Bitter Business

Cheryl did because Stephen thought that she went well with the Art Deco decor.
    Stephen did not come to the meeting—it was lawyers only—but he caught me in the hall before I went in and drew me around the comer, away from the attorneys for the Swiss. I stood against the wall between two abstract paintings that I particularly disliked. Stephen rested one of his massive hands on my shoulder and I felt overwhelmed by the sheer size of him.
    “Cheryl told me that another woman died at Superior Plating. What happened?”
    “Nobody knows. It might have been some sort of industrial accident.”
    “Are you okay?”
    “I’m hanging in there,” I assured him, wondering whether it was concern for me, or for the negotiations with Gordimer, that had prompted the question.
    “Come home with me tonight,” he said, dropping his voice to one notch above a whisper, his baritone so deep that some of the softer notes got lost. “I’ll make you dinner.”
    “I can’t,” I answered with real regret. “I’m flying down to Georgia for Dagny Cavanaugh’s funeral. But I’ll be back in time for the party for Grandma Prescott.”
    “Promise?”
    “Promise.”
     
    * * *
     
    I was deep into a mind-numbing conversation about the relative capital depreciation structures of the United States and Switzerland when Stephen’s secretary slipped me a note to call my office. I excused myself and ducked into a small room that had been set up with a desk and phone for just such occasions.
    “I’m sorry to bother you, Kate,” said Cheryl, who’d obviously been waiting for my call, “but I’ve got some guy named Cliff Schaeffer on the phone. He says that he’s Lydia Cavanaugh’s attorney and he will not take no for an answer. He says it’s urgent and he absolutely has to speak to you.”
    “Can you connect him or do I have to call him back?”
    “I think the switchboard here can connect you. Hang on.” I waited through dead air and a series of clicks before a male voice bellowed, “Schaeffer here.”
    “Hi, Cliff. It’s Kate Millholland. What’s the crisis?”
    “The first round of documents that Superior Plating is required to furnish to my client under section eleven-eight of the Illinois Shareholder Protection Act were due on my desk at nine o’clock this morning. I have no choice but to interpret their nondeliverance as a sign of bad faith on your part.”
    “Hold your horses, Cliff. First of all, I don’t think that ‘nondeliverance’ is actually a word. Second, I don’t know how closely you’ve been in contact with your client, but in case you haven’t heard, her sister died on Wednesday.”
    “I fail to see what that has to do with it.”
    “Well, for one thing, Dagny Cavanaugh was the chief financial officer of Superior Plating and Specialty Chemicals, and since most of the documents were in her safekeeping, I’d say that her death slows things down a bit.”
    “Don’t tell me she was the only one who knew how to work the photocopier,” Schaeffer snapped sarcastically. Lydia’s attorney had a reputation for being a hyperactive pit bull of an advocate, a man whose glaring personality defects were only justified by his ability to get results. He was pugnacious, argumentative, and suffered from an inflated opinion of his own skills, and I was in no mood to take his shit.
    “Don’t pull this plaintiffs lawyer crap with me, Schaeffer,” I hissed. His indignation may have been an act designed to rile me, but there was nothing artificial about my anger. “I won’t get into the gutter with you. In the end you’ll be in the dirt all by your little self. I’m going to say this really slowly so that I’m sure you understand. Dagny’s death is going to slow things down. If you don’t think your client can live with that, I suggest you call her and ask her. But I’d do it soon. She leaves at four o’clock to fly to Georgia for the funeral.”
    “For your information, Ms. Millholland,” he said, dragging the first syllable out until it sounded like a buzz saw, “I just got off the phone with my client ten minutes ago and she says that if you try to use her sister’s death as an excuse to delay production of the information we’ve requested, she wants me to file suit. Now, would you like me to repeat that for you slowly, or did you get it the first time?”
     
    I found Ken Kurlander giving shorthand to his secretary in a voice that carried the seriousness of a benediction. He made a great