Page 47 of The List
DAY EIGHTEEN
B RENT SHUFFLED ALL MORNING BETWEEN THE IAM AND IBEW negotiating sessions, helping the company representatives with details of a final deal.
At midmorning IAM suddenly came to a tentative agreement, their negotiations committee tired of the bickering and satisfied with the wage increases and extras the company finally offered.
The five years seemed a bitter pill, but the machinists wisely recognized they possessed little to negotiate with other than the two additional years.
“How’d it go last night at the union meeting?” he asked Hank during the break.
“I don’t think there’ll be any more lip from my committee.”
“You handled things?”
“Totally. Damn idiots. Haven’t got the sense God gave a billy goat. They think all you have to do is snap your fingers and the company’ll jump. Finally, I told ’em all to strike. That’s what they need to do. Walk out until the company says three years is okay. Go for it.”
“I’m sure that hit home.”
“We found out they all have bananas for backbone. They’ll do what I say from now on.”
“IAM coming to agreement seemed sudden.”
“I worked hard with their committee last night after the IBEW meeting.”
“Looks like your guys are last to the table again.”
Hank smiled. “That’s one tradition I like.”
“We’re going to have to deal with that list of numbers on Monday,” he said. “We have to find out what they are.”
“I know. I appreciate you workin’ with me and holdin’ off until the deals are done. I can’t jeopardize this.”
“I get it,” he said. “But Monday we’re on it. I wonder where Bozin is this morning?”
“We can’t formalize the deal with IAM until he’s here,” Hank said. “I’d like to seal that thing before the machinists change their minds.”
He glanced at his watch. “Looks like that’ll be after lunch, so I’m going home.”
Hank grinned. “Can’t take that fatty barbecue and fried chicken on the buffet anymore?”
“Mom’s vegetable soup from last night will be a lot better on my stomach and waistline. You want to come?”
Hank shook his head. “I need to hang around here. With these numbnuts, you never know what could happen.”
Brent felt good driving home.
Only his concerns about that list of numbers marred his good humor.
Last night, after Bozin left, he and his mother had talked for nearly two hours.
For once everybody seemed to be on the same page, and he was pleased the two women in his life apparently were going to get along.
She apologized for going to Ashley behind his back, but he was actually grateful that she had.
He was concerned, though, about Lori Anne.
But Ashley assured him that she’d talk to their daughter and explain everything.
To make a start they decided to do something together over the weekend, something fun all three of them would enjoy.
He arrived home and found his mother in the kitchen preparing ham sandwiches for the boys next door. Grace Tanner had gone to the store and his mother was babysitting.
“They’re not having soup?” he asked.
“They placed an order for sandwiches and Doritos.”
“Where are they?”
“Last I saw they were headed down the street with a pack of the kids from the next block. I told ’em to be back here by 12:30.”
He grabbed a piece of wheat bread. “We’re down to one. IAM settled this morning.”
“Hank waiting to be the grand finale?”
“As always. He seems to come alive during these things.”
The house phone rang. He walked over and answered.
It was Hank. “Chris Bozin is dead.”
“Dead? The man was in my living room last night.”
Delivering an envelope.
“He’s dead now. Prostate cancer.”
He told himself to keep his voice calm. “You’d have never known. He did a good job concealing it.”
“He apparently kept it a secret from everyone.”
“That’s a shame. He seemed like a fine man. What about the negotiations?”
“Suspended for the afternoon out of respect. Brent, what was Bozin doing at your house last night?”
“That’s a good question. When I find out, I’ll let you know.”
He hung up and told his mother what happened.
“That poor man,” she said.
“I’ll pass on lunch. I need to get back to the mill.”
But before he did he left the kitchen and walked straight upstairs, Bozin’s words from last night ringing in his ears.
“ It’s important for me to know someone from the company has the information contained in there.
If I become incapacitated or die, please open it and do exactly as it asks.
” He’d respected that request and told no one about the envelope, not even his mother.
The whole thing was strange, though a bit clearer now with Bozin’s secret illness and sudden demise.
He retrieved the envelope from the top of his closet, broke the seal, and spilled out the contents on the bed.
Four items.
Two sheets of paper tri-folded and taped closed. A flash drive. And a microcassette recorder with a tape inserted. Written on the outside of one of the tri-folded single sheets was
READ THIS FIRST
On the outside of the other
READ THIS LAST
He did as Bozin instructed, breaking the tape holding the first sheet together. Inside was a handwritten note.
I appreciate you following my instructions.
It’s important you do. I’ve prepared a narrative on the enclosed drive.
Please read it in private, then open the sheet that says to be read last. Everything will be made clear once you’ve viewed the drive and listened to the recording.
I thank you for your service and patience.
Christopher Bozin
His first thought was to ignore the instructions and read the other note now. But the lawyer inside him advised otherwise. Bozin had trusted him with something of importance and obviously went to a lot of trouble to organize things. The least he could do was follow his wishes exactly.
And not here.
Go to the office. This was business.
So he stuffed everything back into the envelope, hustled downstairs, and told his mother goodbye. Outside, he climbed into the Jeep and headed off. About a quarter mile away he passed James and Grant on their bicycles as they pedaled back to his parents’ house.
He honked. They waved back.
Passing the kids, he glanced in his rearview mirror to check on them, seeing only a dark-blue Buick that had just turned onto the street behind him.
1:00 P.M.
L EE PATIENTLY WAITED ALL MORNING.
The first call came into the Blue Tower around noon.
One-third of Southern Republic Pulp and Paper Company was dead.
The twenty-ninth floor went into mourning.
Nancy Fringe lapsed into shock and had to be taken to the emergency room.
He and Hughes showed their dismay over the untimely death of their partner by retiring to their respective offices on the pretext of being alone. Neither did much grieving.
Instead, they both waited for the next call.
“He was ready for me,” De Florio said. “He cooperated fully. The body was found about ten this morning. The coroner and a doctor came. Death was verified, consistent with the processing. The body was immediately taken to Savannah, cremation is occurring now.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He wished me luck.”
“For what?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Did he mention anything else?”
“Nothing of value.”
“Okay, that problem’s history. What about Reed and Walker?”
“Prior to returning home last evening, Bozin visited the Walkers’ residence. He carried a brown envelope inside and was there about thirty minutes. He carried nothing out.”
Not good. “What about Walker?”
“He stayed at the negotiations all morning, then went home for lunch. After a few minutes, he returned to the mill. Carrying a brown envelope.”
Double not good. “And Reed?”
“He was present at the negotiations all morning. An announcement about Bozin’s death was made and he immediately went outside and made a call. The last I was informed Reed was still at the Comfort Inn.”
“We have a press release ready to go on this end. I believe it’s time to issue it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“We don’t know exactly what Bozin has done, so we can’t act till things are clearer.
That brown envelope is a concern. There’s no indication at this point that either Reed or Walker can, or will, hurt us.
Bozin could be bluffing, hoping we’ll make a mistake and expose ourselves.
That old man was clever and jumping in blind could create even more problems. For now, just watch those two. Carefully.”
1:25 P.M.
B RENT ARRIVED BACK AT B UILDING B AND LEARNED THAT HIS BOSS had been called to Hickory Row.
The information trickling in was that Bozin had been discovered midmorning when the house staff became worried.
They found him snuggled under the covers apparently sleeping, death coming sometime during the night.
The coroner was called, but since he wasn’t a physician, merely an assembly-line supervisor at the mill elected to his position, a medical doctor was also summoned.
Heart failure brought on by the stress from prostate cancer was the official cause of death.
A prescription medicine bottle found in the house provided the name of Bozin’s Atlanta doctor, who verified the cancer and its extent.
The whole thing was awful, and a solemn sense pervaded the building.
Obviously, Bozin would be missed.
He lingered a little with the secretaries before going into his office. He hadn’t been around much during the past week and noticed a few new files stacked to one side. They needed attention. Hopefully, negotiations would be over by Monday or Tuesday and he could get back to work.
He removed the flash drive from the envelope and inserted it into his desktop. Remembering Bozin’s instruction that he view the material in private, he closed and locked the office door. He punched the keyboard and called up the drive’s index. There was only one file, titled REVELATION .
He brought it to the screen.