Disclosure

He didn’t know what to say; he just shook his head. They rode the rest of the way in silence until they came to the high ornate lobby. She said, "I’m in room 423. Come and see me anytime." She headed toward the elevators.

He waited until she was gone, then crossed the lobby and turned left to the dining room. Standing at the entrance, he saw Dorfman at a corner table, eating dinner with Garvin and Stephanie Kaplan. Max was holding forth, gesturing sharply as he spoke. Garvin and Kaplan both leaned forward, listening. Sanders was reminded that Dorfman had once been a director of the company-according to the stories, a very powerful director. It was Dorfman who had persuaded Garvin to expand beyond modems into cellular telephony and wireless communications, back in the days when nobody could see any link between computers and telephones. The link was obvious now but obscure in the early 1980s, when Dorfman had said, "Your business is not hardware. Your business is communications. Your business is access to information."

Dorfman had shaped company personnel as well. Supposedly, Kaplan owed her position to his glowing endorsement. Sanders had come to Seattle on Dorfman’s recommendation. Mark Lewyn had been hired because of Dorfman. And any number of vice presidents had vanished over the years because Dorfman found them lacking in vision or stamina. He was a powerful ally or a lethal opponent.

And his position at the time of the merger was equally strong. Although Dorfman had resigned as a director years before, he still owned a good deal of DigiCom stock. He still had Garvin’s ear. And he still had the contacts and prestige within the business and financial community that made a merger like this much simpler. If Dorfman approved the terms of the merger, his admirers at Goldman, Sachs and at First Boston would raise the money easily. But if Dorfman was dissatisfied, if he hinted that the merger of the two companies did not make sense, then the acquisition might unravel. Everyone knew it. Everyone understood very well the power he wielded-especially Dorfman himself.

Sanders hung back at the entrance to the restaurant, reluctant to come forward. After a while, Max glanced up and saw him. Still talking, he shook his head fractionally: no. Then, as he continued to talk, he made a subtle motion with his hand, tapping his watch. Sanders nodded, and went back into the lobby and sat down. He had the stack of ComLine photocopies on his lap. He browsed through them, studying again the way Meredith had changed her appearance.

A few minutes later, Dorfman rolled out in his wheelchair. "So, Thomas. I am glad you are not bored with your life."

"What does that mean?"

Dorfman laughed and gestured to the dining room. "They’re talking of nothing else in there. The only topic this evening is you and Meredith. Everyone is so excited. So worried."

"Including Bob?"

"Yes, of course. Including Bob." He wheeled closer to Sanders. "I cannot really speak to you now. Was there something in particular?"

"I think you ought to look at this," Sanders said, handing Dorfman the photocopies. He was thinking that Dorfman could take these pictures to Garvin. Dorfman could make Garvin understand what was really going on.

Dorfman examined them in silence a moment. "Such a lovely woman," he said. "So beautiful . . ."

"Look at the differences, Max. Look at what she did to herself."

Dorfman shrugged. "She changed her hair. Very flattering. So?"

"I think she had plastic surgery as well."

"It wouldn’t surprise me," Dorfman said. "So many women do, these days. It is like brushing their teeth, to them."

"It gives me the creeps."

"Why?" Dorfman said.

"Because it’s underhanded, that’s why."

"What’s underhanded?" Dorfman said, shrugging. "She is resourceful. Good for her."

"I’ll bet Garvin has no idea what she’s doing to him," Sanders said.

Dorfman shook his head. "I’m not concerned about Garvin," he said. "I’m concerned about you, Thomas, and this outrage of yours-hmm?"

"I’ll tell you why I’m outraged," Sanders said. "Because this is the kind of sneaky shit that a woman can pull but a man can’t. She changes her appearance, she dresses and acts like Garvin’s daughter, and that gives her an advantage. Because I sure as hell can’t act like his daughter."

Dorfman sighed, shaking his head. "Thomas. Thomas."

"Well, I can’t. Can I?"

"Are you enjoying this? You seem to be enjoying this outrage."

"I’m not."

"Then give it up," Dorfman said. He turned his wheelchair to face Sanders. "Stop talking this nonsense, and face what is true. Young people in organizations advance by alliances with powerful, senior people. True?"

"Yes."

"And it is always so. At one time, the alliance was formal-an apprentice and master, or a pupil and tutor. It was arranged, yes? But today, it is not formal. Today, we speak of mentors. Young people in business have mentors. True?"

"Okay . . ."

"So. How do young people attach themselves to a mentor? What is the process? First, by being agreeable, by being helpful to the senior person, doing jobs that need to be done. Second, by being attractive to the older person-imitating their attitudes and tastes. Third, by advocacy-adopting their agenda within the company."

"That’s all fine," Sanders said. "What does it have to do with plastic surgery?"

"Do you remember when you joined DigiCom in Cupertino?"

"Yes, I remember."

"You came over from DEC. In 1980?"

"Yes."

"At DEC, you wore a coat and tie every day. But when you joined