Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(28)

“The only person who knows for sure how many victims there are is Brad Matthews. You, or I, or we have to talk to him to find out. And while we’re at it, ask him to kindly stop adding to the list. Think about how you want to handle that one.”

“All right, I’ll call you in a couple days on one of these damn phones. Now, get out.”

Sherman watched Carter exit the car and walk toward the front doors of the station. He thought about the value of the stock that would be awarded to him when the company went public and slammed on the gas pedal, sending the car barreling from the parking area.





32





It was an act of will for Sherman to keep close to the speed limit as he drove the three miles home from the Greenwich train station. He needed to get on his computer. He cursed himself for the way he had screeched the tires in the parking lot. A moment after he slowed, a police cruiser had come around the corner. He was in no mood for a confrontation with a cop.

I’m placing my whole career in the hands of this Carter guy, and I don’t know a damn thing about him, he thought. He remembered the name of a detective agency a friend had used when he suspected, correctly, that his wife was having an affair. Caught in the act, she had agreed to a much more reasonable divorce settlement in exchange for keeping the affair quiet.

But if I have them investigate Carter, what am I hoping they’ll find? Does it really matter if he was the smartest or dumbest guy in his law school class? He must have a clean background or he never would have been hired by REL. I’m stuck with him, but can I trust him?

Sherman pulled into his garage and clicked the door closed behind him. He hurried through the den, where his wife was on the couch reading a magazine. “Are you finished exercising already?” she asked without looking up.

Not wanting to bother with her questions, he did what he found himself doing more often. Without answering, he just kept going into his office and closed the door behind him.

Please be different from the way I remember it, he pleaded as he searched for the emails sent to him by Frederick Carlyle, Jr. He scanned past the more recent ones until he landed on the one he was looking for. In the subject line Carlyle had written: Just between us.

Sherman tapped it open.

Dick, A young associate producer spoke to me today. She claims she had a me-too encounter with Brad Matthews in his office. Her description was graphic. I told her I’d look into it. How do you want to handle? Fred



Sherman clasped his fingers together behind his head. He looked at the date of the email to confirm what he already knew. It had landed in his inbox when his attorney was completing the negotiation on his latest contract. His retirement severance would be thirty million dollars. That number could double if a rumored IPO ever came to fruition. Sixty million dollars. Mega-rich! Even if he dumped his wife and gave her half of it, he’d still have plenty to live the way he wanted to in retirement.

But now everything was up in the air. Three months had elapsed since he had received the email from Junior. The age-old question: What did he know and when did he know it?

They’ll crucify me for letting so much time go by, he told himself.





33





Michael Carter was barely aware of the gentle clacking of the train on the tracks as he rode back to Grand Central Terminal. He glanced down at the legal pad in front of him. His To Do list filled the top sheet. It all felt surreal.

It would have been wrong to say he’d been confident Sherman would approve his plan, even though there were good reasons for him to do so. What Carter hadn’t expected was the rush of exhilaration that he was experiencing knowing that the CEO of REL News had put the fate of the company in his hands.

The toughest case is always the first one. If he reached a settlement with Lauren Pomerantz—when I settle with Pomerantz, he chastised himself—he could use the lessons learned from that negotiation to help with the subsequent ones. There would be more. How many, he had no way of knowing. Sick puppies like Brad Matthews didn’t do this every once in a while, he thought. Matthews had power and access to so many vulnerable young women. With a little luck there’ll be plenty of victims, Carter thought, and plenty of work for me.

His time in the military had taught him that most outcomes are decided before the first shot is fired on the field of battle. The side with superior intelligence, the opponent with the knowledge advantage, almost always prevails. There was no doubt in his mind that Pomerantz, with that recording of her Matthews encounter in her back pocket, had the stronger hand to play in their upcoming negotiation. My best shot, he thought to himself, is to prevent her from realizing that she holds all the cards.

He opened his gym bag and removed Pomerantz’s personnel file. Glancing around, he could see that no one was within earshot on the mostly empty train.

After beginning to dial her cell on one of the burner phones, he paused, then clicked the phone off. She was already on edge. Why spook her by calling on an unavailable number?

Switching to his iPhone, he punched in her number. Midway through the third ring she answered in a soft, almost fragile voice.

“Lauren, this is Michael Carter. We spoke in my office last night. Before I say anything else, how are you doing?”

“What are you looking for me to say, Mr. Carter? That I’m doing great? Well, I’m not. I’m sure you’re not calling on a Saturday afternoon to inquire about my health. What do you want?”