that look like leaving the building two days ago?”
Four heads jerked forward. Four sets of eyes collectively gawked at the picture. The photo was slightly grainy and out of focus, but without question it was Mitch Walters, actually grinning stupidly at the cameraman as they passed on the sidewalk outside the entrance.
Grinning!
The last attempts at denial or phony innocence shot out the window. Why act any stupider than they already looked? Why issue more denials that were obvious lies? Walters was now staring down at the photo, dumbfounded, gaping in shock. How had they caught him? He wanted to sink into the woodwork and disappear.
Bellweather, now exuding anger, stared hard at Walters—how idiotic could he be, getting caught like that? He wanted to reach over and strangle the CEO.
Phil Jackson, the lawyer, reacted with the instinctive violence honed by decades of D.C. political brawls and scandals. “This proves nothing,” he yelled, on his feet and shaking his finger like a half-cocked pistol. “There are a million possible explanations. Nothing you’ve showed us will stand up in court. It’s all circumstantial conjecture,” he roared.
Jack relaxed back into his chair. He smiled pleasantly at Jackson. “You might be right, or you might be wrong, Phil. It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant.”
“Why’s that?” Haggar asked.
“What good would it do me to see you prosecuted? And if it were my intention to sue you, I wouldn’t be here tonight. My lawyer would, spewing threats and dropping subpoenas like confetti.”
“Okay.” Jackson dropped the finger and the bluster. He straightened his tie, struggling to conceal a considerable sense of irritation and relief. “Why are you here?”
“This is your last chance at this deal. As I said, others are offering twenty percent. I’ll be a billionaire inside three years, and I can live with that.” Jack paused before he added, “It won’t hurt to speed it up, though. Considering the circumstances, I thought you might see your way to up the ante another five percent.” Jack pointed at the picture and offered them a cool smile. “Call it the cost of getting caught. I think it’s a fair price, don’t you?”
“Are you threatening us?” Jackson asked, pinching his eyes together.
“Threatening is such an ugly world. Just say I’m adding a little more to the pot than I offered the others.”
“If you don’t mind, we have to talk,” Walters quickly intervened, avoiding the eyes of his three directors.
“Good idea.” Jack stood and adjusted his coat. “Five minutes, then I’m gone.” He picked up his horrible little suitcase filled withterrible things and looked perfectly ready to bolt. “I won’t be back after this, gentlemen. Remember, five minutes.”
The moment the door closed, Jackson snapped at Bellweather and Walters, “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to walk into such a simple trap.”
“It worked before,” Walters insisted weakly, knowing full well how dumb that sounded.
“Yeah, and it worked great this time, too—for him, you fool.”
“Think he was expecting this?” Haggar asked, pointing at the picture. Good question, and everyone stopped to consider it. Was it possible? Was Jack Wiley really that clever? Or were they just that clumsy and dumb?
“No, no way,” Bellweather eventually responded with his typical sense of certainty. “He’s zealous about security. A lot of people are. He has some nice things in his house and added a few extra layers of protection. He got lucky, and our boys made some sloppy mistakes. Why, what do you think?”
“Maybe you’re right. Either way, you underestimated him.”
Walters preferred not to dwell on that inarguable sentence and switched instead to the prominent question that was occupying all their minds. Facing Jackson, he asked, “Could he make a convincing legal case out of this?”
“No, not a chance. Not on the evidence he just described. He could embarrass
Four heads jerked forward. Four sets of eyes collectively gawked at the picture. The photo was slightly grainy and out of focus, but without question it was Mitch Walters, actually grinning stupidly at the cameraman as they passed on the sidewalk outside the entrance.
Grinning!
The last attempts at denial or phony innocence shot out the window. Why act any stupider than they already looked? Why issue more denials that were obvious lies? Walters was now staring down at the photo, dumbfounded, gaping in shock. How had they caught him? He wanted to sink into the woodwork and disappear.
Bellweather, now exuding anger, stared hard at Walters—how idiotic could he be, getting caught like that? He wanted to reach over and strangle the CEO.
Phil Jackson, the lawyer, reacted with the instinctive violence honed by decades of D.C. political brawls and scandals. “This proves nothing,” he yelled, on his feet and shaking his finger like a half-cocked pistol. “There are a million possible explanations. Nothing you’ve showed us will stand up in court. It’s all circumstantial conjecture,” he roared.
Jack relaxed back into his chair. He smiled pleasantly at Jackson. “You might be right, or you might be wrong, Phil. It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant.”
“Why’s that?” Haggar asked.
“What good would it do me to see you prosecuted? And if it were my intention to sue you, I wouldn’t be here tonight. My lawyer would, spewing threats and dropping subpoenas like confetti.”
“Okay.” Jackson dropped the finger and the bluster. He straightened his tie, struggling to conceal a considerable sense of irritation and relief. “Why are you here?”
“This is your last chance at this deal. As I said, others are offering twenty percent. I’ll be a billionaire inside three years, and I can live with that.” Jack paused before he added, “It won’t hurt to speed it up, though. Considering the circumstances, I thought you might see your way to up the ante another five percent.” Jack pointed at the picture and offered them a cool smile. “Call it the cost of getting caught. I think it’s a fair price, don’t you?”
“Are you threatening us?” Jackson asked, pinching his eyes together.
“Threatening is such an ugly world. Just say I’m adding a little more to the pot than I offered the others.”
“If you don’t mind, we have to talk,” Walters quickly intervened, avoiding the eyes of his three directors.
“Good idea.” Jack stood and adjusted his coat. “Five minutes, then I’m gone.” He picked up his horrible little suitcase filled withterrible things and looked perfectly ready to bolt. “I won’t be back after this, gentlemen. Remember, five minutes.”
The moment the door closed, Jackson snapped at Bellweather and Walters, “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to walk into such a simple trap.”
“It worked before,” Walters insisted weakly, knowing full well how dumb that sounded.
“Yeah, and it worked great this time, too—for him, you fool.”
“Think he was expecting this?” Haggar asked, pointing at the picture. Good question, and everyone stopped to consider it. Was it possible? Was Jack Wiley really that clever? Or were they just that clumsy and dumb?
“No, no way,” Bellweather eventually responded with his typical sense of certainty. “He’s zealous about security. A lot of people are. He has some nice things in his house and added a few extra layers of protection. He got lucky, and our boys made some sloppy mistakes. Why, what do you think?”
“Maybe you’re right. Either way, you underestimated him.”
Walters preferred not to dwell on that inarguable sentence and switched instead to the prominent question that was occupying all their minds. Facing Jackson, he asked, “Could he make a convincing legal case out of this?”
“No, not a chance. Not on the evidence he just described. He could embarrass
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