Shattered Legacy (23 page)

“And I won’t -”

“Easy there,” Jackson broke in. He raised a hand and waved his cigar to silence Tyler's growing protest. “Now, this isn’t about you or your tactics, Samson. You're a great attorney, a real scrapper. Normally, that would be good thing, but to be honest, I don’t know why you’re fighting so hard here. If we can get a quick settlement, then we should take it. They think we’re doing something screwy with our purchasing. Fine. We find out what they want us to do, and we do it. Innocent, guilty, it doesn’t matter. The longer this drags on, the worse it becomes, no matter the final outcome.”

Silence filled the office for a few moments. Dusty looked at Tyler, opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. His cheeks reddened as he looked away.

“This isn't personal,” Ramona said to Tyler, her expression devoid of sincerity. “You’re under a lot of stress right now. I’m afraid it’s affecting your judgment.”

But Tyler knew that this was nothing
but
personal. This was Ramona's opportunity to get him out of the picture, by using the situation as an excuse to strip him of his authority. This meant that when everything was over, Ramona would be able to take credit and further consolidate her power base, setting herself in position to assume control when Dorian eventually stepped down.

Jacob Jackson had probably given her the idea.

But what hurt him most was the fact that Dusty, his colleague and friend, didn’t even have the guts to back him up.

Tyler decided not to give them the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper.

“I'm sure you're right,” he said tightly, trying to keep the quaking anger from his voice. “Perhaps if I step aside, cooler heads will prevail.”

Ramona nodded. “I’m sure they will.”

Tyler pushed back his seat and stood. He dropped his report on the desk and headed out of the office.

“Samson,” Jackson called out.

Tyler paused, his head lowered, his hand on the door knob.

“Get some rest, son.”

***

“Well,” Ramona said as soon as Tyler was gone. “With that unpleasantness out of the way, we can get to work. Tell me, Dustin, where does our internal investigation stand?”

Still shocked at what he had just witnessed, the assistant general counsel struggled to come up with an answer. “Uh, we have another day or so of review. To my knowledge, we haven’t found anything significant. Samson has been doing most of the analysis work himself...” Suddenly, he couldn’t ignore what had just happened. He raised his hands and shook his head. “Ramona, this isn’t right.”

“Do you have a problem pursuing a settlement?”

Dusty hesitated. The tone of Ramona’s voice was laced with warning. He knew he did not have much of a choice except to play along for now. And as much as he hated to admit it, he agreed with them that a quick settlement was the way to go. Tyler was only dragging out the inevitable. “I can do what you ask, Ramona. But I agree with Samson - I’m not sure now is the best time to push for a settlement.”

“But you’ll do it.” It was a statement, not a question.

“If I have to.”

She nodded slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on him. “Keep in mind that that if this works out, the executive team will be made aware of your contributions.”

Dusty glanced over at Jacob Jackson and nodded slowly. “I understand.” What he
understood
was that Ramona was finally getting rid of Samson Tyler once and for all. What part Jackson had in all this, he didn’t know.

“I’m giving you only one directive,” Ramona told him as she walked back behind her desk. “And that is to settle this matter with the DOJ as quickly as possible.”

“But we don’t know yet if -”

“Settle it. I have to answer to the board. I'm not going back to them to say that we’re dragging this out with some legal pissing match.”

Dusty’s lip twisted. He could see why Tyler so intensely disliked the woman. Ramona Vargas didn’t care about anything but her own appearances. “Fine,” he said. “I suppose we can put together a consent decree and work out an agreement of some sort.”

A small, satisfied smile crossed Ramona’s face. “You see, Jacob? I knew there was one lawyer in the bunch that could work with us.” She looked down and examined her fingernails. “I’ll be out of town for a few days. I expect the matter to be settled by the time I return.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow and threw Ramona a glance. Dusty noticed a subtle change in her expression as well. At that moment, he really wanted to tell Ramona that she could go to hell and handle the problem herself.

But he didn’t have the luxury of doing that. He had a wife and daughter to provide for. He told himself that he was doing what they asked to help Tyler save face. He wasn’t doing this to screw his friend over.

So why did he feel so slimy?

“Do whatever it takes,” Ramona said. “I’ll sign off on whatever you feel is best.” Then she looked at her watch. “You’d better get moving. You have an appointment to keep.”

Dusty tightened his jaw, then turned and left.

***

“Like I said, this can be a win-win for both of us,” he explained, trying to keep some level of enthusiasm in his voice. From the moment Dusty had met Rebecca Taber in the seventh floor hallway of the Justice Department Regional Office, he began pitching his idea that Templar Enterprises and the Justice Department could amicably work out their differences. He knew his approach was not the way Samson Tyler would have handled things, but then, Samson Tyler wasn’t handling this problem anymore.

Dusty wanted to appear somewhat desperate, hoping she would sense weakness and try to drive home a rough bargain. He was only too happy to deliver it to her – just to say he did his job.

Right away, he could tell that his accommodating tactics were not winning over the Assistant U.S. Attorney.

Taber raised her hands as they walked down the corridor. “Mr. O'Dell, I just don't think this is the time to talk -”

“Please,” he interrupted with a smile. “Call me Dusty.”

She pushed through one of the glass doors leading to the main offices and continued walking.

She had a nice gait, Dusty noticed. She was dressed in slacks and a white blouse. She was attractive for a woman pushing fifty. Of course, the dyed auburn hair and makeup helped.

Four doors down, Taber stopped. She turned to find Dusty standing right behind her, smiling and looking hopeful. The wrinkles on her forehead deepened. She blew out her breath between her teeth, as if surprised or annoyed with his persistence.

She turned her back to him as she fumbled with her keys and unlocked the office door.

Without invitation, he followed her inside the cramped and cluttered office. Stacks of files covered the two metal chairs and the matching metal desk. Two open long boxes stuffed with papers sat in the middle of the floor, separating the two attorneys as they faced each other for a long moment.

“What do you really want, Mr. O'Dell?”

“I just want to talk, Ms. Taber.”

“That makes one of us. I’m only here because Walter Calloway made this appointment.”

“Will he be joining us?”

“No. It’s just me.”

“And I certainly appreciate that,” he told her, with a touch of southern innocence in his voice.

Taber favored him with a tight smile, then turned, and walked around her desk. Before Dusty could speak, she held up a hand and sat down. “I don’t like settling cases too early. Do you know why? Because once we settle with someone, we never really find out the whole story. I have a saying that if you settle too early, then you settle for too little.”

Dusty set some files aside and took a seat in the chair before the desk. He shifted to one side so he could get a clear view of her from behind her computer monitor. “Frankly, Ms. Taber, we’d like to make a deal -”

“Frankly, Mr. O'Dell, I’d like to know why I am speaking with you. Does your General Counsel make personal appearances, or does he always send lackeys to negotiate for him?”

Dusty let the insult pass, keeping a grim smile on his face. He raised his hands in a submissive gesture. “Any deals that we can work out can be done through me.”

“I’d prefer to hear that from Mr. Tyler.”

He shifted in his seat. “That would be a bit … difficult.”

“I see. So he’s indisposed?”

Dusty shrugged his large shoulders. “You could say that.”

Taber continued to study Dusty carefully. “I heard you say the word ‘deal,’ Mr. O'Dell. What about it?”

Dusty lit up. Now was his opportunity. This would be the moment where he made things either a lot better or much, much worse.

“Here's the idea,” he said, speaking rapidly with his hands. “We open up everything and give you full access to our records, including our entire internal auditing processes. In addition, we’ll voluntarily suspend our purchasing deals with government contractors until you are satisfied that Templar Enterprises is clean. In other words, we give you a free look before we engage in any official proceedings.”

Taber raised her eyebrows further, looking at him with open skepticism. Undaunted, Dusty continued. “Should you provide us with credible evidence of wrongdoing, Templar Enterprises will take full remedial action.”

She crossed her arms over her chest with a judicious squint. “I can't guarantee that individual officers or employees won't be individually charged if we move for indictments.”

“My only concern is protecting the corporation.”

“What about admittance of wrongdoing?”

“This is a deal, Rebecca, not a fire sale. You don't know for sure if you have a case against us. If you did, then you would have taken the matter before a grand jury already. But if we work together, we can settle the matter without creating a huge mess. All you need to do is tell us where you think we went wrong, and we’ll fix the problem. It’s as simple as that.”

Taber’s lips thinned as she considered the proposal. Companies settled disputes with the DOJ all the time, but this was the first time she had been offered such expansive concessions without a fight.

She stared at him, eyes narrowed, considering his proposal for nearly a full minute. Then she leaned back in her seat and shook her head.

“I don’t like your 'deal,' Mr. O’Dell. And the fact that you would propose such an arrangement only underscores the possibility that your company is hiding something and hoping we’ll go easy on you when we find it. I’ll relay your offer to my superiors, but I’ll recommend that we reject it.” She nodded curtly toward the door. “Good day.”

Dusty stood, turned to leave, and then paused, raising his finger. “One more thing.” He flashed Taber the most ingratiating smile he could muster. “Actually, just two things,” he corrected himself.

“You’re not going to appeal to my sense of patriotism, are you, Mr. O'Dell?”

His smile faded a bit. “Okay, one thing, then.”

“What’s that?”

“If you pursue this investigation, then we intend to drag the matter into the open, into the court of public opinion. Templar Enterprises represents ingenuity, jobs, and apple pie. The public loves what we’re doing for this country. We both know that, just as we both know that Templar plays the victim role
very
well.”

And that, perhaps, was his most effective argument toward a settlement. The media was still enchanted with old Sinclair Dorian and his dreams of a new space age. If the public became upset by the government's investigation, then the fight could turn ugly and the political heat could come down on her office.

Regardless, Rebecca Taber was not intimidated.

“I don't know what kind of game you’re playing, Mr. O'Dell, but I think I can speak for this department when I tell you that there will be no deals.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Inside the
Naiad
, Commander Roland McManus and Elliot Schwartz sat strapped in their seats, facing a tiny camera mounted above the center cockpit window. Payload specialist Todd Boynton floated behind and between them. He kept one hand on the padded ceiling to keep him in place. They were wearing spacesuits without helmets. They all stared expectantly at the camera mounted in the center of the cockpit control console.

“Here we go,” said the voice over the radio. “In three, two, one…”

After a moment’s delay, Elliot Schwartz held up a silver credit card in his gloved hand and grinned for the camera affixed to the console. “Wherever we go, it's good to know we have a credit card that meets our needs.”

Todd Boynton spread his arms, free-floating gracefully. “Enjoy no fees, flexible payment options, and no minimum purchase requirements!”

“Plus,” Schwartz added, “earn bonus reward points on every purchase!”

He flipped the card across the console, where it slowly floated end over end into McManus' open hand. The Commander held up the card triumphantly.

“The Patriot Eagle Trust One Bank Card,” he said. “It's the card you can use anywhere in the world - and beyond!”

Everyone stayed frozen for a moment, smiles plastered across their faces. After a moment, they relaxed a bit and exchanged glances.

McManus reached up and adjusted his headset. “How was that, guys?”

The reply came from ground control. “They liked that last take. It's a wrap. Thank you for your cooperation. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. Over.”

“The pleasure was all ours. Over and out.” McManus reached up, flipped two switches on the ceiling panel, and released an exhausted sigh.

“I'm glad that's done,” Schwartz said with a sigh. “I counted twenty-two takes. I don't think I could have handled another one.”

McManus stretched back in his seat, pressing against his restraint belts. “Well, that killed a few hours. Anyone up for some serious scientific work?”

Boynton chuckled. “Do you think they picked us to crew this ship because of our looks or our acting ability?”

“Neither,” McManus said. “We were each selected for our outstanding professional accomplishments. The fact that we happen to be three exceptionally good-looking men was just a bonus.”

Schwartz peeled off his headset. “I don't know. I'm having second thoughts on selling myself out for a cheesy credit card commercial.”