Imploded Lives

Chapter Three – Kevin Roper

Chapter Three – Kevin RoperNineteen Days Before

At 10:30 a.m., the phone rang and Kevin Roper hit a button and said, “Roper.”

“Hi, Mr. Roper. Ashley Gibbons here.”

“Hi, Ashley.”

“Mr. Eaton and the executive board would like to meet with you now if you can be available.”

“What's the status of the negotiation?” Roper asked.

“The Veritable team has been left in the conference room pending our discussion with you. Mr. Eaton instructed me to keep them there until he meets with you. How soon can you be here?”

Roper considered and said, “I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Great,” Gibbons said. “We will leave word downstairs that you are to be taken to the Chairman's suite as soon as you check in.”

“Fine. On my way,” Roper said and hung up. He sat back in his seat and grinned. This was going to be interesting. He ran a hand through his short, black hair, and pushed his glasses back on his nose. He looked part accountant and part professor—handsome in a nerdy kind of way. His appearance was Clark Kent meets Chris Isaak. At thirty-seven, he had already discovered success in an independent and entrepreneurial way.

Roper grabbed the file he needed for the meeting. He turned off the playlist as Asia's “Holy War” was beginning and looked around the office. It occurred to him that the corporate battles he inhabited were “Holy Wars” in their own way, with big stakes and corporate careers on the line. He grabbed his jacket from the hanger behind the door and raced through the unoccupied reception suite to the bank of elevators. He loved his office because he made it just what he wanted it to be. Inside the double glass doors was a large, well-furnished and uninhabited reception suite, two conference rooms each having three computers on long conference tables, and Roper's private office, complete with fireplace. The reception suite was simply a large room he passed through coming and going, with two desks and no occupants. It was simply a buffer between him and the outside world. He had plenty of space in what had once been an executive condo, and he had no need for employees. Besides, if employees knew what he did, they would put him, and potentially themselves, at risk. So what Roper did, he did alone. After one try at marriage that lasted only a year, he was unattached at age thirty-nine. His life was as he had designed it. He was free to date, to have fun and to work eighty hours a week without guilt.

Roper made his way downtown and parked in a reserved space under the building. He walked into the massive three-story lobby of the latest glass and steel monolith on Fifth Street in downtown Los Angeles, the upper fourteen floors of which were occupied by Bryant International. As he walked toward the desk, a uniformed security officer and a man in a suit stood next to the security desk ready to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Roper,” the young man greeted, extending a hand. “I'm Mike Sanchez, Mr. Eaton's assistant.”

“Mr. Sanchez,” Roper responded, shaking the hand.

“If you'll follow me, sir. I'll take you to the private elevator that is waiting.”

Roper followed the man down a corridor and around a corner to where a woman waited by a large gold and glass elevator.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cole,” Roper said, greeting the woman.

“Hi, Mr. Roper,” the thirtyish brunette said softly. “They are waiting for you.” They climbed into the elevator and the woman turned a key and pushed the button at the top, which simply said 'Penthouse.' They rode silently for the twenty-five seconds it took to climb fifty- three floors. As they stepped out of the elevator, Ms. Cole said, “Let's take the short cut.” He gestured that she should lead the way and then followed her through double doors of smoky glass. They turned down a narrow corridor and walked to an unmarked door at its end. A code box and card reader were mounted beside the door. She ran a card through the card reader and then punched a series of numbers into a code box. She lifted the handle and they were in a back corner of Jack Eaton's private reception area. Roper followed her past three desks and into a conference room with a massive oak table that would have seated forty people. The room was currently occupied by seven people, a couple of whom Roper had met. The rest were strangers to him.

From the end of the table a man in his late fifties, with white hair swept back, stood to greet him. As he smiled, Jack Eaton greeted him, “Kevin, thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure,” Roper said.

“Please, come down and sit here,” Eaton said, gesturing to a chair that awaited him adjacent to Eaton's.

Roper shook Eaton's hand and sat down. The faces around the room regarded him with anticipation, waiting silently for Eaton to lead the conversation.

Eaton swung his chair to face Kevin directly. He smiled and said, “So, it looks like you've done it again. Tell me what you've got.”

Roper opened his file, pulled out a couple of documents, and laid them in front of him. He said, “Your team let me know that during your negotiations Veritable stated that its subsidiary, Monarch Industries, no longer had issues with potential liability for the way it has been disposing of its two controversial solvents, right?”

“Affirmative,” Eaton said. “That's what they represented and we haven't found anything to the contrary.”

“Well,” Roper said grinning, “you will. They are not exactly being forthright with you.” He handed Eaton the first of the documents in front of him. “This is the notice to Monarch Industries that a full government investigation is now underway. It is dated two weeks ago.” He handed the document to Eaton and waited.

Eaton shook his head as he read. “Those bastards,” he muttered.

“And there is one more important document,” Roper said, passing the second document. “Here is an email from legal counsel at Monarch advising executives that this investigation will be extensive and is likely to consume several months to a year. Note that the addressees include top execs at Veritable as well as Monarch, so it will be hard for them to suggest that they were unaware of these developments.”

Eaton silently reviewed the document and then said, “Holy s**t. Two of the addressees on this email are in the conference room down the hall right now.” He looked to the elegant looking woman on his left. “Theresa, can your team put together an analysis of costs, including PR, staffing costs, fines and corrective actions costs.”

“You got it, Jack,” the woman said, taking the documents and walking toward the door.

As Theresa walked out, Ms. Cole appeared at the door. “The visitors are inquiring about how much longer they need to wait,” she said.

Eaton smiled. “I'd like to say until hell freezes over, but just send in sandwiches and tell them we will be with them as soon as possible. Thank them for their patience.”

Ms. Cole nodded, spun and moved out of the room.

“Any questions?” Eaton asked the other executives in the room.

There was a moment of silence, and then a bald man sitting five seats from Roper responded. “Kevin, I'm Bob Timmons. My question is, how sure are we about the information you've provided?”

“Mr. Timmons, I would say as close to one hundred percent as you can be about anything. I mean, these are documents that Veritable and Monarch created.”

“Any other questions?” Eaton posed.

“Yes,” said a thin man with hair only above his ears and large dark-rimmed glasses, “I have a question. How did you get this information?”

Roper glanced at Eaton, who looked angry. Roper just grinned. “Well, sir, I'm a researcher. Finding out things is what researchers do. Like reporters, I can't give up sources or my sources dry up.”

Eaton, perturbed by the last question said, “Okay, enough questions.” He looked at Roper and said, “I know I've offered this before, but if you ever change your mind, I'd love to have you come work for me. I will make you a hell of a deal.”

Roper smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Eaton, and if I ever decided to join an organization, it would likely be yours, but I am content right now.”

“Well keep us in mind and keep doing good work for us.”

“My pleasure, sir,” Roper said as he stood up. He waved to the room and then turned back to Eaton. “Let me know how this comes out, will you. I'd love to know if the Veritable deal is remade, and if so, what I've helped you save. And don't worry, your savings won't affect my price structure.”

Eaton said, “We will. And don't forget, I want you here full time. Think about a package that might persuade you to join us.”

“Thanks,” Roper said and headed out of the room thinking that this had been a pretty good day so far. Not only was he being courted by one more Fortune 500 company, he had made a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for about three weeks of work.

Roper had several other projects underway, and when he checked his phone found that a new corporate client had called during the meeting to tell him that they had some work they needed on a priority basis. The first time a client called, they always had the notion that they could call him today and he could do the work tomorrow. They were shocked to learn that he considered every assignment for one to two weeks before he would tell them if he would take it. It made no sense to them and he gave them no explanation. Without p*****t, he spent days evaluating how the assignment could be done, as well as the risk posed by the project. That analysis was critical. Kevin's work would be regarded by many as corporate espionage. It was a fascinating niche and there was no shortage of work, but he had to stay cautious. Not just cautious, but also invisible. If he was exposed, he never knew how far his corporate targets might go to get even. They might come after him through law enforcement or even more directly, as they also had the ability to work in the shadows. Every action creates an equal and opposite reaction. Newton's laws of physics were in play in the corporate world, and when your actions cost a company millions, that reaction could be quiet warfare.

Roper returned the call and began his initial inquiry. “Is this Joseph Barry?”

“Yes.”

“Kevin Roper returning your call. First, how did you get to me?” If there was no good answer to this question, the conversation went no further.

“We were referred by Michael Jefferies.”

“Okay. What assistance do you need?”

“We need to know if our technology has been stolen. Can you assist?”

“Maybe. I need more information. Can we meet tomorrow?”

“Earlier the better,” Barry said.

“How about 8:00 a.m.?

“That works. Tudor Tower, 53rd Floor. Someone will meet you in the lobby.”

“Please have materials available to show me the technology and the reasons you suspect it was stolen, Mr. Barry.”

“Done. See you then.”

As Roper hung up, he had the familiar feeling of excitement that came from operating on the edge. The excitement of the work and the fear of detection created an addictive high like no other.