Synergy

By Tom Spears

Vice President of Corporate Development at Andax Corporation, Joan Priest, is trusted by management to negotiate and close delicate deals that add significant growth and profits to the company.
But Joan has a secret -- one that she fears will be revealed, turning her life upside down.
Andax is in the midst of a succession race, structured with two "Co-CEOs," one of which will ultimately succeed retiring Oskar Christoffersen.
While Joan is in Brazil, things go from bad to worse. Her boss' body is found -- the victim of an apparent suicide. There's a suicide note, and Priest learns her name is prominently featured.
If she returns to the United States, she'll likely be arrested. And while she had nothing to do with Hamister's death, she knows her secret will come out -- an unacceptable outcome.
So Joan Priest, alone and virtually without resources in Brazil, decides to run.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Spears
• Release date: Sep 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310532306

Tom Spears

Tom Spears earned a Bachelors of Science degree in Engineering from Purdue University, and a Masters in Business Administration from Harvard University. He spent twenty-seven years working for four U.S. based public Corporations. During fifteen of those years he held a title of President or Group President. Tom retired from his last Group President position in 2010 to pursue his interest in writing fiction. He still consults occasionally, having expertise in manufacturing, engineering, pricing, strategy and corporate politics. Tom lives with his wife and six children in Ashland, Nebraska.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Donald Hamister’s hand was shaking as he signed his name to the bottom of the page.

His suicide note.

Hamister stood up from the desk chair and gazed at his reflection in a mirrored plaque on the wall of his home office – a memento from a Goldman Sachs acquisition more than a decade old. He looked the part of a successful business executive at the height of his power – late forties, tall, ruddy of face, with gray just creeping into the temples of a full head of chocolate-brown hair.

He even had the business and management skills to go with the appearance, making him the real deal. Hamister had known throughout the course of his career that he was destined to be a captain of industry. He’d finally made it – at least after a fashion, that is.

It would be a damned shame to mess up everything he had spent a lifetime achieving with a bullet, but that was precisely what he planned to do.

Within a few, short hours.

He never heard of something quite this crazy, except in the movies – killing himself to protect both his reputation and his family. Death was what his mystery caller had demanded.

He hadn’t recognized the voice, but he was pretty certain he could guess the man’s employer. The problem was Hamister didn’t have a shred of proof about their scheme. They certainly had everything they needed to make him look guilty as hell – even if he wasn’t directly involved in any wrong-doing.

At first he thought the call was some kind of sick joke. He’d hung up on the man once. But the second time, he listened long enough to realize they had plenty of evidence – both real and phony – to ruin him. If he didn’t submit to the caller’s demands, it would mean shame, financial ruin, eventual jail time, and possibly even divorce. It would also mean the destruction of everything he had labored so hard to achieve.

He initially laughed at the suggestion that he kill himself. That was until he examined the proof the extortionist deposited in a Dropbox account – emails, texts, photos, financial records – plenty of smoke to convince anyone there was fire.

That had been the end of thinking there was anything amusing about the situation. And he wouldn’t be the only one to go down, either.

Hamister was in no position to argue. He had known about the missing money for some time and had already been quietly trying to figure out who was behind the theft. The call had ended that particular mystery but, unfortunately, it also pointed the finger directly at him and his most trusted subordinate. There was plenty of convincing evidence of their participation in a scheme to embezzle millions from Andax Corporation – enough evidence that nobody, not even his wife, Autumn, would believe his claims of innocence.

Hell, his mother would have most likely convicted him, had she still been alive to sit on his jury.

No matter how many ways he tried to think of a way out, there appeared to be no alternative to giving the caller exactly what he wanted. If he didn’t do the deed himself, his enemy promised he would arrange for a professional to take care of it. The man then implied he might just have the pro move on Autumn and the girls, too, making it a package deal.

Sick son-of-a-bitch.

With Hamister out of the picture, and the family completely in the dark, there would be no need for such extreme measures, the caller explained.

There was absolutely no chance the police or FBI would move quickly enough to save him, even if he could fully map out the whole sordid tale – which he wasn’t even close to being able to do. At present, the truth was somewhere behind many question marks and suppositions. His experiences with police investigations into white collar crimes didn’t exactly inspire confidence that anything positive would happen as a result of their involvement. In fact, a police connection would most likely turn this mess into an even bigger disaster. Even if he had some a tidbit or two of evidence that might send the cops in the right direction, there simply wasn’t enough time.

If he delayed taking action even until tomorrow, his opponents would set the frame-up in motion and hire his assassin. At that point, there would be absolutely nothing Hamister could do to make a difference.

Right now he still had a choice – a choice between death and destruction of his life’s work.

He’d chosen death.

Hamister felt a bit guilty about involving Joan in this ugly mess, but it couldn’t be helped. He hoped his protégée was bright enough that she would figure things out and save her own ass.

Maybe she could….

She was certainly smart enough, and at least she didn’t have a family their mutual enemy could leverage. Family was his greatest point of vulnerability and the one that took away all his other options – not that he would trade them for anything, not even his life.

Yes, Joan might succeed in uncovering the plot and identities of their enemies and maybe even turn the tables on them. He wished he could leave a few breadcrumbs for her, but even that possibility was fraught with peril – so much so that he simply couldn’t attempt it.

He collected his Sig Sauer 9mm from the handgun safe kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, and then carefully folded the note and put it in his jacket pocket. After a final look at his collection of personal mementos and trophies, he walked through the kitchen and directly into the garage and his waiting Mercedes.

He thought about going upstairs and kissing Autumn and the kids one last time, but doing so could easily turn into a horrible act of cruelty, should one of them awaken and notice the tears on his face. He had all the memories of them he could ever want, and they didn’t need to torture themselves endlessly for not figuring out what was wrong and somehow stopping him.

By going directly to the car, he took the decision out of their hands and put it firmly into his own.

Besides, a last goodbye might cause him to lose his nerve and in the process send them all into a twenty-year hell of courts, reporters, jail, and eventually, bill collectors. That is if they somehow managed to escape an assassin’s bullet.

Starting the engine of his S-Class, he backed out of the garage, put the car into drive, and headed north in search of a place where he could watch the sun come up one last time before he ended it all.

~ ~ ~

I was startled into alertness by the harsh, electronic twitter of my cell phone.

What the hell…? I groaned.

I’d never been a morning person, not since I’d ended up in the orphanage and clung to darkness, my only real time for solitude and reflection.

My circadian rhythms had never recovered.

I looked at the alarm clock beside my bed wondering who would be calling me in the middle of the night.

6:55

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the middle of the night, but a call this early in the morning normally meant one of two things – someone in the family was dead or my ex-husband was drunk.

Neither possibility seemed worse than the other as I stared stupidly at the ringing phone. After a few more rings, I reached over and picked up the annoying device.

Andax Corp, said the caller ID.

That certainly put a different spin on things. I rolled my eyes, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly while trying to calm my racing heart that was still rapidly beating from being startled out of a sound sleep.

At this hour, the call could only be coming from one person, my mentor, Don Hamister, although it was early – even for him.

This had better be good, I said with a smile while trying to imitate his boss’ deep, masculine voice. I figured if he could scare the crap out of me, turnabout was fair play.

There was a confused pause.

Umm, I was trying to reach Joan Priest, said a woman.

I instantly placed the voice – Janet, Hamister’s secretary. Undoubtedly she was rousting me at his request.

I decided to wow her with my incredible powers of perception.

Hi Janet, bit early for my wake-up call, don’t you think?

I noticed she didn’t laugh.

Have you heard anything from Donald?

Her voice was unsteady like she was teetering on the edge of full panic.

Hamister was an early riser, but getting all worked up about the fact that he wasn’t in the office by 7 AM was a bit odd. Maybe the guy had decided to stop at Starbucks this morning for a triple caramel macchiato calorie bomb.

Not since yesterday. Why? Is something going on?

He was supposed to meet with Christoffersen twenty-five minutes ago and didn’t show up. I’ve tried his home number, his cell phone, his car, even the condo downtown, but there was no answer at any of those numbers.

I’m sure he just overslept, I said, trying to sound reassuring.

Now I was worried, too. It wasn’t like Hamister to be late for anything, especially not a meeting with his boss.

Christoffersen was the Chairman of Andax Corporation and the last person in the world Hamister would take a chance of offending – particularly as he was in the middle of a beauty contest where the winner would be crowned next emperor of the Corporation. And everyone knew Christoffersen was a notorious clock watcher and would almost certainly interpret a late arrival as an insult. I could picture Janet being on the receiving end of a call from an outraged Chairman wondering, Where the hell is that irresponsible goldbrick, Hamister?

I silently thanked God that it was Janet on my line and not the belligerent jerk himself – I tried to avoid Christoffersen at all costs.

I’m worried. Are you sure he just overslept?

I didn’t know why she was asking me – her imagination was undoubtedly more than adequate to come up with at least twenty dire predictions concerning what might have befallen our boss – just like the ones running through my head. If she was looking for reassurances, I, unfortunately, had no more to offer.

Do you need me to head over to Christoffersen’s office and try to smooth things over?

Could you?

I wanted to say: For a big raise and a month in Cabo, but figured that joke would sound funnier to Hamister than his panic-stricken assistant.

Sure, I said.

Try to hurry. Christoffersen sounded mad.

Terrific.

And if you hear anything from Donald, please have him call me right away.

I will, I said, fighting off a tiny bit of irritation that wanted to creep into my answer. I’d better get going. Hate to keep the Big Boss waiting and all….

What the hell could have happened to Hamister? I was connected to him in so many ways that his unexplained absence worried me. He was my mentor, my guide, my best friend at work. He was even the father I wished I had – seeing that my real father hadn’t lived past my seventh birthday. If something happened to him, I didn’t know what I would do.

I hung up the phone before Janet could ask me to pick up Hamister’s dry cleaning on my way to the office – a reflex, if nothing else.

~ ~ ~

I probed the nightstand for my glasses, and after finding them, I tossed the phone onto the bed. Then I headed for the bathroom. Years of practice had compressed my morning routine into a thirty-five-minute ritual. Today, I was shooting for fifteen and knew because of my rushed make-up job, no one would be mistaking me for a fashion model – not that this was likely under any circumstances.

The person staring back at me in the mirror was only vaguely familiar – pale skin, stick-straight brown hair, hazel eyes. People sometimes referred to me as pretty, but I remained unconvinced. Half of my face was covered with creases from my pillow, and I could see the beginnings of crow’s feet in the corners of my eyes. Authorities implied I should be able to escape that telltale sign of aging for at least another decade.

Homely, on the way to full ugly – that’s how I would describe my appearance, at least to myself.

On a positive note, the bags under my eyes weren’t too deep and dark today – not that anyone important was likely to notice.

I briefly looked over at the digital scale on the floor next to the tub but decided I wasn’t going anywhere near that damned thing. The mirror had revealed more than enough already.

When you’re short, you aren’t allowed to carry much weight and still fall in the normal range. I was a good ten pounds beyond the overweight threshold.

Those damned BMI measurements don’t lie.

Yeah, I really am a bundle of insecurities.

I had been feeling pretty bad about myself ever since Gary and I divorced a few years ago. Having an on-again, off-again boyfriend like Nathan helped a bit – after all, he did occasionally tell me I was beautiful. Full disclosure required me to admit that he apparently attended the George Costanza School of Romance. Yeah, he really could be that kind of ham-handed lout.

On the other hand, I hadn’t seen him for over a week, and his last phone call had been several days ago. Not that I was terribly sad. His companionship was only slightly more enjoyable than watching old X-Files reruns.

I shrugged, then let my mouth hang open as I applied eyeliner and lash thickener. I knew this expression wasn’t a particularly pretty picture, but fortunately there was no audience for the performance.

If someone ever figured out a way for women to make up their eyes without them being forced to make that stupid expression, they would make a fortune.

Stop running yourself down, I thought, echoing Nathan’s advice offered at the conclusion of our last date. Then I added: Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

I desperately needed coffee, if for no other reason than to get out of my dark mood.

Rather than continuing to criticize myself – which, alas, had become a part of my regular, morning routine – I decided to focus my mind on what might be going on with Hamister. He was almost as time-anal as Christoffersen, and he certainly knew better than to give his boss a reason to be pissed.

It could be any one of a number of things. Maybe he was ill and was currently semi-comatose after taking mega-doses of Nyquil. Or maybe his car broke down and his cell battery was dead – of course, that wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t answered his car’s phone. He could have been called away on a family emergency, and maybe he was on an airplane to Boston.

Unfortunately, none of those explanations sounded right. In actuality, while there were many possible reasons he was incommunicado and missing a critical appointment, they all sounded like longshots.

The truth was, something had probably happened to him.

I couldn’t help experiencing a mini panic attack. I felt sweat prickling my face, and my hands shook.

Donald Hamister was my mentor, my knight in shining armor. He scraped my so-called career off the floor after my divorce and put me back on my feet. I owed all my second chances to him, as well as all the accomplishments I normally called my own.

I knew that no matter what might have happened – as long as it was something under his control – Hamister would have had the presence of mind to get a message to Christoffersen canceling this morning’s meeting. In a second, I wondered if his absence had anything to do with his off-handed comment about mismatching numbers in the Sousa Wind acquisition – a deal which closed more than a year ago.

The connection seemed improbable, as there couldn’t be anything urgent or earth shattering on that front. Sousa Wind was yesterday’s news. But the comment had stuck with me, seemingly out of place when made.

Again, I shrugged. I hoped Janet was checking the local hospitals, and I equally hoped she didn’t find anything.

I’d find out what was going on soon enough.

I put the finishing touches on my hair, walked into my small kitchen, and cursed when I realized I’d forgotten to switch on the coffeemaker’s auto timer.

Coffee would have to wait until after the impending Christoffersen gum scraping.

Putting on my long winter coat, I headed for the garage and my one luxury item, my BMW 3 Series sedan.

Chapter 2

I can only assume that Hamister sent you over as his proxy, Christoffersen said, not adding to take this ass kicking for him, although the message came through loud and clear.

The vein on his left temple, which normally bulged when he was angry, looked like it was about to burst. Had a doctor taken his blood pressure at that moment, he probably would have been admitted to intensive care with a diagnosis of imminent aneurism.

I guess you could say that.

So, where the fuck is he?

Umm, I’m not exactly sure where he is. Janet implied there was some kind of emergency.

Implied?

Well, she didn’t really seem to know where he was, either. I think she’s checking the local hospitals right now.

I silently ground my teeth. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t say or do anything that would cast Hamister in a negative light, and here I was already admitting that I had no idea what was happening. It would just feed Christoffersen’s suspicions and fuel further speculation. And if I hoped a reference to the hospital might take some of the wind out of the Chairman’s sails, I was about to learn how much I underestimated his callousness.

Anyone check the jail in Windsor?

I shook my head even though I knew it wasn’t a serious question. At least I was pretty sure it wasn’t.

Christoffersen was referring to Windsor, Canada, the city just across the border from Detroit. It was a running joke in the Andax senior executive circle that visiting businessmen flooded across the border at night to patronize the Windsor strip clubs, where the girls went all nude. The clubs were great launching pads for trouble with the law, not that I was any kind of expert on the subject. Various execs were occasionally teasingly accused of going on a Windsor binge on behalf of the company – when it was common knowledge they had taken customers to watch the strippers.

The comment pissed me off on multiple levels. Not only was the stripper reference intentionally demeaning, but it also insulted my boss. Hamister wasn’t the kind of man to participate in such adolescent entertainment, and certainly Christoffersen knew it.

On the other hand, the Chairman did have one of those stunted Y chromosomes.

Christoffersen made the reference vague enough that if I complained, he’d simply claim I misunderstood his intent. Plausible deniability was the stock and trade of corporate politicians, and our Chairman had his black belt in the subject.

I opted instead for a mild rebuke.

Don’t you think that’s a bit unfair, Oskar?

I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s fair or not. I want to know where the fuck he is so I can give him a piece of my mind.

Undoubtedly, the dark, evil piece.

I smiled nicely at him, hoping that being in the presence of a pleasant, dimwitted, female staffer – which was likely how he saw me – might encourage him to ratchet his anger down a notch or two. In response, the man sighed, then whirled around, stalking toward the window of his sixteenth-floor office, and its panoramic view of Grand Circus Park and both the baseball and football stadiums in the distance.

Christoffersen was in his late sixties, but when he had you in his sights, he appeared to be much younger. He was a big man, a former college football player who had gone a little soft around the middle but still had enough testosterone-induced muscularity to be intimidating. He had angular facial features, dominated by a nose that had been broken multiple times. Add in his white shock of meticulously combed hair, and the man reminded me of a chubby, comic-book Nick Fury aged twenty years.

He paced back and forth, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, and I wondered if he was trying to remember why I was here. I’d noticed a pattern of forgetfulness over the past year and guessed it could be early-onset Alzheimer’s. I would have liked to say mental deterioration was a contributor to his foul temper, but that would have only been true if the process had been underway for decades.

These slips were happening more frequently, and I wasn’t the only one to notice. Hamister had mentioned that it was only a matter of time before the board insisted Christoffersen vacate the Chairman’s job in favor of new blood. I was hoping Hamister would be the man’s successor – betting my future on it, in fact.

Unfortunately, there was still Hamister’s co-CEO, Estevan Cavalcanti, to contend with.

Do you have anything to do with this Ido acquisition? he asked.

Yes, sir.

Absolutely, I had something to do with it – technically, it was my deal. As VP of Corporate Development, I was normally involved in every acquisition or merger that Andax sniffed – at least I had been before the Sousa Wind deal was completed and the company split into two major divisions. Ido, a Brazilian manufacturer of fiberglass wind turbine blades, would ultimately become a part of the Sousa Wind Energy Division, or SWED as we sometimes called it, and thus was squarely in my bailiwick. Certainly Christoffersen realized as much.

Of course you do, he said, more calmly. It’s just that after we realigned the company, I sometimes lose track of who’s on which team.

Another slip and this one came with an admission. It wouldn’t be too much longer before the old man would have to retire. Certainly months rather than years. I almost salivated over the prospect of Donald Hamister taking over. Not only would the company be run much more efficiently, but my future would finally be secure.

It’s my deal. Was that why you were meeting with Donald?

I received a call from Luiz Araujo late yesterday saying the acquisition was in danger of running into a ditch, he said, returning to attack mode. "He said there hasn’t been any discussion for weeks despite the fact that we’re close to finalizing an agreement. You certainly know that time kills deals."

I stifled an eye roll. Luiz Araujo couldn’t find his way around an acquisition if someone handed him a GPS. Neither SWED, nor its predecessor, Sousa Wind, had ever done a deal, and Araujo had been their Chief Operating Officer for as long as the company had been in business. Araujo, however, should have taken any concerns to Alberto Rocha, the SWED CEO. That breach of protocol could be excused as Rocha was currently on an extended vacation somewhere – sailing around the world was what I remembered hearing. Regardless, Araujo should have talked to Hamister if he had concerns before talking to the Chairman of the Board.

I smelled a set-up, and it had Estevan Cavalcanti’s stink on it. But without evidence to support my suspicions, I wasn’t going to say anything to Christoffersen. After all, maybe Araujo had talked to Hamister, and he’d been blown off. If he’d called me, that was what I would have done. But Hamister was much more patient that I. Knowing the politics involved, I couldn’t picture my boss ignoring his Brazilian COO.

I suppose that’s why Hamister is the Co-CEO of Andax and I’m a lowly VP. Well, one of several reasons, anyway.

I was planning to head down there the week after next to work through the remaining open items, I lied. I would have said anything at this point to cover for my boss.

That’s not soon enough. I want you on a flight to Sao Paulo today. There are too many good synergies in this deal to let it fall into the recycling bin. If it all comes apart just because Hamister is too busy to jump on it….

He let the threat dangle, but its meaning was completely clear. Somebody’s head would be on the chopping block. As corporate shit tended to roll downhill, there was an excellent chance it would ultimately end up on my doorstep.

It was a problem I didn’t need, particularly as I was seemingly still on double secret probation, given my small breakdown after the divorce. I’d shown a weakness that the Chairman simply couldn’t stomach, and only Hamister’s intercession had saved my career. My very sanity, even.

I knew this condition wouldn’t change as long as Christoffersen was still in the picture.

I’ll gather my stuff and get on the first flight down, I said, still smiling.

Damned straight, he replied. And take that little weasel who works for Estevan with you. What’s his name? Festers? Something like that.

Lance Fitters?

Yeah, that’s him. Good experience for that arrogant little prick.

I nodded, but inside I was still grinding my teeth.

I knew my job and certainly didn’t need Oskar Christoffersen planning my calendar for me. And I sure as hell didn’t need