Page 14 of The List
The prodigious space commanded a panoramic view of downtown Atlanta.
He knew all about the décor. The desk was a French antique shipped over from the Languedoc.
The sofa and chairs nineteenth-century English.
The small conference table an art nouveau dining room set converted to business use.
Lee liked to take credit for the look, but he knew it had all been professionally coordinated by a north Atlanta interior designer.
Truth be told, he never really cared for its obviousness and, while visiting, felt more like he was in a museum than in a working office.
“Have a seat, Jon. Some coffee?” Lee asked, parading over to the wall bar.
He declined.
Lee filled a china cup, then stepped to his desk that angled catty-cornered before two outer glass walls. He was already comfortable in one of the open-armed, Georgian chairs in front.
Lee sat. “All right. Proceed.”
“All five Priorities from May’s list have been processed.
Number 1—heart failure. Number 2—kidney failure.
Both deaths verified by associates at the scene.
As you’re aware, a problem occurred with Number 3 but that was corrected last evening.
On-site verification was impossible. But I checked this morning.
The convalescent center’s computer acknowledged death during the night, time undetermined.
Though I have no independent confirmation on Numbers 4 and 5, death was confirmed by my associate’s personal observations. ”
“The causes being?”
“Number 4 was a drug overdose. Number 5 anaphylactic shock caused by a bee sting. All five processings were consistent with the criteria placed on each.”
Lee sipped his coffee. “Any more problems?”
“Everything went smoothly, without incident.”
“I’m always amazed at your creativity. How interesting it must be to innocuously orchestrate so many varied results.”
“That’s what I’m paid to do.”
“Why did the problem occur with Number 3?”
“The criteria specifically called for a medication switch—”
“There was a good reason for that.”
He realized that the availability of life and car insurance benefits sometimes figured into the board’s decision making.
Double indemnity for an accidental death was occasionally used as a means to financially aid a Priority’s dependents.
But the gesture was not entirely altruistic.
Rule required processing methods be varied, and medication errors were an explainable variation that led nowhere back to the company.
Instead, third parties would be implicated in any possible liability.
“How did the mistake in processing happen?” Lee asked.
“The associate managed to change out the prescription, but his choice for the change was not powerful enough to induce death in this individual. That was an unacceptable miscalculation on his part.”
“And what of the mistake?” Lee asked.
“Corrective action will be taken.”
“As I knew it would,” Lee said, adding a tip of his cup.
He didn’t acknowledge the compliment. Flattery meant little to him.
“The board has just Prioritized the remaining three from May’s list. No criteria were placed. They’ve already been prechecked, correct?”
He nodded. “Their files are prepared and ready.”
“Process at will.”
“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 that we provided.
Rather clever on my part, if I do say so. ”
He was tired of the self-promoting, which was another glaring difference 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.”
2:00 P.M.
B RENT TOOK A LATE LUNCH IN TOWN ALONE, STILL BOTHERED BY his 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 at the 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 words PRETTY.
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?”
She nodded. “Second Tuesday of every month. You should rejoin.”
He’d probably do that. He’d actually once liked the gatherings. All the lawyers coming together to talk shop and visit. At his interview, the folks at Southern Republic had made it clear that they wanted him involved locally.
“Do you know the circumstances of Peter’s death?”
“It was awful. He drove out to Eagle Lake, took a shotgun, and ended it. They found him a day later, after his wife reported him missing.”
But what he really wanted to know was, “Any indication why he did it?”
“No one knows. But he was a quiet man. Always friendly and no one had a bad word to say about him. But he wasn’t the life of the party, if you know what I mean.”
He did. “What about his family?”
“From what I heard, the widow moved away from here after it happened.”
If he asked to where the signal would be that he was far more interested than he was letting on, so he stayed coy and said, “That makes sense. Probably wanted to get as far away as she could.”
“I know I would.”