“As I recall, last month I voiced an objection to the timing of these.”
“That was last month, this is now.”
“But the processing of the five from May’s list has only just been completed.”
“Caused by the mistake incurred with Number 3, in not getting it right the first time.”
He felt the slap, but said nothing.
Lee seemed to sense his hesitancy and turned conciliatory. “I have no doubt, Jon, you’ll handle things efficiently, as you have so many times before. The board has the utmost confidence in you. Now, on another subject, has the bait been taken?”
He nodded. “Last night. The file was accessed from Marlene Rhoden’s terminal in industrial relations. The back monitor we installed showed a copy was made too.”
Lee shook his head. “Marlene is making some poor choices. She’s worked for us a long time. Just shows how shallow people’s loyalty can run these days.”
De Florio knew that Rhoden was divorced, was the mother of two grown children, and wanted to be the next Mrs. Hank Reed. She made no secret of that fact among her co-workers. And she’d apparently decided that offering Reed unlimited access into company files might accomplish that goal.
Which they had used to their advantage.
“At least Reed is both predictable and determined,” Lee said. “He prides himself on staying a step ahead of us. He thinks we’re too stupid to know what he does.”
“Why do you tolerate him?”
“Because he can also be quite helpful. He’s an effective inside weapon that’s kept our labor relations amicable. And he works cheap. All he asks is a little help with his image and a favor or two now and then for his people, which we’re happy to provide. And the employees listen to him. But this time the deck’s stacked.” Lee shook his head. “Reed will come to us, like he always does, wanting to make a deal. But this time he’ll be trying to bargain with information thatweprovided. Rather clever on my part, if I do say so.”
He was tired of the self-promoting, which was another glaringdifference between Hamilton Lee and Chris Bozin. “Is there anything else you need from my department?”
“No, that’ll be all except for the immediate processing of the remaining three from May’s list… without mistakes.”
2:00P.M.
BRENT TOOK A LATE LUNCH IN TOWN ALONE, STILL BOTHERED BYhis discovery. He’d shown the photograph to Martha and she’d explained that it was of Joan Bates, the wife of his predecessor, Peter Bates, and their two children. It had been taken a few years ago, both kids now teenagers. When they’d cleaned out the office somehow the frame had been overlooked. But no one had moved the file cabinets. Okay, he now knew who’d taken the time to find him to deliver a rather cryptic warning. The mystery of the day, though, was why. But he hadn’t shared anything with Martha or questioned her further so as not to draw any attention.
Yet the whole thing was odd.
He decided that now was as good a time as any to stop by a local bank and open an account. He needed to transfer his money from Atlanta back to Concord. There were three to choose from, but prior to leaving ten years ago he’d done all his business at Capital Fidelity & Trust. So he stopped there and opened checking and savings accounts, moving all his funds into them. He didn’t have much. Nearly $70,000 in savings and another $5,000 in checking. Three CDs he’d taken out a few years ago had yet to mature, so he left those alone. He’d deal with them as they came due. He carried no debt, his car was paid for, and he satisfied his one credit card in full every month. Living with his mother reduced his overhead, but he’d already worked out with her the contribution he would make to the monthly expenses. She was debt-free too, living off both her own and his father’s Social Security benefits and the monthly retirement check that still came from Southern Republic’s pension fund. His father had worked his entire adult life atthe mill and managed to garner the maximum in yearly benefits, which included health care for his mother until she died.
He left the bank and headed back to the Jeep, parked down the street.
“Brent Walker, as I live and breathe,” a voice said.
He turned to see an old adversary. Doris Dunn. Curvy. Leggy. Attractive. And knew it. She capitalized on that with billboards and print ads that included a full-color headshot with her long blond hair, beside it the wordsPRETTY. TOUGH.He’d seen them over the years on his visits back home and always thought the periods after each word should not be there. To him, the whole thing sent the wrong message. Or, knowing Doris, perhaps it had been the one intended all along. Years ago they went toe-to-toe in court, mainly in divorces. She’d been the first female lawyer in town. But now a couple more had set up shop. They exchanged pleasantries and talked a few minutes about old times. Finally, he told her he should get back to work since, “I’m not the boss anymore.”
“You also don’t have to hustle fees every month, anymore.”
He grinned. “Which I don’t miss.”
She turned to leave.
But he decided, what the heck. “Doris.”
She stopped and turned back.
He stepped closer. “Did you know Peter Bates?”
“Not all that well. I don’t do workers’ comp cases. But he always came to the monthly bar association lunch.”
“Does it still meet?”
