Monahan 01 Options (4 page)

I agreed to work directly with Harold, which set off a nasty chain of in-house political cat fighting. Shirley thought she was entitled to the job of General Counsel and to this day still speaks to Didrickson through clenched teeth. She also fought tooth and nail to keep me as her secretary. Shirley is one of the best at what she does - contract and computer law, and dealing with all the tech weenies. But she had no experience with public company law so when Chris Oakes was setting up his empire he brought in Didrickson. Didrickson had performed some legal work for the company in his private practice. In four years the legal department has grown to four lawyers, three paralegals and two secretaries. Didrickson hired the other two lawyers and I hand-picked and groomed the paralegals and secretaries.

Didrickson didn’t budge much when I asked for a salary increase to take on the new job but he did agree to give me a parking pass. At the time, I thought it was a big deal. With the hours I had put in over the last four years, it was a good goddamn thing I had the parking pass because many nights by the time I left the office the streetcars and subway had stopped running.

TGC had accomplished a lot over four years. We had successfully closed the acquisition of eighteen companies in twenty-two months, we had raised hundreds of millions of dollars in equity on the public market, we successfully launched a multi-million dollar debt issue, and we had survived five internal corporate reorganizations. Harold Didrickson got great joy every time one of the deals would close. Each time a new transaction was proposed he would lock himself in his office and work out how he could make it as complicated as possible. By making the transactions complicated, Didrickson had everyone by the short and curlies because he was the only one who truly understood the whole deal. He would then drive the whole transaction from his desk by directing the outside law firms. He would expect everyone to grasp and understand his ideas immediately. When anyone had to ask for clarification on a certain aspect of the transaction, the dark side of his personality would shine. He had a terrible reputation on the street for being a mean son-of-a-bitch. Personally, I had no trouble with him. I put it all down to his short-man attitude.

I think the reason Didrickson was so keen to hire me was because he could tower over me. At four foot eleven, officially five feet, my nine year old cousin towered over me. He also towered over Didrickson who was only five foot four.

Didrickson was fair with me. He taught me as much as I wanted to know, and, over the past four years, I had gained incredible knowledge about the workings of a public company. He set high standards for himself and expected the same of his co-workers. I’m the lead paralegal in the department specializing in corporate securities work and I now know my way around the record books of companies. He taught me how to organize the logistics of closing an $85 million bank loan. I can do public offerings in my sleep. Didrickson has never had a legitimate complaint about my work.

I grabbed a prime parking spot on the first level and got out of the car. I ground out my cigarette under the toe of my shoe and slammed the car door, making sure I didn’t lock it. One of these days I’m going to strike it rich and I’ll be able to afford a car with locks that work.

I stepped off the elevator from the parking garage and turned right to sign-in at the security desk. It was seven-twenty and everyone was required to sign into the building before seven-thirty. I made nice with the security guard whose body odour knocked me back a few feet. It’s hard talking and breathing through your mouth at the same time but regardless of his repulsive smell, I gave him a smile. I make it a point to be friendly with the guys on their way up. He didn’t check my signature against the company master log because he sees me here most mornings.

“Which floor Kate? Twelve or thirteen,” he asked.

“Twelve,” I replied. He pushed a button on his console and released the elevator to the 12th floor.

“Later,” I said with a wave. I scrambled out of there and headed for the main elevator bank on the left-hand side of the lobby, breathing deeply. God, somebody has to talk to that man about his choice of aftershave, I thought.

TGC had two floors in the building, 12 and 13. The corporate offices were on the 13th floor but most mornings I headed to the 12th to pick-up a coffee in the main kitchen. The two floors were connected by an internal staircase through the reception areas so I would get my daily dose of exercise by walking up the staircase, usually only once. Every other time I had to go down to the 12th floor, I’d take the elevator. No use taxing this great body.

I got on the elevator and the button for twelve was already lit. Before and after business hours the security guards control the elevators for security purposes. As the elevator was going up I thought about pushing all the buttons for the other floors to see if they would light up. It’s a game I play to see if I can catch the security guard. I’m quite juvenile when no one is looking, but my heart wasn’t in it this morning.

I got off at twelve and turned right to the back doors. The entrance to the main reception was straight ahead off the elevators but the doors were still locked and the reception area was dark. Access to the premises was gained by flashing my security card in front of a black box on the wall beside the door. After making coffee in the main kitchen I threaded my way down the hall to the reception area to go up to the 13th floor. I huffed my way up the circular staircase and congratulated myself on only spilling a wee bit of coffee. Everything was dark but I could have been blind, I knew my way around this place so well.

When I reached my office the first thing I did was punch a series of numbers into the phone to turn on the overhead lights in our quadrant of the building. I hung my coat on the back of the door and settled into my chair. I lit my first illegal cigarette of the day and opened my bottom drawer to reveal my ashtray stash. Smoking is not allowed in the building, and I was sick and tired of having to go outside every time I needed a cigarette. Building management overlooked the no smoking policy when we had receptions in the boardroom but their goodwill was being sorely tried because the other tenants were complaining about the smoke which wafted through the building’s air circulation system.

Everyone knew I smoked in my office, but I kept the door closed. No one had the balls to tell me to stop and besides, my ace in the hole was Chris Oakes, who openly smoked foul cigars in his office every day.

I reached over and switched on my computer to give it time to fire-up while I checked my voice mail messages. The red light on my phone was flashing, indicating messages waiting but I already knew I had at least ELEVEN new messages waiting. I grabbed my notebook and a pen, and logged-on to the voice mail system. The computer-generated voice intoned, “You have THIRTEEN new messages.”

Two new messages had been received since three in the morning. Do these people never sleep?

The first three messages were hang-ups. Those type of messages I love. The computer voice told me the fourth message was from an internal number and was received on Thursday (the day before) at five-thirty p.m. I hit the number on my phone to listen to the message. It was Ev.

“Kate, it’s Ev. Can’t wait to have a drink with you at the reception. Later.”

I slammed down the phone. It was eerie hearing her voice. My breath was coming in short gasps. Holy shit, I thought. Like talking to the dead. I turned around to log-in to my computer because whenever I’m stressed I tend to do mundane things. Things that don’t require thinking. The computer was flashing a message: “System error. Contact system administrator.”

“Fuck.” I slapped the monitor. “Piece of crap.”

This was typical. We have the technology. Right. A high tech company whose internal computer systems were so shitty it was embarrassing. Like the shoemaker’s children who went barefoot. Our system would be down at least once a week, and it was especially frustrating first thing in the morning because the system administrator, an overpaid computer junkie, typically didn’t arrive in the office until nine most days. He was normally so spaced out, probably from surfing the net all night, that it would take him a couple of hours to bring the system back on-line.

I pulled out our internal phone directory and found his home number. His phone rang at least a dozen times before he answered.

“Yeah,” a voice mumbled.

“Ray, it’s Kate. Get your ass out of bed and get this system up. Today is not a good day and I haven’t kicked anyone’s ass all week. You could be my candidate of choice.”

There was no response. The asshole had probably fallen back to sleep.

“RAY,” I bellowed into the phone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled again.

I sweetly and quietly said, because my mother always told me you attract more flies with honey, “Ray, get your lazy ass out of bed.” I haven’t figured out yet why I need to attract flies.

He responded immediately. He recognized my sweet and quiet voice and exactly what it meant. “I’ll log-on the system from home and see what’s the problem.”

“Are your feet on the floor?” I demanded.

“I’m standing up. Good-bye.” He hung up on me. I made a mental note to take him off my Christmas card list.

I hung up my phone and stared at it. The red light was still flashing letting me know that I still had several “unread voice messages”. I lit another cigarette and continued to stare at my phone. I finally logged back on my voice mail system and scrolled through my messages until I got to Ev’s. The sound of her voice made my heart feel like stone. I was careful not to delete the message and hung up again.

I grabbed my coffee cup and headed for the kitchenette down the hall for another cup of coffee.

chapter six

The smell hit me as soon as I opened the door to the kitchenette. The room smelled like old garlic. Fresh cooking garlic smells great and garlic tastes great when you’re eating it. But the next day, look out. I’m sure this is what Mrs. Skunk smells when she wakes up in the morning and Mr. Skunk breathes hello.

I looked around the kitchenette. The counters and table were piled with odd Tupperware bowls and platters heaped with non-perishable food. Everything was covered tightly in plastic wrap. The smell must be coming from the garbage, I thought. I put on a pot of coffee to brew and opened the fridge for a container of cream. I had to reach past several bowls of salads and platters of meat, also wrapped in plastic. Someone had done a good clean up job last night after the reception.

The kitchenette was off the main boardroom and this was the room where the caterers worked. Normally, they take all leftovers with them and there is never any evidence left the next day. Last night’s leftovers would disappear fast when the staff realized there was something for free to be had in the fridge. I eyed the baked goods laid out on the counter and lifted the plastic off one plate heaped with brownies and ate two while I waited for the coffee to brew.

As I walked down the hall to my office I noticed signs of the place coming to life. I heard a voice in Didrickson’s office and I could hear the normal bitching coming from behind the partitions where the paralegals and secretaries sat in an open area. They were having trouble deciding who was going to call Ray about the system being down. Jesus, what a bunch of lame ducks, I thought.

“Don’t worry,” I called over the partition. “Ray’s on the case. I’ve already talked to him.”

The chatter stopped.

“Kate, how’s Ev?” one of the voices asked.

I slowed down before entering my office and turned around. Four half faces peered at me over the partitions.

“She died last night,” I said abruptly. Jackie gasped and immediately started to cry. I turned on my heel and closed my office door behind me.

I sat down at my desk and put my head in my hands. Gee Kate, how to handle the staff. How to give them the news gently. One of your better skills. Diplomacy at its best. More like gunboat diplomacy. I dialled Jay’s number and after three rings his phone kicked over to voice mail. “Call me as soon as you get in,” was the message I left.

The first time I laid eyes on Jay Harmon I thought he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I had just turned six years old and was desperate for a baby brother or sister. My mother would look at me like I was from another planet when I would ask her why we didn’t expand the family. My brother and I were the only children and as far as my mother was concerned, two were plenty.

Cheryl Harmon was my best friend and she had three of the best sisters a person could want. Cheryl said that was my opinion. As far as she was concerned, if they all left her alone and took a flying leap (her words), then they’d be the best sisters a person could want. Jay was the fifth child and only boy.

I first saw him when he was three weeks old. Their father left two weeks later and I don’t think anyone has heard from him since. He could be dead for all they know. His mother carried on, working two or three jobs, depending on the season. They were very close and I guess in those years they learned the meaning of teamwork. My brother and I had to do chores at home but nothing compared to what Cheryl and her sisters were expected to do. That sort of upbringing builds character, I suppose.

Jay was everybody’s baby. His sisters took turns mothering him and often times there were fights over who got to play with him. Lucky for his sisters he was a very placid child. Jay got along with everyone.