Figures, she thought. You pretty much had to know the exact label of the file before the computer would recognize the search. The process defeated the whole idea of a search. Sheila knew just enough about computers to get by. This wasn’t working. Frustrated, she attempted one last-ditch effort and went into the company’s financial records. She was grasping at straws at this point, but any information could be useful. The computer asked for her password. She typed in her password and waited. The computer told her that she was not authorized to access this file, meaning she could not use her own password. The only people authorized to access this kind of information would be the head honchos. But Sheila had the password to end all passwords: she had the CEO’s entrance key. She knew this information might come in handy when she had been sitting on Charles’s lap, driving him into a heated frenzy. Sheila typed the word “money” into the computer and was granted access into the file.
Spending the next two hours deciphering the information, Sheila learned more than she had bargained for. She knew that the marketing of Suprame had been a crime scene in the making, but she had no idea how strapped the company had become. This drug was their only hope of keeping the company going. The amount of debt they had gotten themselves into was staggering. Sheila assumed that they had done whatever they had to do to buy themselves the extra time. Suprame was supposed to have been on the shelves months ago. But with the added research requirement, Dominex had hocked themselves up to their proverbial eyeballs.
There was something else. A two-point-five million dollar expense was listed dating to a time just after the research study had begun. Sheila was not an expert about the company’s expenses, and certainly there would be no red flags raised at this kind of money changing hands. Large corporations always had large expenditures. Still, she felt that this was unusual timing especially since the company had already been strapped for money by that point.
Wait until Jerry sees this. Sheila clicked on “File,” and then clicked on “Print.” The computer indicated that the report was thirty-five pages long. After checking to see that she had enough paper to support this, she clicked on “OK.” The printer began to hum as it churned out the report and Sheila began to sing, “Money, it’s a gas." Pink Floyd would have been proud.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Paul Pratt returned to Dominex and told his secretary to get Wendy Cox from the AJC on the phone. There was only one thing Pratt loved more than the fight itself and that was going into battle with the right weapon. “She’s on line three," Pratt’s secretary called out. Pratt sat at his desk and picked up the phone.
“How’s it going?" Paul said happily.
“Peachy," Cox replied. “What can I do for you?"
“Well, actually, the question is what can I do for you?"
Wendy did not ask for an explanation. She knew one was forthcoming, so she simply clutched the receiver tighter and waited.
“I think I can save the paper a whole lot of time and frustration."
“Really?" Wendy said sarcastically, “I didn’t realize that was a major concern of yours."
Paul Pratt ignored the jab and continued.
“I have an affidavit from someone who knows your boy, Brian Carter, very well.
Cox sat up in her chair and said, “Go on."
“Seems Mr. Carter has a long history of imaginary illness and doctor grievances."
“That’s crap," Cox said angrily. “I know the man personally and your source is feeding you a pile of crap."
“Well, the pile of crap is signed and witnessed," Paul said cheerfully. “We’re willing to burn this document if we can come to some kind of agreement."
“You’re kidding," Cox laughed. “I could get someone to say that the sun is green, but then I’d have to return them to the nut house before curfew."
“Oh this witness is quite sane," Pratt retorted. “We’re looking at a full retraction and, oh, I’d say ten thousand in damages."
“And tell me," Cox said. “Who should the judge charge with perjury?"
“At the moment, that’s confidential."
“Very convenient," Cox remarked. “And this whole conversation is very encouraging." Pratt remained silent. “This confidential and bogus affidavit of yours is the act of a very desperate company."
“Or," Pratt offered, “it’s completely legitimate and your story has no basis. That’s slander, isn’t it?"
“See you in court next week," Cox announced and hung up the phone.
Wendy Cox was used to mudslinging and every other kind of dirty lawyer tactic, but dealing with Pratt made her want to take a shower. Brian had been with the paper for years. He had come in with the flu and numerous other illnesses that would have laid down the best of them. He’d never complained and often times even tried to mask the fact that he was sick. “Imaginary illness," she spat under her breath, “that’s such crap." She was going to have to tell everyone involved about this new development, including Brian. She wasn’t looking forward to informing him that someone who was close enough to be credible had turned against him.
She picked the phone up and dialed Brian’s home number. Brian answered after the first ring. “Hey, good news," he said, when he realized who was calling. “Terry Sanders’s wife is willing to come on board."
“That’s great news," Cox said, attempting to sound cheerful. “But listen, I think we have another problem."
“It’s always something."
Wendy gave him the details of her call with Dominex’s attorney.
“Who would make a statement like that?" Brian asked in alarm.
“So far, that’s confidential," Cox sighed. “But you can bet whoever it was got paid well for their signature."
“Pam," Brian said with contempt.
“You’re wife?" the attorney asked incredulously. “Would she really do that?"
“You don’t know Pam. If it had a large enough price tag attached to it, she’d sell out her own mother."
Wendy did not want to comment on his choice of soul mate, and didn’t really know what to say at this point.
“I’m sorry," Cox offered.
“It’s okay," Brian sighed. “Sometimes it takes a crisis before people show their true colors. I think I knew it all along, but it was easier to work sixteen hours a day. Amazing how well that works."
Cox just shook her head. That explained why he would come into work with a temperature of one hundred and three. Brian had been a man driven by his need for distraction.
“Listen," Wendy offered, “that bogus document will not hold up in court and I doubt seriously that the judge will allow her to remain anonymous. When that happens, she will have to face you directly. And if she thinks she can just disappear at that point, she is sadly misinformed.”
Brian did not respond. He was too busy absorbing the reality of his marriage.
“More than likely Pam has been promised anonymity," the attorney continued. “Paul Pratt would have promised her the ability to fly for some damaging evidence. He knew he couldn’t promise her anything, and if the judge demands that they reveal her identity it will be her ass on the line, not Dominex. They will simply say they were proceeding with what they were told was the truth."
“She never did think too clearly when she saw dollar signs," Brian said.
“This time, she could have gotten more than she bargained for," Wendy stated. “Perjury is a very serious charge."
Brian did not feel sorry for her. The harder he had wished for Pam’s sense of humanity to overtake her dark side, the faster she had spiraled downward. He could no longer justify his loyalty to a marriage that was so self-destructive that he had turned to sedatives to survive.
“Let’s force the issue," Brian announced.
“Maybe you should take some time to calm down."
“I’m calm," Brian told her. “But for once she needs to feel the consequences of her own actions."
Wendy sat doodling on a scrap piece of paper. She had drawn a noose hanging a stick figure.
“She could fry for this," she interjected.
Brian did not offer any protest.
“Okay," the attorney sighed. “I’ll press the issue with the judge when the time comes. In the meantime, we will need to conduct our own psych eval."
“Just give me the time and place and I’ll be there," Brian stated adamantly.
“Hang in there kid," Wendy said consolingly, and drew a dark red X over the stick figure.
Brian was sitting on the front porch of the Freeman house. The house was modest in size, but it rested on five wooded acres at the end of a cul-de-sac. There were several oversized rocking chairs overlooking blooming azalea bushes and Bradford pear trees. The scene was beautiful and peaceful. But Brian was having a hard time making peace with the world.
Carol returned with glasses of ice tea and took the seat next to Brian. She’d been informed about Pam’s recent stunt over the phone and told him to come right over. She did not say anything. She wanted to give him time to sort things out. Brian rocked back and forth, staring into space.
Finally, he looked at Carol and said, “I keep on trying to do the right thing." Carol nodded her understanding. “I mean, that’s all I have ever done. Be the responsible employee, be the loving husband, be a standup guy against a greedy drug company, and where has it gotten me?" Carol did not offer an answer. It was a rhetorical question. “Addicted to a sedative and defending my sanity in court."
Carol reached out and patted him on his shoulder.
“I have something for you," she offered, and got up to go back inside. Brian continued to rock and stare off into the woods.
Carol returned with a thick business size envelope. “This won’t fix your problem with Pam," she said, handing him the envelope, “but it might help with some of the other issues."
Brian opened it and stared back at her in disbelief.
“Is this what I think it is?"
Carol nodded and said, “They paid me in cash. Can you believe that?"
Brian started counting the one-thousand-dollar bills.
“I have never held so much money in my hand before."
“It’s a little frightening," Carol agreed, “but I have no reason to hold on to your half until after the paper resolves the lawsuit now. There’s no record of the payoff."
Brian finished counting the money and sighed loudly.
“You’re right," he said. “It doesn’t help with the Pam issue." Brian turned and looked Carol in the eye. “Why is she doing this?"
Carol did not have a ready-made answer. She had not liked the woman from the moment she’d met her. Carol did not understand people who were driven by self- centeredness. They remained forever hidden behind a wall that no one could penetrate. Reason and human kindness could never reach them.
“I don’t know," she said. “People are the way they are for a lifetime of reasons. The only way to understand them is to share their thoughts and memories. Some people will reveal enough of themselves to allow that kind of connection. I think the ones who won’t are too wounded."
“So you’re saying that Pam feels wounded?"
“It’s a possibility," Carol said. “Counselors are not psychics. Without confirmation from her, it’s only a theory."
“Not exactly a science, is it?"
“If psychology were an exact science," Carol said, “all of the broken people in world would have been healed a long time ago."
Brian held up the envelope containing the payoff money from Dominex. “I don’t know if this makes up for the constant buzzing inside my head, but at least I can keep my house from going into foreclosure."
“That’s the whole idea I guess."
Brian stared down at the ground. He didn‘t want her to see the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes.
“How long is this going to last?" he asked. It was not a casual question. It was the most primary thought of a sedative victim. They were people who were literally walking through a desert in need of water and the only thing on the horizon was more desert.
Carol did not want to give him a stock answer. He deserved something more. “I’ve been trying to find out the same thing. There is so little information available out there. I’m amazed at how little the medical community knows about the effect of long-term sedative use, considering how long this poison has been on the market." Brian continued to look at the ground, trying to regain his composure. “The only source I have found," Carol continued, “is a group of websites created by recovering sedative victims. From what I have been able to gather from them, the average recovery time is six months to two years."
“Two years?" Brian repeated incredulously. “I can’t even imagine being this sick for two years."
“Well, supposedly the intensity begins to lift gradually and we get ‘windows’ of normalcy.”
“That’s a very long time to be incapacitated," Brian interjected.
“It’s unthinkable," she agreed, “but it is our reality." Carol looked at Brian. He seemed to be hanging on to the arms of the chair to keep from fading away.
This whole experience had shown her a side of life she had never known existed. For all of its victims, sedative withdrawal had not just been a horrendous illness. It had also robbed them of their dignity and their identity. It was not only the loss of one’s ability to think and function, it was also the loss of that which had made them who they were. Carol did not fully understand the void she felt. It was her spirit, or perhaps her soul that felt empty. The spark that had made her who she was was missing. She continued each day to be Carol from memory only.
People who did not understand – or worse, believe – that sedative withdrawal could cause such devastation were quick to abandon ship. She had been fortunate. She had worked with other counselors and had an understanding companion. But she had read so many stories from those who had not been as fortunate. Some of the victims were even in the throes of divorce because the illness had forced them to need more than an unsuspecting spouse was willing give. She could not imagine her own current experience combined with the ridicule and abandonment of the outside world. Brian was carrying that burden.
“You can stay with us if you like," Carol offered.
Brian shook his head, and said, “Thanks, I appreciate that. But I don’t want her to know that I’m on to her."
“Really? What are you planning to do?"
Brian thought for a moment.
“Trap her in her own manipulative little world. She thinks she will be able to pull this off. I plan to let her try."
“Whoa," was all Carol could say. Brian nodded in agreement.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jerry stood with his arms folded and said, “I thought we agreed that you would stay out of the spy business."
“I didn’t do anything dangerous," Sheila said defensively.
“What if someone had walked in while you were stealing company files?"
“No one did," she argued, “and besides, before you decided to be my body guard I was in this alone, remember?"
“Unfortunately, I do," Jerry said, feeling his foothold in the argument fading away. “So what did you find out?"
Sheila laid the pages out on the kitchen table, and said, “Check this out."
Jerry sat down and began reading Dominex’s financial report. Sheila went off t
o the refrigerator to negotiate dinner. “This is incredible," Jerry called out.
“Isn’t it though?" Coming back to the table, Sheila said, “They are in debt up to their eyeballs. If this drug doesn’t hit the market soon, they are going to have to file bankruptcy."
“What an arrogant way to do business."
“That’s Charles Roman," Sheila said. “The most arrogant person alive."
“It appears as though arrogance will be his demise," he interjected.
“I still don’t know how they plan to pull this off," Sheila said. “They certainly seem confident about the outcome."
“We just have to wait and see."
Sheila looked off into the distance and said, “I don’t play the waiting game very well."
“Sheila," Jerry stated adamantly, “whatever you’re planning, the answer is no."
Sheila looked at Jerry with a confused expression. She had never had anyone tell her no before.
“You knew that I was committed to this from the beginning. Meeting you hasn’t changed that."
Jerry cleared his throat and said, “I meant whatever you’re planning better include me."
“That’s better," she said and put her arms around him. “Besides, you said this was the most interesting your life has ever been."
Jerry rolled his eyes at her.
“Did I say that?"
Sheila nodded. “I have a feeling it’s about to get less interesting and a little more terrifying."
Sheila did not want to share her plan with Jerry, but she really had no choice in the matter. The alternative would have required lying to him. She sat down next to him at the table and looked him square in the eye. “Tomorrow’s Friday," she announced.
“See, this is why I love you," Jerry interjected. “You keep such good track of time."
Sheila hit him lightly on the top of his head.
“Come on," she coaxed, “try to stay with me. Everyone leaves early on Fridays."
“I feel a nightmare coming on."
“They think we have abandoned our mission, so we might just get lucky and stumble on something.”