Chance Encounter Ch. 03

"I believe you, Audrey," said Paul, "and if can help me, I'm going to try to do something about it. Where are the bogus drawings?"

"I don't know. On Grafton's last day I saw him looking for them, and he went crazy when he couldn't find them. The lawyers wanted them, too, because of the lawsuit, but they said that they would just print them from the CAD again. They said that the Dunn people would sign them, since we're co-defendants."

"I'll bet that a squirrel took them and stored them in his hutch like a bunch of acorns," Paul said.

"What? I don't get it!" Audrey looked at him quizzically.

"That squirrel has a name that you know well—Craig Morehead! I would bet a month's salary on it," said Paul.

Audrey put her hands to her face. "I never suspected Craig!" she gasped.

"Audrey, I have a meeting with Larry Wilton tomorrow and this subject is going to come up. Don't worry, I'm not going to tell him everything and your name won't surface— yet, anyway. Try to make yourself scarce tomorrow. Now, I'll tell you how you're going to get Morehead to cough up those bogus drawings."

Paul poured her another soda and they set about making their plans.

*********

The meeting the next morning started on time. The first thirty minutes were consumed by get acquainted chit-chat over coffee and Danish. In Paul's book, the meeting started thirty minutes late.

"Always delay bringing in the coffee and pastry until the meeting has been going for at least thirty minutes," he said to himself. It was a management axiom that he had learned years ago.

The meeting was held in Larry Wilton's office. Besides Larry Wilton and Paul, were Craig Morehead and two faceless lawyers working for the State of Illinois. Ted Wilson and Jim Spencer were there, too, having caught the early bird that morning. They all sat around an oblong table.

They reviewed the Complaint Document and commented on the various technical points contained in it.

"They've left this so open-ended that they could keep amending and filing for years," one of the state lawyers blurted out. Wilson agreed.

Larry Wilton asked on what grounds they thought that the suit could be settled.

"Wait!" said Paul in a loud, firm voice. "This has to be fought. If we don't it will be the template that they will use against us for all time, in every state in the Union. The permit process in Illinois will lose all credibility. I don't think that they're looking for a compromise. Hopkins has a free ride on the legal fees. He wants to keep milking the cow as long as he can."

"All the more reason to settle!" piped up one of the state lawyers.

"No," said Ted Wilson. "We have to fight, but we have to be smart at the same time. Let Hopkins think that we're running to him with a settlement. He'll have to say that he's willing to negotiate. That will cut him off from reinventing the suit over again. We just have to keep a lid on until we know exactly what we want to 'offer' him. It has to be credible. It will have to be cloaked in technical jargon to throw off the press."

"That's why you make the big money, Ted," Paul said after listening to Ted's analysis.

"The press could turn brutal." offered Wilton. "If they do, I'm not sure how long the Governor's office will stand up to it."

"That's your job!" Paul said in a voice tinged with anger. He regretted it immediately; he knew that he had made a mistake.

"You know a lot about my job, Paul," retorted Wilton. He, obviously, was recalling the tense phone call between them weeks ago over Grafton.

Larry Wilton was a man in his late fifties. He was taller and more slender than most men. He wore a moustache that was salt and pepper-colored, just like the hair on his head. He had the quiet demeanor of a college professor. As he sat at the head of the table one had the impression that he should have had a pipe in his hands, with all of the necessary tools for cleaning it and restuffing it with tobacco. He had, in fact smoked a pipe in the office until the no-smoking bans in state buildings made him dispense with it.

"I'm sorry, Larry. What I meant was 'who but you could handle it?'"

"I'm not sure that anyone can," he answered. "At least, for very long."

The subject turned to the missing drawings. Morehead suggested they use those stored in the state CAD. Paul could sign off on them. He would have them printed before he left today.

"I would like our own staff to generate any new drawings that we sign. I can have a full set on their way to you this afternoon." Paul said.

He looked around the room. Everyone was nodding in agreement, except Morehead, who was turning red.

"It's just a formality; you know, Company policy." Paul said, looking to soothe Morehead. "Look, why don't you use the drawings in your CAD as working copies to mark up?"

"Yes, yes. That would be fine," said Wilton.

"As a matter of fact, we should get a hard copy in your office right now," Paul said, turning to Wilton.

Wilton turned to Morehead. "Would you do that right now, Craig?"

As the participants filed out, Paul stayed behind. When he and Wilton were alone, he closed the door.

"We have to talk about Grafton, Larry."

"There's nothing to discuss until I have something more in my hands," Wilton said.

"You and I both know the score with him. You can't let him get away with it!" Paul demanded.

"I don't know anything—just suspicions. It's the same with you," countered Wilton.

"Well, Larry, you do know that you have a missing set of drawings that were the basis of delaying our permit, and you have an engineer asking me to sign something that no self- respecting engineer would ever sign. What do you think of that?" Paul's anger was rising.

Wilton folded has hands and cast his eyes down at them.

"I don't know what to think," He said meekly.

Paul's anger won out over his patience. The veins in his neck bulged and his face turned red. He thought of Glenda's suffering, of his own personal loss, the risks taken by Audrey Wright, of the plant in Peoria that should now be built and the workers who should have jobs there. Then he considered the indifference of the cowardly man in front of him.

Paul jumped to his feet and stretched his hands across the table to support his weight. It made Wilton look up. Paul thrust his face into Wilton's so that their noses were only an inch apart.

"I'll tell you what I think, Larry," he yelled at the top of his hoarse voice. "I think that you should grow a pair of balls. Then you won't have to be ashamed of yourself and this foul agency. Do yourself that favor!"

There was a long silence. Paul stood up straight.

"You can't talk to me like that!" said Wilton, in a voice so low that Paul could barely hear it.

"I just did!" said Paul, now a little more restrained.

"Bring me evidence," Wilton mumbled.

"Count on it!" Paul said, and strode out of the office.

Ted Wilson and Jim Spencer were waiting outside Wilton's office.

"They want to take use to lunch," Ted told him.

"Go if you want to. I'm catching a cab to the airport." Paul answered.

**********

TO BE CONTINUED

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Dear Readers,

Thanks for reading "Chance Encounter". I hope that you enjoyed the story so far. As always, I welcome your comments.

Autumn Writer