Disclosure

"Fine," Garvin said. "What about the reporter?"

"I think she’ll break the story on Friday," Blackburn said. "She already has it, I don’t know where from. But she won’t be able to resist trashing Sanders. It’s too good a story; she’ll go with it. And he’ll be dead meat when she does."

"That’s fine," Garvin said.

Meredith Johnson came off the fifth-floor elevator at DigiCom and ran into Ed Nichols. "We missed you at the morning meetings," Nichols said.

"Yeah, I had some things to take care of," she said.

"Anything I should know?"

"No," she said. "It’s boring. Just some technical matters about tax exemptions in Ireland. The Irish government wants to expand local content at the Cork plant and we’re not sure we can. This has been going on for more than a year."

"You look a little tired," Nichols said, with concern. "A little pale."

"I’m okay. I’ll be happy when this is all over."

"We all will," Nichols said. "You have time for dinner?"

"Maybe Friday night, if you’re still in town," she said. She smiled. "But really, Ed. It’s just tax stuff."

"Okay, I believe you."

He waved and went down the hallway. Johnson went into her office.

She found Stephanie Kaplan there, working at the computer terminal on Johnson’s desk. Kaplan looked embarrassed. "Sorry to use your computer. I was just running over some accounts while I waited for you.

Johnson threw her purse on the couch. "Listen, Stephanie," she said. "Let’s get something straight right now. I’m running this division, and nobody’s going to change that. And as far as I’m concerned, this is the time when a new vice president decides who’s on their side, and who isn’t. Somebody supports me, I’ll remember. Somebody doesn’t, I’ll deal with that, too. Do we understand each other?"

Kaplan came around the desk. "Yes, sure, Meredith."

"Don’t fuck with me."

"Never entered my mind, Meredith."

"Good. Thank you, Stephanie." "No problem, Meredith." Kaplan left the office. Johnson closed the door behind her and went directly to her computer terminal and stared intently at the screen.

Sanders walked through the corridors of DigiCom with a sense of unreality. He felt like a stranger. The people who passed him in the halls looked away and brushed past him, saying nothing.

"I don’t exist," he said to Fernandez.

"Never mind," she said.

They passed the main part of the floor, where people worked in chest-high cubicles. Several pig grunts were heard. One person sang softly, "Because I used to fuck her, but it’s all over now . . ."

Sanders stopped and turned toward the singing. Fernandez grabbed his arm.

"Never mind," she said.

"But Christ . . ."

"Don’t make it worse than it is."

They passed the coffee machine. Beside it, someone had taped up a picture of Sanders. They had used it for a dartboard.

`Jesus."

"Keep going."

As he came to the corridor leading to his office, he saw Don Cherry coming the other way.

"Hi, Don."

"You screwed up bad on this one, Tom." He shook his head and walked on.

Even Don Cherry.

Sanders sighed.

"You knew this was going to happen," Fernandez said.

"Maybe."

"You did. This is the way it works."

Outside his office, Cindy stood up when she saw him. She said, "Tom, Mary Anne asked you to call her as soon as you got in."

"Okay."

"And Stephanie said to say never mind, she found out whatever she needed to know. She said, uh, not to call her."

"Okay."

He went in the office and closed the door. He sat down behind his desk and Fernandez sat opposite him. She took her cellular phone out of her briefcase, and dialed. "Let’s get one thing squared away-Ms. Vries’s office please . . . Louise Fernandez calling."

She cupped her hand over the phone. "This shouldn’t take- Oh, Eleanor? Hi, Louise Fernandez. I’m calling you about Connie Walsh. Uh-huh . . . I’m sure you’ve been going over it with her. Yes, I know she feels strongly. Eleanor, I just wanted to confirm to you that there is a tape of the event, and it substantiates Mr. Sanders’s version rather than Ms. Johnson’s. Actually, yes, I could do that. Entirely off the record? Yes, I could. Well, the problem with Walsh’s source is that the company now has huge liability and if you print a story that’s wrong-even if you got it from a source I think they have an action against you. Oh yes, I think absolutely Mr. Blackburn would sue. He wouldn’t have any choice. Why don’t you-I see. Uh-huh. Well, that could change, Eleanor. Uh-huh. And don’t forget that Mr. Sanders is considering defamation right now, based on the Mr. Piggy piece. Yes, why don’t you do that. Thank you."

She hung up and turned to Sanders. "We went to law school together. Eleanor is very competent and very conservative. She’d never have allowed the story in the first place, and would never have considered it now, if she didn’t place a lot of reliance on Connie’s source."

"Meaning?"

"I’m pretty sure I know who gave her the story," Fernandez said. She was dialing again.

"Who?" Sanders said.

"Right now, the important thing is Meredith Johnson. We’ve got to document the pattern, to demonstrate that she has harassed employees before. Somehow we’ve got to break this deadlock with Conrad Computer." She turned away. "Harry? Louise. Did you talk to Conrad? Uhhuh. And?" A pause. She shook her head irritably. "Did you explain to them about their liabilities? Uh-huh. Hell. So what’s our next move? Because we’ve got a time problem here, Harry, that’s what I’m concerned about."