X - Chapter Twenty Four "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution"

Chapter Twenty Four - Mike Stein 

      It was the start of my work day, around nine, and I was in my office. Everyone around me, the associates, the partners and the admin staff, they all seemed engaged. All of them were rushing around, or blockaded in their offices, or involved in meetings I assumed were important. 

      I felt lost, up in the air, and worthless. 

      I tried to find a project to throw myself into, but I had none. I had spent so much time focusing on Ted Merritt’s speech, I had nothing else to do. My great method of dealing with adversity by diverting my attention to a project, I couldn’t use it.  

      I looked out my window, hoping my view would raise my spirits. It didn’t work. I slumped at my desk.

      My phone rang. It was Bill Voldman. He pronounced just a few words, and they hit me: “Gordy’s been arrested, for the murder of Ted.” 

      I couldn’t believe it. It was a physical blow, like a sledgehammer in the gut. I stiffened in my chair and stared blankly in front of myself. I waited. 

      “It just happened,” Bill said. “They, some uniformed officers marched in here, and then they marched him out, right through the lobby, handcuffed, right past everybody. Like a low-life criminal.” 

      I said, “It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be true. Gordy’s selfish, insensitive and kinda clumsy. But he’s not a murderer.” 

      I felt an emptiness, and when a bit of understanding started to dawn on me, I was confused. Was it my fault? I went back in time. It seemed so long ago, but it was just a few days ago, when the FBI agent, DuBois, questioned me. I know I hesitated, I didn’t tell him everything. I stopped, I didn’t know why. I didn’t tell him that Ted was going to have dinner with someone that night. Why’d I hold back? I didn’t know. Maybe it was cowardly; I didn’t want to implicate someone. Now, when I think back, from the way he was talking, I had the feeling it couldn’t have been Gordy on the phone with Ted. 

      I didn’t know what to do. When I didn’t feel this burden, when it wasn’t so real, I didn’t feel this fear; when I didn’t feel sweat down my back, I made these courageous declarations. I would engage, I would do the right thing. 

      Then it came to me. I’m me, I’m Mike Stein. I’m a human being, and I have my beliefs and my values. I have to follow through with them because they are what I am. They are all I have. Sounds stupid, but I had to do the right thing. Especially now, I had to tell the truth. 

      “Look Bill, can you imagine what Gordy’s feeling and thinking?” I said. “I say that because I don’t think it could be Gordy.”

      We didn’t talk for a few seconds. I knew I had to give Bill some practical advice. I said: “Bill, I don’t think we got a choice. If the media asks us, any publications, websites, anything, I think we gotta say that all we can say is that we’re cooperating fully with the authorities. I don’t know if we should put out a statement at this point. Why don’t we talk with Scott, and talk this over?” 

      Bill said, “Okay, I’ll get back to you in a few minutes. I’ll find Scott somewhere.” 

      I had no choice. I knew what I had to do. I had to make up for my failing before, for fucking up before. I looked in my wallet for the card that DuBois gave me. I found it. I picked up my phone. 

      Grant Stauffer, Winshire’s chief counsel, walked into my office and took the seat across from me. I barely knew the guy. But he sure had a take-charge attitude.  

      “Got a minute?” he asked. 

      He didn’t wait for me to answer. He just talked. “Mike, that’s right, Mike. I know you’re new around here. You know who I am. I was talking to Bill Voldman. You know we got a few things going on around here.” 

      I nodded. 

      Stauffer kept talking. “Bill tells me you’ve been talking to the FBI. I’m gonna have to ask you, just let me know if the FBI contacts you again, and don’t contact them, or even that police detective who’s been around here with his crew. If they contact you, tell me right away. I gotta watch everything. We gotta work together, the firm, we gotta protect the firm.”  

      Stauffer left as fast as he arrived. I watched him walk down the hallway, toward his office. I know what it was; he had a regal strut. 

      I dialed, and I kept watching out for Stauffer. 

      A voice answered, but it wasn’t DuBois. 

      I said, “I’m Mike Stein, from Winshire. I have to talk with Vincent DuBois. I have to tell him something. It’s really important.”

      “I’ll see if I can find him,” the voice said. “I think I saw him around here.”

      The line was silent, then I heard a scraping sound. I could feel my heart pounding. 

      The voice came back. “I thought he was around here, but I can’t find him.” 

      My heart was speeding up. 

      Then another voice came on the line. “Mike, this is DuBois. Thanks for calling. What can I do for you?”

      I started spitting out words. “Agent DuBois. I just thought of something that I should have told you before. When I told you that I came into Merritt’s office when he was on the phone, I remember that I heard something else, and it might be important. I remember hearing him say that he would be having dinner with whoever he was talking to.  And Merritt sounded friendly, or almost friendly. According to everything I hear around here, Gordy and Merritt were not on friendly terms. I just don’t . . .  He just couldn’t have been talking with Gordy. And they were . . .  Or at least Merritt was saying that they would meet at some restaurant that evening.” 

      DuBois asked: “Could you hear the other party’s voice at all?”

      I answered: “No, not at all.”

      DuBois asked: “What time was that, do you remember?”

     “I’d say between three and three-thirty in the afternoon.” 

      “Mike, thanks. If anything else comes up, or you remember something else, please call me. Thanks again. Gotta go.”

      I put my phone down. I felt just a little better. I thought about what I just did. I did one small thing. But I didn’t feel proud or courageous. I did the minimum. I waited a while, trying to catch my breath.  

      For a while, I didn’t do a thing. I had a feeling that different things were happening around me, and I didn’t know what they were or what they meant. I just knew one thing: At every step, I had to do what I thought was right. 

      There was one more call I had to make. I knew it would be early in California, but something told me my Dad would already be awake. 

      The phone only rang three times, and then he picked up. “Dad, it’s me. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” 

      “I’d love to take credit for being an early riser,” he said; his voice sounded clear and strong. “But you know I don’t have any choice. You know old folks don’t need much sleep, at least I don’t.” 

       “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. We haven’t talked for a while, and I have no way of knowing when we’ll be able to fly out to see you.”

       “Don’t worry about me. I’m doing fine.” He sounded so good; I shouldn’t have worried about him. “By the way, I got someone to pick me up at my apartment every morning, and bring me back after work every day. Kinda a load off my mind.” 

      “I wanted to tell you, there’s all this stuff going on around here, at my new job. I’m fine. I’m not important enough to get into trouble. And there’s all this smoke and mirrors, and it’s tough to know what’s really happening. And sometimes, you . . . or I have to just go with my gut.”

      The line was quiet for a while. Finally, I could hear his voice again. “So, Mike, what did you do? “

      “It just happened. I told myself that there’s a bunch of stuff going on, but I knew what I had to do.”

       “And so, Mike?” I could hear just an edge of annoyance. “What did you do?”

      “I did it. I did the right thing.”

      “Mike, I knew you would.”

      “How can you say that, Dad? I didn’t even tell you what it’s all about.”

      “Mike, I don’t need to know. You’re my son, aren’t you?” 

      “Sure, I am. Dad, I gotta go. By the way, Wendy and the boys are fine. I’ll call you later.”

      I felt a weight fall from my back.           

      Bill showed up at my office door. Still standing, he said, “Mike, thanks. I talked with Scott. You’re right, as far as we’re concerned. We’ll just give them the cooperating line.”

      I said, “Bill, I gotta tell you. Grant Stauffer stopped by my office. He told me he’s controlling everything.”

      “Don’t worry about him. You know what to do.” 

      While Bill was still standing, we saw Stauffer fly down the hallway and by my office. We watched him push through the entrance, and then the doors closed behind him.