While Justice Sleeps(18)
“Do we have an update on his condition?” inquired the woman, a budding mogul who operated one of the nation’s most profitable call centers. She’d devised a system that kept young Indians glued to telephones for twenty-four hours a day, all of whom spoke pitch-perfect flat Midwestern American English. Rumors claimed that her company would add Microsoft and Verizon to its clientele in less than a month, increasing her wealth exponentially.
Indira responded cautiously. “My intelligence reports that Justice Wynn’s condition is unchanged. The cause and likely length of his coma are unknown. That information is highly guarded, but I should know more by tomorrow.”
A wiry, middle-aged financier with a receding hairline and a skier’s tan pressed: “Explain what this will mean for the lawsuit. I understood from our last briefing that we were hopeful Justice Wynn would lean in our favor.”
“We were. We are,” she corrected smoothly. “His incapacity may have no bearing on the outcome.”
A man who had begun his rise to wealth by running rickshaws through the streets of Mumbai grumbled, “Or it may spell the end of this foolhardy endeavor. I objected to the acquisition of that accursed company and to our participation in this imprudent venture.”
“I heard no such objections to the rapid rise in our share price, Vinod.” The murmurs around the table whispered over Indira, who fixed her eyes on the man in Switzerland. “Indeed, the lovely yacht you purchased when the news of our ‘endeavor’ spiked the market is set to sail in a few weeks, no?”
Vinod huffed out a breath. “No one denies the economic benefits of the merger. Yet rather than the simple matter it was held out to be—”
“It has become more complicated,” Indira finished. A flicker passed between her and the man on-screen, and she continued: “Chairman Krishnakamur, we appreciate you joining us.”
The man nodded. “The news from Washington is quite disturbing. I too remain concerned about the wisdom of our merger with GenWorks. Our government’s refusal of his trade agreement did not sit well with President Stokes, and now we mock him by joining with a rival. He may prove volatile.”
“GenWorks is the only partner that has the patents and technology able to effectively market what we have developed in-house or acquired from Tigris. Moreover, it is precisely Nigel Cooper’s relationship with President Stokes that allows us leverage.” Indira inclined her head in acknowledgment of the assembled group. “We are not politicians. We are visionaries. I firmly believe that by combining our technological superiority with GenWorks’ pharmaceutical expertise, Advar will emerge as the most significant and substantial biotechnical corporation in the world. In economic terms, this could yield trillions when fully activated. While I share your caution, Chairman, I am loath to forfeit our position due to a shrill xenophobe of a president who is losing his own political support daily.”
“A xenophobe, perhaps, but still the most powerful politician on the earth,” he cautioned. “I would not underestimate President Stokes or his willingness to halt this merger. If this fails, his cronies will steal GenWorks, and we become a forgotten enterprise. Do not overestimate your brilliant maneuvers.”
She allowed herself a small wrinkle of annoyance, a visible but controlled reaction to admonishment. “I understand the stakes, Mr. Chairman.”
The man on-screen bent forward until his face filled the monitor, filled the room. “We do not have time for contemplative action. If Advar loses this fight, we lose our edge in the marketplace, and the consequences to our share price will be catastrophic. I expect you to take every necessary precaution against such a loss. Including resolving the unfinished business of Tigris.”
Quiet choruses of agreement surrounded Indira, who merely nodded once. Krishnakamur had performed as expected. As directed. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Chairman, board members. As the founder of Advar, I have a vested interest in not only its current success but its future prosperity. Thus, I have convened you to ask for your permission to take the following actions.” She met the somber eyes that surrounded her at the table. “There will be no recording of these minutes.”
SEVEN
Avery sat in her office, the door shut tight, the lights off. Her phone blinked with urgent messages, but she ignored the summons. Instead, she read again the bombshell spread across the surface of her desk. Justice Wynn’s notarized signature stared up from a declarations page. The final page in a terse document that conferred upon the bearer the ability to make all legal, financial, and health decisions for Howard Wynn.
The signature was authentic. She recognized the barely legible scrawl with its cramped H and miserly W. The letters in between jumbled together in a morass that left the actual words to the reader’s imagination.
January 28. The date he’d sat before a witness and signed over control to a woman he barely knew. Nearly five months ago. Avery clicked open her computer calendar for that day, but she knew what she’d find. Nothing out of the ordinary.
However, the Monday before it was a different matter. As had been that Sunday. The other time she’d been alone with Justice Wynn outside the office. Or nearly so, despite what she’d told Major Vance.
“Come on, Rita,” Avery had pleaded as she half carried, half dragged her drunken mother along the Metro platform.