I made a mental note to ask Sara if the Vandertops and the Guernseys hung out together at wherever it was that the one percent hung out while I walked the four blocks from Brooke’s building to the skyscraper that accommodated the law firm where Cormac Puchner worked. It was another reason why Freddie and I hesitated to leave downtown Minneapolis. So many of our clients were within walking distance of our office.
Puchner agreed to meet me without an appointment, yet he made it sound like he was not only doing me a great favor, it was the last one he was allowed to perform until next month. He softened somewhat when I told him Freddie and I agreed with his assessment of the situation, that he and the other attorneys had been targeted for a specific reason.
He puffed himself up and said, “Money. It’s always about money.”
“Unless he really does consider himself to be a hactivist who thinks fucking you over is for the greater good.”
“Bullshit.”
“We won’t know until the shoe drops. So far, NIMN has been silent.”
“What are you doing about it?”
I told him.
Puchner didn’t think it was enough. Yet, in the same breath, he forbade me from contacting anyone working for Standout Investments Worldwide LLC.
“There’s no requirement that we inform the public that our firm has been a victim of intrusion,” he said.
“It’s your client. Not the public.”
“Mr. Taylor, do you presume to read the law to me?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’m a graduate of Harvard Law School.”
“So I’ve been told. Cormac, if we’re going to find a connection between the cases—”
“I’ll give you everything I have. However, we will not inform Standout that its most private data has been violated unless and until it becomes absolutely necessary. Taylor, do you know how close I am to making partner?”
Puchner moved to the huge window and gazed out. The view he already had looked pretty spectacular to me, but what did I know? Freddie and I bill only sixty dollars an hour.
“I read the information you put on the USB drive,” I said. “It was pretty thin. Especially from you. You’re usually much more forthcoming.”
“It’s a sensitive matter.”
“Exactly what is the lawsuit about?”
Puchner’s answer was to direct me to his computer. He pulled up a website and stepped away while I read from the screen.
WELCOME TO
THE HEATHERTON V. STANDOUT INVESTMENTS
WORLDWIDE LLC SETTLEMENT WEBSITEConsumers who received unauthorized text messages from Standout Investments Worldwide LLC advertising goods or services may be eligible for a share of the $7.3 million settlement over allegations of violations of the Telephone Consumer Protection Act.
A Settlement has been reached in a class action lawsuit against Standout Investments Worldwide LLC (“Defendant” or “Standout”). The suit concerns whether Standout violated a federal law called the Telephone Consumer Protection Act by sending unsolicited text messages to the cell phones of consumers advertising its goods and services (“Advertising Text Messages”). Standout denies any wrongdoing and maintains that the Advertising Text Messages were made with consumers’ consent and were authorized by law. The Settlement does not establish who is correct, but rather is a compromise to end the lawsuit.
You are included in the Settlement if you received an Advertising Text Message on your cell phone from Standout between August 6, 2016, and April 14, 2018. You may be entitled to a cash payment if you affirm that you received such an Advertising Text Message without providing your consent.
Those who submit valid claims will be eligible to receive an equal, or pro rata, share of a $7.3 million settlement fund that Standout has agreed to establish. Each individual who submits a valid claim will receive a portion of this fund, after all notice and administration costs, the incentive award, and attorneys’ fees have been paid. Standout has also agreed to implement procedures to ensure that it has the appropriate consent to send Advertising Text Messages in the future.
YOUR LEGAL RIGHTS AND OPTIONS IN THIS SETTLEMENT
Submit a Claim Form:
This is the only way to receive a payment.
Exclude Yourself:
You will not receive any benefits, but you will retain any rights you may currently have to sue the Defendant about Advertising Text Messages sent to you.
Object:
Write to the Court explaining why you don’t like the Settlement.
Do Nothing:
You won’t get a share of the Settlement benefits and will give up your rights to sue the Defendant about the claims in this case.
“It’s a perfect example of what’s wrong with our tort system,” Puchner said. “No different than the suit filed against Subway by the customer who claimed that after buying a footlong sub, he discovered that the sandwich was only eleven and three-quarter inches in length. Bottom-feeding trial attorneys do nothing all day but troll for petty offenses that they can turn into a huge payday by filing abusive lawsuits designed to force a company into an exorbitant settlement to avoid bad publicity or a protracted legal battle. Do you have any idea how much Standout’s customers, the ones who received the text messages—do you know what they’ll make from this frivolous lawsuit? About fifty bucks each. The lawyers, though, they’re going to line their pockets.”
“What about the hacker?”
“The hacker? What he stole … As far as we can tell, what he stole were copies of a couple of memos that were circulated among upper management before the advertising campaign was launched.”
“What did they say?”
“What did they say? They said … The original memo was composed by a team leader in the firm’s marketing department who said … Ahh, fuck. It said that in his opinion the advertising campaign was in violation of the Telephone Consumer Protection Act. The other memos was management putting in writing its opinion that the law was ridiculous and that they should just ignore it.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You know, Taylor, I never swore when I was at Harvard. I started … It wasn’t until I moved to the Midwest and began working with people who think New York is Sodom and LA is Gomorrah and in between is the real fucking America.”
“What little I know about the law, wouldn’t the memos have been revealed during discovery anyway?”
“I’ll give you a quick tutorial. A class action lawsuit is done in steps. First is the drafting of the complaint. The complaint is filed in court and served on the defendants. You’ve done your share of that for us, working as a process server. Second, the defendant will file an answer denying the allegations and/or file certain motions challenging the lawsuit. If a judge rules the suit may proceed, then the plaintiffs take the next step by formally demanding documents, asking for answers to written questions, scheduling depositions—it’s a fucking fishing expedition is what it is. Except, in this case, it’s the reason why we agreed to settle. We didn’t want the plaintiffs to discover the memos, which might have boosted the settlement, what? Three times? Four times? It would have at least doubled it. The court doesn’t like it when you purposely decide to ignore the law. It’s kinda prickly that way.”
“Isn’t the case already settled? Isn’t there a double jeopardy clause?”
“Not in civil cases. The court holds that civil and administrative proceedings are more remedial in nature. They seek to compensate injured persons for losses they’ve suffered and serve various functions unrelated to deterrence or retribution. Besides, we never actually went to court. The point of the settlement was to avoid going to court.”
“So…”
“So if these memos are exposed, the plaintiffs will reopen the suit, Standout will get creamed, and I’ll lose my corner office.”
“Can I at least speak to the junior exec who wrote the original memo? I promise to be discreet.”
“Oh fuck, they fired him right away. The minute the lawsuit was filed.”
“What’s his name?”
“Taylor…”
“Cormac, the man has motive to hurt Standout.”
“That he does. I’m surprised he didn’t file a lawsuit himself. You know, it just occurred to me, for these memos to be admitted in court, they’d first need to be authenticated. He could do that. All right, give me a minute.”
Puchner went to his computer and started moving and clicking his mouse. I said, “I never heard of Standout Investments.”
“It’s relatively new. A division of Minnesota River State Bank.”
Something about the way my body reacted to the news caused Puchner’s head to come up.
“What?” he said.
“It couldn’t possibly be that easy,” I told him.
Clinton Siegle had his own website. It read:
HOW WILL YOUR COMPANY RISE TO ITS NEXT MARKETING CHALLENGE?
SIEGLE MARKETING INC.
Over 15 years experience providing strategy and marketing consulting to both B2B and B2C clients across a wide range of sectors
I am a freelance marketing professional providing flexible and affordable services and support to help small and medium-sized businesses achieve your goals through strategic, targeted marketing planning and implementation. I offer help with all aspects of marketing including planning, communications and PR, social media, SEO, digital marketing, copywriting, and event management. I can also provide in-house services whereby I can act as your company’s very own marketing manager for as long as you require.
His office was a converted bedroom located in his house in Richfield. He met me on the front porch. We were standing beneath a flight path leading to the Minneapolis–St. Paul International Airport and had to pause several times during our conversation while jets passed overhead.
“I’m sorry,” Siegle said. “It didn’t occur to me until after we spoke on the phone, but I can’t talk to you about Standout after all.”
“Why not?”
“When I was terminated I signed a nondisclosure agreement in exchange for a severance package. I’m not allowed to talk about Standout in any way to any one for a period of two years. The agreement still has seventeen months to run.”
“This agreement, it refers to outside parties, am I right? I’m not an outside party. I work for the attorney who represents Standout.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“You could call the attorney. His name is Cormac Puchner.”
“What will he say?”
“He’ll say that talking to me is like talking to Standout. We’re all on the same side.”
“I’m not sure about that, either. What I mean—I’m sure the lawyer and Standout are on the same side. Maybe you are, too. I’m not.”
“Why’s that?”
“I sent upper management a memo stating that they might be breaking the law, and then when they got caught breaking the law, I’m the one who got fired. How are we on the same side?”
“What happened exactly?”
Siegle paused while a two-engine passenger jet passed overhead.
“I’m taking a chance that you’re telling the truth,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re not the first to ask about this.”
“I’m not?”
“Taylor, right? A couple of years ago, Taylor, my team was tasked with creating and implementing an integrated marketing campaign designed to introduce Standout’s investment products to the greatest possible number of people in our target audience. This included customers who were already doing business with Minnesota River State Bank. We put together a package of print and broadcast ads, public relations, direct marketing, email, and digital and in-store promotions that would run in multiple stages throughout the fiscal year. It was suggested that this package should also include text advertising to the cell phones of Minnesota River’s existing customers.
“I sent a memo to my director pointing out that the text messages would be in violation of the Telephone Consumer Protection Act and we should drop that part of the campaign. A couple of days later I was told the higher-ups said it was okay, it was fine, and I should proceed. I didn’t believe it, but what am I going to do? Argue? It’s the Golden Rule. The man with the gold makes the rules. Right?
“About eighteen, nineteen months later, the campaign was still going strong, our numbers were very good, and I was called into the boss’s office. I honestly thought I was going to get promoted. Instead, there were a couple of security guys standing there ready to escort me off the premises.”
“Were you told why?”
“I know why. It was because of the memo. Standout didn’t want anyone to know about it.”
“Is that what they told you?”
“It’s what the severance package told me. Two years’ salary? Plus healthcare? Who gets a deal like that? The company wanted me to keep my mouth shut. I almost didn’t. I thought about it, though, and decided—you know what? I could have sued Standout myself for unlawful termination, but I figured I wouldn’t get much more than what they were already paying me. Not to mention a lawsuit would have derailed my career.”
“Did you ever tell anyone about the memo?”
“Before today? No.”
“Not even your wife?”
“Well, Linda knew. I had to tell her why I was fired, didn’t I?”
“Did she tell anyone?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am, because of what happened.”
“What happened?”
“It must have been, oh, I want to say two months ago? Three? This was right before Standout agreed to the settlement. I didn’t know about that, though. Not at the time. What happened, Linda and I were at the Twin Cities Jazz Festival when this woman, girl really, she came up to us and started acting like she knew me, like we had worked together at Standout. There was no way I could have forgotten her, what with the tattoos and piercings. She was so young, too. I was polite, trying to remember who she was, and then she said, ‘You’re the guy who wrote the memo,’ and I said, ‘What memo?’ and she said, ‘You know, the memo,’ and I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about and walked away.
“My first thought was that this was some sort of test, that Standout was trying to figure out if I was keeping my end of the bargain. Or perhaps the company was looking for grounds to terminate the severance agreement. You know, I wouldn’t put it past them. I kind of cross-examined my wife about it, asking her, ‘Did you ever tell anyone about the memo?’ and she said she hadn’t. A week later, I heard that Standout had agreed to the settlement. That’s when I started wondering if the girl had been among the plaintiffs, that somehow she heard about the memo and approached me for confirmation.”
“Authentication.”
“What?”
“Something the lawyer told me. No one else asked you about it, though, the memo?”
“No.”
“No one from Standout?”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone over there since I was fired. Seven-point-three million they had to cough up because they wouldn’t listen to me. Clowns.”
“What about Minnesota River State Bank?”
“I’ve never had any dealings with the people over there.”
“Have you ever met anyone from the Guernsey family?”
“No. Why would I? It’s not like we travel—no, wait. I did meet … What was her name? The daughter?”
I took a chance.
“Melissa?” I said.
“Yes. At the Xcel Energy Center last … I want to say February, a full month before I was fired. I have a friend who has season tickets to watch the Minnesota Wild play hockey. He took me to a game. We were wandering the concourse in between periods, and we met a friend of his who was dating Melissa, at least she was at the game with him, and I was introduced. But the conversation, we didn’t talk about Standout or the bank or anything like that. It was all about whether or not the Wild had a chance to make the playoffs this year, and it only lasted five minutes.”
“She wasn’t the girl at the jazz festival?”
“Oh, no. Melissa was older and not very pretty. The girl, though, was young and pretty but trying hard not to be pretty, you know?”
Siegle didn’t have much more to say that was interesting after that, so I gave him my card and asked him to contact me should anyone else come knocking on his door to ask about the memo.
“Is someone going to knock on my door?” Siegle asked.
“You never know.”
My Camry was parked on the street. I climbed into it and wrote a few notes in fractured shorthand in a hardcover notebook I always carried that I would later transcribe onto my computer. Clients love detailed reports. Especially lawyers. Freddie keeps telling me to use a smartphone or tablet and save myself the extra work, yet I continue to resist. Not because I’m some kind of Luddite afraid of computers, but rather because I never learned to type with my thumbs.
After I finished, I drove off. I covered at least four miles before I realized I was being followed. It caused me to do something I disliked immensely. I used my cell phone while I was driving.
Freddie answered with the words “My man.”
“Where are you?” I asked.
‘The office. I just served a couple of subpoenas, why?”
“I’m being tailed.”
“That a fact? You need some backup?”
“I don’t think so, but listen.” I recited the license plate number of the car behind me. “Think you can get an ID in the next couple of minutes?”
“Whatshisname, Franklin in the MPD’s gang unit, he’s always up for a quick twenty. I’ll get back t’ ya.”
I didn’t want to lead the tail to my next appointment. Yet neither did I want him to know he had been made, so I deliberately steered him into the traffic slowdown that always occurred around the I-94–Highway 280 interchange at about that time of day. It bought enough time for Freddie to call back.
“You’re not going to believe it,” he said.
“I believe everything you tell me.”
“Walter O’Neill.”
“No way.”
“I knew you wouldn’t believe it. Sure you don’t need backup? Man’s an ex-cop.”
“Most of us are.”
“Most of us don’t get retired because we’re loose with our hands.”
“That’s true. I’m guessing O’Neill picked me up when I was interviewing Clinton Siegle.”
“Who’s Clinton Siegle?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later. In the meantime, where’s Sara?”
“Probably in her man cave. Why?”
“Ask her to come in first chance she gets and sweep the place for bugs.”
“Our place?” Freddie said.
“Just in case someone’s listening in. We’ve been on the case for less than a day and all of a sudden we’re being followed? Also, when I say we, it wouldn’t hurt for you to watch your back, either.”
“Who do you think hired O’Neill? The hacker? Agents of NIMN?”
“A little closer to home, I think.”
“Our clients? Man, you’d think they didn’t trust us.”
“Just a guess.”
“I have a thought,” Freddie said.
“Oh? Is it lonely in there?”
“You’ve been carrying that line with you all day, haven’t you?”
“What thought?” I said.
“Ask O’Neill.”
There was an empty space directly in front of my apartment building, a rare occurrence. I parked there, exited the Camry, and walked up the concrete steps to the front door. O’Neill drove past me. I knew without looking that he would flip a U-turn at the corner and come back up the other side of the street.
I entered the apartment building, negotiated the first-floor corridor, and went out the back into the small parking lot that opened onto an asphalt alley. I followed the alley to its end. Along the way, my hand moved to the spot where I would have been carrying my gun if I had thought to bring it. Most private investigators rarely carry, if ever, the idea being that you shouldn’t arm yourself unless, one, you’re sure you might need a gun and, two, that you’re completely and absolutely sure you’re willing to use it. Freddie and I have both squeezed the trigger. So has O’Neill. It did not make us virtuous. It did not make us superior to our colleagues. On the contrary.
I circled the block. O’Neill had parked on the far side of the street about eight car lengths down, with a clear view of both my Camry and the front door of the apartment building. I came up on his blind side, moving carefully. The worst cops are the ones who choose anger as the first response to a bad situation, and Walter had been their poster child. I doubted that getting bounced from the Minneapolis Police Department a few years ago improved his disposition.
Among the things I carried was a tactical penlight with a pointed end. I pressed the point hard against O’Neill’s passenger-side window, and the safety glass shattered into a thousand shards. Most of them fell inside the car. O’Neill was startled. His head actually hit the roof.
“Hi, Walter,” I said.
“Sonuvabitch.” He massaged the top of his skull. “Trying to be fucking dramatic, are you?”
“I wanted to announce my presence with authority.”
“You gonna pay to replace my window?”
“I think you could pass it off as a legitimate business expense. Why don’t you call your client and ask him?”
“Client? What client?”
“Let me guess. You weren’t following me.”
“I was just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by and say hello. I haven’t been invited here for a long time.”
“You’ve never been invited here.”
I noticed O’Neill was careful with his hands, letting them rest on top of his steering wheel while we spoke. He was trying hard not to escalate the situation, which seemed unlike him.
“Who are you working for, Walter?” I asked.
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t.”
“You know the rules, Taylor. No license holder shall divulge to anyone other than the employer, or as the employer may direct, except as required by law, any information—”
“Really, Walter? You’re quoting the statutes to me?” I waved the penlight at him. “Why don’t you step outside the car?”
“You want to go, Taylor? With me? Whaddya think that’s gonna get you? Besides your ass kicked? Even if you got lucky, you and I both know you won’t do much more than make me uncomfortable for a few days. You certainly won’t kill me, so I have no incentive to talk.”
“I won’t, but Freddie has a volatile personality.”
“Frederick’s not here.”
“I called him. He’s on his way.”
“Gonna have your boy do your dirty work? That sounds like you.”
I tried to open his car door to get at him, only it was locked.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” O’Neill said. He started his car.
“Don’t let me catch you again, Walter,” I said.
“You won’t.”
The way he smirked, though, gave me the impression that instead of quitting the job, he intended to be more careful in the future.