Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions (43 page)

Dr. Jordan Francis, the vice president in charge of the project at Global Devices suspected that the test results were being falsified and he shared this information with Mr. Connaught, who was the president of Phoenix. How do I know this? Because Jordan Francis was my fiance. He told me of his suspicions. I didn’t have the courage to tell him that I knew, and that I was participating in the fake tests. Natalie Scott and Ben Tucker suspected that they might be found out when Dr. Francis and Mr. Connaught invited them to a meeting and started to question their test methods and the results. I was at that meeting as a member of the team. Three days later Jordan stopped calling me. I was desperate to talk to him, to see him, but the people at Global said he had resigned from his job and moved away. Several days later, Mr. Connaught was murdered. I don’t know for a fact that Natalie Scott or Ben Tucker killed Mr. Connaught, but I do know for a fact that they killed Jordan. They told me that they kidnapped him, drugged him, took his kidneys out and used him as a human guinea pig to test the artificial kidney. He lasted seven days. They made me help them get rid of his body.

Jordan Francis was the only man who truly loved me. In the beginning he thought it was Nat Scott who wanted him, but it was me. I got him to love me. The letters weren’t from her, they were mine. Everyone thought Natalie was beautiful. Natalie didn’t love him. She loved Ben.

Natalie Scott and Ben Tucker are evil. When the artificial kidney didn’t work on Jordan, they tried it on Natalie’s mother. The poor woman was in her nineties.

Ben Tucker was a surgeon before he came to work at Phoenix Technologies. He was in love with Natalie and she adored him. Until he operated on her mother. After that, Ben had to make Natalie take pills and that way she still adored him.

My job was to help them kill Kate Monahan. She was a bitch and she was getting in the way of Ben getting well.

I hired Bill Collins to shoot her. Bill went to high school with me but lately he’s been out of work and needed money. I offered him $500. He shot her bodyguard but missed her. So then we had to get her out of the hospital because Ben thought it would be a good idea to take out her kidneys and make her suffer.

I put the paralytic drug in her IV and Bill and I took her out of the hospital. I must have not given her enough because it wore off too soon and then she hit me and knocked out my teeth.

There was more but it wasn’t relevant. Stuff about her sisters and how they needed a bath every Thursday night. Belinda had clearly gone over the edge, into the deep end.

It was good to know that Dr. Francis was not in on the fixing of the test results, and I know Dr. Pritchard would be happy to hear this. At least the reputation of Global Devices would be intact.

Nat Scott was more clear-headed the day after her original try at confession. Apparently, Tucker/McLean had been doping her. It took a good twenty-four hours for the drugs to leave her system. I wondered what type of cocktail he was feeding her if she could be so full of rage, and then be practically catatonic ten hours later.

Scott: I shot Tom Connaught.

Shipley: Why?

Scott: Because he and Dr. Francis found out about the test results. At first we denied it and we tried to hide it but I knew that Tom had copied the hard drive of my computer. He had all the test result files from the Piston trials. It wasn’t as if we reported huge variations in the readings on the external system. We changed some numbers by fractions. Fractions only. Ben knew this version of the artificial kidney could work. It would save his life. And my mother’s. You have to understand. My mother had been ill for so many years and Ben was so dependent on dialysis. He was determined to make it work. But Tom Connaught was going to expose us. Ben couldn’t go back to prison. He’d die there. So I called Tom Connaught and told him that I would give him all the faked test results. I told him to meet me behind the Van Buren Medical Center. When he came I was too scared at first to shoot him. But Ben would have been furious with me if I didn’t do it. Just before Tom showed up, I got down on my knees and prayed for forgiveness for what I was about to do.

Shipley: Were you praying when you shot Mr. Connaught? Were you on your knees? Please answer the question out loud, Miss. Nodding your head can’t be picked up on the tape recorder.

Scott: Yes. I was kneeling when I shot Tom.

Shipley: And what happened after that?

Scott: Kate Monahan showed up and made things worse. I knew Tom had documents from my hard drive in his apartment and I had to get them. I used an old building key and got in. Kate Monahan was there, but I only hit her. Hit her hard. I should have killed her too, right then.

Shipley: Did you help Mr. Tucker?

Scott:
Doctor
Tucker. And yes, I helped him. I loved him. I would do anything for him. When you love someone, you help them. No one ever helped me.

Shipley: How did you help Doctor Tucker?

Scott: I gave them the drugs. I helped Ben operate. But it didn’t work. They both died.

Shipley: Who died?

Scott: Dr. Francis and my mother. Ben decided it would help with the research if we used the artificial kidney on a healthy patient and an aging, ill one. Dr. Francis stayed alive for seven days. My mother died on the operating table.

Shipley: Were you going to help operate on Kate Monahan?

Scott: Yes. It was my job to keep her paralyzed and wait for Ben. He was late coming. I couldn’t keep her on the table and she got away. Ben never came. And now he’s dead.

Before I left New York, Cleve and I, and the senior management team spent several days on more damage control. Big time damage control this time. We talked to analysts, bankers, clients, and employees.

Sandra Melnick, our VP Operations stepped up to the plate for us. I admired her skill and level thinking in times of a crisis. She spent time with the big honchos at the FDA. Explaining what had happened. Trying to clear our company’s name.

We talked with analysts until we were blue in the face. I stopped returning their calls on Friday, sick of their unrelated questions and demands for information. We owned up to the criminal activity that had happened. We explained that those guilty were no longer with the company. We hoped that shareholders could see their way to trusting the board of directors and senior management when we committed to coming clean on everything. But analysts were like gossip columnists. They wanted information that couldn’t possibly relate to their making a recommendation on whether or not someone should buy, hold or sell our shares.

Our stock took a shit-kicking. It started in a nose-dive after Portia Wellington wrote a somewhat speculative story in the Wall Street Journal on Monday, after talking to me the day before. The headline went something like this: Can a Company Survive Murder and the Loss of its Visionary? That little story cost us a dollar per share. So by close of business on Monday, the shares were trading around $6.00. By Wednesday, when news hit the street that the ‘Visionary’s’ replacement had survived an attempt on her life,
and
one of the company’s vice-presidents was charged by New York’s finest with attempted murder of the said replacement, the shares dropped another two dollars.

When the market opened on Thursday morning, there were only sell orders out there and we watched in horror during the day as the shares went from $4.00 and closed at $2.85. In four days the shares had lost about $4.15 in value. Three weeks ago, the ten million outstanding shares of Phoenix were worth, on paper, $73,500,000. Now they were worth $28,500,000. My thirty-three percent was now around $9,000,000.

Numbers that made me gasp.

By Friday morning, there was a little reprieve, and the shares opened at $3.50. There were more buy orders than the day before, and one of the major analysts came out with a
hold
recommendation. Meaning don’t sell. Thank you very much.

And then Dr. Bill Pritchard, bless him, helped. He had called me on Wednesday and we chatted quietly for about half an hour. I filled him in on what I knew at that point. He was very concerned about me. I assured him that I was no worse for the wear, so to speak. He called me again on Thursday afternoon.

“Kate.” We were on a first name basis now. I liked it.

“Bill. How are you?”

“I’m doing fine for an old fella. Meet me for a beverage at the Blue Square Tavern?”

“Okay.” I could do with a change of scenery.

“And bring your lawyer.” Uh-oh.

“All right…”

“Not to worry dear. I have something I want to run by you.”

Cleve was impressed with the Blue Square Tavern. Said it reminded him of a pub he used to frequent off Queen Street when he was at Osgoode Law School.

Dr. Pritchard was waiting for us at a table near the back. A middle-aged woman sat with him. I introduced Cleve, and Bill introduced Christina Dickson, his corporate counsel from a Wall Street law firm. Christina was tall, probably close to six feet, with beautiful auburn hair that fell in waves to her shoulders.

We sat and made small talk while we waited for our drinks. Christina, please call me Tina, was drinking scotch, straight up, with a twist of lemon. Bill ordered bourbon and an extra glass of ice. Cleve asked the waitress for a large draft beer, and I ordered my usual, Diet Coke. After we each had an obligatory sip of our drinks, Bill placed his hands on the table.

“Let’s get down to business. I wanted to let you know that I’m going to be putting out a buy order for your shares.”

I looked at Cleve, and he nodded.

“What your company has been through in the last month because of a couple of no good criminals, is, well, criminal.” Bill smiled a little.

“I know you might think that I was rash in what I did. Cancelling the contracts with Phoenix. But based on the information I had at the time, it was a good business decision.”

In hindsight, I agreed with him. About it being a business decision.

“But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in the last few days. Before all of this happened, Global Devices had a good working relationship with Phoenix. Tom Connaught was a man who I admired. God rest his soul.”

We all nodded.

“And Jordan Francis. We’re going to miss him. I admit to being so relieved when I found out he wasn’t in the middle of this mess that I cried.” Bill paused and sipped his drink. “I spoke with the FDA today. We’ve got a long way to go to get back in their good books, but with the help of some of our clients, I think we can restore their confidence.”

“We’re talking to them too,” I put in.

“For Global Devices to be successful, we need successful partners. Like Phoenix. We want to do business with you, again. So, I’m going to put my money where my mouth is. We’ll buy up a truckload of your shares.” He smiled a little. “You must admit, they’re selling at a good price right now.”

“How many shares are you thinking of buying up?” Cleve asked.

“Whatever five million dollars will get me.” So more than a million shares.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. And I meant it.

We went on to discuss what we needed to do to reinstate our business relationship. The next morning, Bill held a small press conference and announced his intentions about acquiring the shares and talked about his confidence in Phoenix Technologies. Within the hour, our shares were up a dollar, trading at $4.50. When the markets closed at the end of the day, the shares were at about $4.75. There were more buy orders out there than sell orders, which was a good sign.

chapter sixty-two

We did a lot of hand-holding with the employees and shareholders. The senior management team had a communication plan drafted before the sun came up on Wednesday. The plan called for an all-employee meeting at noon on Thursday. Before that meeting though Steve set up conference calls and one-on-one meetings for myself and our chief financial officer with analysts and bankers.

On the employee side, Sandra and I talked to everyone in person, by video conference or by webcast about the situation: what we knew as fact, what were rumours, and how the Company planned on weathering this storm.

After the first employee meeting held in our large boardroom, Jenn Ludlow sought me out. I saw her pushing her way through the crowd of people who were standing four deep around the large table. Her jet black hair covered half her face and she had about fifteen studs in the one ear that was not covered by her hair. She was smiling, as usual.

She stood in front of me and said my name. “Kate.”

“Jenn,” I answered her. We both smiled. She held out her arms and made a ‘come here’ motion with her hands. I didn’t move quick enough for her so she stepped up to me and wrapped me in a big hug. I winced and groaned inwardly, wondering how long broken ribs take to heal. I hugged her back.

“I am so glad that
dickhead
is dead,” she said quietly in my ear. We broke the hug and stood apart. “You know, Mr. Shit for Brains. Ben Tucker. What an asshole.”

I couldn’t disagree.

“And,” she said in a low voice, “I
always
knew there was something wrong with Natalie Scott. I just couldn’t pinpoint it.” She clapped her hands once, loudly. “So, are you okay? Do you need me to kick some ass?” She laughed, and leaned closer. “And, have you
seen
that gorgeous hunk of bodyguard, Michael? I mean, take a good look, because he’s about to come off the market, if you know what I mean! Who would have thought I’d fall for a straight-as-an-arrow type?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Who would have thought?

“Call me if you need
anything
,” she told me, again. “Catch you on the flip side.” And she was gone, into the crowd.

Muskoka chairs are built for one person, but I’m small so two of us fit just nicely into one. I was curled up on Jay’s lap and we were watching the sun go down over Georgian Bay. My ribs were healing and the other aches and pains had gradually left. Daily swims and hour long back floats in the lake had helped. Jay joined me today after a long week of separation. His job had kept him in New York and I had needed some time. To myself. To think.