meeting right away with Arthur Palmer. Oh, and I’ll tell him to bring his brother Edward.”
“How soon will I be transferred to Mexico City?”
“Immediately. You’ll be working out of that office, but it won’t exactly be a transfer. You’ll be on assignment to pull Palmer Industries out of the ditch. You’ll report only to me.”
Another crossroads. Maybe it really was time to walk away.
Before he could open his mouth, Sinclair said, “Jack, your future is in your own hands. Pull off a big win for Palmer Industries, and I’ll stash you in the Mexico City office for a year or so until the climate is less toxic around here. Then I’ll bring you back. I could even make you head of a new department dealing with water and environmental issues. But I want to be clear about one thing. If you blow this, we go our separate ways.”
He came from behind his desk and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Remember, you owe me a big one.”
For what, being manipulated like a puck in a pinball machine? On the other hand, despite all the heat, instead of firing him outright Sinclair had found him a safe haven.
“All right, we’re done here. Mrs. Pounders will send you the details.”
As Jack reached the door, Sinclair called after him. “By the way, you know the judicial appointment that twit in the governor’s office talked to you about? Well, that’s off the table now. Tough break.” Sinclair turned away and reached for the phone.
How in God’s name had Sinclair known about that?
Chapter 12
June 16
3:00 p.m.
JACK HAD FOUND plenty of work to do during the couple of days after his meeting with Sinclair, but he now had only one client who mattered, Palmer Industries. Until he could meet the Palmer brothers, he felt like he was treading water. Finally, the call had come to join Sinclair in his office.
Minutes after Jack seated himself in Sinclair’s office, Mrs. Pounders entered and announced quietly, “Sir, Mr. Arthur Palmer and Mr. Edward Palmer have arrived.”
She was a buxom lady wearing a gray tailored blouse. Silver hair in a tight bun, Mrs. Pounders had the air of a woman who never used her first name. She looked only at Sinclair and paid no more attention to Jack than she would to a floor lamp.
Sinclair, from behind his desk, glanced at her over the top of his half-glasses. “Invite the gentlemen to join us.”
Arthur Palmer walked in first, keen eyes scanning the room like a hawk alert to the possibility of a pigeon within reach. An expensive black suit failed to disguise his lanky frame. He nodded at Sinclair, squinted at Jack without a greeting, and strode directly to the great expanse of window-wall. “Storm coming,” he said sourly.
Edward came in smiling broadly, suit coat open, revealing a bulging belly. The crown of his head looked more than bald. It looked polished.
Sinclair stood and gestured toward Arthur. “Jack Strider, meet Arthur Palmer, head of Palmer Industries. His brother Edward here is Chief Financial Officer.”
Edward stepped up to pump Jack’s hand.
“Strider,” Arthur grunted and walked over to a long bookcase. When he pulled on the spine of a volume in a row of Pacific Law Reporters, a chest-high three-foot long section of false casebook covers swung out, revealing a well-stocked bar. “I need a damn drink,” he announced. Choosing Glenlivet, he poured a tall glass half-full, tossed in three ice cubes, looked at the glass, and fished one out.
Jack had inferred from reading the files that Arthur Palmer provided the high-octane energy that powered the corporate motor. Edward was the cautious mechanic who kept the motor tuned. Their need for legal counsel over the years had been similar to that of most major corporations except in one important way. The company had been cited repeatedly for violations of federal and state environmental protection laws and had paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees to defeat enforcement. They were environmental
“How soon will I be transferred to Mexico City?”
“Immediately. You’ll be working out of that office, but it won’t exactly be a transfer. You’ll be on assignment to pull Palmer Industries out of the ditch. You’ll report only to me.”
Another crossroads. Maybe it really was time to walk away.
Before he could open his mouth, Sinclair said, “Jack, your future is in your own hands. Pull off a big win for Palmer Industries, and I’ll stash you in the Mexico City office for a year or so until the climate is less toxic around here. Then I’ll bring you back. I could even make you head of a new department dealing with water and environmental issues. But I want to be clear about one thing. If you blow this, we go our separate ways.”
He came from behind his desk and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Remember, you owe me a big one.”
For what, being manipulated like a puck in a pinball machine? On the other hand, despite all the heat, instead of firing him outright Sinclair had found him a safe haven.
“All right, we’re done here. Mrs. Pounders will send you the details.”
As Jack reached the door, Sinclair called after him. “By the way, you know the judicial appointment that twit in the governor’s office talked to you about? Well, that’s off the table now. Tough break.” Sinclair turned away and reached for the phone.
How in God’s name had Sinclair known about that?
Chapter 12
June 16
3:00 p.m.
JACK HAD FOUND plenty of work to do during the couple of days after his meeting with Sinclair, but he now had only one client who mattered, Palmer Industries. Until he could meet the Palmer brothers, he felt like he was treading water. Finally, the call had come to join Sinclair in his office.
Minutes after Jack seated himself in Sinclair’s office, Mrs. Pounders entered and announced quietly, “Sir, Mr. Arthur Palmer and Mr. Edward Palmer have arrived.”
She was a buxom lady wearing a gray tailored blouse. Silver hair in a tight bun, Mrs. Pounders had the air of a woman who never used her first name. She looked only at Sinclair and paid no more attention to Jack than she would to a floor lamp.
Sinclair, from behind his desk, glanced at her over the top of his half-glasses. “Invite the gentlemen to join us.”
Arthur Palmer walked in first, keen eyes scanning the room like a hawk alert to the possibility of a pigeon within reach. An expensive black suit failed to disguise his lanky frame. He nodded at Sinclair, squinted at Jack without a greeting, and strode directly to the great expanse of window-wall. “Storm coming,” he said sourly.
Edward came in smiling broadly, suit coat open, revealing a bulging belly. The crown of his head looked more than bald. It looked polished.
Sinclair stood and gestured toward Arthur. “Jack Strider, meet Arthur Palmer, head of Palmer Industries. His brother Edward here is Chief Financial Officer.”
Edward stepped up to pump Jack’s hand.
“Strider,” Arthur grunted and walked over to a long bookcase. When he pulled on the spine of a volume in a row of Pacific Law Reporters, a chest-high three-foot long section of false casebook covers swung out, revealing a well-stocked bar. “I need a damn drink,” he announced. Choosing Glenlivet, he poured a tall glass half-full, tossed in three ice cubes, looked at the glass, and fished one out.
Jack had inferred from reading the files that Arthur Palmer provided the high-octane energy that powered the corporate motor. Edward was the cautious mechanic who kept the motor tuned. Their need for legal counsel over the years had been similar to that of most major corporations except in one important way. The company had been cited repeatedly for violations of federal and state environmental protection laws and had paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees to defeat enforcement. They were environmental
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