Disclosure

"Right. And failing."

"Yes. But the thing is," Sanders said, "she’s worked here for the last four years, Louise. We’re checking the wrong company."

He watched as the computer terminal flashed:

SEARCHING DATABASE

And then, after a moment, he turned the screen so Fernandez could see:

Digital Communications Data Reference Search Report

DB 4: Human Resources (Sub 5/Employee Records)

Search Criteria:

1. Disposition: Terminated a/o Transferred a/o Resigned

2. Supervisor: Johnson, Meredith

3. Other Criteria: males only

Summary Search Results:

Michael Tate 5/9/89 Terminate Drug Use HR RefMed

Edwin Sheen 7/5/89 Resign Alt Employment D-Silicon

William Rogin 11/9/89 Transfer Own Request Austin

Frederic Cohen 4/2/90 Resign Alt Employment Squire Sx

Robert Ely 6/1/90 Transfer Own Request Seattle

Michael Backes 8/11/90 Transfer Own Request Malaysia

Peter Saltz 1/4/91 Resign Alt Employment Novell

Ross Wald 8/5/91 Transfer Own Request Cork

Richard Jackson 11/14/91 Resign Alt Employment Aldus

James French 2/2/92 Transfer Own Request Austin

Fernandez scanned the list. "Looks like working for Meredith Johnson can be hazardous to your job. You’re looking at the classic pattern: people last only a few months, and then resign or ask to be transferred elsewhere. Everything voluntary. Nobody ever fired, because that might trigger a wrongful termination suit. Classic. You know any of these people?"

"No," Sanders said, shaking his head. "But three of them are in Seattle," he said.

"I only see one."

"No, Aldus is here. And Squire Systems is out in Bellevue. So Richard Jackson and Frederic Cohen are up here, too."

"You have any way to get details of termination packages on these people?" she said. "That would be helpful. Because if the company paid anybody off, then we have a de facto case."

"No." Sanders shook his head. "Financial data is beyond minimal access.

"Try anyway."

"But what’s the point? The system won’t let me."

"Do it," Fernandez said.

He frowned. "You think they’re monitoring me?"

"I guarantee it."

"Okay." He typed in the parameters and pressed the search key. The answer came back:

FINANCIAL DATABASE SEARCH IS BEYOND

LEVEL (O) ACCESS

He shrugged. "Just as I thought. No cigar."

"But the point is, we asked the question," Fernandez said. "It’ll wake them right up."

Sanders was heading toward the bank of elevators when he saw Meredith coming toward him with three Conley-White executives. He turned quickly, then went to the stairwell and started walking down the four flights to the street level. The stairwell was deserted.

One flight below, the door opened and Stephanie Kaplan appeared and started coming up the stairs. Sanders was reluctant to speak to her; Kaplan was, after all, the chief financial officer and close to both Garvin and Blackburn. In the end, he said casually, "How’s it going, Stephanie."

"Hello, Tom." Her nod to him was cool, reserved.

Sanders continued past her, going down a few more steps, when he heard her say, "I’m sorry this is so difficult for you."

He paused. Kaplan was one flight above him, looking down. There was no one else in the stairwell.

He said, "I’m managing."

"I know you are. But still, it must be hard. So much going on at once, and nobody giving you information. It must be confusing to try to figure everything out."

Nobody giving you information?

"Well, yes," he said, speaking slowly. "It is hard to figure things out, Stephanie."

She nodded. "I remember when I first started out in business," she said. "I had a woman friend who got a very good job in a company that didn’t usually hire women executives. In her new position, she had a lot of stress and crises. She was proud of the way she was dealing with the problems. But it turned out she’d only been hired because there was a financial scandal in her division, and from the beginning they were setting her up to take the fall. Her job was never about any of the things she thought it was. She was a patsy. And she was looking the wrong way when they fired her."

Sanders stared at her. Why was she telling him this? He said, "That’s an interesting story."

Kaplan nodded. "I’ve never forgotten it," she said.

On the stairs above, a door clanged open, and they heard footsteps descending. Without another word, Kaplan turned and continued up.

Shaking his head, Sanders continued down.

In the newsroom of the Seattle Port-Intelligencer, Connie Walsh looked up from her computer terminal and said, "You’ve got to be kidding."

"No, I’m not," Eleanor Vries said, standing over her. "I’m killing this story." She dropped the printout back on Walsh’s desk.

"But you know who my source is," Walsh said. "And you know Jake was listening in to the entire conversation. We have very good notes, Eleanor. Very complete notes."

"I know."

"So, given the source, how can the company possibly sue?" Walsh said. "Eleanor: I have the fucking story."

"You have a story. And the paper faces a substantial exposure already."

"Already? From what?"

"The Mr. Piggy column."

"Oh, for Christ’s sake. There’s no way to claim identification from that column."

Vries pulled out a xerox of the column. She had marked several passages in yellow highlighter. "Company X is said to be a high-tech company in Seattle that just named a woman to a high position. Mr. Piggy is said to be her subordinate. He is said to have brought a sexual harassment action. Mr. Piggy’s wife is an attorney with young children. You say Mr. Piggy’s charge is without merit, that he is a drunk and a womanizer. I think Sanders can absolutely claim identification and sue for defamation."