Trial Run (11 page)

I
n California, university presidents within the state system held less power than elsewhere. Statewide regents retained most authority over budgets and investments. Even so, the UCSB president's office was suitably grand, done in shades to match the seal woven into the carpet and the drapes. The president was the former CEO of the largest bank still based in San Francisco, a smooth operator long used to hosting powerful egos. Murray had met him on a number of occasions and knew the man could lie with utmost sincerity.

Shane gave the president three minutes, scarcely enough for the guy's standard windup. Then she interrupted with, “I asked for this meeting because we have a problem.”

The president's face was a marvel of modern medicine. He had been Botoxed and de-lined and stretched and chiseled so much that not even his million-dollar tan could hide the scars bordering his hairline. “Actually, Ms. Schearer, I was the one who requested—”

“My partner, Trent Major, is doing his doctoral work under a menace.”

He blinked. “I assure you, madam, that the UCSB faculty are drawn from the highest echelons of their specialties.”

“Maybe when you hired him. But that was then and this is now. Trent's supervisor is hooked on something. Trent says it's painkillers, but my money is on a stew of his own personal blend. Trent Major is teaching the professor's classes. He's writing the guy's articles, and he's being denied credit. He is grading the druggie's exams. He is being held hostage because this prof has the power to shred Trent's thesis and chop my partner off at the knees.”

When the president began his polished protest, Shane glanced at Murray and mouthed two words.
Your turn.

Murray had not clawed his way up the legal ladder without learning how to ad lib. “If I may interject, sir. Two of your major donors are most concerned that everything possible is done to ensure that this problem disappear.”

Shane said, “Reassigning Trent to a sober professor would do for a start.”

The president made a process of adjusting his spectacles and tapping keys and inspecting Trent's online file. “I see that your partner is researching an issue related to quantum physics. Certainly we could look into some sort of alteration in his present circumstances, but as you can imagine, these things take time.”

“Take all the time you like,” Shane replied. “So long as Trent is reassigned by tomorrow morning.”

Murray halted the president's protests with, “My clients are not interested in pressing charges against the professor in question. Nor do we have any desire to see the university's good name dragged through the mud. But we do intend to see this situation rectified immediately.”

“And Trent needs a better office,” Shane said. “One with a window.”

Murray lifted her with his eyes. “And I can personally assure you, sir, that this issue will not have any detrimental impact whatsoever on the level of my firm's donations to your fine institution.” He offered
the president his hand. “Just so long as the matter is seen to by the close of business today.”

Shane shook the president's hand. “It's been great. Really.”

When they were back in the president's outer office, Shane gave Murray another of those full-wattage smiles. He was expecting something in the manner of a job well done, pat on the back, maybe an invitation to dinner. Instead, she said, “About the second part of Kevin Hanley's offer. We'll take his second hundred thousand. And we will agree to giving him full initial rights to the next formula only. Beyond that, we will need to have a serious conflab.”

“I doubt Mr. Hanley will be thrilled with your decision.”

“Tell him it's that, or we will return the check and put the next concept up for public bid.”

“I am sure that won't be necessary.” Murray studied the woman. And finally accepted that he had met his match. “I'll need to make a quick phone call to confirm.”

“Be my guest. Meanwhile, I'll pass this by my partner. But before we sign on the dotted line, I'm worried about just one thing. And you know what that is, don't you.”

The sense of cold dread returned. “Ms. Schearer, I assure you that your interests are my foremost concern.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” She patted his arm. But her smile was all for the secretary's watchful eye. “I'd hate to ever need a word with Mr. Partell. Wouldn't you agree?”

Murray didn't realize he'd forgotten to ask where they got his name until he was on the 101, almost at his exit for Malibu Hills. He made a mental note to get that information the next time they met up.

But by then it was far too late.

C
harlie took the 101 to the Sunset exit and headed east. Elizabeth directed him through Bel Air's main gates. They drove down velvet-smooth roads sheltered by flowering shrubs and imperial palms. The air through his open window was heavy with exotic blooms and eucalyptus and heat. The LA haze cast a thick pallor over the sky. A swan hissed at Charlie as he drove past the Bel Air Hotel. Elizabeth directed him into the second entrance past the country club. Charlie pulled up to the wrought-iron gates and waited as Elizabeth stepped from the car. She stood before the recessed camera, spoke a few words, then watched as the gates cranked open. Not moving. Staring down the drive. As grim as Charlie had ever seen her.

The winding lane carried them through acres of sculpted gardens. A pair of hummingbirds swooped in for a close look through Charlie's open window, as though astonished that he had the gall to enter the grounds.

“Welcome to the house that pain built,” Elizabeth said.

The manor was gargantuan, a stone and brick monument to an LA-sized ego. Elizabeth unclenched one arm from around her middle long enough to point at the tallest of the three turrets and say, “My prison.”

Charlie's tires scrunched over combed gravel. He halted before the sweeping stairs. Before he cut the motor, two dark-suited security were already moving toward the car.

Elizabeth said, “Stay in the car.”

“I can come in with—”

“I told you. The problem isn't here.” She rose from the car. “I won't be long.”

In fact, she was gone almost two hours. When she emerged, one of the security detail shepherded her over to where Charlie stood holding her door. By the time he started the car, Elizabeth had wrapped her arms back around her middle and resumed her tight rocking.

Charlie retraced his way out of Bel Air, taking it slow. He did not speak until they arrived back at Sunset. “Which way?”

“Left. Downtown.” When he accelerated into traffic, she said, “It was harder than I thought.”

Charlie rolled up their windows, shutting out the city noise.

“Daddy's tombstone ought to read, ‘He never met a pain he didn't like, long as it wasn't his.'”

“What about your mother?”

“She left him. And me. I was four. She married an Austrian baron. He didn't like me.”

“You mean, he didn't want kids.”

“No, Charlie, my stepfather despised me. It was very personal with the baron.”

Charlie drove them through Beverly Hills and gave her the silence that statement deserved.

Elizabeth said, “In the ascent, I saw myself apologizing to Daddy.
And then I forgave him for everything. Those were the words I used. In the image, it all came out smooth as silk. Easy. Like I almost sang the words. In there, I felt like I was choking. Saying the words cut off my air.”

“But everything else was as you observed in your ascent?”

“The room, the bed, my father, everything. He was awake. He watched me but he didn't say anything. I don't know if he could even respond. We never talked unless we were fighting. In my entire life, up to this moment, I have never apologized to him. For anything. Maybe the shock is what kills him.” She glanced over. “Bad joke. Sorry.”

Charlie passed through the invisible barrier separating Beverly Hills from West Hollywood. The road lost its silky polish. The palms wilted. The buildings grew tawdry. Billboards sprouted. The traffic turned aggressive.

“My grandfather started the company. Sayer Pharmaceuticals turns pain into gold. That was actually how my grandfather described it. The company's sole focus was on identifying a pain and manufacturing a drug that stopped it. Everything from hospital anesthetics to over-the-counter tablets. My father hired PR companies to weave a nice set of lies, but he was the same thug as his old man.”

“Where are we going now?”

He could actually see the shudder wrack her frame. “To meet the company's latest villain-in-chief.”

The Sayer Pharmaceuticals headquarters occupied an entire city block in downtown Los Angeles. It rose in a spiral of steel and glass, like the tip of a spear ninety stories high. Charlie must have looked impressed, because Elizabeth said sourly, “
Architectural Digest
called it the world's largest pickle. I always thought the shape was fitting for a company that stuck it to the human race when they were weakest.”

She directed him into the underground lot, and he parked in a visitor's space. Elizabeth said, “I need you with me this time.”

“No problem.”

They took the elevator to the main lobby. A clone of the guards at the Bel Air house was there waiting for them. “Mr. Sayer is expecting you.”

The guard led them to the last elevator fronted by a velvet rope. He swiped a card over the controls and unclipped the rope. He waited for them to enter, joined them, and used the swipe card a second time before hitting the button for the penthouse. Elizabeth stepped over close to Charlie's side. He stood very still, feeling her tension and her heat.

The elevator deposited them in a small antechamber, where yet another dark-suited guard stood waiting. “This way.”

The penthouse foyer had a spectacular view of the LA haze. The ceiling peaked some eighty feet over Charlie's head. The glass must have been polarized, because the clouds and sky were tinted a dusky bronze. The guard escorted them to an empty waiting area. The entire area was very minimalist. The secretary's desk was a single slab of onyx on legs colored to match the sky.

Elizabeth said, “In my ascent, two men come up now. They both wear pin-striped suits. They are the company's senior in-house attorneys.”

“Is there anything you want me to do?”

“You didn't figure in my ascent, remember?”

“Who are we meeting?”

“My elder brother, Joel.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “Don't be fooled by his smile. He is a fiend.”

The elevator pinged. Two men emerged. One wore a navy suit with chalk stripes, the other slate. They walked past without acknowledging Charlie or Elizabeth.

When the secretary rose from her desk, Elizabeth whispered, “Here we go.”

The president of Sayer Pharmaceuticals occupied a suite of offices decorated in a color that Charlie could only describe as mink. Not brown and not grey, but a lot of both, with some gold mixed in for good measure. The desk was smoky quartz. The lone decoration was a sculpture of the building done in gold and gemstones.

A sleek wolf was seated behind the desk. The two lawyers stood behind him and to his left. The wolf did not smile so much as expose his teeth. “My dear sister. How lovely you look. And what a marvelous suit to hide your tattoos.”

Elizabeth did not move toward the desk so much as drift across the room. Charlie walked a half step behind her, ready to offer a supporting hand if required. But she remained erect and steady. There was no visitor's chair. She did not seem to care. Charlie was not certain she noticed the insult at all. He walked over to a conference table by the far window and brought back one of the leather chairs.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

The wolf did not like it, but he didn't say anything. Just cast a languid glance in Charlie's direction. A silent promise. “And does your Charlie have a last name?”

Elizabeth crossed her legs. “Yes.”

Then she waited.

The wolf smirked. “I know you went by the house. I know you forced the nurse to leave my father's side. I also know that he did not speak. You see, we anticipated your arrival. We monitor the room twenty-four hours a day. I found your little speech very touching, by the way. Quite a performance, considering the source. But even if you had extracted something from Father, it would hold no legal force. Is that not so, Bernard.”

The elder of the two attorneys said, “There are any number of legal precedents.”

Elizabeth did not reply.

“So you can pack up your nasty little aspirations and have your associate here carry them away for you.” Joel Sayer made a dismissive motion, as though clearing the air. “Good-bye, sister. Don't feel obliged to return for the funeral.”

Elizabeth said, “I want fifty million dollars.”

The two lawyers shifted. The younger man started to say something. Joel shot him a look. The lawyer froze.

Elizabeth said, “In return, I will relinquish all rights to the family company and my shares.”

Joel offered her a professional sneer. “You have conveniently forgotten, dear sister, that you've already been disowned.”

“Your lawyers started checking things out the instant I showed up at the house. And they've told you that I could make a lot of trouble.”

“And trouble is something you've always been very good at, isn't that the next part of your threat?”

“In the hands of the right judge, I could get as much as half. Your lawyers told you that too.”

Joel snapped, “Who talked?”

“It doesn't matter. If you pay. Today only. Special price. The whole shooting match is yours free and clear. The price is fifty mil.”

“Impossible.”

“There is also the matter of the incident. I'm sure you remember the one I'm speaking about.” Elizabeth uncrossed her legs. “The records of minors are sealed. But you know how porous the police system is these days. It's amazing what you can get your hands on, if you're willing to pay.”

Joel Sayer studied his sister with the impassivity of a scientist inspecting a laboratory animal. “I suppose I could go as high as five. The nuisance value is certainly worth that much.”

“Not a chance.”

“Five million and not a penny more. Don't even think of negotiating. My attorneys urged me to give you nothing. I've half a mind to agree. But you know what a softie I can be.”

Elizabeth said quietly, “All too well.”

Joel's features and tone both hardened. “Five million. You walk out with the check today, or you walk out with nothing.”

“Agreed.”

“You and your associate can wait downstairs in the lobby. My men will bring the documents to you.” His features continued to tighten, as though he no longer had any reason to hide his true nature. “Good-bye, sister.”

Elizabeth rose from her chair. Her face had gone ghostly pale. Charlie followed her across the vast office. At the door, she turned back. She stood looking at her brother, her hand on the doorknob.

“Well, what is it?”

Charlie could hear her swallow. Her breath sounded like it was forced through an invisible vise. “I . . .” She swallowed again. “I just want to say . . . I forgive you.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. And couldn't care less.” Joel Sayer looked like a skull in a toupee. “Now get out.”