the race for the 14th District City Council seat, told reporters, “I’ve always been uneasy about the outcome of this case. De la Garza simply did not have a motive to murder Gaytan.” Cole, currently an LAPD detective, refused to comment. Humberto De la Garza, who was arrested for Gaytan’s murder, died in custody from injuries reportedly sustained in a fall that occurred when he resisted arrest.
Even after Rancho Las Mariposas fell into William DeLacey’s hands, ground has yet to be broken on his DeLacey Gardens housing project. Environmental regulations and disagreements with the City Council have stalled the project for over twenty-five years.
Iris refolded the paper and handed it to Rosen. “That’s quite an article.”
Alvarez leaned back in his leather chair, put his feet on his desk, and waved his now lit cigar at her. “Gaytan DeLacey started it but we’re going to finish it.”
The phone rang. “Alycia, hold all calls except for the mayor’s.” Alvarez hung up and explained. “He should be giving me his endorsement any day now. How many endorsements does Gaytan DeLacey have? Hardly any.”
“He’s managed to get more than I thought he would,” Rosen admitted.
Iris slowly walked to the window, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, buying time, trying to talk herself out of saying something that she’d regret. She turned to face them, leaning her hands and hips against the window frame.
Alvarez puffed on the cigar and looked at her in the same way he might have looked at a gemstone he was considering acquiring, assessing how it would look in the light, how it would look from a distance, how it would look on his arm.
“I was just a little kid at the time.” Iris held her palm out to indicate her size then. “So my recollection is not great but I remember some discussion among the adults about Humberto and how he got hurt.”
Alvarez rocked his chair back with his feet on his desk. He smiled indulgently as if he were now speaking to that small child. “What did they say, dear?”
“Well, as I recall, there was some speculation that you and your partner had beat him up.”
Rosen sat on a small couch and crossed his legs. “The police are common targets for such accusations, but there’s no basis for them in this case.” He looked at Alvarez. Alvarez removed his feet from his desk and leaned forward. He centered the diamond ring on his finger. “Iris, you said something very important. Speculation. Just like Jeff said, a prisoner gets hurt, the police get blamed.”
“Why are you bringing this up, Iris?” Rosen asked.
“Simply because I know the DeLaceys and I know they won’t let this go unaddressed. The obvious area for counterattack is the issue of Humberto’s death. The way I see it, you’ll both end up slinging mud over things that can’t be proved. Running this article might do you both more harm than good.”
“Everything in that article is the truth,” Alvarez said. “I’m not backing down from it.”
“Do you think it’s fair to hold Thomas Gaytan DeLacey accountable for something his father may have done when Thomas was just eleven years old?”
Alvarez squinted at her. “So that’s what’s behind all this. You’re a Gaytan DeLacey fan now.” He darted his cigar at Rosen. “Jeff, we’ve got a turncoat on our hands.”
“Gil, c’mon.” Iris smiled and tilted her head. “I’m only considering your best interests. This article takes the campaign to a new level of ugliness and it may not be a place you want to visit.” She walked to a chair facing his desk, sat down, and slowly crossed her legs.
“Don’t you think Gaytan DeLacey gleaned certain scruples from his father?” Rosen asked.
Iris looked at him. “What if he’s spent his whole life trying to be unlike his father? And this is his reward.”
“Life’s tough, isn’t it? Even for wealthy little boys like Thomas Gaytan DeLacey.” Alvarez leaned back in his chair and leered at her. “I have nothing to hide, so I have nothing to fear from the DeLaceys.”
She smiled back at him. “Then you’re ready for anything.”
“Absolutely.”
She glanced at her watch. “My goodness! That late already? Let me quickly review what I have.” She snapped open her briefcase, took out a manila file folder, leaned forward onto his desk, and flipped the file open. “I’ve taken a careful look at your portfolio and have come up with some excellent suggestions, if I say so myself.”
He cooed, “I can hardly wait.”
“They’re all laid out in this report.” She lifted a handful of stapled pages to show him, squared them in the folder, and closed the cover. She pushed the folder across his desk. “And it breaks my heart to tell you that I can’t manage your money.”
Alvarez’s face dropped.
“Why not?” Rosen asked.
“I have some good news and some bad news.” She cupped her hand against her cheek as if she was about to share a secret. “The good news is confidential so…”
Alvarez frowned in mock outrage. “It will not go outside these walls.”
“I’m going to be promoted to manager of our L.A. office.”
“Congratulations!” Alvarez reached his hand across his desk to shake hers vigorously.
“That’s terrific, Iris,” Rosen enthused.
“The bad news is, I simply cannot take on any new clients.” She sadly shook her head, hoping she wasn’t overdoing it. She was a terrible liar, but at least she knew it. Then she visualized the commission check that could have been and sincerely said, “I’m really sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am, pretty lady.”
“That’s sweet.” She stood. “I tell you what. I’ll make a list of some excellent money managers I know and fax it to you on Monday.”
Alvarez and Rosen stood as well. Alvarez moved to walk her to the door. “I’m sure none of them can hold a light to you.”
Iris touched her forehead. “All these compliments are going to go to my head.”
“I’ll send you an invitation to the inaugural party. I want you to come as my personal guest. And Jeff, let’s invite Iris to the fund-raiser.”
She smiled and extended her hand. Instead of shaking it, he grasped her fingers and pulled the back of her hand to his lips. She slipped out the door. As soon as she was in the outer office, she dropped the smile. By the time she’d reached the Triumph, she was smiling again but this time the smile was genuine. A stranger had offered her candy and she had resisted.