Caress (6 page)

But he wasn’t smiling today, and he wasn’t up for any innocent flirtation with the ladies in the office. Today, Michael’s jaw was set in determination as he headed straight into Claudia’s office. He didn’t even bother to ask Sarah, her assistant, if his sister was free.

Claudia glanced up briefly when she heard the door open. “Nice to know you had the decency to come in when I asked you to, though you didn’t have the decency to return any of my calls.”

“Sorry, Claude. I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. There’s apparently a lot you didn’t know.”

Humiliation threatened to smother him as he sat down across from her. He grimaced at his sister. “Direct hit.”

Her tone softened. “The Art Sentries Foundation piece, baby brother. You really messed it up.” She sat forward, resting her elbows on her desk. Michael said nothing, just waited. Claude continued, “Listen, when you were researching this who did you talk to on Hatsheput’s end?”

“You know I do my research, Claude. Come on now. I met with an executive who wanted to keep things off the record. That guy led me to Marshall Ellis.”

“Marshall Ellis, the criminal?” Her tone was incredulous.

Michael felt his skin start to heat.

“Yes, the criminal. I knew that going into the investigation. I just wanted to see what he would reveal. Ellis was a Hatsheput leader, and he’s on the board that manages the scholarship fund. The focus of the story was on the four boys who died this past year. Ellis gave me a lot of information about them that checked out. He was more than forthcoming, and was trying to bill himself as some sort of good Samaritan.”

“And those instincts you brag about didn’t sound any alarms?”

Michael rolled his eyes. Another direct hit. “No, they didn’t. I knew he was lying about his involvement. That’s why I interviewed several of the other sponsors as well as some artists—”

Claudia interrupted, “So Marshall Ellis was the only person you interviewed from Hatsheput?”

Michael crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was getting impatient, impatient and irritated. “I told you, I had one source from inside the company who led me to him, and no one else would talk to me. I tried to get in touch with all the right people in that company, from A to Z, and they gave me the runaround. I was able to verify that the company stopped funding Art Sentries through public records.”

“Who was this source?”

Michael stumbled. She had never asked him this question, and he had never asked it of her. His source had been reliable, had given him what he needed to uncover the corruption. There was no reason to pass his name around. “Come on, Claudia. You know the deal. So what’s the next step? You said they contacted you.”

“A VP from Hatsheput flew in late last night, just like you. They’re threatening to sue for defamation and libel and a whole host of other things.”

“What did Derrick say about the investigation?”

His sister winced. Michael wasn’t sure if that was from what she had learned or from his invoking the name of her ex.

“He confirmed what Hatsheput alleged. They were a part of the fund but weren’t overseeing it. Call it negligence if you want, but they weren’t actively a part of what was happening over there. The FBI contacted them after exonerating them of any real guilt and asked them to get more involved. Marshall Ellis was a longstanding friend of Nyron’s but a complete disaster in any of the roles he played at the company. He didn’t know he was being sent over as a pawn in this dangerous game. If he had, he probably wouldn’t have been so stupid. He talked to you to cover for himself.”

Michael’s thoughts rushed forward, fueled by the adrenaline of panic. “Okay, so this doesn’t change the fact that my story was sound, based on what this Ellis fellow knew.”

“Yes, but you left it lingering out there. There have been companies destroyed by the hint of scandal, especially companies with a reputation for philanthropy. Their fundraising efforts are diminished; vendors, sponsors, even buyers don’t want to be associated.”

Michael held up a hand to silence her. “I get it.”

Claudia lost her temper. “Getting it isn’t enough. This company could sue us for writing an article based on information we got from a man arrested
yesterday
for embezzling from the very fund you did your expo on—”

“Ellis was arrested?”

“Yeah. They were leaving him out there so as to not tip anyone off, but after our article, that was out the window. Michael, do you understand what I’m saying? They could sue us for insinuating Hatsheput is just a front for organized crime when they were actually trying to
catch
the people responsible. They could sue us because they are likely to lose customers and important business relationships because of a slanted article published in a widely read and respected black publication. I’ve thought of all that. What about the fact that we just tipped off criminals to the fact that the company and the foundation are being investigated? What if they are
never
caught?”

Bile pooled in his mouth and he thought he might vomit. He took deep breaths and his eyes rolled back as he went over every detail of the past two weeks in his mind. Meeting Ellis, meeting all those young artists, never getting his calls returned by Hatsheput executives, writing a furious story. Never before in his life had he written a piece with this sort of fallout, especially a correct one. Claudia was right, they were well-respected; if they published something, people trusted it to be true. He took more deep breaths and closed his eyes, praying not to be sick.

“I can’t believe I did this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“God, Michael,” Claudia breathed sympathetically. “I know this was an accident. If anybody knows that, it’s me. Still, we are in real deep. Luckily, they’re willing to meet us halfway on this. We can fix it. We have to.” Then she turned her eyes back to the files on her desk, the consummate businesswoman. “We have to turn these people into heroes. You understand? Heroes. What you’re gonna do is, first, print a front-page follow-up about how Hatsheput advocates for the young Caribbean community even in the face of imminent danger, and, second, write a feature article for next month’s
Harrison Gazette
on Hatsheput.” The
Harrison Gazette
was a monthly full-color magazine that came out with the paper. That once per month issue was always the most popular and it would definitely get the point across. “Then you are going to work this story. I expect an update every damn issue until it’s closed. You understand?”

“What about the investigation?”

“You’ve already changed the game, Michael. They’re going to have to do things differently. What’s done in that respect is done.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Detective Laymon didn’t tell me.”

Detective Laymon.
Michael almost wished he had time to ask Claude about this. When they were married, she had frequently referred to her husband as Detective Laymon. It was at once derisive and affectionate. When the trouble started and thereafter, he’d been Derrick, said hard and forcefully, with a whole lot of edge and aggression. But Michael didn’t have time to prod her about it. He had transformed from reporter to disaster recovery coordinator.

Setting his jaw, Michael put both his bruised ego and curiosity aside. “When will they meet with me?”

“Today, nine-thirty.” She shuffled papers around on her desk. “You know where their Birmingham office is? Okay. You’re going to be meeting with Nya Seymour, vice president in charge of the Birmingham office.”

“Seymour?” Michael asked with curious apprehension.

“Yeah, Nyron Seymour’s daughter. After I got a call from the president himself, conferenced in with at least two attorneys, she called me and we talked for a long time. She seems reasonable, but you have no idea how upset she is. I assured her that we would make this right.”

“Nya Seymour?” Michael stroked his chin. He’d read all about her. Nyron’s youngest daughter and the most, if reports were to be believed, like the overbearing man.

“Looks like she’s going to be running things whenever the old man retires. If he ever retires.” Claudia rolled her eyes. “She’s already done one hell of a job in marketing, from what I hear.”

“She called you after her dad did?” he queried.

“Yeah. She didn’t know I’d talked to him already. She tried to cover, but I could tell. I could also tell she was a little annoyed by it. But she went on the offensive so I was obliged to explain that you weren’t some sleazy, incompetent reporter out for any story wild enough to get the public’s attention and increase the circulation of our itty-bitty paper.” Claudia flashed a brilliant smile the same as his at him.

“That angry, huh?”

Claudia didn’t answer him, just rolled her eyes and drummed her nails on the desk, a definite yes.

h

“Don’t tear him up, Nya.”

“I’m not going to tear him up, Lysette,” Nya retorted.

“He didn’t have all the facts, and he thought he was doing the right thing. Don’t just destroy him.”

“The only person who’s going to be destroyed is you if you keep on.”

“Don’t kick his ass!”

“Can’t you be quiet, ’Sette?”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“Please be serious. You know how big a deal this is. Don’t you understand that this idiot has singlehandedly created the most disastrous public scandal that has ever affected us? Don’t you understand that he could ruin us all?”

“Oh, my God, Nya. I realize this is bad, but don’t you realize this is
not
the end of the world. The paper has retracted the article already and they are willing to tell our side of the story—”

“That doesn’t mat—”

“And the authorities have already corroborated our story. Don’t you think that you might just be being a little dramatic right now?”

Nya shot her a killing look.

One of Lysette’s eyebrows went up comically. “Maybe you should get your spirit right before he comes into the office.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Come on, Nya. I know this isn’t about the reporter anymore. You’re mad at Nyron.”

“Go
away
, Lysette.”

“Why can’t I sit in on this meeting?”

“I don’t need the distraction. And you just want in on the carnage.”

“Oh, so you admit there will be carnage?”

“Get out!” Nya yelled at her friend. Lysette laughed out loud and left, closing the door behind her.

Nya had been nursing her foul mood all morning so she would be in the right frame of mind to get down to business with this Michael Harrison, and Lysette was insisting on getting her out of it. Nya shook her head and settled down again behind her computer.

h

Armed with his netbook, Michael stepped up to the receptionist’s desk in the plush office complex. A very petite yet startlingly attractive woman sat at a computer.

“Hello, may I help you?” she asked with a voice deeper than anyone would expect from a woman her size.

Michael leaned an elbow on her desk and flashed her a winning smile and a wink. “I believe so, Ms…” he looked at the reception name plate, “…Ms. Livingston—”

“Not me,” the woman interrupted. She raised her left hand, where a giant diamond engagement ring and platinum wedding band showed. “I’m Mrs. Lysette Hendricks.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Hendricks.” Michael felt warm under his collar. He hadn’t been trying to hit on her, just to ease his way in. It was a part of his job, and he’d been caught at it. “I’m Michael Harrison, and I have an appointment with Nya Seymour at nine-thirty.”

She looked up at him for a long time then slowly turned back to her computer. She made a contemptuous noise in the back of her throat. “Mmmmmmmmm.”

Michael was puzzled. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said and shook her head slowly, again giving him a long stare.

“What is it?” Michael was beginning to worry.

“Nothing,” came her reply. “You can have a seat. Just let me tell her you’re here.” She motioned to the chairs behind him and watched him until he sat down. She picked up the phone and he saw her whisper into it. Michael counted at least three phone calls before she called Ms. Seymour, all beginning with the hushed phrase, “He’s here.” She cleared her throat and announced, “Ms. Seymour will see you now. Just go through those doors, to the end of the hall, and take a right. Her office will be the last one you come to.” She watched as he moved through the doors.

Michael felt an overwhelming sense of doom overtake him as he started down the hall. He felt as if he were back in grade school, everybody staring and moaning a low “woooooo” when someone got called to the principal’s office. Employees at their desks or standing in office doorways watched closely as he passed by. Few spoke, and those that did seemed to do so more out of curiosity than politeness. He turned right and walked to the door marked “Nya Seymour, Vice President, Marketing.”

Looking down to check himself quickly, Michael knocked at the door.