Disclosure

Disclosure Page 21

"Yeah."

`Jesus," Alan said. "Who's she got behind her?"

"I'd love to know," Fernandez said.

Sanders flipped open his cellular phone and checked in with his office. "Cindy, any messages?"

`Just two, Tom. Stephanie Kaplan asked if she could meet with you today."

"She say why?"

"No. But she said it wasn't important. And Mary Anne has come by twice, looking for you."

"Probably wants to skin me," Sanders said.

"I don't think so, Tom. She's about the only one who-she's very concerned about you, I think."

"Okay. I'll call her."

He started to dial Mary Anne's number when Fernandez nudged him in the ribs. He looked over and saw a slender, middle-aged woman walking up from the parking lot toward them. "Buckle up," Fernandez said. "Why? Who's that?" "That," Fernandez said, "is Connie Walsh."

Connie Walsh was about forty-five years old, with gray hair and a sour expression. "Are you Tom Sanders?"

"That's right."

She pulled out a tape recorder. "Connie Walsh, from the Post Intelligencer. Can we talk for a moment?"

"Absolutely not," Fernandez said.

Walsh looked over at her.

"I'm Mr. Sanders's attorney."

"I know who you are," Walsh said, and turned back to Sanders. "Mr. Sanders, our paper's going with a story on this discrimination suit at DigiCom. My sources tell me that you are accusing Meredith Johnson of sex discrimination, is that correct?"

"He has no comment," Fernandez said, stepping between Walsh and Sanders.

Walsh looked past her shoulder and said, "Mr. Sanders, is it also true that you and she are old lovers, and that your accusation is a way to even the score?"

"He has no comment," Fernandez said.

"It looks to me like he does," Walsh said. "Mr. Sanders, you don't have to listen to her. You can say something if you want to. And I really think you should take this opportunity to defend yourself. Because my sources are also saying that you physically abused Ms. Johnson in the course of your meeting. These are very serious charges people are making against you, and I imagine you'll want to respond. What do you have to say to her allegations? Did you physically abuse her?"

Sanders started to speak, but Fernandez shot him a warning glance, and put her hand on his chest. She said to Walsh, "Has Ms. Johnson made these allegations to you? Because she was the only other one besides Mr. Sanders who was there."

"I'm not free to say. I have the story from very well-informed sources."

"Inside or outside the company?"

"I really can't say."

"Ms. Walsh," Fernandez said, "I am going to forbid Mr. Sanders to talk to you. And you better check with the P-I counsel before you run any of these unsubstantiated allegations."

"They're not unsubstantiated, I have very reliable"

"If there is any question in your counsel's mind, you might have her call Mr. Blackburn and he will explain what your legal position is in this matter."

Walsh smiled bleakly. "Mr. Sanders, do you want to make a comment?"

Fernandez said, `Just check with your counsel, Ms. Walsh."

"I will, but it won't matter. You can't squash this. Mr. Blackburn can't squash this. And speaking personally, I have to say I don't know how you can defend a case like this."

Fernandez leaned close to her, smiled, and said, "Why don't you step over here with me, and I'll explain something to you."

She walked with Walsh a few yards away, across the courtyard.

Alan and Sanders remained where they were. Alan sighed. He said, "Wouldn't you give anything to know what they were saying right now?"

Connie Walsh said, "It doesn't matter what you say. I won't give you my source."

"I'm not asking for your source. I'm simply informing you that your story is wrong-"

"Of course you'd say that-"

"And that there's documentary evidence that it's wrong."

Connie Walsh paused. She frowned. "Documentary evidence?"

Fernandez nodded slowly. "That's right."

Walsh thought it over. "But there can't be," she said. "You said it yourself. They were alone in the room. It's his word against hers. There's no documentary evidence."

Fernandez shook her head, and said nothing.

"What is it? A tape?"

Fernandez smiled thinly. "I really can't say."

"Even if there is, what can it show? That she pinched his butt a little? She made a couple of jokes? What's the big deal? Men have been doing that for hundreds of years."

"That's not the issue in this-"

"Give me a break. So this guy gets a little pinch, and he starts screaming bloody murder. That's not normal behavior in a man. This guy obviously hates and demeans women. That's clear, just to look at him. And there's no question: he hit her, in that meeting. The company had to call a doctor to examine her for a concussion. And I have several reliable sources that tell me he's known to be physically abusive. He and his wife have had trouble for years. In fact, she's left town with the kids and is going to file for divorce." Walsh was watching Fernandez carefully as she said it.

Fernandez just shrugged.

"It's a fact. The wife has left town," Walsh said flatly. "Unexpectedly. She took the kids. And nobody knows where she went. Now, you tell me what that means."

Fernandez said, "Connie, all I can do is advise you in my capacity as Mr. Sanders's attorney that documentary evidence contradicts your sources about this harassment charge."

"Are you going to show me this evidence?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then how do I know it exists?"

"You don't. You only know I have informed you of its existence." "And what if I don't believe you?"

Fernandez smiled. "These are the decisions a journalist must make." "You're saying it'd be reckless disregard."

"If you go with your story, yes."

Walsh stepped back. "Look. Maybe you've got some kind of a technical legal case here, and maybe you don't. But as far as I'm concerned, you're just another minority woman trying to get ahead with the patriarchy by getting down on her knees. If you had any self-respect you wouldn't be doing their dirty work for them."

"Actually, Connie, the person who seems to be caught in the grip of the patriarchy is you."

"That's a lot of crap," Walsh said. "And let me tell you, you're not going to evade the facts here. He led her on, and then he beat her up. He's an ex-lover, he's resentful, and he's violent. He's a typical man. And let me tell you, before I'm through, he'll wish he had never been born."

Ssanders said, "Is she going to run the story?"

"No," Fernandez said. She stared across the courtyard at Johnson, Heller, and Blackburn. Connie Walsh had gone over to Blackburn and was talking to him. "Don't get distracted by this," Fernandez said. "It's not important. The main issue is: what're they going to do about Johnson."

A moment later, Heller came toward them. He said, "We've been going over things on our side, Louise."

"And?"

"We've concluded that we see no purpose to further mediation and are withdrawing, as of now. I've informed judge Murphy that we will not continue."

"Really. And what about the tape?"

"Neither Ms. Johnson nor Mr. Sanders knew they were being taped. Under law, one party must know the interaction is being recorded. Therefore the tape is inadmissible."

"But Ben-"

"We argue that the tape should be disallowed, both from this mediation and from any subsequent legal proceeding. We argue that Ms. Johnson's characterization of the meeting as a misunderstanding between consenting adults is the correct one, and that Mr. Sanders bears a responsibility for that misunderstanding. He was an active participant, Louise, no way around it. He took her panties off. Nobody held a gun to his head. But since there was fault on both sides, the proper thing is for the two parties to shake hands, let go of all animosity, and return to work. Apparently Mr. Garvin has already proposed this to Mr. Sanders, and Mr. Sanders has refused. We believe that under the circumstances Mr. Sanders is acting unreasonably and that if he does not reconsider in a timely manner, he should be fired for his refusal to show up for work."

"Son of a bitch," Sanders said.

Fernandez laid a restraining hand on his arm. "Ben," she said calmly. "Is this a formal offer of reconciliation and return to the company?"

"Yes, Louise."

"And what are the sweeteners?"

"No sweeteners. Everybody just goes back to work."

"The reason I ask," Fernandez said, "is that I believe I can successfully argue that Mr. Sanders was aware the tape was being made, and thus it is indeed admissible. I will argue further that it is admissible under discovery of public records over common carriers as defined in Waller v. Herbst. I will argue further that the company knew of Ms. Johnson's long history of harassment, and has failed to take proper steps to investigate her behavior, either prior to this incident, or now. And I will argue that the company was derelict in protecting Mr. Sanders's reputation when it leaked the story to Connie Walsh."

"Wait a minute here-"

"I will argue that the company had a clear reason for leaking it: they desired to cheat Mr. Sanders out of his well-deserved reward for more than a decade of service to the company. And you've got an employee in Ms. Johnson who has had some trouble before. I will claim defamation and ask for punitive damages of sufficient magnitude to send a message to corporate America. I'll ask for sixty million dollars, Ben. And you'll settle for forty million-the minute I get the judge to allow the jury to hear this tape. Because we both know that when the jury hears that tape, they will take about five seconds to find against Ms. Johnson and the company."

Heller shook his head. "You've got a lot of long shots there, Louise. I don't think they'll ever let that tape be played in court. And you're talking about three years from now."

Fernandez nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "Three years is a long time."

"You're ,telling me, Louise. Anything can happen."

"Yes, and frankly, I'm worried about that tape. So many untoward things can happen with evidence that is so scandalous. I can't guarantee somebody hasn't made a copy already. It'd be terrible if one fell into the hands of KQEM, and they started playing it over the radio."

"Christ," Heller said. "Louise, I can't believe you said that."

"Said what? I'm merely expressing my legitimate fears," Fernandez said. "I'd be derelict if I did not let you know my concerns. Let's face facts here, Ben. The cat's out of the bag. The press already has this story. Somebody leaked it to Connie Walsh. And she printed a story that's very damaging to Mr. Sanders's reputation. And it seems that somebody is still leaking, because now Connie is planning to write some unfounded speculation about physical violence by my client. It's unfortunate that someone on your side should have chosen to talk about this case. But we both know how it is with a hot story in the press you never know where the next leak will come from."

Heller was uneasy. He glanced back at the others by the fountain. "Louise, I don't think there's any movement over there."

"Well, just talk to them."

Heller shrugged, and walked back.

"What do we do now?" Sanders said.

"We go back to your office."

"We?"

"Yes," Fernandez said. "This isn't the end. More is going to happen today, and I want to be there when it does."

Driving back, Blackburn talked on the car phone with Garvin. V "The mediation's over. We called it off."

"And?"

"We're pushing Sanders hard to go back to work. But he's not responding so far. He's hanging tough. Now he's threatening punitive damages of sixty million dollars."

"Christ," Garvin said. "Punitive damages on what basis?"

"Defamation from corporate negligence dealing with the fact that we supposedly knew that Johnson had a history of harassment."

"I never knew of any history," Garvin said. "Did you know of any history, Phil?"

"No," Blackburn said.

"Is there any documentary evidence of such a history?"

"No," Blackburn said. "I'm sure there isn't."

"Good. Then let him threaten. Where did you leave it with Sanders?"

"We gave him until tomorrow morning to rejoin the company at his old job or get out."

"All right," Garvin said. "Now let's get serious. What have we got on him?"

"We're working on that felony charge," Blackburn said. "It's early, but I think it's promising."

"What about women?"

"There isn't any record on women. I know Sanders was screwing one of his assistants a couple of years back. But we can't find the records in the computer. I think he went in and erased them."

"How could he? We blocked his access."

"He must have done it some time ago. He's a cagey guy."

"Why the hell would he do it some time ago, Phil? He had no reason to expect any of this."

"I know, but we can't find the records now." Blackburn paused. "Bob, I think we should move up the press conference."

"To when?"

"Late tomorrow."

"Good idea," Garvin said. "I'll arrange it. We could even do it noon tomorrow. John Marden is flying in in the morning," he said, referring to Conley-White's CEO. "That'll work out fine."

"Sanders is planning to string this out until Friday," Blackburn said. "Let's just beat him to the punch. We've got him blocked as it is. He can't get into the company files. He can't get access to Conrad or anything else. He's isolated. He can't possibly come up with anything damaging between now and tomorrow."

"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."

While she was talking, Sanders turned to his monitor. The e-mail light was flashing. He clicked it.

YOU HAVE 17 MESSAGES WAITING.

Christ. He could only imagine. He clicked the READ button. They flashed up in order.

FROM: DON CHERRY, CORRIDOR PROGRAMMING TEAM TO: ALL SUBJECTS

WE HAVE DELIVERED THE VIE UNIT TO CONLEY-WHITE'S PEOPLE. THE UNIT IS NOW ACTIVE INTO THEIR COMPANY DB SINCE THEY GAVE US THE HOOKS TODAY. JOHN CONLEY ASKED THAT IT BE DELIVERED TO A SUITE AT THE FOUR SEASONS HOTEL BECAUSE THEIR CEO IS ARRIVING THURSDAY MORNING AND WILL SEE IT THEN. ANOTHER PROGRAMMING TRIUMPH BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE SWELL FOLKS AT VIE.

DON THE MAGNIFICENT

Sanders flipped to the next one.

FROM: DIAGNOSTICS GROUP TO: APG TEAM

ANALYSIS OF TWINKLE DRIVES. THE PROBLEM WITH THE CONTROLLER TIMING LOOP DOES NOT SEEM TO COME FROM THE CHIP ITSELF. WE VERIFIED MICRO-FLUCTUATIONS IN CURRENT FROM THE POWER UNIT WHICH WAS APPARENTLY ETCHED WITH SUBSTANDARD OR INADEQUATE RESISTANCES ON THE BOARD BUT THIS IS MINOR AND DOES NOT EXPLAIN OUR FAILURE TO MEET SPECS. ANALYSIS IS CONTINUING.

Sanders viewed the message with a sense of detachment. It didn't really tell him anything. Just words that concealed the underlying truth: they still didn't know what the problem was. At another time, he'd be on his way down to the Diagnostics team, to ride them hard to get to the bottom of it. But now . . . He shrugged and went to the next message.

FROM: BASEBALL CENTRAL TO: ALL PLAYERS RE: NEW SUMMER SOFTBALL SCHEDULE

DOWNLOAD FILE BB.72 TO GET THE NEW REVISED SUMMER SCHEDULE. SEE YOU ON THE FIELD!

He heard Fernandez say on the phone, "Harry, we've got to crack this one somehow. What time do they close their offices in Sunnyvale?" Sanders went to the next message.

NO MORE GROUP MESSAGES. DO YOU WANT TO READ PERSONAL MESSAGES?

He clicked the icon.

WHY DON'T YOU JUST ADMIT YOU ARE GAY?

(UNSIGNED)

He didn't bother to see where it had come from. They would probably have manually entered it as coming from Garvin's address, or something like that. He could check the real address inside the system, but not without the access privileges they had taken away. He went to the next message.

SHE'S BETTER LOOKING THAN YOUR ASSISTANT, AND YOU DIDN'T SEEM TO MIND SCREWING HER.

(UNSIGNED)

Sanders clicked to the next one.

YOU SLIMY WEASEL - GET OUT OF THIS COMPANY.

YOUR BEST ADVICE

Christ, he thought. The next one:

LITTLE TOMMY HAD A PECKER HE PLAYED WITH EVERY DAY

BUT WHEN A LADY TRIED TO TOUCH IT LITTLE TOMMY SAID GO AWAY.

The verses ran on, down to the bottom of the screen, but Sanders didn't read the rest. He clicked and went on.

IF YOU WEREN'T FUCKING YOUR DAUGHTER SO MUCH YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO

He clicked again. He was clicking faster and faster, going through the messages.

GUYS LIKE YOU GIVE MEN A BAD NAME YOU ASSHOLE.

BORIS

Click.

YOU FILTHY LYING MALE PIG

Click.

HIGH TIME SOMEBODY STUCK IT TO THE WHINING BITCHES. I'M TIRED OF THE WAY THEY BLAME EVERYBODY BUT THEIRSELVES. TITS AND BLAME ARE SEX-LINKED TRAITS. THEY'RE BOTH ON THE XCHROMOSOME.

KEEP ON TRUCKIN'

He went through them, no longer reading. Eventually he was going so fast he almost missed one of the later ones:

JUST RECEIVED WORD THAT MOHAMMED JAFAR IS DYING. HE'S STILL IN THE HOSPITAL, AND NOT EXPECTED TO SURVIVE UNTIL MORNING. I GUESS MAYBE THERE'S SOMETHING TO THIS SORCERY BUSINESS, AFTER ALL.