X - Chapter Thirty Four "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution"

Chapter Thirty Four - Mike Stein 

      The big oak benches in the Federal District Court in downtown Manhattan were already filling up when I got there more than an hour before the court session’s two o’clock opening.    

      I didn’t realize that the arraignment would be such a draw until I thought about the front-page story that morning in The New York Times about murder at Winshire Associates. I should have put two and two together and realized that scandal and murder in high places would capture so much attention. 

       I took a place in the fifth row over on the right side, so I’d have a good view of the defendants and their counsel; they all hadn’t arrived yet. But from my seat I could see that Assistant DA Clive Stewart and Special FBI Agent Vince DuBois had already taken their places at the prosecution’s table and looked like they were in some kind of a deep discussion. Captain Jimenez wasn’t there yet, either.    

      I have to admit that the courtroom was an impressive place. Sunlight was coming in from the windows on the west side, and it was shining onto the carved woodwork in the walls, these big tables and the judge’s elevated desk and the benches I was sitting on. The wood surfaces were brilliant and beautiful. Even though people kept streaming in, there was a kind of respectful hush, and the people already here talked in whispers.  

      The space kept filling up. I spotted Bill Voldman and Scott Li. I waved to them, but then I saw them pushing down a row that I had thought was already full and then disappear behind the crowded figures in front of them. They had asked me to attend just in case I’d be needed to help with the media. 

      Just a few minutes later, I spotted Fabio DiAndrea, the author of the article who was probably responsible for a good portion of the people here, in the back of the courtroom. He was his tall, lanky self, and he was carrying his yellow legal pad. He had told me he was working on his story about management consultancies, but I didn’t know it would come out today. *  

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 * THE PRIVATE VOICES GUIDING BUSINESS AND GOVERNMENT

      By Fabio DiAndrea

      They’re silent experts who work behind the scenes. They sell research studies and sometimes definitive strategies to executives of the worlds largest corporations, emerging companies, national governments and a wide range of other clients. Sometimes their recommendations are responsible for industrial innovations and market successes, and sometimes their advice falls short. 

      They are called management consultants and industrial advisors, and they are well paid. For one recent year, experts say, the worldwide management consulting market reached toward $300 billion, and their sales continue to grow, as does their influence over consumer markets, industrial strategies and even national governments’ policies. 

      Usually, the public knows little about these private advisors – an estimated fifty of these firms have a worldwide presence – but sometimes the curtain is raised on their insiders’ role and their operations. 

      That was the case when scandal became known at the prestigious consulting firm of Winshire Associates. The scandal, which included the murder of Winshire’s chief executive Mr. Theodore Merritt and the arrest of key executives of the firm, revealed the existence of the intense competition between firms for clients, for original ideas and for increases in earnings. 

       The story went on to describe the worldwide context in which the leading firms operate and also compete. Importantly, DiAndrea’s story explained the positive role management consultants can play, but also the abuses some of them are guilty of.

      Three persons associated with Winshire Associates are accused of crimes and are scheduled to be arraigned today before the U. S. District Court for the Southern District of New York: Consultant Steven Bucknell, for first degree murder and conspiracy for fraud and related charges; Chief Counsel Grant Stauffer, for first degree murder, conspiracy for fraud and related charges; and Gloria Merritt, the wife of the deceased Theodore Merritt, for accessory of murder. 

 

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      Two o’clock was getting closer. The place on my right was still empty, and I was wondering who would sit there. I could see the court’s staff begin to take their places. The bailiff, a little guy who wore a freshly pressed uniform but still looked ready for retirement, was rushing around. I assumed he was checking to make sure everything was ready. The court stenographer was a middle-aged woman who looked like an old-fashioned schoolmarm who wouldn’t let anything perturb her. 

      Then I saw Ermira. She was pushing through the crowd, making her way down the aisle. Of course she was looking for a seat. She spotted me and waved, and then pointed to the place next to me. She was wearing a dark green turtle-neck sweater and gray slacks, and she was carrying what looked like a navy-blue duffle coat.

      “Mike, thanks so much.” She was out of breath, and she plopped down into the place and then moved back and forth for a second or two, like she was trying to get comfortable. “I wanted to be here early, earlier than now, anyway, but I don’t know this area at all. I had a hard time finding the court.” She draped her coat over her knees, and she held onto a black, spiral notebook.  

      I smiled at her and asked her, “So, how’re you doing?” 

      She smiled back. “Thanks to you, I’m doing good. Really good.” 

      “I don’t know if I deserve any credit. I really didn’t do much of anything.”

      “You don’t know.” She looked at me, serious. “New York’s New York. But I always knew I can trust you.” She pulled her right hand from her coat and touched my right arm. Her hand lingered just a few seconds, and I felt – as stupid as it sounds – a spark of electricity. 

      I said, “There’re good people around. You just gotta find them.” 

      We were silent for just a few seconds, and then she turned to me with a full smile. “I feel like a real artist. Really. I’m taking two painting courses at the Art Students’ League. Really, I feel I found something, like I’m learning so much. Like I’m really doing what I want.”

      There was something going on in the back of the courtroom. When I turned around, I could see the whole defense contingent trying to get through the people standing against the wall in the back of the chamber. Each defendant was paired with an NYPD officer who man-handled them forward. Stauffer looked professional in a dark-blue suit. Gloria Merritt wore a gray wool pants suit and was looking around as though she was lost. And Bucknell wore an orange prisoner’s jump suit. Their three attorneys followed right behind them. 

      It must have taken more than five minutes before they were all seated. Then the bailiff gave the “All rise,” and Judge Willard K. Esposito made his way, with the help of a cane, across the raised platform to his desk. 

      The beginning of the court session seemed like a big production for a simple procedure. Judge Esposito started by announcing that his court, the U.S. Court for the Southern District of New York, would deal with the charges in connection with Winshire Associates, and then he started to enumerate the charges against each of the three defendants: Steven Bucknell charged with murder in the first degree and conspiracy for fraud; Grant Stauffer charged with murder in the first degree and conspiracy for fraud. At that moment . . . 

      One of the defense attorneys shot to his feet and asked for permission to address the court. A wave of murmurs swept through the courtroom. 

      Right next to me, Ermira strained to get a better view of the drama that broke out. As she pushed up from her seat and leaned forward, her lithe body looked wonderful in her green sweater and gray pants.  

      I believe I took my eyes off the front of the courtroom for just a few seconds. When I glanced back at the prosecution table, there was Jimenez, wearing a gray suit and some kind of a short rain jacket. I could see his head close to DuBois, and he must have been relating something important because he kept grabbing DuBois’ arm. 

      Judge Esposito raised his eyes from the document he was reading. “Please state your name and the bars that recognize you.” I don’t know if it was his gray hair or his well-trimmed beard, but whatever it was, I have to admit that Judge Esposito had a presence that told the whole courtroom, “I’ve seen all this before.”

      “Daniel Golden, your honor, and the bars are New York and California. And for your information, I’m representing defendant Grant Stauffer.”

      “Yes, you may address the court, but please wait until I finish reading the charges against all of the defendants present here. To complete the charges, Gloria Merritt charged with accessory of murder. Now, Mr. Golden, the chamber is listening.”  

      “Thank you, your honor, to be direct . . . ”

      “Yes, Mr. Golden, please be direct. This court appreciates direct.”

      Golden looked taken aback for a few seconds, but then he charged forward. “Thank you, your honor. I’ll be very direct. Frankly, the charges against my client, Grant Stauffer, are illogical and unconscionable. According to the reading of the charges, two defendants are being accused of the same crime in the same case.  But, according to the double jeopardy clause of the Fifth Amendment, a defendant is protected against such an abuse of justice.” 

      Yes, I’m sure Judge Esposito has seen all this before; his voice stayed polite and even. “Please be seated. I have full confidence that all of the facts will come out during trial.” 

      Golden remained standing and insistent. “Then we stipulate that my client have a separate trial. That is the only way justice can be done. And that requires the charges must be filed only by a grand jury.” 

      “Are you prepared to file a motion for a separate trial? If so, I will consider it. And, in addition, if you prepare a motion for utilizing a grand jury, I will rule on that, also.”

      “Yes, your honor. I will file the motions you require,” Golden said. “I want to thank you for your openness.” 

      “In addition, if they so desire, I’d like the other two defense counsel to file motions on the same two issues you’ve raised. This court’s mission is to provide justice. Of course, that’s the role of any court. Can we say that I’ll receive all motions from the three of you within five business days?” 

      All three defense counsel nodded agreement. 

      At that moment, Assistant DA Stewart stood and asked for permission to address the court. 

      “Yes, of course, Mr. Stewart,” Judge Esposito said. “I would expect nothing less.”

      “Thank you, your honor. All I’d like to mention is that I request your permission to file a brief on the same two issues before the court. Your decision on these two matters will have a strong influence on how we, the prosecution, present our case and the final disposition of the case.” 

      Judge Esposito said, “Mr. Stewart, your request is granted, of course with the same deadline.” 

      “Thank you, your honor.” 

      The rest of the session was completed in less than an hour. Each of the three defendants entered their pleas to the charges that were read, and – as could be expected – every one of them pled not guilty.  

      The only exception to the efficiency of Judge Esposito’s court was Gloria Merritt. After she entered her plea of “not guilty,” she went on to explain that she should not be a defendant here at all. 

      “Your honor, I’m the widow of the man that was murdered. I’m a victim. I can tell you I’ve suffered.” She started out by speaking forcefully, but she got more and more emotional as she kept going. “I lost my husband. Your Honor, you can’t imagine what I’ve been through. Every day I’m reminded what I’ve lost, my husband, the man I love.”

      If a defendant can be cut off with sensitivity, Judge Esposito did it. “Mrs. Merritt, I’ve been sitting before this court for a good number of years, and I assure you I can imagine what you’re going through. And to limit your pain as much as possible, I’ve approved your bail arrangements. You’re the only defendant in this case who will have a measure of freedom until trial. Since the other two defendants are charged with a capital crime, bail is not available to them.”  

      I don’t know whether it was because her hands were cold, or if it was some kind of a nervous gesture, but Ermira clasped her hands together and held them between her thighs. I could see she noticed I was watching her, and she smiled at me. 

      When Judge Esposito banged his gavel to signal the end of the court session, Ermira didn’t budge. As the courtroom was emptying out, she just sat there and started telling me about where she was living. 

      “Me and Tereza, she’s one of the girls I used to live with in Brooklyn, well, we found a little, a tiny place.  We share it. And I’m a waitress. Really, me a waitress! And the other girls at the Carnegie, the Carnegie Deli, they’re so sweet, and funny.”  

      I wanted to be polite, so I just kept listening. “Frankly, I just don’t see you as a deli waitress.”

      “Well, guess what! I am.” 

      “There’s nothing wrong with an honest job.” 

      Ermira just kept going. “But listen! And the other girls, they told me that men hit on you, a lot. Before, I didn’t even know what that means, hit on someone. But the other waitresses told me, for men, it’s kind of a joke. They just don’t mean any harm. So, one of the waitress told me, she said, if they look like they’re getting too serious, just pick the name of a sports team, and tell them your boy friend plays for them. So, one guy, I just wanted to try it out, one guy asked me when I got off my shift, and I told him my boy friend was picking me up. And I told him my boyfriend skates for the Rangers.” 

      I turned in my seat and noticed that we were just about the last people in the courtroom. I tried to be gentle. “Look, Ermira. I think we better get out of here.”

      Outside, it was warm and sunny. From the front of the courthouse, we could see there was a large open area, and there were people standing around or sitting on the benches there. We took our time going down the stairs. Ermira seemed happy and relaxed, not at all like the Ermira I saw at the Grand Hyatt when she seemed to struggle to get just a few words out.  

      It felt good in the warm sunlight on that pleasant afternoon, and I realized Ermira never finished her story. So, I asked her what happened at the Carnegie Deli when the customer tried to hit on her. We found an empty bench and sat down together. 

      Ermira seemed animated. “The man seemed like a nice person, not one to worry about, just a regular guy. So, he said to me, he said that’s funny. He said it just seemed strange. Some of the other waitresses have boy friends on sports teams, too. Must be a thing for the waitresses at the Carnegie. And he said he was sorry. Just like that.”   

      I said, “Ermira, it’s good to see you like this. Sure, I don’t know what your life is now. But you look happy, like you’re adapting to the city, like you’re doing things that are important to you, and you’re letting yourself enjoy them.”  

      I noticed that we were sitting close together, and a few times our knees touched. I knew that it didn’t mean anything, but I didn’t move away from her. It just felt good, and I didn’t want it to end. 

     “Mike, I do feel better. I do feel good. I know this sounds naive, but I think I can tell you. I just want to live a good life and get as much out of it as I can.”

      “I’m happy for you,” I said. “I really am.” 

      And then it happened. I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t even think about it.

      Just out of the blue, my right hand moved over. And I put my hand on Ermira’s leg. 

      I knew it was stupid and wrong. I started to move away and say something, I don’t know what to do, apologize for what I did, say it was a mistake.  But I didn’t get the chance. 

      Ermira placed her right hand on my hand, squeezed it softly, and then turned her face toward me and smiled.  

      “Mike, can I tell you?” She waited just a second. “I’d like us to be friends. Could we be that? I trust you.”

      I stumbled and then blurted out, “Yes.” 

      I think both of us were surprised. Both of us didn’t know what to say or do. At that point, I think we just wanted to escape. Ermira suddenly told me she had to buy some painting supplies at Pearl, not far from us on Canal Street. I told her I had to take the subway back to my office in Midtown. 

      We stood, and then she took my right hand and, she didn’t shake it, she just squeezed it gently while looking at me. 

      We walked away. 

      I watched Ermira walk away from me. The way she walked was beautiful. I didn’t expect it, but maybe twenty or so feet from me she turned, looked at me for a few seconds. Then she turned and kept walking. 

      As I started walking toward the subway station, I was alone with my thoughts. 

      I want this account I’m relating to you now to be honest, so I want to tell you what I was thinking, how I saw my thoughts changing, and how I was confused. 

      The first times I met with Ermira, I didn’t pay attention to my thoughts and the images that popped up in my mind. I just pushed the images down, away from me, and pretended they weren’t there. But they kept coming back to me. I felt ashamed.  

      It’s strange because I know how much I love Wendy. She’s my soul mate and my life partner. Our lives are locked together in so many ways. What I feel for Wendy is real love, and it’s deep, in every way.  

      But still, I didn’t feel right about what I was feeling. Maybe I’m like most guys, getting horny when I see a hot woman. That’s just physical attraction, right? Is it that simple? That’s not like my love for Wendy, and it doesn’t mean a thing. But still, I don’t understand what’s going on. It’s like Ermira got into a space of my mind, and I can’t get her out.  

      Where was I? Yes, I was walking toward the subway station. It was just before five, and I thought I should check in at the office before taking the train at Grand Central to return home. 

      Returning home. Returning to my family, and carrying a new burden that I created for myself. What would I tell Wendy when she greets me with a kiss?