Redemption Mountain (36 page)

His thoughts of Natty were dispelled as soon as he began the walk back to the office, replaced by anxiety over the afternoon meeting. When Lucien had reached Charlie in Mamaroneck, he'd sounded worried.

“Torkelson and Tuthill are coming to town on Wednesday, and they want you to stick around for a meeting. Torkelson was pissed over that Redemption Mountain fiasco, and they're bringing that lawyer up from Charleston to find out what went wrong. You have anything to do with that, Charlie?”

Charlie considered the question for a moment before he replied. “No, Lucien,” he lied. And that would be his story.
Screw 'em. If they wanted to act like gangsters, then he'd play clueless.
He smiled as he recalled his conversation with Terry Summers about the Redemption Mountain raid.

Even though it was obvious that Summers had a vested interest in the OntAmex side of the Redemption Mountain issue, the junior engineer was in good humor over the debacle at the farm.
Charlie, you had to be there,
said Summers.
Yarbrough's at the picnic table out in front of the house, sitting across from DeWitt, ready to close the deal. And the feds and that county cop are all standing around, drinking lemonade. So Yarbrough says to the farmer, “Now, we know you got something illegal growing in that cornfield up there.” DeWitt looks up toward the field, then all of sudden,
whump
, the damn field is totally engulfed in flames. We could feel the heat a hundred yards away. DeWitt looks back at Yarbrough and says, “What cornfield?”
Summers laughed.
Oh, man, Charlie, it was funny. 'Course, Yarbrough didn't get much of a kick out of it. We all went up around back of the field, where there's a barn with this thousand-gallon gasoline tank and a two-hundred-foot hose. And Petey, the son, he's standing there smelling like a gas station, watching it burn. They had to get tipped off, Charlie—thirty minutes, at least—to give the field a good soaking.

Charlie glanced at his reflection in the polished copper panel of the elevator as it rose to the sixth floor of the DD&M building. He noted the difference in his appearance from the thousands of times he'd ridden this elevator during his tenure at the firm. His hair was longer, curling over the top of his ears, and his face was tanned from the hours in the sun at the construction site. He was also dressed more casually, in chinos, a white cotton dress shirt, and blazer. If he was going to take a pummeling from Torkelson and Tuthill that could end his career, he was going to be comfortable doing it.

The conference room was more crowded than Charlie had expected. He immediately got the feeling that there was more at stake here than an inquiry into the Redemption Mountain incident. At the far end of the long table, in his usual position, sat Jack Torkelson, a bottle of water and a glass of ice in front of him. Tuthill, who would direct the meeting, sat near the middle of the table. To his left were the OntAmex lawyers. Across from Tuthill sat Yarbrough and another lawyer from his firm.

As Charlie acknowledged those he knew around the table, he couldn't help focusing on the individuals who seemed out of place. Seated between the Charleston lawyers and Torkelson was Warren Brand, the ambitious vice chair of the DD&M executive committee. Across the table from him were two younger members of the executive committee, shills of Brand.

At the near end of the table, closest to the door, Lucien stood to offer his hand. “Nice to see you again, Charlie,” said Lucien, a paragon of cordiality in all circumstances. Charlie took a chair a space away from Lucien, trying to spare his friend the appearance of being too closely aligned with him, as Tuthill started the meeting.

“Now that Charlie is here, we can get to these two West Virginia items.” Tuthill looked down at his notes. “Charlie, first of all, let me say that the Red Bone project is going extremely well. Under budget and ahead of schedule. But we've got a couple of issues we need to discuss. First off is the issue of the planning-board meeting and how we went from putting a new roof on a little library to building a brand-new structure, along with some kind of athletics-field megaplex, that we never discussed.” Tuthill stopped and looked over at Charlie.

“You said you had two issues, Larry,” said Charlie. “What's the second one?”

Yarbrough slapped the table with his open palm. “You know goddamn well what the second issue is!” he exploded. “I used up a lot of valuable capital last week. Called in some big markers—sittin' there ready to close the deal, and,
whoosh,
the damn field goes up like a fucking napalm strike in the Mekong Delta. And, goddammit, Burden, you're the only one who could have tipped them off.”

As Charlie moved his chair closer to the table to address those present, his eyes met those of Warren Brand. Brand stared at Charlie with a furrowed brow, looking more serious about this issue than he was entitled to be. Charlie was stumped as to what Brand's interest was, and it was the one thing about the meeting that worried him. He could take care of OntAmex, because in the end all they cared about were results, and he was building their power plant much faster and cheaper than they'd expected. That was worth a lot more than the reputation of some hillbilly law firm. And they'd get the Redemption Mountain coal through eminent domain, which is how it should have been done in the first place. But Brand was a puzzle.

“Now, Vernon,” said Charlie, “let me tell you a couple of things about your raid on Redemption Mountain. First of all, you had too many people involved—too many possibilities of a leak—which is what happened. Did you know that the local cop was a high school sweetheart of Natty DeWitt? And that he's still got the hots for her?” Yarbrough looked up, startled. “Dammit, Yarbrough. Didn't you do any background checks on those people?” Charlie turned to Tuthill. “Larry, I don't know what you guys were thinking, okaying such a harebrained scheme.” Tuthill winced. “You go up there like the Gestapo…” Charlie shook his head in exasperation. “What a disaster you guys almost caused.”

Charlie stood up and moved around the table slowly, knowing he had the group's full attention. “Let me tell you what would have happened,” he continued. “The DeWitts would have gone to jail. And they'd never have sold you the farm. They're too proud,” he added. “They're proud, and it's all they've got to show for a lifetime of hard work—and for all the heartache they've suffered.” Alice DeWitt's voice flashed through his mind. “Their whole family's buried up there on that mountain.” He shook his head slowly. “It was lunacy to think they'd sell.

“So you bring in the DEA, and the state police, and you show 'em a field full of marijuana, and you're all done, Vern, you've shot your wad. Now, the cops do their part and arrest the farmer and his son. And then what happens, Vern?” Charlie moved around the end of the table to have a more direct view of Yarbrough, who offered no response. “You should know, Vern. Two men in jail. Next thing that happens is they get a lawyer. Maybe a sharp criminal lawyer from Charleston. And the lawyer listens to the pig farmer's story, and the first thing he says is, ‘What the hell was a corporate lawyer representing Ackerly Coal and the OntAmex Corporation doing on a drug raid in McDowell County?'”

Tuthill grimaced at the mention of OntAmex and stole a quick look at Torkelson, who sat motionless, concentrating on Charlie.

“Then the story gets out and
The Charleston Gazette
puts it on the front page, all about OntAmex trying to extort a local family out of their farm, like it was the late 1800s all over again.

“Worst of all, Vern, we've got a pretty important PUC hearing this spring on the merger with
Continental Electric
.” Charlie emphasized the magic words that made even Torkelson shift his weight in his chair. “But now, instead of worrying about a dirt-poor farmer or his hillbilly granddaughter, you've got a big-time criminal attorney—one of your own, Vern—with his fist around your client's balls and a multibillion-dollar merger at stake.” Charlie walked back to his chair, shaking his head. “It was an asinine plan, Yarbrough,” he said, as he took his seat again. “And you're lucky it turned out like it did.”

Vernon Yarbrough didn't seem too anxious to debate Charlie's synopsis. “Well, we didn't see it coming out that way,” Yarbrough offered with unaccustomed meekness. “But you never know what might've happened—”

“Okay, Vern,” Charlie cut him off. “Let's talk about the library. We got lucky there, too. Hankinson, the chairman of the planning board, has become a friend of mine. He lives next door to me in Red Bone.” Charlie leaned back in his chair in a more relaxed position for the easy part of the meeting. “We play cribbage almost every night,” Charlie said with a smile. “So, at the beginning of the meeting, he pulls me aside—you saw him, Vern, right?—and tells me we've got some trouble with the other planning-board members. They're going to okay the pond relocation, because Hank got their commitment, but they don't think much of OntAmex or the roof project, so they're going to sock it to us down the road by making us apply for permits for everything we want to do.”

“Like
what
?” Yarbrough asked, trying to regain a leadership position with his client.

“Like a permit for bringing in the turbines over town roads,” Charlie shot back quickly, “or cutting the right-of-way through the forest—”

“They can't—” Yarbrough began.

“Or for flying helicopters over the town, or for taking water from the Heavenly River, or for having
Porta Potties on the site
! They can do anything they want, Vern, and they're a couple of miserable pricks, according to Hank. If they're not happy, they can shut us down anytime they want.”

“C'mon, Burden, there's laws and statutes that—”

“
Oh, Vern, don't tell me about statutes!
You know the way those backwoods boards operate. They can destroy you with red tape and delays, and by the time you get 'em into court, you're
two years
behind schedule.”

Tuthill flinched at the mention of a two-year delay.

“So I had to improvise,” Charlie continued. “We build them a new building and some athletics fields, and we get the permanent cooperation of the planning board. Now we own them,” he added, knowing the kind of words OntAmex liked to hear. “Plus,” he leaned forward onto the table to play another trump card, “when the PUC hearings come around, we've got a showpiece of community involvement to put on display for the media. And we get it all for under a million bucks.”

“Less than a million?” Tuthill asked. “And we've got the board on our side?”

“Larry, the crowd stood and cheered.”

“They cheered?” asked Tuthill, looking over at Yarbrough. “Vern, is that what happened?”

Yarbrough nodded grudgingly. “They loved it.”

“When's the last time OntAmex got a standing ovation at a town meeting, Larry?” Charlie asked, pressing his advantage.

At the end of the table, Torkelson stirred, drawing the group's attention. “Okay,” he said, “let's put this all behind us. Charlie, go back down there and keep the plant on schedule. Build the town its library and baseball field. Take care of the planning board, and keep an eye on the DeWitt granddaughter. Spare no expense, but make it clear to the girl that everything stops if she causes trouble.”

Torkelson turned toward the Charleston lawyers. “Yarbrough, get started on the eminent domain proceedings, like we discussed. Get the judge and everyone else on the same page. Spend whatever you must to keep it quiet, but get the job done.”

“Already in the works, Jack,” Yarbrough replied confidently.

“Then we're done here,” Torkelson announced.

*   *   *

C
HARLIE CLOSED THE
door to his office and took a deep breath. He'd lied and bluffed his way through the inquiry and come away in a stronger position than when he'd started. But he had no illusions about what had just taken place or about his career at DD&M. His days were numbered. He'd survive just long enough to finish the job in Red Bone. They needed him there, but once the turbines were in, Torkelson and Tuthill were going to put a bullet in his head, and he'd be finished at Dietrich Delahunt & Mackey.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft rap on the door. Lucien entered, shut the door behind him, and stood close to Charlie. “Nice job,” he said with a thin smile. “You handled that beautifully. We live to fight another day.”

Charlie looked his friend in the eye. “What's going on, Lucien? What's up with Brand?”

Lucien dropped into one of the low leather chairs next to the window. He looked drawn as he pointed to the other chair, indicating that Charlie should take a seat. “My time is about up here, Charlie. They're going to squeeze me out, Brand and the rest of the committee.”

“That's impossible, Lucien.” Charlie was shocked. “There's no way they can—”

“Times have changed,” Lucien interrupted. “The young guys will eventually have the votes. They'll move the company out of New York, seek out a profitable merger, sell the building, and the remaining partners will reap the financial windfall.”

“C'mon, Lucien. You've made it clear that you'd never move the company, and you've always had more than enough votes—”

Lucien held up his hand. “Brand has OntAmex now.”

“How the hell did that happen?” asked Charlie. “How did Brand get—”

“It's not Brand, Charlie,” Lucien interrupted. “He's not capable of managing something like this; we both know that. It's Torkelson. He's behind it all.

“Torkelson's star is rising fast,” Lucien continued. “He
is
OntAmex now that Duncan and Red Landon are so far removed from operational matters. He's been a huge part of their growth strategy and their success, and this Red Bone plant will be his crown jewel. He brings this one in—the biggest, most efficient, most profitable non-nuclear plant ever built in North America—and there will be no stopping him. He'll have the power to do whatever he wants.”