Redemption Mountain (13 page)

It was obvious that Yarbrough didn't want any witnesses to what he was about to say. He waited until the conference room door was shut, then got up and came around to Charlie's side of the table.

“It's the Public Utilities Commission, right, Vernon? Is that what Torkelson's worried about?”

“That's it, Charlie. Except it isn't so much the PUC as it is the settlement process they have to go through to approve the merger. The head of the PUC is a good boy, friend of mine, member of my club. Couple of weeks ago, Larry gives me a heads-up on CES and tells me to bounce the Redemption Mountain initiative off my PUC guy, see if there's any worms in the oatmeal there. Well, he'd already got wind of the Redemption Mountain variance—these regulators are all wired in together—but he tells me the commission's all for it. He thinks the injunction against mountaintop mining is bullshit. And he knows low-sulfur coal is their salvation, their
only
salvation. Ain't any Indian casinos or Jap carmakers moving in down there anytime soon, so he's all for it—even if it is Ackerly, which he isn't too fond of, but, shit, everyone hates the coal companies.”

“Then what's his problem with the merger?”

“The settlement hearings'll be scheduled for spring. Going to sail through. They'll go ahead and rubber-stamp all the PR bullshit, all the usual crap about the merger being good for customers and increasing competition and being just peachy for the environment and all that boilerplate stuff. But, as you know, the public, anyone—a business, another regulatory body, the man in the fucking moon—can file a complaint with the commission about any picayune aspect of the merger, and it would have to be officially investigated and discussed in public session. So, if someone files an objection based on, say, some improprieties between the two companies with regard to the variance for a mountaintop-removal permit, the commission will have to launch a thorough investigation.”

They were finally getting to the heart of the matter. “What are they going to find there, Vernon? What's got our friend Torkelson so worried?”

“Most likely nothing comes out of such an investigation, but … you know, you talk to the wrong person, at a weak moment somebody says something, and you never know what kind of story might come bubbling up to the surface.”

Before he spoke again, Yarbrough's demeanor changed. He stared coldly back at Charlie and the smile disappeared from his face and his voice, along with most of his accent.

“Now, Mr. Burden, you make a clear mental note to yourself right here that I am using the word
hypothetically
, as in, hypothetically, if the investigation were to show that someone connected to OntAmex were to have possibly bribed a high court judge in the course of these events, then the PUC of West Virginia, and probably a whole bunch of other states, would have a big problem with the merger between OntAmex and Continental Electric Systems. All of which is not very pleasant for our client, not to mention the shit storm of judicial activity that would no doubt ensue.”

The lawyer held up his hand as Charlie started to speak. “I have no knowledge that this is the case, but it has been relayed to me by knowledgeable sources that,
hypothetically
, this kind of accusation could possibly come out of a PUC investigation. So, Mr. Burden, our job down there, yours and mine, is to make sure that no one files anything regarding Redemption Mountain with the Public Utilities Commission or any other regulatory body in the state of West Virginia. What that means, Mr. Burden, is that we create as little fuss and muss as possible in displacing that disagreeable old pig farmer from that decrepit mountain, 'cause he, my friend, is our only loose end down there.” Yarbrough rose out of his chair.

“Vernon—” Charlie wanted more information.

Yarbrough gathered up his notes and smiled broadly at Charlie. “Mr. Bur-dan, you make sure you bring your clubs down, and we'll have you up to my club one weekend real soon. Send the chopper down and have you on the first tee before you can finish your cold drink.” The lawyer nodded to signal the end of the conversation, picked up his briefcase, and left the boardroom.

Charlie sat at the conference table, reviewing what he'd just heard. It would be bad for everyone if the PUC launched a formal investigation of Redemption Mountain and a crooked judge came to light. Especially bad for Torkelson and Tuthill, who would lose their jobs and could end up in jail. But in the long run it would be almost as bad for his friend Duncan. His company's name would be dragged through the mud, and a huge, expensive merger would go down the drain. The stock price would be battered, and Duncan's image would be forever tarnished with the board of directors and the financial community. His spectacular career in the utility industry would be over. Yes, Charlie would do all in his power to prevent that. Torkelson knew what he was doing when he brought Charlie into the fold by letting him in on their dirty little secret. And now everyone's fate, as Yarbrough said, lay in the hands of a pig farmer on Redemption Mountain, West Virginia.

Torkelson had dragged Charlie into a no-win situation. If Torkelson went down over Redemption Mountain, the vortex would swallow everyone involved, including Charlie. If Torkelson was successful, his power within the company would be guaranteed. Not even Charlie's close friendship with McCord would save him.

Charlie went back to his office to make the call he'd been dreading all morning. Ellen was on her way to Vermont with Linda Marchetti, headed for Mount Snow for three days at the golf school, then up to the house at Sugarbush. He'd have to leave for West Virginia before she returned on Sunday night. He reached her on her cellphone in Linda's car, just outside Brattleboro.

“West Virginia?”
She was incredulous. “That's, like, down next to Mississippi, right?
You agreed to go down there?
” Ellen was more upset than Charlie had anticipated. He'd underestimated how much of his company's corporate culture she'd assimilated, and she knew that, unlike a posting to China, West Virginia wasn't a positive career move for a partner of the firm. There was something afoot, and it didn't bode well for her husband, or for her own ambitions.

Charlie had no answers for her. She was right, and he couldn't explain why he had to go. He didn't want to bring Lucien into the discussion. It was too complex to get into over the phone. He told her not to worry, and Ellen told him to call her next week. Then she clicked off abruptly.

Charlie Burden sat at his desk and wondered if Ellen and he were still in love or if they'd just been through so much, so many years together, that they pretended to be. Charlie needed to get away for a while, to postpone the decisions they'd be forced to make—decisions he wasn't ready for. Maybe Lucien was right. Maybe West Virginia would be good for him.

He looked at the picture on the wall next to his desk. It was a collage of family photos. It had been a Father's Day present from Ellen and the kids. It was outdated, but for years it had hung next to Charlie's desk in several different offices. He enjoyed the nostalgia that engulfed him when he looked at the pictures of the children when they were small: Scottie holding up an old brown baseball, wearing a glove that was far too large; Jennifer, at four, sitting on the grass, holding a puppy, their first dog, Mr. Pips; a picture of Charlie and Ellen in front of their house in Connecticut. They looked like they'd been doing yard work. Charlie wore a dirty shirt and work gloves and had an arm around Ellen, pulling her close, their faces cheek-to-cheek. His hair was a little darker then, hers a shade lighter. Charlie stared at the picture. It was so long ago that it seemed like a former life to him now. He couldn't remember the last time he and Ellen had looked so happy together.

 

CHAPTER 9

 

T
he construction site was deserted. There was supposed to be a full-time watchman on duty, but Charlie didn't see any sign of life as he peered through the twelve-foot-high chain-link fence.
Late on a Friday afternoon. Should have expected it.

The massive shell of the main building dominated the landscape, rising five stories behind a flat-roofed administrative building. Behind it were a dozen trailers and a few of the small shacks that pop up unnoticed at large construction projects. Beyond the stacks of pipes, beams, and cinder blocks, Charlie saw a huge yellow-and-green earthmover. Piles of dirt, sand, and stone were spread throughout the vast site.

Charlie gazed around the interior, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be getting onto the grounds tonight. He slumped against the fence, hot and tired from the ten-hour drive from New York. He could feel rivulets of sweat running down the middle of his back to gather at the waistline of his tan Dockers. Behind him, the steel-blue Lexus sat with the engine running, the driver's door open, the air conditioner's compressor and the cooling-system fan racing madly to adjust to the heat.

As he took in the complexity of the project, Charlie was consumed by a sinking feeling of inadequacy.
Was it all a colossal mistake? Maybe he did belong behind a desk, on the phone, having lunch at the Four Seasons. Maybe he'd been away from it all too long.
And now here he was, in the middle of nowhere, and he couldn't even get through the gate at his own project.

When Charlie turned around, a boy was sitting on a bike next to his car. Charlie smiled. “Hey, how ya doing, buddy?” he said.

The bike was a beat-up banana-seat model, with no fenders and plenty of rust. The boy wore a dirty white T-shirt, long brown shorts with big utility pockets, black high-top sneakers, and white athletic socks that were now light brown from a covering of road dust. On his head he wore a dark-blue cap turned backward, like kids everywhere. His skin was fair, with a good coating of summer freckles. As he rocked slowly forward and back on his bike, observing the tall stranger, the boy could have been just an average ten- or eleven-year-old, Charlie guessed, except for the mongoloid features of his head and face and his short, thick legs and arms. Charlie flashed back to his own brief but intense research effort into the affliction of Down syndrome, some twelve years earlier.

The boy looked at Charlie through squinting eyes, the tip of his tongue protruding through tightly pursed lips. It was a hard face to read. “Can you speak, son?”

The boy's face relaxed, his eyes widening with some amusement. “'Course I can thpeak. You think I'm thum
dummy
?” His voice had a hint of hoarseness.

“Well, no. I wasn't sure, that's all.”

“You locked out?” the boy asked.

“I guess I am. You ever see a man inside the fence, a security guard?”

“Thumtime. He go out in hith truck a lot. You want to get inthide?”

“You can get in? You've been inside before?”

“Lotth of time. Want me to take you?”

Charlie got into his car and turned off the ignition. He closed the door of the Lexus and locked it with the remote. The car beeped twice.

“Nobody take your car here,” the boy said, as he laid his bicycle down.

Charlie knew the boy was right, but he felt uneasy about leaving the car unlocked with his luggage and computers inside. “I know. It's just a habit, I guess. I'm from New York.”

“New York Yankees.”

“That's right. You play baseball?”

The boy started down the path alongside the fence. “No. No bathball. Can't throw. Can't catch. I am thoccer player. My mama ith the coach.”

“Well, that's good. Soccer's a great game.”

“My daddy wath a football player. A great football player. He played football in college.”

Charlie could see that it meant a lot to the boy. “Wow, that's great. What college did he play for?”

The boy stopped abruptly and squinted his eyes in thought so he could get it right. “Played football for Wetht Virginia Univerthity.” He continued along the path until they came to a deep gully. At its bottom, a thick growth of bushes and vines concealed a gap of about two feet between the bottom of the fence and the ground. Pulling up the fence, the boy gave Charlie ample room to slither underneath. Once on the other side, Charlie stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants and shirt. He felt like a kid again, having an adventure, like when Cecil and he would sneak into the Yale Bowl or the New Haven Coliseum to watch a game. It had been a long time since Charlie Burden had crawled under a fence to get into anything. He made a mental note to notify security about the breach.

Outside the fence, the boy stood with his hands in his pockets, watching. Charlie thought he'd play a little game with his new friend. He turned without a word and started to walk away. After about ten yards, he stopped and turned back to the boy. “Well, aren't you coming?”

The boy's face scrunched up with a huge smile as he dropped to his belly, scrambled under the fence, and ran to catch up to Charlie. It felt good to have a companion, even this strange boy with his easygoing self-confidence. Charlie realized that the boy was the first person he'd met in West Virginia. “Hey, buddy, you know what? We haven't been introduced.” Charlie held out his hand. “I'm Charlie Burden.”

The happy look of inner laughter came over the boy's face again. He took Charlie's large hand in his short, chubby fingers as best he could. “Hello, Charlie. I am the Pie Man.”

Charlie looked down at him curiously.
“The Pie Man,”
he repeated slowly. “That's your name, the Pie Man?”

The boy nodded his head affirmatively. “Yeth, I am the Pie Man,” he said proudly.

Charlie smiled.
This is definitely not Westchester County.
“Well, I'm very happy to meet you, Pie Man. Now, let's have a look around.”

Charlie could only imagine the number of OSHA violations he was committing by walking through an open construction site after hours with a child, neither of them wearing a hard hat. He'd have to keep a close eye on the boy.