Disclosure

Standing on the black walker pad, Conley moved his hand through the air in short arcs, mimicking someone turning pages with his hand. On the monitor, Sanders saw Conley was actually looking at a series of spreadsheets. "Hey," Conley said, "you people ought to be more careful. I have all your financial records here."

"Let me see that," Daly said, turning around on the walker pad to look.

"You guys look all you want," Cherry laughed. "Enjoy it while you can. In the final system, we'll have safeguards built in to control access. But for now, we bypass the entire system. Do you notice that some of the numbers are red? That means they have more detail stored away. Touch one."

Conley touched a red number. The number zoomed out, creating a new plane of information that hung in the air above the previous spreadsheet.

"Wow!"

"Kind of a hypertext thing," Cherry said, with a shrug. "Sort of neat, if I say so myself."

Conley and Daly were giggling, poking rapidly at numbers on the spreadsheet, zooming out dozens of detail sheets that now hung in the air all around them.

"Hey, how do you get rid of all this stuff?"

"Can you find the original spreadsheet?"

"It's hidden behind all this other stuff"

"Bend over, and look. See if you can get it."

Conley bent at the waist, and appeared to look under something. He reached out and pinched air. "I got it."

"Okay, now you see a green arrow in the right corner. Touch it."

Conley touched it. All the papers zoomed back into the original spreadsheet.

"Fabulous!"

"I want to do it," Daly said.

"No, you can't. I'm going to do it."

"No, me!"

“Me”

.

They were laughing like delighted kids.

Blackburn came up. "I know this is enjoyable for everyone," he said to Nichols, "but we're falling behind our schedule and perhaps we ought to go back to the conference room."

"All right," Nichols said, with obvious reluctance. He turned to Cherry. "You sure you can get us one of these things?"

"Count on it," Cherry said. "Count on it."

Walking back to the conference room, the Conley-White executives were in a giddy mood; they talked rapidly, laughing about the experience. The DigiCom people walked quietly beside them, not wanting to disrupt the good mood. It was at that point that Mark Lewyn fell into step alongside Sanders and whispered, "Hey, why didn't you call me last night?"

"I did," Sanders said.

Lewyn shook his head. "There wasn't any message when I got home," he said.

"I talked to your answering machine, about six-fifteen."

"I never got a message," Lewyn said. "And then when I came in this morning, you weren't here." He lowered his voice. "Christ. What a mess. I had to go into the meeting on Twinkle with no idea what the approach was going to be."

"I'm sorry," Sanders said. "I don't know what happened."

"Fortunately, Meredith took over the discussion," Lewyn said. "Otherwise I would have been in deepest shit. In fact, I-We'll do this later," he said, seeing Johnson drop back to talk to Sanders. Lewyn stepped away.

"Where the hell were you?"Johnson said.

"I thought the meeting was for eight-thirty."

"I called your house last night, specifically because it was changed to eight. They're trying to catch a plane to Austin for the afternoon. So we moved everything up."

"I didn't get that message."

"I talked to your wife. Didn't she tell you?"

"I thought it was eight-thirty."

Johnson shook her head, as if dismissing the whole thing. "Anyway," she said, "in the eight o'clock session, I had to take another approach to Twinkle, and it's very important that we have some coordination in the light of-"

"Meredith?" Up at the front of the group, Garvin was looking back at her. "Meredith, John has a question for you."

"Be right there," she said. With a final angry frown at Sanders, she hurried up to the head of the group.

Back in the conference room, the mood was light. They were all still joking as they took their seats. Ed Nichols began the meeting by turning to Sanders. "Meredith's been bringing us up to date on the Twinkle drive. Now that you're here, we'd like your assessment as well."

I had to take another approach to Twinkle,Meredith had said. Sanders hesitated. "My assessment?"

"Yes," Nichols said. "You're in charge of Twinkle, aren't you?"

Sanders looked at the faces around the table, turned expectantly toward him. He glanced at Johnson, but she had opened her briefcase and was rummaging through her papers, taking out several bulging manila envelopes.

"Well," Sanders said. "We built several prototypes and tested them thoroughly. There's no doubt that the prototypes performed flawlessly. They're the best drives in the world."

"I understand that," Nichols said. "But now you are in production, isn't that right?"

"That's right."

"I think we're more interested in your assessment of the production."

Sanders hesitated. What had she told them? At the other end of the room, Meredith Johnson closed her briefcase, folded her hands under her chin, and stared steadily at him. He could not read her expression.

What hadshetold them?

"Mr. Sanders?"

"Well," Sanders began, "we've been shaking out the lines, dealing with the problems as they arise. It's a pretty standard start-up experience for us. We're still in the early stages."

"I'm sorry," Nichols said. "I thought you've been in production for two months."

"Yes, that's true."

"Two months doesn't sound like `the early stages' to me."

"Well-"

"Some of your product cycles are as short as nine months, isn't that right?"

"Nine to eighteen months, yes."

"Then after two months, you must be in full production. How do you assess that, as the principal person in charge?"

"Well, I'd say the problems are of the order of magnitude we generally experience at this point."

"I'm interested to hear that," Nichols said, "because earlier today, Meredith indicated to us that the problems were actually quite serious. She said you might even have to go back to the drawing board."

Shit.

How should he play it now? He'd already said that the problems were not so bad. He couldn't back down. Sanders took a breath and said, "I hope I haven't conveyed the wrong impression to Meredith. Because I have full confidence in our ability to manufacture the Twinkle drive."

"I'm sure you do," Nichols said. "But we're looking down the barrel at competition from Sony and Philips, and I'm not sure that a simple expression of your confidence is adequate. How many of the drives coming off the line meet specifications?"

"I don't have that information."

”Just approximately."

"I wouldn't want to say, without precise figures."

"Are precise figures available?"

"Yes. I just don't have them at hand."

Nichols frowned. His expression said: why don't you have them when you knew this is what the meeting was about?

Conley cleared his throat. "Meredith indicated that the line is running at twenty-nine percent capacity, and that only five percent of the drives meet specifications. Is that your understanding?"

"That's more or less how it has been. Yes."

There was a brief silence around the table. Abruptly, Nichols sat forward. "I'm afraid I need some help here," he said. "With figures like that, on what do you base your confidence in the Twinkle drive?"

"The reason is that we've seen all this before," Sanders replied. "We've seen production problems that look insurmountable but then get resolved quickly."

"I see. So you think your past experience will hold true here."

"Yes, I do."

Nichols sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked extremely dissatisfied.

Jim Daly, the thin investment banker, sat forward and said, "Please don't misunderstand, Tom. We're not trying to put you on the spot," he said. "We have long ago identified several reasons for acquisition of this company, irrespective of any specific problem with Twinkle. So I don't think Twinkle is a critical issue today. We just want to know where we stand on it. And we'd like you to be as frank as possible."

"Well, thereare problems," Sanders said. "We're in the midst of assessing them now. We have some ideas. But some of the problems may go back to design."

Daly said, "Give us worst case."

"Worst case? We pull the line, rework the housings and perhaps the controller chips, and then go back on."

"Causing a delay of?"

Nine to twelve months. "Upto six months," Sanders said.

`Jesus," somebody whispered.

Daly said, `Johnson suggested that the maximum delay would be six weeks."

"I hope that's right. But you asked for worst case."

"Do you really think it will take six months?"

"You asked for worst case. I think it's unlikely."

"But possible?"

"Yes, possible."

Nichols sat forward again and gave a big sigh. "Let me see if I understand this right. If thereare design problems with the drive, they occurred under your stewardship, is that correct?"

"Yes, it is."

Nichols shook his head. "Well. Having gotten us into this mess, do you really think you're the person to clean it up?"

Sanders suppressed a surge of anger. "Yes I do," he said. "In fact, I think I'm the best possible person to do it. As I said, we've seen this kind of situation before. And we've handled it before. I'm close to all the people involved. And I am sure we can resolve it." He wondered how he could explain to these people in suits the reality of how products were made. "When you're working the cycles," he said, "it's sometimes not so serious to go back to the boards. Nobody likes to do it, but it may have advantages. In the old days, we made a complete generation of new products every year or so. Now, more and more, we also make incremental changes within generations. If we have to redo the chips, we may be able to code in the video compression algorithms, which weren't available when we started. That will enhance the end-user perception of speed by more than the simple drive specs. We won't go back to build a hundred-millisecond drive. We'll go back to build an eighty-millisecond drive."

"But," Nichols said, "in the meantime, you won't have entered the market."

"No, that's true."

"You won't have established your brand name, or established market share for your product stream. You won't have your dealerships, or your OEMs, or your ad campaign, because you won't have a product line to support it. You may have a better drive, but it'll be an unknown drive. You'll be starting from scratch."

"All true. But the market responds fast."

"And so does the competition. Where will Sony be by the time you get to market? Will they be at eighty milliseconds, too?"

"I don't know," Sanders said.

Nichols sighed. "I wish I had more confidence about where we are on this thing. To say nothing of whether we're properly staffed to fix it."

Meredith spoke for the first time. "I may be a little bit at fault here," she said. "When you and I spoke about Twinkle, Tom, I understood you to say that the problems were quite serious."

"They are, yes."

"Well, I don't think we want to be covering anything up here."

He said quickly, "I'm not covering anything up." The words came out almost before he realized it. He heard his voice, high-pitched, tight.

"No, no," Meredith said soothingly. "I didn't mean to suggest you were. It's just that these technical issues are hard for some of us to grasp. We're looking for a translation into layman's terms of just where we are. If you can do that for us."

"I've been trying to do that," he said. He knew he sounded defensive. But he couldn't help it.

"Yes, Tom, I know you have," Meredith said, her voice still soothing. "But for example: if the laser read-write heads are cut of sync with the m-subset instructions off the controller chip, what is that going to mean for us, in terms of down time?"

She was just grandstanding, demonstrating her facility with techtalk, but her words threw him off balance anyway. Because the laser heads were read-only, not readwrite, and they had nothing to do with the m-subset off the controller chip. The position controls all came off the x-subset. And the x-subset was licensed code from Sony, part of the driver code that every company used in their CD drives.

To answer without embarrassing her, he had to move into fantasy, where nothing he could say was true. "Well," he said, "you raise a good point, Meredith. But I think the m-subset should be a relatively simple problem, assuming the laser heads are tracking to tolerance. Perhaps three or four days to fix."

He glanced quickly at Cherry and Lewyn, the only people in the room who would know that Sanders had just spoken gibberish. Both men nodded sagely as they listened. Cherry even rubbed his chin.

Johnson said, "And do you anticipate a problem with the asynchronous tracking signals from the mother board?"

Again, she was mixing everything up. The tracking signals came from the power source, and were regulated by the controller chip. There wasn't a mother board in the drive units. But by now he was in the swing. He answered quickly: "That's certainly a consideration, Meredith, and we should check it thoroughly. I expect we'll find that the asynchronous signals may be phase-shifted, but nothing more than that."

"A phase-shift is easy to repair?"

"Yes, I think so."

Nichols cleared his throat. "I feel this is an in-house technical issue," he said. "Perhaps we should move on to other matters. What's next on the agenda?"

Garvin said, "We've scheduled a demo of the video compression just down the hall."

"Fine. Let's do that."

Chairs scraped back. Everyone stood up, and they filed out of the room. Meredith was slower to close up her files. Sanders stayed behind for a moment, too.

When they were alone he said, "What the hell was all that about?"

"All what?"

"All that gobbledygook about controller chips and read heads. You don't know what you were talking about."

"Oh Yes I do," she said angrily. "I was fixing the mess that you made." She leaned over the table and glared at him. "Look, Tom. I decided to take your advice last night, and tell the truth about the drive. This morning I said there were severe problems with it, that you were very knowledgeable, and you would tell them what the problems were. I set it up, for you to say what you told me you wanted to say. But then you came in and announced there were no problems of significance."

"But I thought we agreed last night-"

"These men aren't fools, and we're not going to be able to fool them." She snapped her briefcase shut. "I reported in good faith what you told me. And then you said I didn't know what I was talking about."

He bit his lip, trying to control his anger.

"I don't know what you think is going on here," she said. "These men don't care about technical details. They wouldn't know a drive head from a dildo. They're just looking to see if anybody's in charge, if anybody has a handle on the problems. They want reassurance. And you didn't reassure them. So I had to jump in and fix it with a lot of techno-bullshit. I had to clean up after you. I did the best I could. But let's face it: you didn't inspire confidence today, Tom. Not at all."

"Goddamn it," he said. "You're just talking about appearances. Corporate appearances in a corporate meeting. But in the end somebody has to actually build the damn drive-"

"I'll say-"

"And I've been running this division for eight years, and running it damn well-"

"Meredith." Garvin stuck his head in the door. They both stopped talking.

"We're waiting, Meredith," he said. He turned and looked coldly at Sanders.

She picked up her briefcase and swept out of the room.

Sanders went immediately downstairs to Blackburn's office. "I need to see Phil."

Sandra, his assistant, sighed. "He's pretty busy today."

"I need to see him now."

"Let me check, Tom." She buzzed the inner office. "Phil? It's Tom Sanders." She listened a moment. "He says go right in."

Sanders went into Blackburn's office and closed the door. Blackburn stood up behind his desk and ran his hands down his chest. "Tom. I'm glad you came down."

They shook hands briefly. "It isn't working out with Meredith," Sanders said at once. He was still angry from his encounter with her.

"Yes, I know."

"I don't think I can work with her."

Blackburn nodded. "I know. She already told me."

"Oh? What'd she tell you?"

"She told me about the meeting last night, Tom."

Sanders frowned. He couldn't imagine that she had discussed that meeting. "Last night?"

"She told me that you sexually harassed her."

"I what."

"Now, Tom, don't get excited. Meredith's assured me she's not going to press charges. We can handle it quietly, in house. That will be best for everyone. In fact, I've just been going over the organization charts, and-"

"Wait a minute," Sanders said. "She's saying I harassedher?"

Blackburn stared at him. "Tom. We've been friends a long time. I can assure you, this doesn't have to be a problem. It doesn't have to get around the company. Your wife doesn't need to know. As I said, we can handle this quietly. To the satisfaction of everyone involved."

"Wait a minute, it's not true-"

"Tom, just give me a minute here, please. The most important thingnow is for us to separate the two of you. So you aren't reporting to her. I think a lateral promotion for you would be ideal."

"Lateral promotion?"

"Yes. There's an opening for technical vice president in the cellular division in Austin. I want to transfer you there. You'll go with the same seniority, salary, and benefit package. Everything the same, except you'll be in Austin and you won't have to have any direct contact with her. How does that sound?"

"Austin."

"Yes."

"Cellular."

"Yes. Beautiful weather, nice working conditions… university town… chance to get your family out of this rain…"

Sanders said, "But Conley's going to sell off Austin."

Blackburn sat down behind his desk. "I can't imagine where you heard that, Tom," he said calmly. "It's completely untrue."

"You sure about that?"

"Absolutely. Believe me, selling Austin is the last thing they'd do. Why, it makes no sense at all."

"They why are they inventorying the plant?"

"I'm sure they're going over the whole operation with a fine-tooth comb. Look, Tom. Conley's worried about cash flow after the acquisition, and the Austin plant is, as you know, very profitable. We've given them the figures. Now they're verifying them, making sure they're real. But there's no chance they would sell it. Cellular is only going to grow, Tom. You know that. And that's why I think a vice presidency there in Austin is an excellent career opportunity for you to consider."

"But I'd be leaving the Advanced Products Division?"

"Well, yes. The whole point would be to move you out of this division."

"And then I wouldn't be in the new company when it spins off."

"That's true."

Sanders paced back and forth. "That's completely unacceptable."

"Well, let's not be hasty," Blackburn said. "Let's consider all the ramifications."

"Phil," he said. "I don't know what she told you, but-"

"She told me the whole story-"

"But I think you should know-"

"And I want you to know, Tom," Blackburn said, "that I don't have any judgment about what may have happened. That's not my concern or my interest. I'm just trying to solve a difficult problem for the company."

"Phil. Listen. I didn't do it."

"I understand that's probably how you feel, but-"

"I didn't harass her. She harassed me."

"I'm sure," Blackburn said, "it may have.Teemedlike that to you at the time, but-"

"Phil, I'm telling you. She did everything but rape me." He paced angrily. "Phil:.Theharassedme."

Blackburn sighed and sat back in his chair. He tapped his pencil on the corner of his desk. "I have to tell you frankly, Tom. I find that difficult to believe."

"It's what happened."

"Meredith's a beautiful woman, Tom. A very vital, sexy woman. I think it's natural for a man to, uh, lose control."

"Phil, you aren't hearing me. She harassed me."

Blackburn gave a helpless shrug. "I hear you, Tom. I just… I find that difficult to picture."

"Well, she did. You want to hear what really happened last night?"

"Well." Blackburn shifted in his chair. "Of course I want to hear your version. But the thing is, Tom, Meredith Johnson is very well connected in this company. She has impressed a lot of extremely important people."

"You mean Garvin."

"Not only Garvin. Meredith has built a power base in several areas."

"Conley-White?"

Blackburn nodded. "Yes. There, too."

"You don't want to hear what I say happened?"

"Of course I do," Blackburn said, running his hands through his hair. "Absolutely, I do. And I want to be scrupulously fair. But I'm trying to tell you that no matter what we're going to have to make some transfers here. And Meredith has important allies."

"So it doesn't matter what I say."

Blackburn frowned, watching him pace. "I understand that you are upset. I can see that. And you're a valued person in this company. But what I'm trying to do here Tom is to get you to look at the situation."

"What situation?" Sanders said.

Blackburn sighed. "Were there any witnesses, last night?" No.

"So it's your word against hers."

"I guess so."

"In other words, it's a pissing match."

"So? That's no reason to assume I'm wrong, and she's right."

"Of course not," Blackburn said. "But look at the situation. A man claiming sexual harassment against a woman is, well, pretty unlikely. I don't think there's ever been a case in this company. It doesn't mean it couldn't happen. But it does means that it'd be very uphill for you even if Meredith wasn't so well connected." He paused. "I just don't want to see you get hurt in this."

"I've already been hurt."

"Again, we're talking about feelings here. Conflicting claims. And unfortunately, Tom, no witnesses." He rubbed his nose, tugged at his lapels.

"You move me out of the APD, and I'm hurt. Because I won't get to be part of the new company. The company I worked on for twelve years."

"That's an interesting legal position," Blackburn said.

"I'm not talking about a legal position. I'm talking about-"

"Look. Tom. Let me review this with Garvin. Meanwhile, why don't you go off and think this Austin offer over. Think about it carefully. Because no one wins in a pissing match. You may hurt Meredith, but you'll hurt yourself much more. That's my concern here, as your friend."

"If you were my friend-" Sanders began.

"I am your friend," Blackburn said. "Whether you know it at this moment, or not." He stood up behind his desk. "You don't need this splashed all over the papers. Your wife doesn't need to hear about this, or your kids. You don't need to be the gossip of Bainbridge for the rest of the summer. That isn't going to do you any good at all."

"I understand that, but-"

"But we have to face reality, Tom," Blackburn said. "The company is faced with conflicting claims. What's happened has happened. We have to go on from here. And all I'm saying is, I'd like to resolve this quickly. So think it over. Please. And get back to me."

After Sanders left, Blackburn called Garvin. "I just talked with him," he told Garvin.

"And?"

"He says it was the other way around. That she harassed him."

"Christ," Garvin said. "What a mess."

"Yes. But on the other hand, it's what you'd expect him to say," Blackburn said. "It's the usual response in these cases. The man always denies it."

"Yeah. Well. This is dangerous, Phil."

"I understand."

"I don't want this thing to blow up on us."

"No, no."

"There's nothing more important right now than getting this thing resolved."

"I understand, Bob."

"You made him the Austin offer?"

"Yes. He's thinking it over."

"Will he take it?"

"My guess is no."

"And did you push it?"

"Well, I tried to convey to him that we weren't going to back down on Meredith. That we were going to support her through this."

"Damn right we are," Garvin said.

"I think he was clear about that. So let's see what he says when he comes back to us."

"He wouldn't go off and file, would he?"

"He's too smart for that." "We hope," Garvin said irritably, and hung up.

Look at the.situation.

Sanders stood in Pioneer Park and leaned against a pillar, staring at the light drizzle. He was replaying the meeting with Blackburn.

Blackburn hadn't even been willing to listen to Sanders's version. He hadn't let Sanders tell him. Blackburn already knew what had happened.

She’s a very sexy woman. It's natural for a man to lose control.

That was what everyone at DigiCom would think. Every single person in the company would have that view of what had happened. Blackburn had said he found it difficult to believe that Sanders had been harassed. Others would find it difficult, too.

Blackburn had told him it didn't matter what happened. Blackburn was telling him that Johnson was well connected, and that nobody would believe a man had been harassed by a woman.

Look at the.situation.

They were asking him to leave Seattle, leave the APG. No options, no big payoff. No return for his twelve long years of work. All that was gone.

Austin. Baking hot, dry, brand-new.

Susan would never accept it. Her practice in Seattle was successful; she had spent many years building it. They had just finished remodeling the house. The kids liked it here. If Sanders even suggested a move, Susan would be suspicious. She'd want to know what was behind it. And sooner or later, she would find out. If he accepted the transfer, he would be confirming his guilt to his wife.

No matter how he thought about it, how he tried to put it together in his mind, Sanders could see no good outcome. He was being screwed.

I'm your friend, Tom. Whether you know it right now or not.

He recalled the moment at his wedding when Blackburn, his best man, said he wanted to dip Susan's ring in olive oil because there was always a problem about getting it on the finger. Blackburn in a panic, in case some little moment in the ceremony went wrong. That was Phil: always worried about appearances.

Your wife doesn't need to hear about this.

But Phil was screwing him. Phil, and Garvin behind him. They were both screwing him. Sanders had worked hard for the company for many years, but now they didn't give a damn about him. They were taking Meredith's side, without any question. They didn't even want to hear his version of what had happened.

As Sanders stood in the rain, his sense of shock slowly faded. And with it, his sense of loyalty. He started to get angry.

He took out his phone and placed a call.

"Mr. Perry's office."

"It's Tom Sanders calling."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Perry is in court. Can I give him a message?"

"Maybe you could help me. The other day he mentioned that you have a woman there who handles sexual harassment cases."

"We have several attorneys who do that, Mr. Sanders."

"He mentioned a Hispanic woman." He was trying to remember what else Perry had said about her. Something about being sweet and demure? He couldn't recall for sure.

"That would be Ms. Fernandez."

"I wonder if you could connect me," Sanders said.

Fernandez's office was small, her desk stacked high with papers and legal briefs in neat piles, a computer terminal in the corner. She stood up as he came in. "You must be Mr. Sanders."

She was a tall woman in her thirties, with straight blond hair and a handsome, aquiline face. She was dressed in a pale, cream-colored suit. She had a direct manner and a firm handshake. "I'm Louise Fernandez. How can I help you?"

She wasn't at all what he had expected. She wasn't sweet and demure at all. And certainly not Hispanic. He was so startled that without thinking he said, "You're not what I"

"Expected?" She raised an eyebrow. "My father's from Cuba. We left there when I was a child. Please sit down, Mr. Sanders." She turned and walked back around her desk.

He sat down, feeling embarrassed. "Anyway, thank you for seeing me so quickly."

"Not at all. You're John Perry's friend?"

"Yes. He mentioned the other day that you, uh, specialized in these cases."

"I do labor law, primarily constructive termination and Title VII suits."

"I see." He felt foolish that he had come. He was taken aback by her brisk manner and elegant appearance. In fact, she reminded him very much of Meredith. He felt certain that she would not be sympathetic to his case.

She put on horn-rimmed glasses and peered at him across the desk. "Have you eaten? I can get you a sandwich if you like."

"I'm not hungry, thanks."

She pushed a half-eaten sandwich to the side of her desk. "I'm afraid I have a court appearance in an hour. Sometimes things get a bit rushed." She got out a yellow legal pad and set it before her. Her movements were quick, decisive.

Sanders watched her, sure she was the wrong person. He should never have come here. It was all a mistake. He looked around the office. There was a neat stack of bar charts for a courtroom appearance.

Fernandez looked up from the pad, her pen poised. It was one of those expensive fountain pens. "Would you like to tell me the situation?"

"Uh… I'm not sure where to begin."

"We could start with your full name and address, and your age."

"Thomas Robert Sanders." He gave his address.

"And your age?" "Forty-one."

"Occupation?" "I'm a division manager at Digital Communications. The Advanced Products Division."

"How long have you been at that company?"

"Twelve years." "Uh-huh. And in your present capacity?"

"Eight years." "And why are you here today, Mr. Sanders?"

"I've been sexually harassed."

"Uh-huh." She showed no surprise. Her expression was completely neutral. "You want to tell me the circumstances?"

"My boss, ah, came on to me." "And the name of your boss?"

"Meredith Johnson."

"Is that a man or a woman?"

"A woman." "Uhhuh." Again, no sign of surprise. She continued making notes steadily, the pen scratching. "When did this happen?"

"Last night."

"What were the exact circumstances?"

He decided not to mention the merger. "She has just been appointed my new boss, and we had several things to go over. She asked if we could meet at the end of the day."

"She requested this meeting?" "Yes."

"And where did the meeting take place?" "In her office. At six o'clock."

"Anybody else present?"

"No. Her assistant came in briefly, at the start of the meeting, then left. Before anything happened."

"I see. Go on."

"We talked for a while, about business, and we had some wine. She had gotten some wine. And then she came on to me. I was over by the window and suddenly she started kissing me. Then pretty soon we were sitting on the couch. And then she started, uh…" He hesitated. "How much detail do you want?"

"Just the broad strokes for now." She bit her sandwich. "You say you were kissing."

"Yes."

"And she initiated this?"

"Yes."

"What was your reaction when she did that?"

"I was uncomfortable. I'm married."

"Uh-huh. What was the general atmosphere in the meeting, prior to this kiss?"

"It was a regular business meeting. We were talking about business. But all the time, she was making, uh, suggestive remarks."

"Like what."

"Oh, about how good I looked. How I was in shape. How glad she was to see me."

"How glad she was to see you," Fernandez repeated, with a puzzled look.

"Yes. We knew each other before."

"You had a prior relationship?"

"Yes."

"When was that?"

"Ten years ago."

"And were you married then?"

”No.”

"Did you both work for the same company at that time?"

"No. I did, but she worked for another company."

"And how long did your relationship last?"

"About six months." "And have you kept up contact?"

"No. Not really."

"Any contact at all?"

"Once."

"Intimate?"

"No. Just, you know, hello in the hallway. At the office."

"I see. In the last eight years, have you ever been to her house or apartment?"

No.

"Dinners, drinks after work, anything?"

"No. I really haven't seen her at all. When she joined the company, she was in Cupertino, in Operations. I was in Seattle, in Advanced Products. We didn't have much contact."

"So during this time, she wasn't your superior?"

"No."

"Give me a picture of Ms. Johnson. How old?"

"Thirty-five."

"Would you characterize her as attractive?"

"Yes."

"Very attractive?"

"She was a Miss Teenage something as a kid."

"So you would say she's very attractive." The pen scratched on the legal pad.

"Yes."

"And how about other men-would you say they find her very attractive?"

"Yes."

"What about her manner with regard to sexual matters? Does she make jokes? Sexual jokes, innuendoes, ribald comments?"

"No, never."

"Body language? Flirtatious? Does she touch people?"

"Not really. She certainly knows she's good-looking, and she can play on that. But her manner is… kind of cool. She's the Grace Kelly type."

"They say Grace Kelly was very sexually active, that she had affairs with most of her leading men."

"I wouldn't know."

"Uh-huh. What about Ms. Johnson, does she have affairs inside the company?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't heard anything."

Fernandez flipped to a new page on her pad. "All right. And how long has she been your supervisor? Or is she your supervisor?"

"Yes, she is. One day."

For the first time, Fernandez looked surprised. She glanced at him, and took another bite of her sandwich. "One day?"

"Yes. Yesterday was the first day of a new company organization. She had just been appointed."

"So the day she is appointed, she meets with you, in the evening." "Yes."

"All right. You were telling me, you were sitting on the couch and she was kissing you. And what happened then?"

"She unzipped-well, first of all, she started rubbing me."

"Your genitals."

"Yes. And kissing me." He found himself sweating. He wiped his forehead with his hand.

"I understand this is difficult. I'll try to make this as brief as possible," Fernandez said. "And then?"

"Then, she unzipped my pants, and started rubbing me with her hand."

"Was your penis exposed?"

"Yes."

"Who exposed it?"

"She took it out."

"So she took your penis out of your pants, and then rubbed it with her hand, is that right?" She peered at him over her glasses, and for a moment he glanced away in embarrassment. But when he looked back at her, he saw that she was not the least embarrassed, that her manner was more than clinical, more than professional-that she was in some deep way detached, and very cold.

"Yes," he said. "That's what happened."

"And what was your reaction?"

"Well." He gave an embarrassed shrug. "It worked."

"You were sexually aroused." Yes.

"Did you say anything to her?"

"Like what?"

"I'm just asking whether you said anything to her."

"Like what? I don't know."

"Did you say anything at all?"

"I said something, I don't know. I was feeling very uncomfortable."

"Do you remember what you said?"

"I think I just kept saying `Meredith,' trying to get her to stop, you know, but she kept interrupting me, or kissing me."

"Did you say anything else besides `Meredith'?"

"I don't remember."

"How did you feel about what she was doing?"

"I felt uncomfortable."

"Why?"

"I was afraid of getting involved with her, because she was my boss now, and because I was married now and I didn't want any complications in my life.

You know, an office affair."

"Why not?" Fernandez asked.

The question took him aback. "Why not?"

"Yes." She looked at him directly, her eyes cool, appraising. "After all, you're alone with a beautiful woman. Why not have an affair?"

"Jesus."

"It's a question most people would ask."

"I'm married."

"So what? Married people have affairs all the time."

"Well," he said. "For one thing, my wife is a lawyer and very suspicious."

"Do I know her?"

"Her name is Susan Handler. She's with Lyman, King."

Fernandez nodded. "I've heard of her. So. You were afraid that she would find out."

"Sure. I mean, you have an affair in the office, and everybody's going to know. There isn't any way to keep it quiet."

"So you were concerned about this becoming known."

"Yes. But that wasn't the main reason."

"What was the main reason?"

"She was my boss. I didn't like the position I was in. She was, you know… well, she had the right to fire me. If she wanted to. So it was likeI hadto do it. I

was very uncomfortable."

"Did you tell her that?"

"I tried."

"How did you try?"

"Well, I just tried."

"Would you say that you indicated to her that her advances were not welcome?"

"Eventually, yes."

"How is that?"

"Well, eventually, we continued this… whatever you call it, foreplay or whatever, and she had her panties off, and"

"I'm sorry. How did she come to have her panties off?"

"I took them off."

"Did she ask you to do that?"

"No. But I got pretty worked up at one point, I was going to do it, or at least I was thinking about doing it."

"You were going to have intercourse." Her voice again cool. The pen scratching.

"Yes."

"You were a willing participant."

"For a while there. Yes."

"In what way were you a willing participant?" she asked. "What I mean is, did you initiate touching her body or breast or genitals without her encouragement?"

"I don't know. She was pretty much encouraging everything."

"I am asking, did you volunteer. Did you do it on your own. Or did she, for example, take your hand and place it on her-"

"No. I did it on my own."

"What about your earlier reservations?"

"I was worked up. Excited. I didn't care at that point."

"All right. Go on."

He wiped his forehead. "I'm being very honest with you."

"That's exactly what you should be. It's the best thing all around. Please go on."

"And she was lying on the couch with her skirt pulled up, and she wanted me to enter her, to… and she was sort of moaning, you know, saying, `No, no,' and suddenly I had this feeling again that I didn't want to do this, so I said, `Okay, let's not,' and I got off the couch and started getting dressed."

"You broke off from the encounter yourself."

"Yes."

"Because she had said, `no'?"

"No, that was just an excuse. Because I was feeling uneasy at that point."

"Uh-huh. So you got off the couch and started to get dressed…"

"Yes."

"And did you say anything at that time? To explain your actions?"

"Yes. I said that I didn't think this was a good idea, and I didn't feel good about it."

"And how did she respond?"

"She got very angry. She started throwing things at me. Then she started hitting me. And scratching me."

"Do you have any marks?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"On my neck and chest."

"Have they been photographed yet?"

“No.”

"All right. Now when she scratched you, how did you respond?"

"I just tried to get dressed and get out of there."

"You didn't respond directly to her attack?"

"Well, at one point I pushed her back, to get her away from me, and she tripped on a table and fell on the floor."

"You make it sound like pushing her was self-defense on your part."

"It was. She was ripping the buttons off my shirt. I had to go home, and I didn't want my wife to see my shirt, so I pushed her away."

"Did you ever do anything that was not self-defense?"

“No.”

"Did you hit her at any time?"

“No.”

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes."

"All right. What happened then?"

"She threw a wineglass at me. But by then I was pretty much dressed. I went and got my phone from her windowsill, and then I went-"

"I'm sorry. You got your phone? What phone is that?"

"I had a cellular phone." He took it out of his pocket and showed her.

"We all carry them in the company, because we make them. And I had been using the phone to make a call from her office, when she started kissing me."

"Were you in the middle of a call when she started kissing you?"

"Yes." "Whom were you talking to?"

"An answering machine." "I see." She was clearly disappointed. "Go on, please."

"So I went and got my phone and got the hell out of there.

She was screaming that I couldn't do this to her, that she would kill me."

"And you responded how?"

"Nothing. I just left."

"And this was at what time?"

"About six forty-five."

"Did anybody see you leave?"

"The cleaning lady."

"Do you happen to know her name?"

“No.”

"Ever seen her before?"

“No.”

"Do you think she worked for your company?"

"She had a company uniform on. You know, for the maintenance firm that cleans up our offices."

"Uh-huh. And then?"

He shrugged. "I went home."

"Did you tell your wife what happened?"

“No.”

"Did you tell anybody what happened?"

“No.”

"Why not?"

"I guess I was in shock."

She paused and looked back over her notes. "All right. You say you were sexually harassed. And you have described a very direct overture by this woman. Since she was your boss, I would have thought you'd feel yourself at some risk in turning her down."

"Well. I was concerned. Sure. But I mean, don't I have the right to turn her down? Isn't that what this is about?"

"Certainly you have that right. I'm asking about your state of mind."

"I was very upset."

"Yet you did not want to tell anybody what had happened? You did not want to share this upsetting experience with a colleague? A friend? A family member, perhaps a brother? Anybody at all?"

"No. It didn't even occur to me. I didn't know how to deal with what- I guess I was in shock. I just wanted it to go away. I wanted to think it had never happened."

"Did you make any notes?"

“No.”

"All right. Now, you mentioned that you didn't tell your wife. Would you say you concealed it from your wife?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

"Do you often conceal things from her?"

"No. But in this instance, you know, involving an old girlfriend, I didn't think she would be sympathetic. I didn't want to deal with her about this."

"Have you had other affairs?"

"This wasn't an affair."

"I'm asking a general question. In terms of your relationship to your wife."

"No. I haven't had affairs."

"All right. I advise you to tell your wife at once. Make a full and complete disclosure. Because I promise you that she will find out, if she hasn't done so already. However difficult it may be to tell her, your best chance to preserve your relationship is to be completely honest with her."

"Okay."

"Now, going back to last night. What happened next?"

"Meredith Johnson called the house and spoke to my wife."

Fernandez's eyebrows went up. "I see. Did you expect that to happen?"

"God, no. It scared the hell out of me. But apparently she was friendly, and just called to say that the morning meeting was rescheduled for eight-thirty. Today."

"1 see."

"But when I got to work today, I found that the meeting had actually been scheduled for eight."

"So you arrived late, and were embarrassed, and so on."

"Yes."

"And you believe that it was a setup."

"Yes."

Fernandez glanced at her watch. "I'm afraid I'm running out of time. Bring me up to date about what happened today quickly, if you can."

Without mentioning Conley-White, he described the morning meeting briefly and his subsequent humiliation. His argument with Meredith. His conversation with Phil Blackburn. The offer of a lateral transfer. The fact that the transfer would deny him the benefits of a possible spin-off. His decision to seek advice.

Fernandez asked few questions and wrote steadily. Finally, she pushed the yellow pad aside.

"All right. I think I have enough to get the picture. You're feeling slighted and ignored. And your question is, do you have a harassment case?"

"Yes," he said, nodding.

"Well. Arguably you do. It's a jury case, and we don't know what would happen if we went to trial. But based on what you have told me here, I have to advise you that your case is not strong."

Sanders felt stunned. `Jesus."

"I don't make the law. I'm just telling you frankly, so you can arrive at an informed decision. Your situation is not good, Mr. Sanders."

Fernandez pushed back from her desk and began to stuff papers into her briefcase. "I have five minutes, but let me review for you what sexual harassment actually is, under the law, because many clients aren't clear about it. Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 made sex discrimination in the workplace illegal, but as a practical matter what we call sexual harassment was not defined for many years. Since the middle nineteen-eighties, the Equal Employment Opportunities Commission has, under Title VII, produced guidelines to define sexual harassment. In the last few years, these EEOC guidelines have been further clarified by case law. So the definitions are quite explicit. According to the law, for a complaint to qualify as sexual harassment, the behavior must contain three elements. First, it must be sexual. That means, for example, that making a profane or scatological joke is not sexual harassment, even though a listener may find it offensive. The conduct must be sexual in nature. In your case, there's no doubt about the explicitly sexual element, from what you have told me."

"Okay."

"Second, the behavior must be unwelcome. The courts distinguish between behavior that is voluntary and behavior that is welcome. For example, a person may be having a sexual relationship with a superior and it's obviously voluntary-no one's holding a gun to the person's head. But the courts understand that the employee may feel that they have no choice but to comply, and therefore the sexual relationship was not freely entered into-it's not welcome.

"To determine if behavior is really unwelcome, the courts look at the surrounding behavior in broad terms. Did the employee make sexual jokes in the workplace, and thus indicate that such jokes from others were welcome? Did the employee routinely engage in sexual banter, or sexual teasing with other employees? If the employee engaged in an actual affair, did they allow the supervisor into their apartment, did they visit the supervisor in the hospital, or see them at times when they didn't strictly have to, or engage in other actions that would suggest that they were actively and willingly participating in the relationship. In addition, the courts look to see if the employee ever told the supervisor the behavior was unwelcome, if the employee complained to anyone else about the relationship or tried to take any action to evade the unwelcome situation. That consideration becomes more significant when the employee is highly placed, and presumably more free to act."

"But I didn't tell anybody."

"No. And you didn't tell her, either. At least, not explicitly, so far as I can determine."

"I didn't feel I could."

"I understand you didn't. But it's a problem for your case. Now, the third element in sexual harassment is discrimination on the basis of gender. The most common is quid pro quo-the exchange of sexual favors in return for keeping your job or getting a promotion. The threat of that may be explicit or implied. I believe you said it was your understanding that Ms. Johnson had the ability to fire you?"

Yes. "How did you gain that understanding?" "Phil Blackburn told me." "Explicitly?" "Yes."

"And what about Ms. Johnson? Did she make any offer contingent on sex? Did she make any reference to her ability to fire you, in the course of the evening?"

"Not exactly, but it was there. It was always in the air."

"How did you know?"

"She said things like `As long as we're working together, we might as well have a little fun.' And she talked about wanting to have an affair during company trips we would make together to Malaysia, and so on."

"You interpreted this as an implied threat to your job?"

"I interpreted it to mean that if I wanted to get along with her, I had better go along with her."

"And you didn't want to do that?"

“No.”

"Did you say so?"

"I said I was married, and that things had changed between us."

"Well, under most circumstances, that exchange alone would probably serve to establish your case. If there were witnesses."

"But there weren't."

"No. Now, there is a final consideration, which we call hostile working environment. This is ordinarily invoked in situations where an individual is harassed in a pattern of incidents that may not in themselves be sexual but that cumulatively amount to harassment based on gender. I don't believe you can claim hostile work environment on this single incident."

"I see."

"Unfortunately, the incident you describe is simply not as clear-cut as it might be. We would then turn to ancillary evidence of harassment. For example, if you were fired."

"I think in effect I have been fired," Sanders said. "Because I'm being pulled out of the division, and I won't get to participate in the spin-off"

"I understand. But the company's offer to transfer you laterally makes things complicated. Because the company can argue-very successfullv, I thinkthat it does not owe you anything more than a lateral transfer. That it has never promised you the golden egg of a spin-off. That such a spin-off is in any case speculative, intended to occur at some future time, and it might never happen. That the company is not required to compensate you for your hopesfor some vague expectation of a future that might never occur. And therefore the company will claim that a lateral transfer is fully acceptable, and that you are being unreasonable if you turn it down. That you are in effect quitting, not being fired. It will place the burden back on you."

"That's ridiculous."

"Actually, it's not. Suppose, for example, you found out that you had terminal cancer and were going to die in six months. Would the company be required to pay the proceeds of the spin-off to your survivors? Clearly, no. If you're working in the company when it spins off, you participate. If you're not, you don't. The company has no broader obligation."

"You're saying I might as well have cancer."

"No, I'm saying that you're angry and you feel the company owes you something that the court will not agree it does. In my experience, sexual harassment claims often have this quality. People come in feeling angry and wronged, and they think they have rights that they simply don't have."

He sighed. "Would it be different if I were a woman?"

"Basically, no. Even in the most clear-cut situations-the most extreme and outrageous situations-sexual harassment is notoriously difficult to prove. Most cases occur as yours has: behind closed doors, with no witnesses. It's one person's word against another's. In that circumstance, where there is no clear-cut corroborating evidence, there is often a prejudice against the man."

"Uh-huh."

"Even so, one-fourth of all sexual harassment cases are brought by men. Most of those are brought against male bosses, but one-fifth are brought against women. And the number is increasing all the time, as we have more women bosses in the workplace."

"I didn't know that."

"It isn't much discussed," she said, peering over her glasses. "But it's happening. And from my point of view, it's to be expected."

"Why do you say that?"

"Harassment is about power-the undue exercise of power by a superior over a subordinate. I know there's a fashionable point of view that says women are fundamentally different from men, and that women would never harass an employee. But from where I sit, I've seen it all. I've seen and heard everything that you can imagine and a lot that you wouldn't believe if I told you. That gives me another perspective.

Personally, I don't deal much in theory. I have to deal with the facts. And on the basis of facts, I don't see much difference in the behavior of men and women. At least, nothing that you can rely on."

"Then you believe my story?"

"Whether I believe you is not at issue. What's at issue is whether you realistically have a case, and therefore what you should do in your circumstances. I can tell you that I've heard it all before. You're not the first man I've been asked to represent, you know."

"What do you advise me to do?"

"I can't advise you," Fernandez said briskly. "The decision you face is much too difficult. I can only lay out the situation." She pushed her intercom button. "Bob, tell Richard and Eileen to bring the car around. I'll meet them in front of the building." She turned back to Sanders.

"Let me review your problems," she said. She ticked them off on her fingers. "One: you claim that you got into an intimate situation with a younger, very attractive woman but you turned her down. In the absence of witnesses or corroborating evidence, that isn't going to be an easy story to sell to a jury.

"Two: if you bring a lawsuit, the company will fire you. You're looking at three years before you come to trial. You have to think about how you'll support yourself during that time, about how you'll make your house payments, and your other expenses. I might take you on a contingency basis, but you'll still have to pay all direct costs throughout the trial. That will be a minimum of one hundred thousand dollars. I don't know whether you'll want to mortgage your house to pay for it. But it has to be dealt with.

"Three: a lawsuit will bring all this out into the open. It'll be in the papers and on the evening news for years before the trial begins. I can't adequately describe how destructive an experience that is-for you, and for your wife and family. Many families don't survive the pre-trial period intact. There are divorces, suicides, illnesses. It's very difficult.

"Four: because of theoffer oflateral transfer, it's not clear what we can claim as damages. The company will claim that you have no case, and we'll have to fight it. But even with a stunning victory, you may end up with only a couple of hundred thousand dollars after expenses and fees and three years of your life. And of course the company can appeal, delaying payment further.

"Five: if you bring a lawsuit, you'll never work in this industry again.

I know it's not supposed to work that way, but as a practical matter,

“I’11 never be hired for another That's how it goes. It would you be one thing if you were fifty-five. But you're only forty-one. I don't know if you want to make that choice, at this point in your life."

“Jesus." He slumped back in the chair.

"I'm sorry, but these are the facts of litigation."

"But it's so unjust."

She put on her raincoat. "Unfortunately, the law has nothing to do with justice, Mr. Sanders," she said. "It's merely a method for dispute resolution." She snapped her briefcase shut and extended her hand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sanders. I wish it were different. Please feel free to call me again if you have any further questions."

She hurried out of the office, leaving him sitting there. After a moment the assistant came in. "Can I do anything for you?"

"No," Sanders said, shaking his head slowly. "No, I was just leaving."

In the car, driving to the courthouse, Louise Fernandez recounted Sanders's story to the two junior lawyers traveling with her. One lawyer, a woman, said, "You don't really believe him?"

"Who knows?" Fernandez said. "It was behind closed doors. There's never a way to know."

The young woman shook her head. "I just can't believe a woman would act that way. So aggressively."

"Why not?" Fernandez said. "Suppose this wasn't a case of harassment. Suppose this was a question of implied promise between a man and a woman. The man claims that behind closed doors he was promised a big bonus, but the woman denies it. Would you assume that the man was lying because a woman wouldn't act that way?"

"Not about that, no."

"In that situation, you'd think that anything was possible."

"But this isn't a contract," the woman said. "This is sexual behavior."

"So you think women are unpredictable in their contractual arrangements, but stereotypical in their sexual arrangements?"

The woman said, "I don't know if stereotypical is the word I'd use."

"You just said that you can't believe a woman would act aggressively in sex. Isn't that a stereotype?"

"Well, no," the woman said. "It's not a stereotype, because it's true. Women are different from men when it comes to sex."

"And black people have rhythm," Fernandez said. "Asians are workaholics. And Hispanics don't confront…"

"But this is different. I mean, there are studies about this. Men and women don't even talk to each other the same way."

"Oh, you mean like the studies that show that women are less good at business and strategic thinking?"

"No. Those studies are wrong."

"I see. Those studies are wrong. But the studies about sexual differences are right?"

"Well, sure. Because sex is fundamental. It's a primal drive."

"I don't see why. It's used for all sorts of purposes. As a way of relating, a way of placating, a way of provoking, as an offer, as a weapon, as a threat. It can be quite complicated, the ways sex is used. Haven't you found that to be true?"

The woman crossed her arms. "I don't think so."

Speaking for the first time, the young man said, "So what'd you tell this guy? Not to litigate?"

"No. But I told him his problems."

"What do you think he should do?"

"I don't know," Fernandez said. "But I know what he should have done."

"What?"

"It's terrible to say it," she said. "But in the real world? With no witnesses? Alone in the office with his boss? He probably should have shut up and fucked her. Because right now, that poor bastard has no options at all. If he's not careful, his life is over."

Sanders walked slowly back down the hill toward Pioneer Square. The rain had stopped, but the afternoon was still damp and gray. The wet pavement beneath his feet sloped steeply downward. Around him the tops of the skyscrapers disappeared into the low-hanging, chilly mist.

He was not sure what he had expected to hear from Louise Fernandez, but it was certainly not a detailed account of the possibility of his being fired, mortgaging his house, and never working again.

Sanders felt overwhelmed by the sudden turn that his life had taken, and by a realization of the precariousness of his existence. Two days ago, he was an established executive with a stable position and a promising future. Now he faced disgrace, humiliation, loss of his job. All sense of security had vanished.

He thought of all the questions Fernandez had asked him-questions that had never occurred to him before. Why hadn't he told anyone. Why hadn't he made notes. Why hadn't he told Meredith explicitly that her advances were unwelcome. Fernandez operated in a world of rules and distinctions that he did not understand, that had never crossed his mind. And now those distinctions turned out to be vitally important.

Your situation is not good, Mr.Sanders.

And yet… how could he have prevented this? What should he have done instead? He considered the possibilities.

Suppose he had called Blackburn right after the meeting with Meredith, and had told him in detail that Meredith had harassed him. He could have called from the ferry, lodged his complaint before she lodged hers. Would it have made a difference? What would Blackburn have done?

He shook his head, thinking about it. It seemed unlikely that anything would make a difference. Because in the end, Meredith was tied in to the power structure of the company in a way that Sanders was not. Meredith was a corporate player; she had power, allies. That was the message the final message-of this situation. Sanders didn't count. He was just a technical guy, a cog in the corporate wheels. His job was to get along with his new boss, and he had failed to do that. Whatever he did now was just whining. Or worse: ratting on the boss. Whistleblowing. And nobody liked a whistle-blower.

So what could he have done?

As he thought about it, he realized that he couldn't have called Blackburn right after the meeting because his cellular phone had gone dead, its power drained.

He had a sudden image of a car-a manand awoman in a car, driving to a party. Somebody had told him something once… a story about some people in a car.

It teased him. He couldn't quite get it.

There were plenty of reasons why the phone might be dead. The most likely explanation was nicad memory. The new phones used rechargeable nickel-cadmium batteries, and if they didn't completely discharge between uses, the batteries could reset themselves at a shorter duration. You never knew when it was going to show up. Sanders had had to throw out batteries before because they developed a short memory.

He took out his phone, turned it on. It glowed brightly. The battery was holding up fine today.

But there was something…

Driving ina car.

Something he wasn't thinking about.

Goingto a party.

He frowned. He couldn't get it. It hung at the back of his memory, too dim to recover.

But it started him thinking: what else wasn't he getting? Because as he considered the whole situation, he began to have the nagging sense that there was something else that he was overlooking. And he had the feeling that Fernandez had overlooked it, too. Something hadn't come up in her questions to him. Something that everybody was taking for granted, even though-

Meredith.

Something about Meredith.

She had accused him of harassment. She had gone to Blackburn and accused him the next morning. Why would she do that? No doubt she felt guilty about what had happened at the meeting. And perhaps she was afraid Sanders would accuse her, so she decided to accuse him first. Her accusation was understandable in that light.

But if Meredith really had power, it didn't make sense to raise the sexual issue at all. She could just as easily have gone to Blackburn and said, Listen, it isn't working out with Tom. I can't deal with him. We have to make a change. And Blackburn would have done it.

Instead, she had accused him of harassment. And that must have been embarrassing to her. Because harassment implied a loss of control. It meant that she had not been able to control her subordinate in a meeting. Even if something unpleasant did happen, a boss would never mention it.

Harassment is about power.

It was one thing if you were a lowly female assistant fondled by a stronger, powerful man. But in this case Meredith was the boss. She had all the power. Why would she claim harassment by Sanders? Because the fact was, subordinates didn't harass their bosses. It just didn't happen. You'd have to be crazy to harass your boss.

Harassment is about power-the undue exerciseofpower by a superior over

a subordinate.

For her to claim sexual harassment was, in an odd way, to admit that she was subordinate to Sanders. And she would never do that. Quite the contrary: Meredith was new to her job, eager to prove that she was in control of the situation. So her accusation made no sense-unless she was using it as a convenient way to destroy him. Sexual harassment had the advantage of being a charge that was difficult to recover from. You were presumed guilty until proven innocent-and it was hard to prove innocence. It tarnished any man, no matter how frivolous the accusation. In that sense, harassment was a very powerful accusation. The most powerful accusation she could make.

But then, she said that she wasn't going to press charges. And the question was

Why not?

Sanders stopped on the street.

That was it.

She assured me, she's not going to press charges.

Why wasn't Meredith going to press charges?

At the time that Blackburn said that, Sanders had never questioned it. Louise Fernandez had never questioned it. But the fact was, Meredith's refusal to press charges made no sense at all. She had already accused him. Why not press it? Why not carry it to its conclusion?

Maybe Blackburn had talked her out of it. Blackburn was always so concerned about appearances.

But Sanders didn't think that was what had happened. Because a formal accusation could still be handled quietly. It could be processed inside the company.

And from Meredith's standpoint, there were real advantages to a formal accusation. Sanders was popular at DigiCom. He had been with the company a long time. If her goal was to get rid of him, to banish him to Texas, why not defuse the inevitable corporate grumbling by letting the accusation work its way through the company grapevine? Why not make it official?

The more Sanders thought about it, the more it seemed that there was only one explanation: Meredith wasn't going to press charges because she couldn't.

She couldn't, because she had some other problem.

Some other consideration.

Something else was going on.

We can handle it quietly.

Slowly, Sanders began to see everything differently. In the meeting earlier that day, Blackburn hadn't been ignoring him or slighting him. Not at all: Blackburn was scrambling.

Blackburn was scared.

We can handle it quietly. It's best for everyone.

What did he mean, best for everyone?

What problem did Meredith have?

What problem could she have?

The more Sanders thought about it, the moreitseemed that there could be only one possible reason why she wasn't pressing charges against him.

He took out his phone, called United Airlines, and booked three round-trip tickets to Phoenix.

And then he called his wife.

Ygoddamn son of a bitch," Susan said.

They were sitting in a corner table at 11 Terrazzo. It was two o'clock; the restaurant was nearly deserted. Susan had listened to him for half an hour, without interruption or comment. He told her everything that had happened in his meeting with Meredith, and everything that had happened that morning. The Conley-White meeting. The conversation with Phil. The conversation with Fernandez. Now he had finished. She stared at him.

"I could really learn to despise you, you know that? You son of a bitch, why didn't you tell me she was your ex-girlfriend?"

"I don't know," he said. "I didn't want to go into it."

"You didn't want to go into it? Adele and Mary Anne are talking to me on the phone all day, and they know, but I don't? It's humiliating, Tom."

"Well," he said, "you know you've been upset a lot lately, and-"

"Cut the crap, Tom," she said. "This has nothing to do with me. You didn't tell me because you didn't want to."

"Susan, that's not-"

"Yes it is, Tom. I was asking you about her, last night. You could have told me if you wanted to. But you didn't." She shook her head. "Son of a bitch. I can't believe what an asshole you are. You've made a real mess of this. Do you realize what a mess this is?"

"Yes," he said, hanging his head.

"Don't act contrite with me, you asshole."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You're sorry? Fuck you, you're sorry. Jesus Christ. I can't believe you. What an asshole. You spent the night with your goddamnedgirlfriend."

"I didn't spend the night. And she's not my girlfriend."

"What do you mean? She was your big heartthrob."

"She wasn't my `big heartthrob.' "

"Oh yeah? Then why wouldn't you tell me?" She shook her head. `Just answer one question. Did you fuck her or not?"

"No. I didn't."

She stared at him intently, stirring her coffee. "You're telling me the truth?"

"Yes."

"Nothing left out? No inconvenient parts skipped?"

"No. Nothing."

"Then why would she accuse you?"

"What do you mean?" he said.

"I mean, there must be a reason she accused you. You must have done something."

"Well, I didn't. I turned her down."

"Uh-huh. Sure." She frowned at him. "You know, this is not just about you, Tom. This involves your whole family: me and the kids."

"I understand that."

"Why didn't you tell me? If you told me last night, I could have helped you."

"Then help me now."

"Well, there isn't much we can do now," Susan said, with heavy sarcasm. "Not after she's gone to Blackburn and made an accusation first. Now you're finished."

"I'm not so sure."

"Trust me, you haven't got a move," she said. "If you go to trial, it'll be living hell for at least three years, and I personally don't think you can win. You're a man bringing a charge of harassment against a woman. They'll laugh you out of court."

"Maybe."

"Trust me, they will. So you can't go to trial. What can you do? Move to Austin. Jesus."

"I keep thinking," Sanders said. "She accused me of harassment, but now she isn't pressing charges. And I keep thinking, Why isn't she pressing charges?"

"Whocares?" Susan said, with an irritable wave of the hand. "It could be any of a million reasons. Corporate politics. Or Phil talked her out of it. Or Garvin. It doesn't matter why. Tom, face the facts:you have no move. Not now, you stupid son of a bitch."

"Susan, will you settle down?"

"Fuck you, Tom. You're dishonest and irresponsible."

"Susan-"

"We've been married five years. I deserve better than this."

"Will you take it easy? I'm trying to tell you: I think I do have a move."

"Tom. Youdon't."

"I think I do. Because this is a very dangerous situation," Sanders said. "It's dangerous for everybody."

"What does that mean?"

"Let's assume that Louise Fernandez told me the truth about my lawsuit."

"She did. She's a good lawyer."

"But she wasn't looking at it from the company's standpoint. She was looking at it from the plaintiffs standpoint."

"Yeah, well, you're a plaintiff."

"No, I'm not," he said. "I'm apotentialplaintiff."

There was a moment of silence.

Susan stared at him. Her eyes scanned his face. She frowned. He watched her put it together. "You're kidding."

“No.”

"You must be out of your mind."

"No. Look at the situation. DigiCom's in the middle of a merger with a very conservative East Coast company. A company that's already pulled out of one merger because an employee had a little bad publicity. Supposedly this employee used some rough language while firing a temp secretary, and then Conley-White pulled out. They're very skittish about publicity. Which means the last thing anybody at DigiCom wants is a sexual harassment suit against the new female vice president."

"Tom. Do you realize what you're saying?"

"Yes," he said.

"If you do this, they're going to go crazy. They're going to try to destroy you."

"I know."

"Have you talked to Max about this? Maybe you should."

"The hell with Max. He's a crazy old man."

"I'd ask him. Because this isn't really your thing, Tom. You were never a corporate infighter. I don't know if you can pull this off."

"I think I can."

"It'll be nasty. In a day or so, you're going to wish you had taken the Austin job."

"Fuck it."

"It'll get reallymean, Tom. You'll lose your friends."

"Fuck it."

`Just so you're ready."

"I am." Sanders looked at his watch. "Susan, I want you to take the kids and visit your mother for a few days." Her mother lived in Phoenix. "If you go home now and pack, you can make the eight o'clock flight at Sea-Tac. I've booked three seats for you."

She stared at him, as if she were seeing a stranger. "You're really going to do this…," she said slowly.

"Yes. I am."

"Oh boy." She bent over, picked up her purse from the floor, and pulled out her day organizer.

He said, "I don't want you or the kids to be involved. I don't want anybody pushing a news camera in their faces, Susan."

"Well, just a minute…" She ran her finger down her appointments. "I can move that… And… conference call… Yes." She looked up. "Yes. I can leave for a few days." She glanced at her watch. "I guess I better hurry and pack."

He stood up and walked outside the restaurant with her. It was raining; the light on the street was gray and bleak. She looked up at him and kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck, Tom. Be careful."

He could see that she was frightened. It made him frightened, too.

"I'll be okay."

"I love you," she said. And then she walked quickly away in the rain. He waited for a moment to see if she looked back at him, but she never did.

Walking back to his office, he suddenly realized how alone he felt. Susan was leaving with the kids. He was on his own now. He had imagined he would feel relieved, free to act without restraint, but instead he felt abandoned and at risk. Chilled, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his raincoat.

He hadn't handled the lunch with Susan well. And she would be going off, mulling over his answers.

Why didn't you tell me?

He hadn't answered that well. He hadn't been able to express the conflicting feelings he had experienced last night. The unclean feeling, and the guilt, and the sense that he had somehow done something wrong, even though he hadn't done anything wrong.

You could have told me.

He hadn't done anything wrong, he told himself. But then why hadn't he told her? He had no answer to that. He passed a graphics shop, and a plumbing supply store with white porcelain fixtures in a window display.

You didn't tell me because you didn't want to.

But that made no sense. Why wouldn't he want to tell her? Once again, his thoughts were interrupted by images from the past: the white garter belt… a bowl of popcorn… the stained-glass flower on the door to his apartment.

Cut the crap, Tom. This has nothing to do with me.

Blood in the white bathroom sink, and Meredith laughing about it. Why was she laughing? He couldn't remember now; it was just an isolated image. A stewardess putting a tray of airline food in front of him. A suitcase on the bed. The television sound turned off. The stained-glass flower, in gaudy orange and purple.

Have you talked to Max?

She was right about that, he thought. He should talk to Max. And he would, right after he gave Blackburn the bad news.

Sanders was back at his office at two-thirty. He was surprised to find Blackburn there, standing behind Sanders's desk, talking on his phone. Blackburn hung up, looking a little guilty. "Oh, Tom. Good. I'm glad you're back." He walked back around Sanders's desk. "What have you decided?"

"I've thought this over very carefully," Sanders said, closing the door to the hallway.

"And?"

"I've decided to retain Louise Fernandez of Marin, Howard to represent me."

Blackburn looked puzzled. "To represent you?"

"Yes. In the event it becomes necessary to litigate."

"Litigate," Blackburn said. "On what basis would you litigate, Tom?"

"Sexual harassment under Title VII," Sanders said.

"Oh, Tom," Blackburn said, making a mournful face. "That would be unwise. That would be very unwise. I urge you to reconsider."

"I've reconsidered all day," Sanders said. "But the fact is, Meredith Johnson harassed me, she made advances to me and I turned her down. Now she's a woman scorned, and she is being vindictive toward me. I'm prepared to sue if it comes to that."

"Tom…"

"That's it, Phil. That's what'll happen if you transfer me out of the division."

Blackburn threw up his hands. "But what do you expect us to do? Transfer Meredith?"

"Yes," Sanders said. "Or fire her. That's the usual thing one does with a harassing supervisor."

"But you forget: she's accused you of harassment, too."

"She's lying," Sanders said.

"But there are no witnesses, Tom. No evidence either way. You and

she are both our trusted employees. How do you expect us to decide who to believe?"

"That's your problem, Phil. All I have to say is, I'm innocent. And I'm prepared to sue."

Blackburn stood in the middle of the room, frowning. "Louise Fernandez is a smart attorney. I can't believe she recommended this course of action to you."

"No. This is my decision."

"Then it's very unwise," Blackburn said. "You are putting the company in a very difficult position."

"The company is putting me in a difficult position."

"I don't know what to say," Phil said. "I hope this doesn't force us to terminate you."

Sanders stared at him, meeting his gaze evenly. "I hope not, too," he said. "But I don't have confidence that the company has takenmycomplaint seriously. I'll fill out a formal charge of sexual harassment with Bill Everts in HR later today. And I'm asking Louise to draw up the necessary papers to file with the state Human Rights Commission."

"Christ."

"She should file first thing tomorrow morning."

"I don't see what the rush is."

"There's no rush. It's just a filing. To get the complaint on record. I'm required to do that."

"But this is very serious, Tom."

"I know it, Phil."

"I'd like to ask you to do me a favor, as your friend."

"What's that?"

"Hold off the formal complaint. At least, with the HRC. Give us a chance to conduct an in-house investigation before you take this outside."

"But you aren't conducting an in-house investigation, Phil."

"Yes, we are."

"You didn't even want to hear my side of the story this morning. You told me it didn't matter."

"That's not true," Blackburn said. "You misunderstood me entirely. Of course it matters. And I assure you, we will hear your story in detail as part of our investigation."

"I don't know, Phil," Sanders said. "I don't see how the company can be neutral on this issue. It seems everything is stacked against me. Everybody believes Meredith and not me."

"I assure you that is not the case."

"It certainly seems like it. You told me this morning how well connected she is. How many allies she has. You mentioned that several times."

"Our investigation will be scrupulous and impartial. But in any case it seems reasonable to ask you to wait for the outcome before filing with a state agency."

"How long do you want me to wait?"

"Thirty days."

Sanders laughed.

"But that's the standard time for a harassment investigation."

"You could do it in a day, if you wanted to."

"But you must agree, Tom, that we're very busy right now, with all the merger meetings."

"That's your problem, Phil. I have a different problem. I've been unjustly treated by my superior, and I feel I have a right, as a longstanding senior employee, to see my complaint resolved promptly."

Blackburn sighed. "All right. Let me get back to you," he said. He hurried out of the room.

Sanders slumped in his chair and stared into space.

It had begun.

Fifteen minutes later, Blackburn met with Garvin in the fifth-floor executive conference room. Also present at the meeting were Stephanie Kaplan and Bill Everts, the head of Human Resources at DigiCom.

Blackburn began the meeting by saying, "Tom Sanders has retained outside counsel and is threatening litigation over Meredith Johnson."

"Oh, Christ," Garvin said.

"He's claiming sexual harassment."

Garvin kicked the leg of the table. "That son of a bitch."

Kaplan said, "What does he say happened?"

"I don't have all the details yet," Blackburn said. "But in essence he claims that Meredith made sexual overtures to him in her office last night, that he turned her down, and that now she is being vindictive."

Garvin gave a long sigh. "Shit," he said. "This is just what I didn't want to happen. This could be adisaster."

"I know, Bob."

Stephanie Kaplan said, "Did she do it?"

"Christ," Garvin said. "Who knows in these situations. That's always the question." He turned to Everts. "Has Sanders come to you about this?"

"Not yet, no. I imagine he will."

"We have to keep it in-house," Garvin said. "That's essential."

"Essential," Kaplan said, nodding. "Phil has to make sure it stays in-house."

"I'm trying," Blackburn said. "But Sanders is talking about filing tomorrow with the HRC."

"That's a public filing?"

"Yes."

"How soon is it made public?"

"Probably within forty-eight hours. Depending on how fast HRC does the paperwork."

"Christ," Garvin said. "Forty-eight hours? What's the matter with him? Doesn't he realize what he's doing?"

Blackburn said, "I think he does. I think he knows exactly."

"Blackmail?"

"Well. Pressure."

Garvin said, "Have you talked to Meredith?"

"Not since this morning."

"Somebody's got to talk to her. I'll talk to her. But how are we going to stop Sanders?"

Blackburn said, "I asked him to hold off the HRC filing, pending our investigation, for thirty days. He said no. He said we should be able to conduct our investigation in one day."

"Well, he got that right," Garvin said. "For all kinds of reasons, we damn well better conduct the investigation in one day."

"Bob, I don't know if that's possible," Blackburn said. "We have significant exposure here. The corporation is required by law to conduct a thorough and impartial investigation. We can't appear to be rushed or-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Garvin said. "I don't want to hear this legal pissing and moaning. What are we talking about? Two people, right? And no witnesses, right? So there's just two people. How long does it take to interview two people?"

"Well, it may not be that simple," Blackburn said, with a significant look.

"I'll tell you what's simple," Garvin said. "This is what's simple. Conley-White is a company obsessed with its public image. They sell textbooks to school boards that believe in Noah's ark. They sell magazines for kids. They have a vitamin company. They have a health-food company that markets baby foods. Rainbow Mush or something. Now Conley-White's buying our company, and in the middle of the acquisition a high-profile female executive, the woman in line to become CEO within two years, is accused of seeking sexual favors from a married man. You know what they're going to do if that gets out? They're going tobail. You know that Nichols is looking for any excuse to weasel out of this thing. This is perfect for him. Christ."

"But Sanders has already questioned our impartiality," Blackburn said. "And I'm not sure how many people know about the, ah, prior questions that we-"

"Quite a few," Kaplan said. "And didn't it come up at an officers' meeting last year?"

"Check the minutes," Garvin said. "We have no legal problem with current corporate officers, is that right?"

"That's right," Blackburn said. "Current corporate officers cannot be questioned or deposed on these matters."

"And we haven't lost any corporate officers in the last year? Nobody retired or moved?"

“No.”

"Okay. So fuck him." Garvin turned to Everts. "Bill, I want you to go back through the HR records, and look carefully at Sanders. See if he's dotted every i and crossed every t. If he hasn't, I want to know."

"Right," Everts said. "But my guess is he's clean."

"All right," Garvin said, "let's assume that he is. What's it going to take to make Sanders go away? What does he want?"

Blackburn said, "I think he wants his job, Bob."

"He can't have his job."

"Well, that's the problem," Blackburn said.

Garvin snorted. "What's our liability, assuming he ever got to trial?" "I don't think he has a case, based on what happened in that office. Our biggest liability would come from any perceived failure to respect due process and conduct a thorough investigation. Sanders could win on that alone, if we're not careful. That's my point."

"So we'll be careful. Fine."

"Now, guys," Blackburn said. "I feel strongly obliged to insert a note of caution. The extreme delicacy of this situation means that we have to be mindful of the details. As Pascal once said, `God is in the details.' And in this case, the competing balance of legitimate legal claims forces me to admit it's unclear precisely what our best-"

"Phil," Garvin said. "Cut the crap."

Kaplan said, "Mies."

Blackburn said, "What?"

"Mies van der Rohe said, `God is in the details.' "

"Who gives a shit?" Garvin said, pounding the table. "The point is, Sanders has no case he just has us by the balls. And he knows it."

Blackburn winced. "I wouldn't phrase it exactly that way, but-" "But that's the fucking situation."

"Yes."

Kaplan said, "Tom's smart, you know. A little naive, but smart."

"Very smart," Garvin said. "Remember, I trained him. Taught him all he knows. He's going to be a big problem." He turned to Blackburn. "Get to the bottom line. What're we dealing with? Impartiality, right?"

"Yes…"

"And we want to move him out."

"Right."

"Okay. Will he accept mediation?"

"I don't know. I doubt it."

"Why not?"

"Ordinarily, we only use mediation to resolve settlement packages for employees who are leaving."

“So?”

"I think that's how he'll view it."

"Let's try, anyway. Tell him it's nonbinding, and see if we can get him to accept it on that basis. Give him three names and let him pick one. Mediate it tomorrow. Do I need to talk to him?"

"Probably. Let me try first, and you back up."

"Okay."

Kaplan said, "Of course, if we go to an outside mediator, we introduce an unpredictable element."

"You mean the mediator could find against us? I'll take the risk," Garvin said. "The important thing is to get the thing resolved. Quietly-and fast. I don't want Ed Nichols backpedaling on me. We have a press conference scheduled for Friday noon. I want this issue dead and buried by then, and I want Meredith Johnson announced as the new head of the division on Friday. Everybody clear on what's going to happen?"

They said they were.

"Then do it," Garvin said, and walked out of the room. Blackburn hurried after him.

In the hallway outside, Garvin said to Blackburn, "Christ, what a mess. Let me tell you. I'm very unhappy."

"I know," Blackburn said mournfully. He was shaking his head sadly.

"You really screwed the pooch on this one, Phil. Christ. You could have handled this one better. A lot better."

"How? What could I have done? He says that she hustled him, Bob. It's a serious matter."

"Meredith Johnson is vital to the success of this merger," Garvin said flatly.

"Yes, Bob. Of course."

"We must keep her."

"Yes, Bob. But we both know that in the past she has-"

"She has proven herself an outstanding piece of executive talent," Garvin said, interrupting him. "I won't allow these ridiculous allegations to jeopardize her career."

Blackburn was aware of Garvin's unswerving support of Meredith. For years, Garvin had had a blind spot for Johnson. Whenever criticisms ofJohnson arose, Garvin would somehow change the subject, shift to something else. There was no reasoning with him. But now Blackburn felt he had to try. "Bob," he said. "Meredith's only human. We know she has her limitations."

"Yes," Garvin said. "She has youth. Enthusiasm. Honesty. Unwillingness to play corporate games. And of course, she's a woman. That's a real limitation, being a woman."

"But Bob-"

"I tell you, I can't stomach the excuses anymore," Garvin said. "We don't have women in high corporate positions here. Nobody does. Corporate America is rooms full of men. And whenever I talk about putting a woman in, there's always a `But Bob' that comes up. The hell with it, Phil. We've got to break the glass ceiling sometime."

Blackburn sighed. Garvin was shifting the subject again. He said, "Bob, nobody's disagreeing with-"

"Yes, they are. You're disagreeing, Phil. You're giving me excuses why Meredith isn't suitable. And I'm telling you that if I had named some other woman, there'd be other excuses why that other woman isn't suitable. And I tell you, I'm tired of it."

Blackburn said, "We've got Stephanie. We've got Mary Anne."

"Tokens," Garvin said, with a dismissing wave. "Sure, let the CFO be a woman. Let a couple of the midrange execs be women. Throw the broads a bone. The fact remains. You can't tell me that a bright, able young woman starting out in business isn't held back by a hundred littlereasons, oh such goodreasons, why she shouldn't be advanced, why she shouldn't attain a major position of power. But in the end, it's just prejudice. And it has to stop. We have to give these bright young women a decent opportunity."

Blackburn said, "Well, Bob. I just think it would be prudent for you to get Meredith's view of this situation."

"I will. I'll find out what the hell happened. I know she'll tell me. But this thing still has to be resolved."

"Yes, it does, Bob."

"And I want you to be clear. I expect you to do whatever is necessary to get it resolved."

"Okay, Bob."

"Whatever isnecessary," Garvin said. "Put the pressure on Sanders. Make sure he feels it. Rattle his cage, Phil."

"Okay, Bob."

"I'll deal with Meredith. You just take care of Sanders. I want you to rattle his fucking cage until he's black and blue."

Bob." Meredith Johnson stood at one of the center tables in the Design Group laboratory, going over the torn-apart Twinkle drives with Mark Lewyn. She came over when she saw Garvin standing to one side. "I can't tell you how sorry I am about all this business with Sanders."

"We're having some problems with it," Garvin said.

"I keep going over what happened," she said. "Wondering what I should have done. But he was angry and out of control. He had too much to drink, and he behaved badly. Not that we all haven't done that at some time in our lives, but…" She shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sorry."

"Apparently, he's going to file a harassment charge."

"That's unfortunate," she said. "But I suppose it's part of the pattern-trying to humiliate me, to discredit me with the people in the division."

"I won't let that happen," Garvin said.

"He resented my getting the job, and he couldn't deal with having me as his superior. He had to try and put me in my place. Some men are like that." She shook her head sadly. "For all the talk about the new male sensibility, I'm afraid very few men are like you, Bob."

Garvin said, "My concern now, Meredith, is that his filing may interfere with the acquisition."

"I can't see why that would be a problem," she said. "I think we can keep it under control."

"It's a problem, if he files with the state HRC."

"You mean he's going to gooutside?" she asked.

"Yes. That's exactly what I mean."

Meredith stared off into space. For the first time, she seemed to lose her composure. She bit her lip. "That could be very awkward."

"I'll say. I've sent Phil to see him, to ask if we can mediate. With an experienced outside person. Someone like Judge Murphy. I'm trying to arrange it for tomorrow."

"Fine," Meredith said. "I can clear my schedule for a couple of hours tomorrow. But I don't know what we can expect to come out of it. He won't admit what happened, I'm sure. And there isn't any record, or any witnesses."

"I wanted you to fill me in," Garvin said, "on exactly what did happen, last night."

"Oh, Bob," she sighed. "I blame myself, every time I go over it."

"You shouldn't."

"I know, but I do. If my assistant hadn't gone off to rent her apartment, I could have buzzed her in, and none of this would have happened."

"I think you better tell me, Meredith."

"Of course, Bob." She leaned toward him and spoke quietly, steadily, for the next several minutes. Garvin stood beside her, shaking his head angrily as he listened.

Don Cherry put his Nikes up on Lewyn's desk. "Yeah? So Garvin came in. Then what happened?"

"So Garvin's standing over there in the corner, hopping up and down from one foot to the other, the way he does. Waiting to be noticed. He won't come over, he's waiting to be noticed. And Meredith's talking to me about the Twinkle drive that I have spread all over the table, and I'm showing her what we've found is wrong with the laser heads"

"She gets all that?"

"Yeah, she seems okay. She's not Sanders, but she's okay. Fast learner."

"And better perfume than Sanders," Cherry said.

"Yeah, I like her perfume," Lewyn said. "Anyway-"

"Sanders's perfume leaves a lot to be desired."

"Yeah. Anyway, pretty soon Garvin gets tired of hopping, and he gives a discreet little cough, and Meredith notices Garvin and she goes `Oh,' with a little thrill in her voice, you know that little sharp intake of breath?"

"Uh-oh," Cherry said. "Are we talking humparoonie here or what?"

"Well, that's thething," Lewyn said. "She goes running over to him, and he holds out his arms to her, and I tell you it looks like that ad where the two lovers run toward each other in slow motion."

"Uh-oh," Cherry said. "Garvin's wife is going to be pissed."

"But that's the thing," Lewyn said. "When they finally get together, standing there side by side, it isn't that way at all. They're talking, and she's sort of cooing and batting her eyes at him, and he's such a tough guy he doesn't acknowledge it, but it's working on him."

"She's seriously cute, that's why," Cherry said. "I mean face it, she's got an outstanding molded case, with superior fit and finish."

"But the thing is, it's not like lovers at all. I'm staring, trying not to stare, and I tell you, it's not lovers. It's something else. It's almost like father-daughter, Don."

"Hey. You can fuck your daughter. Millions do."

"No, you know what I think? I think Bob sees himself in her. He sees something that reminds him of himself when he was younger. Some kind of energy or something. And I tell you, she plays it, Don. He crosses his arms, she crosses hers. He leans against the wall, she leans against the wall. She matches him exactly. And from a distance, I'm telling you: shelooks like him, Don."

"No…"

"Yes. Think about it."

"It'd have to be from avery long distance," Cherry said. He took his feet off the table, and got up to leave. "So what're we saying here? Nepotism in disguise?"

"I don't know. But Meredith's got some kind of rapport with him. It isn't pure business."

"Hey," Cherry said. "Nothing's pure business. I learned that one a long time ago."

Louise Fernandez came into her office, and dropped her briefcase on the floor. She thumbed through a stack of phone messages and turned to Sanders. "What's going on? I have three calls this afternoon from Phil Blackburn."

"That's because I told him I had retained you as my attorney, that I was prepared to litigate my claim. And I, uh, suggested that you were filing with the HRC in the morning."

"I couldn't possibly file tomorrow," she said. "And I wouldn't recommend that we do so now, in any event. Mr. Sanders, I take false statements very seriously. Don't ever characterize my actions again."

"I'm sorry," he said. "But things are happening very fast."

`Just so we are clear. I don't like it, and if it happens again, you'll be looking for new counsel." That coldness again, the sudden coldness. "Now. So you told Blackburn. What was his response?"

"He asked me if I would mediate."

"Absolutely not," Fernandez said.

"Why not?"

"Mediation is invariably to the benefit of the company."

"He said it would be non-binding."

"Even so. It amounts to free discovery on their part. There's no reason to give it to them."

"And he said you could be present," he said.

"Of course I can be present, Mr. Sanders. That's no concession. You must have an attorney present at all times or the mediation will be invalid."

"Here are the three names he gave me, as possible mediators." Sanders passed her the list.

She glanced at it briefly. "The usual suspects. One of them is better than the other two. But I still don't-"

"He wants to do the mediation tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Fernandez stared at him, and sat back in her chair.

"Mr. Sanders, I'm all for a timely resolution, but this is ridiculous. We can't be ready by tomorrow. And as I said, I don't recommend that you agree to mediate under any circumstances. Is there something here I don't know?"

"Yes," he said.

"Let's have it."

He hesitated.

She said, "Any communication you make to me is privileged and confidential."

"All right. DigiCom is about to be acquired by a New York company called Conley-White."

"So the rumors are true."

"Yes," he said. "They intend to announce the merger at a press conference on Friday. And they intend to announce Meredith Johnson as the new vice president of the company, on Friday."

"I see," she said. "So that's Phil's urgency."

"Yes."

"And your complaint presents an immediate and serious problem for him."

He nodded. "Let's say it comes at a very sensitive time."

She was silent for a moment, peering at him over her reading glasses. "Mr. Sanders, I misjudged you. I had the impression you were a timid man."

"They're forcing me to do this."

"Are they." She gave him an appraising look. Then she pushed the intercom button. "Bob, let me see my calendar. I have to clear some things. And ask Herb and Alan to come in. Tell them to drop whatever they're doing. This is more important." She pushed the papers aside. "Are all the mediators on this list available?"

"I assume so."

"I'm going to request Barbara Murphy. Judge Murphy. You won't like her, but she'll do a better job than the others. I'll try and set it up for the afternoon if I can. We need the time. Otherwise, late morning. You realize the risk you're taking? I assume you do. This is a very dangerous game you've decided to play." She pushed the intercom. "Bob? Cancel Roger Rosenberg. Cancel Ellen at six. Remind me to call my husband and tell him I won't be home for dinner." She looked at Sanders. "Neither will you. Do you need to call home?"

"My wife and kidsare leaving town tonight." She raised her eyebrows. "You told her everything?" "Yes." "You are serious." "Yes," he said. "I'm serious." "Good," she said. "You're going to need to be. Let's be frank, Mr. Sanders. What you have embarked upon is not strictly a legal procedure. In essence, you're playing the pressure points." "That's right." "Between now and Friday, you're in a position to exert considerable pressure on your company. "That's right." "And they on you, Mr. Sanders. They on you."

He found himself in a conference room, facing five people, all taking notes. Seated on either side of Fernandez were two young lawyers, a woman named Eileen and a man named Richard. Then there were two investigators, Alan and Herb: one tall and handsome; the other chubby, with a pockmarked face and a camera hanging around his neck.

Fernandez made Sanders go over his story again, in greater detail. She paused frequently to ask questions, noting down times, names, and specific details. The two lawyers never said anything, although Sanders had the strong impression that the young woman was unsympathetic to him. The two investigators were also silent, except at specific points. After Sanders mentioned Meredith's assistant, Alan, the handsome one, said, "Her name again?"

"Betsy Ross. Like in the flag."

"She's on the fifth floor?"

"Yes."

"What time does she go home?"

"Last night, she left at six-fifteen."

"I may want to meet her casually. Can I go up to the fifth floor?" "No. All visitors are stopped at reception in the downstairs lobby." "What if I'm delivering a package? Would Betsy take delivery of a package?"

"No. Packages go to central receiving."

"Okay. What about flowers? Would they be delivered directly?"

"Yes, I guess so. You mean, like flowers for Meredith?"

"Yes," Alan said.

"I guess you could deliver those in person."

"Fine," Alan said, and made a note.

They stopped him a second time when he mentioned the cleaning woman he had seen on leaving Meredith's office.

"DigiCom uses a cleaning service?"

"Yes. AMS-American Management Services. They're over on-" "We know them. On Boyle. What time do the cleaning crews enter the building?"

"Usually around seven."

"And this woman you didn't recognize. Describe her."

"About forty. Black. Very slender, gray hair, sort of curly."

"Tall? Short? What?"

He shrugged. "Medium."

Herb said, "That's not much. Can you give us anything else?"

Sanders hesitated. He thought about it. "No. I didn't really see her." "Close your eyes," Fernandez said.

He closed them.

"Now take a deep breath, and put yourself back. It's yesterday evening. You have been in Meredith's office, the door has been closed for almost an hour, you have had your experience with her, now you are leaving the room, you are going out… How does the door open, in or out?"

"It opens in."

"So you pull the door open… you walk out… Fast or slow?"

"I'm walking fast."

"And you go into the outer room… What do you see?"

Through the door. Into the outer room, elevators directly ahead. Feeling disheveled, of balance, hoping there is no one to see him. Looking to the right at Betsy Ross’r desk: clean, bare, chair pulled up to the edge of the desk. Notepad. Plastic cover on the computer. Desk light still burning.

Eyes swinging left, a cleaning woman at the other assistant desk. Her big gray cleaning cart stands alongside her. The cleaning woman is lifting a trash basket to empty it into the plastic sack that hangs open from one end of the cart. The woman pauses in mid-lift, stares at him curiously. He is wondering how long she has been there, what she has heard from inside the room. A tinny radio on the cart is playing music.

"I'll fucking kill you for this." Meredith calls after him.

The cleaning woman hears it. He looks away from her, embarrassed, and hurries toward the elevator. Feeling almost panic. He pushes the button.

"Do you see the woman?" Fernandez said.

"Yes. But it was so fast… And 1 didn't want to look at her." Sanders shook his head.

"Where are you now? At the elevator?"

"Yes."

"Can you see the woman?"

"No. I didn't want to look at her again."

"All right. Let's go back. No, no, keep your eyes closed. We'll do it again. Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly… Good… This time you're going to see everything in slow motion, like a movie. Now… come out through the door… and tell me when you see her for the first time."

Coming through the door. Everything slow. His head moving gently up and down with each footstep. Into the outer room. The desk to the right, tidy, lamp on. To the left, the other desk, the cleaning woman raising the

"I see her."

"All right, now freeze what you see. Freeze it like a photograph." "Okay."

"Now look at her. You can look at her now."

Standing with the trash basket in her hand. Staring at him, a bland expression. She's about forty. Short hair, curls. Blue uniform, like a hotel maid. A silver chain around her neck-no, hanging eyeglasses.

"She wears glasses around her neck, on a metal chain."

"Good. Just take your time. There's no rush. Look her up and down." "I keep seeing her face…"Staringat him. A bland expression.

"Look away from her face. Look her up and down."

The uniform. Spray bottle clipped to her waist. Knee-length blue skirt. White shoes. Like a nurse. No. Sneakers. No. Thickerrunning shoes. Thick soles. Dark laces. Something about the laces.

"She's got… sort of running shoes. Little old lady running shoes." "Good."

"There's something funny about the laces."

"Can you see what's funny?"

"No. They're dark. Something funny. I… can't tell."

"All right. Open your eyes."

He looked at the five of them. He was back in the room. "That was weird," he said.

"If there was time," Fernandez said, "I would have a professional hypnotist take you through the entire evening. I've found it can be very useful. But there's no time. Boys? It's five o'clock. You better get started."

The two investigators collected their notes and left.

"What are they going to do?"

"If we were litigating this," Fernandez said, "we would have the right to depose potential witnesses-to question individuals within the company who might have knowledge bearing on the case. Under the present circumstances, we have no right to interrogate anybody, because you're entering into private mediation. But if one of the DigiCom assistants chooses to have a drink with a handsome delivery man after work, and if the conversation happens to turn to gossip about sex in the office, well, that's the way the cookie crumbles."

"We can use that information?"

Fernandez smiled. "Let's see what we find out first," she said. "Now, I want to go back over several points in your story, particularly starting at the time you decided not to have intercourse with Ms. Johnson."

"Again?"

"Yes. But I have a few things to do first. I need to call Phil Blackburn and arrange tomorrow's sessions. And I have some other things to check on. Let's break now and meet again in two hours. Meanwhile, have you cleaned out your office?"

"No," he said.

"You better clean it out. Anything personal or incriminating, get it out. From now on, expect your desk drawers to be gone through, your files to be searched, your mail to be read, your phone messages checked. Every aspect of your life is now public."

"Okay."

"So, go through your desk and your files. Remove anything of a personal nature."

"Okay."

"On your office computer, if you have any passwords, change them. Anything in electronic data files of a personal nature, get it out."

"Okay."

"Don't just remove it…Make sure you erase it, so it's unrecoverable."

"Okay."

"It's not a bad idea to do the same thing at home. Your drawers and files and computer."

"Okay." He was thinking: at home? Would they really break into his home?

"If you have any sensitive materials that you want to store, bring them to Richard here," she said, pointing to the young lawyer. "He'll have them taken to a safe-deposit box where they'll be kept for you. Don't tell me. I don't want to know anything about it."

"Okay."

"Now. Let's discuss the telephone. From now on, if you have any sensitive calls to make, don't use your office phone, your cellular phone, or your phone at home. Use a pay phone, and don't put it on a charge card, even your personal charge card. Get a roll of quarters and use them instead."

"You really think this is necessary?"

"I know it is necessary. Now. Is there anything in your past conduct with this company which might be said to be out of order?" She was peering at him over her glasses.

He shrugged. "I don't think so."

"Anything at all? Did you overstate your qualifications on your original job application? Did you abruptly terminate any employee? Have you had any kind of inquiry about your behavior or decisions? Were you ever the subject of an internal company investigation? And even if you weren't, did you ever, to your knowledge, do anything improper, however small or apparently minor?"

"Jesus," he said. "It's been twelve years."

"While you are cleaning out, think about it. I need to know anything that the company might drag up about you. Because if they can, they will."

"Okay."

"And one other point. I gather from what you've told me that nobody at your company is entirely clear why Johnson has enjoyed such a rapid rise among the executives."

"That's right."

"Find out."

"It won't be easy," Sanders said. "Everybody's talking about it, and nobody seems to know."

"But for everybody else," Fernandez said, "it's just gossip. For you, it's vital. We need to know where her connections are and why they exist. If we know that, we have a chance of pulling this thing off. But if we don't, Mr. Sanders, they're probably going to tear us apart."

He was back at DigiCom at six. Cindy was cleaning up her desk and was about to leave.

"Any calls?" he said, as he went into his office.

`Just one," she said. Her voice was tight.

"Who was that?"

"John Levin. He said it was important." Levin was an executive with a hard drive supplier. Whatever Levin wanted, it could wait.

Sanders looked at Cindy. She seemed tense, almost on the verge of tears.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Just a long day." A shrug: elaborate indifference.

"Anything I should know about?"

"No. It's been quiet. You didn't have any other calls." She hesitated. "Tom, I just want you to know, I don't believe what they are saying."

"What are they saying?" he asked.

"About Meredith Johnson."

"What about her?"

"That you sexually harassed her."

She blurted it out, and then waited. Watching him, her eyes moving across his face. He could see her uncertainty. Sanders felt uneasy in turn that this woman he had worked alongside for so many years would now be so openly unsure of him.

He said firmly, "It's not true, Cindy."

"Okay. I didn't think it was. It's just that everybody is-"

"There's no truth to it at all."

"Okay. Good." She nodded, put the call book in the desk drawer. She seemed eager to leave. "Did you need me to stay?"

"No."

"Good night, Tom."

"Good night, Cindy."

He went into his office and closed the door behind him. He sat behind his desk and looked at it a moment. Nothing seemed to have been touched. He flicked on his monitor, and began going through the drawers, rummaging through, trying to decide what to take out. He glanced up at the monitor, and saw that his e-mail icon was blinking. Idly, he clicked it on.

NUMBER OF PERSONAL MESSAGES: 3. DO YOU WANT TO READ THEM NOW?

He pressed the key. A moment later, the first message came up.

SEALED TWINKLE DRIVES ARE ON THEIR WAY TO YOU TODAY DHL. YOU SHOULD HAVE THEM TOMORROW. HOPE YOU FIND SOMETHING… JAFAR IS STILL SEVERELY ILL. THEY SAY HE MAY DIE.

ARTHUR KAHN

He pressed the key, and another message came up.

THE WEENIES ARE STILL SWARMING DOWN HERE. ANY NEWS YET?

EDDIE

Sanders couldn't worry about Eddie now. He pushed the key, and the third message came up.

I GUESS YOU HAVEN'T BEEN READING BACK ISSUES OF COMLINE. STARTING FOUR YEARS AGO.

AFRIEND

Sanders stared at the screen. ComLine was DigiCom's in-house newsletter-an eight page monthly, filled with chatty accounts of hirings and promotions and babies born. The summer schedule for the softball team, things like that. Sanders never paid any attention to it and couldn't imagine why he should now.

And who was "Afriend"? He clicked the REPLY button on the screen.

CAN'T REPLY - SENDER ADDRESS NOT AVAILABLE

He clicked the SENDER INFO button. It should give him the name and address of the person sending the e-mail message. But instead he saw dense rows of type:

FROM UU5.PSI.COM!UWA.PCM.COM.EDU!CHARON TUE JUN

16 04:43:31 REMOTE FROM DCCSYS

RECEIVED: FROM UUPS15 BY DCCSYS.DCC.COM ID AA02599;

TUE, 16 JUN 4:42:19 PST

RECEIVED: FROM UWA.PCM.COM.EDU BY UU5.PSI.COM

(5.65B/4.0.071791-PSI/PSINET)

ID AA28153; TUE, 16 JUN 04:24:58 -0500

RECEIVED: FROM RIVERSTYX.PCM.COM.EDU BY UWA.PCM.COM.EDU (4.1/SMI-4.1)

ID AA15969; TUE, 16 JUN 04:24:56 PST

RECEIVED: BY RIVERSTYX.PCM.COM.EDU (920330.SGI/5.6)

ID AA00448; TUE, 16 JUN 04:24:56 -0500

FROM: CHARON @UWA.PCM.COM.EDU (AFRIEND)

MESSAGE-ID: «9212220924.AA90448@RIVERSTYX.PCM. COM.EDU»

TO: TSANDERS@DCC.COM

Sanders stared. The message hadn't come to him from inside the company at all. He was looking at an Internet routing. Internet was the vast worldwide computer network connecting universities, corporations, government agencies, and private users. Sanders wasn't knowledgeable about the Internet, but it appeared that the message from "Afriend," network nameCHARON,had originated from UWA.PCM.COM.EDU, wherever that was. Apparently some kind of educational institution. He pushed thePRINT SCREENbutton, and made a mental note to turn this one over to Bosak. He needed to talk to Bosak anyway.

He went down the hall and got the sheet as it came out of the printer. Then he went back to his office and stared at the screen. He decided to try a reply to this person.

FROM: TSANDERS@DCC.COM

TO: CHARON@UWA.PCM.COM.EDU

ANY HELP GREATLY APPRECIATED.

SANDERS

He pushed theSENDbutton. Then he deleted both the original message and his own reply.

SORRY, YOU CANNOT DELETE THIS MAIL.

Sometimes e-mail was protected with a flag that prevented it from being deleted. He typed:UNPROTECT MAIL.

THE MAIL IS UNPROTECTED.

He typed: DELETE MAIL.

SORRY, YOU CANNOT DELETE THIS MAIL.

What the hell is this? he thought. The system must be hanging up. Maybe it had been stymied by the Internet address. He decided to delete the message from the system at the control level. He typed:SYSTEM.

WHAT LEVEL?

He typed: SYSOP

SORRY, YOUR PRIVILEGES DO NOT INCLUDE SYSOP CONTROL.

"Christ," he said. They'd gone in and taken away his privileges. He couldn't believe it.

He typed:SHOW PRIVILEGES.

PRIOR USER LEVEL: 5 (SYSOP)

USER LEVEL CHANGE: TUE JUNE 16 4:50 PM PST

CURRENT USER LEVEL: 0 (ENTRY)

NO FURTHER MODIFICATIONS

There it was: they had locked him out of the system. User level zero was the level that assistants in the company were given.

Sanders slumped back in the chair. He felt as if he had been fired. For the first time, he began to realize what this was going to be like.

Clearly, there was no time to waste. He opened his desk drawer, and saw at once that the pens and pencils were neatly arranged. Someone had already been there. He pulled open the file drawer below. Only a half-dozen files were there; the others were all missing.

They had already gone through his desk.

Quickly, he got up and went out to the big filing cabinets behind Cindy's desk. These cabinets were locked, but he knew Cindy kept the key in her desk. He found the key, and unlocked the current year's files.

The cabinet was empty. There were no files there at all. They had taken everything.

He opened the cabinet for the previous year: empty.

The year before: empty.

All the others: empty.

Jesus, he thought. No wonder Cindy had been so cool. They must have had a gang of workmen up there with trolleys, cleaning everything out during the afternoon.

Sanders locked the cabinets again, replaced the key in Cindy's desk, and headed downstairs.

The press office was on the third floor. It was deserted now except for a single assistant, who was closing up. "Oh. Mr. Sanders. I was just getting ready to leave."

"You don't have to stay. I just wanted to check some things. Where do you keep the back issues of ComLine?"

"They're all on that shelf over there." She pointed to a row of stacked issues. "Was there anything in particular?"

"No. You go ahead home."

The assistant seemed reluctant, but she picked up her purse and headed out the door. Sanders went to the shelf. The issues were arranged in six-month stacks. Just to be safe, he started ten stacks back-five years ago.

He began flipping through the pages, scanning the endless details of game scores and press releases on production figures. After a few minutes, he found it hard to pay attention. And of course he didn't know what he was looking for, although he assumed it was something about Meredith Johnson.

He went through two stacks before he found the first article.

NEW MARKETING ASSISTANT NAMED Cupertino, May 10: DigiCom President Bob Garvin today announced the appointment of Meredith Johnson as Assistant Director of Marketing and Promotion for Telecommunications. She will report to Howard Gottfried in M and P. Ms. Johnson, 30, came to us from her position as Vice President for Marketing at Conrad Computer Systems of Sunnyvale. Before that, she was a senior administrative assistant at the Novell Network Division in Mountain View.Ms. Johnson, who has degrees from Vassar College and Stanford Business School, was recently married to Gary Henley, a marketing executive at CoStar. Congratulations! As a new arrival to DigiCom, Ms. Johnson…

He skipped the rest of the article; it was all PRfluff.The accompanying photo was standard B-school graduate: against a gray background with light coming from behind one shoulder, it showed a young woman with shoulderlength hair in a pageboy style, a direct businesslike stare just shy of harsh, and a firm mouth. But she looked considerably younger than she did now.

Sanders continued to thumb through the issues. He glanced at his watch. It was almost seven, and he wanted to call Bosak. He came to the end of the year, and the pages were nothing but Christmas stuff A picture of Garvin and his family ("Merry Christmas from the Boss! Ho Ho Ho!") caught his attention because it showed Bob with his former wife, along with his three college-age kids, standing around a big tree.

Had Garvin been going out with Emily yet? Nobody ever knew. Garvin was cagey. You never knew what he was up to.

Sanders went to the next stack, for the following year. January sales predictions. ("Let's get out and make it happen!") Opening of the Austin plant to manufacture cellular phones; a photo of Garvin in harsh sunlight, cutting the ribbon. A profile of Mary Anne Hunter that began, "Spunky, athletic Mary Anne Hunter knows what she wants out of life…" They had called her "Spunky" for weeks afterward, until she begged them to give it up.

Sanders flipped pages. Contract with the Irish government to break ground in Cork. Second-quarter sales figures. Basketball team scores against Aldus. Then a black box:

Jennifer Garvin, a third-year student at Boalt Hall School of Law in Berkeley, died on March 5 in an automobile accident in San Francisco. She was twenty-four years old. Jennifer had been accepted to the firm of Harley, Wayne and Myers following her graduation. A memorial service was held at the Presbyterian Church of Palo Alto for friends of the family and her many classmates. Those wishing to make memorial donations should send contributions to Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. All of us at Digital Communications extend our deepest sympathy to the Garvin family.

Sanders remembered that time as difficult for everyone. Garvin was snappish and withdrawn, drinking too much, and frequently absent from work. Not long afterward, his marital difficulties became public; within two years, he was divorced, and soon after that he married Emily Chen, a young executive in her twenties. But there were other changes, too. Everyone agreed: Garvin was no longer the same boss after the death of his daughter.

Garvin had always been a scrapper, but now he became protective, less ruthless. Some said that Garvin was stopping to smell the roses, but that wasn't it at all. He was newly aware of the arbitrariness of life, and it led him to control things, in a way that hadn't been true before. Garvin had always been Mr. Evolution: put it on the shore and see if it eats or dies. It made him a heartless administrator but a remarkably fair boss. If you did a good job, you were recognized. If you couldn't cut it, you were gone. Everybody understood the rules. But after Jennifer died, all that changed. Now he had overt favorites among staff and programs, and he nurtured those favorites and neglected others, despite the evidence in front of his face. More and more, he made business decisions arbitrarily. Garvin wanted events to turn out the way he intended them to. It gave him a new kind of fervor, a new sense of what the company should be. But it was also a more difficult place to work. A more political place.

It was a trend that Sanders had ignored. He continued to act as if he still worked at the old DigiCom-the company where all that mattered were results. But clearly, that company was gone.

Sanders continued thumbing through the magazines. Articles about early negotiations for a plant in Malaysia. A photo of Phil Blackburn in Ireland, signing an agreement with the city of Cork. New production figures for the Austin plant. Start of production of the A22 cellular model. Births and deaths and promotions. More DigiCom baseball scores.

JOHNSON TO TAKE OPERATIONS POST Cupertino, October 20: Meredith Johnson has been named new Assistant Manager for Division Operations in Cupertino, replacing the very popular Harry Warner, who retired after fifteen years of service. The shift to Ops Manager takes Johnson out of marketing, where she has been very effective for the last year, since joining the company. In her new position, she will work closely with Bob Garvin on international operations for DigiCom.

But it was the accompanying picture that caught Sanders's attention. Once again, it was a formal head shot, but Johnson now looked completely different. Her hair was light blond. Gone was the neat businessschool pageboy. She wore her hair short, in a curly, informal style. She was wearing much less makeup and smiling cheerfully. Overall, the effect was to make her appear much more youthful, open, innocent.

Sanders frowned. Quickly, he flipped back through the issues he had already looked at. Then he went back to the previous stack, with its year-end Christmas pictures: "Merry Christmas from the Boss! Ho Ho Ho!"

He looked at the family portrait. Garvin standing behind his three children, two sons and a daughter. That must be Jennifer. His wife, Harriet, stood to one side. In the picture, Garvin was smiling, his hand resting lightly on his daughter's shoulder, and she was tall and athleticlooking, with short, light blond, curly hair.

"I'll be damned," he said aloud.

He thumbed back quickly to the first article, to look at the original picture of Johnson. He compared it to the later one. There was no doubt about what she had done. He read the rest of the first article:

As a new arrival to DigiCom, Ms. Johnson brings her considerable business acumen, her sparkling humor, and her sizzling softball pitch. She's a major addition to the DigiCom team! Welcome, Meredith!

Her admiring friends are never surprised to learn that Meredith was once a finalist in the Miss Teen Connecticut contest. In her student days at Vassar, Meredith was a valued member ofboth the tennis team and the debating society. A memberofPhi Beta Kappa, she took her major in psychology, with a minor in abnormal psych. Hope you won't be needing that around here, Meredith! At Stanford, she obtained her MBA with honors, graduating near the topofher class. Meredith told us, “I am delighted to join DigiCom andIlook forward to an exciting career with this forward-looking company." We couldn't have said it better, Ms. Johnson!

"No shit," Sanders said. He had known almost none of this. From the start, Meredith had been based in Cupertino; Sanders never saw her. The one time he had run into her was soon after her arrival, before she changed her hair. Her hair and what else?

He looked carefully at the two pictures. Something else was subtly different. Had she hadplastic surgery? It was impossible to know. But her appearance was definitely changed between the two portraits.

He moved through the remaining issues of the magazine quickly now, convinced that he had learned what there was to know. Now he skimmed only the headlines:

This final headline ran above a lengthy profile of Johnson, well placed on the second page of the magazine. It had appeared in ComLine only two issues ago. Seeing it now, Sanders realized that the article was intended for internal consumption-softening up the beachhead before the June landing. This article was a trial balloon that Cupertino had floated, to see if Meredith would be acceptable to run the technical divisions in Seattle. The only trouble was, Sanders never saw it. And nobody had ever mentioned it to him.

The article stressed the technical savvy that Johnson had acquired during her years with the company. She was quoted as saying, "I began my career working in technical areas, back with Novell. The technical fields have always been my first love; I'd love to go back to it. After all, strong technical innovation lies at the heart of a forward-looking company like DigiCom. Any good manager here must be able to run the technical divisions."

There it was.

He looked at the date: May 2.Published six weeks ago. Which meant that the article had been written at least two weeks before that.

As Mark Lewyn had suspected, Meredith Johnson knew she was going to be the head of the Advanced Products Division at least two months ago. Which meant, in turn, that Sanders had never been under consideration to become division head. He had never had a chance.

It was a done deal.

Months ago.

Sanders swore, took the articles over to the xerox machine and copied them, then put the stacks back on the shelf, and left the press office.

He got on the elevator. Mark Lewyn was there. Sanders said, "Hi, Mark." Lewyn didn't answer. Sanders pushed the button for the ground floor.

The doors closed.

"I just hope you know what the fuck you're doing," Lewyn said angrily.

"I think I do."

"Because you could fuck this thing up for everybody. You know that?"

"Fuck what up?"

"Just because you got your ass in the sling, it's not our problem."

"Nobody said it was."

"I don't know what's the matter with you," Lewyn said. "You're late for work, you don't call me when you say you will… What is it, trouble at home? More shit with Susan?"

"This has nothing to do with Susan."

"Yeah? I think it does. You've been late two days running and even when you're here, you walk around like you're dreaming. You're in fucking dreamland, Tom. I mean, what the hell were you doing, going to Meredith's office at night, anyway?"

"She asked me to come to her office. She's the boss. You're saying I shouldn't have gone?"

Lewyn shook his head in disgust. "This innocent act is a lot of crap. Don't you take any responsibility for anything?"

"What-"

"Look, Tom, everybody in the company knows that Meredith is a shark. Meredith Manmuncher, they call her. The Great White. Everybody knows she's protected by Garvin, that she can do what she wants. And what she wants is to play grabass with cute guys who show up in her office at the end of the day. She has a couple of glasses of wine, she gets a little flushed, and she wants service. A delivery boy, a trainee, a young account guy. Whatever. And nobody can say a word because Garvin thinks she walks on water. So, how come everybody else in the company knows it but you?"

Sanders was stunned. He did not know how to answer. He stared at Lewyn, who stood very close to him, his body hunched, hands in his pockets. He could feel Lewyn's breath on his face. But he could hardly hear Lewyn's words. It was as if they came to him from a great distance.

"Hey, Tom. You walk the same halls, you breathe the same air as the rest of us. You know who's doing what. You go marching up there to her office… and you know damned well what's coming. Meredith's done everything but announce to the world that she wants to suck your dick. All day long, she's touching your arm, giving you thosemeaningfullittle looks and squeezes. Oh, Tom. Soniceto see you again. And now you tell me you didn't know what was coming in that office?Fuck you,Tom. You're an asshole."

The elevator doors opened. Before them, the ground-floor lobby was deserted, growing dark in the fading light of the June evening. A soft rain fell outside. Lewyn started toward the exit, then turned back. His voice echoed in the lobby.

"You realize," he said, "that you're acting like one of those women in all this. The way they always go, `Who, me? I never intended that.' The way they go, `Oh, it's not my responsibility. I never thought if I got drunk and kissed him and went to his room and lay down on his bed that he'd fuck me. Oh dear me no.' It's bullshit, Tom. Irresponsible bullshit. And you better think about what I'm saying, because there's a lot of us who have worked every bit as hard as you have in this company, and we don't want to see you screw up this merger and this spin-off for the rest of us. You want to pretend you can't tell when a woman's coming on to you, that's fine. You want to screw up your own life, it's your decision. But you screw up mine, and I'm going to fucking put you away."

Lewyn stalked off. The elevator doors started to close. Sanders stuck his hand out; the doors closed on his fingers. He jerked his hand, and the doors opened again. He hurried out into the lobby after Lewyn.

He grabbed Lewyn on the shoulder. "Mark, wait, listen-"

"I got nothing to say to you. I got kids, I got responsibilities. You're an asshole."

Lewyn shrugged Sanders's arm off, pushed open the door, and walked out. He strode quickly away, down the street.

As the glass doors closed, Sanders saw a flash of blond in the moving reflection. He turned.

"I thought that was a little unfair," Meredith Johnson said. She was standing about twenty feet behind him, near the elevators. She was wearing gym clothes-navy tights, and a sweatshirtand she carried a gym bag in her hand. She looked beautiful, overtly sexual in a certain way. Sanders felt tense: there was no one else in the lobby. They were alone.

"Yes," Sanders said. "I thought it was unfair."

"I meant, to women," Meredith said. She swung the gym bag over her shoulder, the movement raising her sweatshirt and exposing her bare abdomen above her tights. She shook her head and pushed her hair back from her face. She paused a moment, and then she began to speak. "I want to tell you I'm sorry about all this," she said. She moved toward him in a steady, confident way, almost stalking. Her voice was low. "I never wanted any of this, Tom." She came a little closer, approaching slowly, as if he were an animal that might be frightened away. "I have only the warmest feelings for you." Still closer. "Only the warmest." Closer. "I can't help it, Tom, if I still want you." Closer. "If I did anything to offend you, I apologize." She was very close now, her body almost touching his, her breasts inches from his arm. "I'm truly sorry, Tom," she said softly. She seemed filled with emotion, her breasts rising and falling, her eyes moist and pleading as she looked up at him. "Can you forgive me? Please? You know how I feel about you."

He felt all the old sensations, the old stirrings. He clenched his jaw. "Meredith. The past is past. Cut it out, will you?"

She immediately changed her tone and gestured to the street. "Listen, I have a car here. Can I drop you somewhere?"

"No, thanks."

"It's raining. I thought you might want a lift."

"I don't think it's a good idea."

"Only because it's raining."

"This is Seattle," he said. "It rains all the time here."

She shrugged, walked to the door, and leaned her weight against it, thrusting out her hip. Then she looked back at him and smiled. "Remind me never to wear tights around you. It's embarrassing: you make me wet."

Then she turned away, pushed through the door, and walked quickly to the waiting car, getting in the back. She closed the door, looked back at him, and waved cheerfully. The car drove off.

Sanders unclenched his hands. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His whole body was tense. He waited until the car was gone, then went outside. He felt the rain on his face, the cool evening breeze.

He hailed a taxi. "The Four Seasons Hotel," he said to the driver.

Riding in the taxi, Sanders stared out the window, breathing deeply. He felt as though he couldn't get his breath. He had been badly unnerved by the meeting with Meredith. Especially coming so close after his conversation with Lewyn.

Sanders was distressed by what Lewyn had said, but you could never take Mark too seriously. Lewyn was an artistic hothead who handled his creative tensions by getting angry. He was angry about something most of the time. Lewyn liked being angry. Sanders had known him a long time. Personally, he had never understood how Adele, Mark's wife, put up with it. Adele was one of those wonderfully calm, almost phlegmatic women who could talk on the phone while her two kids crawled all over her, tugging at her, asking her questions. In a similar fashion, Adele just let Lewyn rage while she went on about her business. In fact, everyone just let Lewyn rage, because everyone knew that, in the end, it didn't mean anything.

Yet, it was also true that Lewyn had a kind of instinct for public perceptions and trends. That was the secret of his success as a designer. Lewyn would say, "Pastel colors," and everybody would groan and say that the new design colors looked like hell. But two years later, when the products were coming off the line, pastel colors would be just what everybody wanted. So Sanders was forced to admit that what Lewyn had said about him, others would soon be saying. Lewyn had said the company line: that Sanders was screwing up the chances for everybody else.

Well, screw them, he thought.

As for Meredith-he had had the distinct feeling that she had been toying with him in the lobby. Teasing him, playing with him. He could not understand why she was so confident. Sanders was making a very serious allegation against her. Yet she behaved as if there was no threat at all. She had a kind of imperviousness, an indifference, that made him deeply uneasy. It could only mean she knew that she had Garvin's backing.

The taxi pulled into the turnaround of the hotel. He saw Meredith's car up ahead. She was talking to the driver. She looked back and saw him.

There was nothing to do but get out and walk toward the entrance.

"Are you following me?" she said, smiling.

“No.”

"Sure?"

"Yes, Meredith. I'm sure."

They went up the escalator from the street to the lobby. He stood behind her on the escalator. She looked back at him. "I wish you were."

"Yeah. Well, I'm not."

"It would have been nice," she said. She smiled invitingly.

He didn't know what to say; he just shook his head. They rode the rest of the way in silence until they came to the high ornate lobby. She said, "I'm in room 423. Come and see me anytime." She headed toward the elevators.

He waited until she was gone, then crossed the lobby and turned left to the dining room. Standing at the entrance, he saw Dorfman at a corner table, eating dinner with Garvin and Stephanie Kaplan. Max was holding forth, gesturing sharply as he spoke. Garvin and Kaplan both leaned forward, listening. Sanders was reminded that Dorfman had once been a director of the company-according to the stories, a very powerful director. It was Dorfman who had persuaded Garvin to expand beyond modems into cellular telephony and wireless communications, back in the days when nobody could see any link between computers and telephones. The link was obvious now but obscure in the early 1980s, when Dorfman had said, "Your business is not hardware. Your business is communications. Your business is access to information."

Dorfman had shaped company personnel as well. Supposedly, Kaplan owed her position to his glowing endorsement. Sanders had come to Seattle on Dorfman's recommendation. Mark Lewyn had been hired because of Dorfman. And any number of vice presidents had vanished over the years because Dorfman found them lacking in vision or stamina. He was a powerful ally or a lethal opponent.

And his position at the time of the merger was equally strong. Although Dorfman had resigned as a director years before, he stillowned a good deal of DigiCom stock. He still had Garvin's ear. And he still had the contacts and prestige within the business and financial community that made a merger like this much simpler. If Dorfman approved the terms of the merger, his admirers at Goldman, Sachs and at First Boston would raise the money easily. But if Dorfman was dissatisfied, if he hinted that the merger of the two companies did not make sense, then the acquisition might unravel. Everyone knew it. Everyone understood very well the power he wielded-especially Dorfman himself.

Sanders hung back at the entrance to the restaurant, reluctant to come forward. After a while, Max glanced up and saw him. Still talking, he shook his head fractionally: no. Then, as he continued to talk, he made a subtle motion with his hand, tapping his watch. Sanders nodded, and went back into the lobby and sat down. He had the stack of ComLine photocopies on his lap. He browsed through them, studying again the way Meredith had changed her appearance.

A few minutes later, Dorfman rolled out in his wheelchair. "So, Thomas. I am glad you are not bored with your life."

"What does that mean?"

Dorfman laughed and gestured to the dining room. "They're talking of nothing else in there. The only topic this evening is you and Meredith. Everyone is so excited. Soworried."

"Including Bob?"

"Yes, of course. Including Bob." He wheeled closer to Sanders. "I cannot really speak to you now. Was there something in particular?"

"I think you ought to look at this," Sanders said, handing Dorfman the photocopies. He was thinking that Dorfman could take these pictures to Garvin. Dorfman could make Garvin understand what was really going on.

Dorfman examined them in silence a moment. "Such a lovely woman," he said. "So beautiful…"

"Look at the differences, Max. Look at what she did to herself."

Dorfman shrugged. "She changed her hair. Very flattering. So?"

"I think she had plastic surgery as well."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Dorfman said. "So many women do, these days. It is like brushing their teeth, to them."

"It gives me the creeps."

"Why?" Dorfman said.

"Because it's underhanded, that's why."

"What's underhanded?" Dorfman said, shrugging. "She is resourceful. Good for her."

"I'll bet Garvin has no idea what she's doing to him," Sanders said.

Dorfman shook his head. "I'm not concerned about Garvin," he said. "I'm concerned about you, Thomas, and this outrage of yours-hmm?"

"I'll tell you why I'm outraged," Sanders said. "Because this is the kind of sneaky shit that a woman can pull but a man can't. She changes her appearance, she dresses and acts like Garvin's daughter, and that gives her an advantage. Because I sure as hell can't act like his daughter."

Dorfman sighed, shaking his head. "Thomas. Thomas."

"Well, I can't. Can I?"

"Are you enjoying this? You seem to be enjoying this outrage."

"I'm not."

"Then give it up,"Dorfman said. He turned his wheelchair to face Sanders. "Stop talking this nonsense, and face what is true. Young people in organizations advance by alliances with powerful, senior people. True?"

"Yes."

"And it is always so. At one time, the alliance was formal-an apprentice and master, or a pupil and tutor. It was arranged, yes? But today, it is not formal. Today, we speak of mentors. Young people in business have mentors. True?"

"Okay…"

"So. How do young people attach themselves to a mentor? What is the process? First, by being agreeable, by being helpful to the senior person, doing jobs that need to be done. Second, by being attractive to the older person-imitating their attitudes and tastes. Third, by advocacy-adopting their agenda within the company."

"That's all fine," Sanders said. "What does it have to do with plastic surgery?"

"Do you remember when you joined DigiCom in Cupertino?"

"Yes, I remember."

"You came over from DEC. In1980?"

"Yes."

"At DEC, you wore a coat and tie every day. But when you joined

DigiCom, you saw that Garvin wore jeans. And soon, you wore jeans,too.

"Sure. That was the style of the company."

"Garvin liked the Giants. You began to go to games in Candlestick Park."

"He was the boss, for Christ's sake."

"And Garvin liked golf. So you took up golf, even though you hated it. I remember you complained to me about how much you hated it. Chasing the stupid little white ball."

"Listen. I didn't have plastic surgery to make myself look like his kid."

"Because you didn't have to,Thomas," Dorfman said. He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Can you not see this point? Garvin liked brash, aggressive young men who drank beer, who swore, who chased women. And you did all those things in those days."

"I was young. That's what young men do."

"No, Thomas. That's what Garvin liked young men to do." Dorfman shook his head. "So much of this is unconscious. Rapport is unconscious, Thomas. But the task of building rapport is different, depending on whether you are the same sex as that person, or not. If your mentor is a man, you may act like his son, or brother, or father. Or you may act like that man when he was younger- you may remind him of himself.

True? Yes, you see that. Good.

"But if you are a woman, everything is different. Now you must be your mentor's daughter, or lover, or wife. Or perhaps sister. In any case, very different."

Sanders frowned.

"I see this often, now that men are starting to work for women. Many times men cannot structure the relationship because they do not know how to act as the subordinate to a woman. Not with comfort. But in other cases, men slip easily into a role with a woman. They are the dutiful son, or the substitute lover or husband. And if they do it well, the women in the organization become angry, because they feel that they cannot compete as son or lover or husband to the boss. So they feel that the man has an advantage."

Sanders was silent.

"Do you understand?" Dorfman said.

"You're saying it happens both ways."

"Yes, Thomas. It is inevitable. It is the process."

"Come on, Max. There's nothing inevitable about it. When Garvin's daughter died, it was a personal tragedy. He was upset, and Meredith took advantage of"

"Stop," Dorfman said, annoyed. "Now you want to change human nature? There are always tragedies. And people always take advantage. This is nothing new. Meredith is intelligent. It is delightful to see such an intelligent, resourceful woman who is also beautiful. She is a gift from God. She is delightful. This is your trouble, Thomas. And it has been a long time coming."

"What does that-"

"And instead of dealing with your trouble, you waste your time with these… trivialities." He handed back the pictures. "These are not important, Thomas."

"Max, will you-"

"You were never a good corporate player, Thomas. It was not your strength. Your strength was that you could take a technical problem and grind it down, push the technicians, encourage them and bully them, and finally get it solved. You could make it work. Is that not so?"

Sanders nodded.

"But now you abandon your strengths for a game that does not suit you."

"Meaning what?"

"You think that by threatening a lawsuit, you put pressure on her and on the company. In fact, you played into her hands. You have let her define the game, Thomas."

"I had to do something. She broke the law."

"She broke the law," Dorfman mimicked him, with a sarcastic whine. "Oh me, oh my. And you are so defenseless. I am filled with sorrow for your plight."

"It's not easy. She's well connected. She has strong supporters."

"Is that so? Every executive with strong supporters has also strong detractors. And Meredith has her share of detractors."

"I tell you, Max," Sanders said, "she's dangerous. She's one of those MBA image people, focused on image, everything image, never substance."

"Yes," Dorfman said, nodding approvingly. "Like so many young executives today. Very skilled with images. Very interested in manipulating that reality. A fascinating trend."

"I don't think she's competent to run this division."

"And what if she is not?" Dorfman snapped. "What difference does it make to you? If she's incompetent, Garvin will eventually acknowledge it and replace her. But by then, you will be long gone. Because you will lose this game with her, Thomas. She is better at politics than you. She always was."

Sanders nodded. "She's ruthless."

"Ruthless, schmoothless. She isskilled.She has an instinct. You lack it. You will lose everything if you persist this way. And you will deserve the fate that befalls you because you have behaved like a fool."

Sanders was silent. "What do you recommend I do?"

"Ali. So now you want advice?"

"Yes."

"Really?" He smiled. "I doubt it."

"Yes, Max. I do."

"All right. Here is my advice. Go back, apologize to Meredith, apologize to Garvin, and resume your job."

"I can't."

"Then you don't want advice."

"I can't do that, Max."

"Too much pride?"

"No, but-"

"You are infatuated with the anger. How dare this woman act this way. She has broken the law, she must be brought to justice. She is dangerous, she must be stopped. You are filled with delicious, righteous indignation. True?"

"Oh, hell, Max. I just can't do it, that's all."

"Of course you can do it. You mean you won't."

"All right. I won't."

Dorfman shrugged. "Then what do you want from me? You come to ask my advice in order not to take it? This is nothing special." He grinned. "I have a lot of other advice you won't take, either."

"Like what?"

"What do you care, since you won't take it?"

"Come on, Max."

"I'm serious. You won't take it. We are wasting our time here. Go away.

"Just tell me, will you?"

Dorfman sighed. "Only because I remember you from the days when you had sense. First point. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Max. I am."

"First point: you know everything you need to know about Meredith Johnson. So forget her now. She is not your concern."

"What does that mean?"

"Don't interrupt. Second point. Play your own game, not hers."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, solve the problem."

"Solve what problem? The lawsuit?"

Dorfman snorted and threw up his hands. "You are impossible. I am wasting my time."

"You mean drop the lawsuit?"

"Can you understand English?Solve the problem. Do what you do well. Do your job. Now go away."

"But Max-"

"Oh, I can't do anything for you," Dorfman said. "It's your life. You have your own mistakes to make. And I must return to my guests. But try to pay attention, Thomas. Do not sleep through this. And remember, all human behavior has a reason. All behavior is solving a problem. Evenyour behavior, Thomas."

And he spun in his wheelchair and went back to the dining room.

Fucking Max, he thought, walking down Third Street in the damp evening. It was infuriating, the way Max would never just say what he meant.

This is your trouble, Thomas. And it has been a long time coming.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Fucking Max. Infuriating and frustrating and exhausting, too. That was what Sanders remembered most about the sessions he used to have, when Max was on the DigiCom board. Sanders would come away exhausted. In those days, back in Cupertino, the junior execs had called Dorfman "The Riddler."

All human behavior is solving a problem. Even your behavior, Thomas.

Sanders shook his head. It made no sense at all. Meanwhile, he had things to do. At the end of the street, he stepped into a phone booth and dialed Gary Bosak's number. It was eight o'clock. Bosak would be home, just getting out of bed and having coffee, starting his working day. Right now, he would be yawning in front of a half-dozen modems and computer screens as he began to dial into all sorts of databases.

The phone rang, and a machine said, "You have reached NE Professional Services. Leave a message." And a beep.

"Gary, this is Tom Sanders. I know you're there, pick up."

A click, and then Bosak said, "Hey. The last person I thought I'd hear from. Where're you calling from?"

"Pay phone."

"Good. How's it going with you, Tom?"

"Gary, I need some things done. Some data looked up."

"Uh… Are we talking things for the company, or private things?"

Private."

"Uh… Tom. I'm pretty busy these days. Can we talk about this next week?"

"That's too late."

"But the thing is, I'm pretty busy now."

"Gary, what is this?" "Tom, come on. You know what this is." "I need help, Gary." "Hey. And I'd love to help you. But I just got a call from Blackburn who told me that if I had anything to do with you, anything at all, I could expect the FBI going through my apartment at six a.m. tomorrow morning. "Christ. When was this?" "About two hours ago." Two hours ago. Blackburn was way ahead of him. "Gary…" "Hey. You know I always liked you, Tom. But not this time. Okay? I got to go." Click.

Frankly, none of this surprises me," Fernandez said, pushing aside a paper plate. She and Sanders had been eating sandwiches in her office. It was nine p.m., and the offices around them were dark, but her phone was still ringing, interrupting them frequently. Outside, it had begun to rain again. Thunder rumbled, and Sanders saw flashes of summer lightning through the windows.

Sitting in the deserted law offices, Sanders had the feeling that he was all alone in the world, with nobody but Fernandez and the encroaching darkness. Things were happening quickly; this person he had never met before today was fast becoming a kind of lifeline for him. He found himself hanging on every word she said.

"Before we go on, I want to emphasize one thing," Fernandez said. "You were right not to get in the car with Johnson. You are not to be alone with her ever again. Not even for a few moments. Not ever, under any circumstances. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"If you do, it will destroy your case."

"I won't."

"All right," she said. "Now. I had a long talk with Blackburn. As you guessed, he's under tremendous pressure to get this matter resolved. I tried to move the mediation session to the afternoon. He implied that the company was ready to deal and wanted to get started right away. He's concerned about how long the negotiations will take. So we'll start at nine tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Herb and Alan have been making progress. I think they'll be able to help us tomorrow. And these articles about Johnson may be useful, too," she said, glancing at the photocopies of the ComLine pieces.

"Why? Dorfman says they're irrelevant."

"Yes, but they document her history in the company, and that gives

us leads. It's something to work on. So is this e-mail from your friend." She frowned at the sheet of printout. "This is an Internet address."

"Yes," he said, surprised that she knew.

"We do a lot of work with high-technology companies. I'll have somebody check it out." She put it aside. "Now let's review where we are. You couldn't clean out your desk because they were already there."

"Right."

"And you would have cleaned out your computer files, but you've been shut out of the system."

"Yes."

"Which means that you can't change anything."

"That's right. I can't do anything. It's like I'm an assistant."

She said, "Were you going to change any files?"

He hesitated. "No. But I would have, you know, looked around."

"Nothing in particular you were aware of?"

“No.”

"Mr. Sanders," she said, "I want to emphasize that I have no judgment here. I'm simply trying to prepare for what may happen tomorrow. I want to know what surprises they'll have for us."

He shook his head. "There isn't anything in the files that's embarrassing to me."

"You've thought it over carefully?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she said. "Then considering the early start, I think you better get some sleep. I want you sharp tomorrow. Will you be able to sleep?"

"Jeez, I don't know."

"Take a sleeping pill if you need to."

"I'll be okay."

"Then go home and go to bed, Mr. Sanders. I'll see you in the morning. Wear a coat and tie tomorrow. Do you have some kind of a blue coat?"

"A blazer."

"Fine. Wear a conservative tie and a white shirt. No after-shave."

"I never dress like that at the office."

"This is not the office, Mr. Sanders. That's just the point." She stood up and shook his hand. "Get some sleep. And try not to worry. I think everything is going to be fine."

"I bet you say that to all your clients."

"Yes, I do," she said. "But I'm usually right. Get some sleep, Tom. I'll see you tomorrow."

He came home to a dark, empty house. Eliza's Barbie dolls lay in an untidy heap on the kitchen counter. One of his son's bibs, streaked with green baby food, was on the counter beside the sink. He set up the coffeemaker for the morning and went upstairs. He walked past the answering machine but neglected to look at it, and failed to notice the blinking light. Upstairs, when he undressed in the bathroom, he saw that Susan had taped a note to the mirror. "Sorry about lunch. I believe you. I love you. S."

It was just like Susan to be angry and then to apologize. But he was glad for the note and considered calling her now. But it was nearly

midnight in Phoenix, which meant it was too late. She'd be asleep.

Anyway, as he thought about it, he realized that he didn't want to call her. As she had said at the restaurant, this had nothing to do with her. He was alone in this. He'd stay alone. Wearing just shorts, he padded into his little office. There were no faxes. He switched on his computer and waited while it came up.

The e-mail icon was blinking. He clicked it.

TRUST NOBODY.

AFRIEND

Sanders shut off the computer and went to bed.

In the morning, he took comfort in his routine, dressing quickly while listening to the television news, which he turned up loud, trying to fill the empty house with noise. He drove into town at 6:30, stopping at the Bainbridge Bakery to buy a pull-apart and a cup of cappuccino before going down to the ferry.

As the ferry pulled away from Winslow, he sat toward the stern, so he would not have to look at Seattle as it approached. Lost in his thoughts, he stared out the window at the gray clouds hanging low over the dark water of the bay. It looked like it would rain again today.

"Bad day, huh?" a woman said.

He looked up and saw Mary Anne Hunter, pretty and petite, standing with her hands on her hips, looking at him with concern. Mary Anne lived on Bainbridge, too. Her husband was a marine biologist at the university. She and Susan were good friends, and often jogged together. But he didn't often see Mary Anne on the ferry because she usually went in early.

"Morning, Mary Anne."

"What I can't understand is how they got it," she said.

"Got what?" Sanders said.

"You mean you haven't seen it? Jesus. You're in the papers, Tom." She handed him the newspaper under her arm.

"You're kidding."

"No. Connie Walsh strikes again."

Sanders looked at the front page, but saw nothing. He began flipping through quickly.

"It's in the Metro section," she said. "The first opinion column on the second page. Read it and weep. I'll get more coffee." She walked away.

Sanders opened the paper to the Metro section.

The power of the patriarchy has revealed itself again, this time in a local high-tech firm I'll call Company X. This company has appointed a brillant, highly competent woman to a major executive position. But many men in the company are doing their damnedest to get rid of her.

One man in particular, let's call him Mr. Piggy, has been especially vindictive. Mr. Piggy can't tolerate a woman supervisor, and for weeks he has been running a bitter campaign of innuendo inside the company to keep it from happening. When that failed, Mr. Piggy claimed that his new boss sexually assaulted him, and nearly raped him, in her offices. The blatant hostility of this claim is matched only by its absurdity.

Some of you may wonder how a woman could rape a man. The answer is, of course, she can't. Rape is a crime of violence. It is exclusively a crime of males, who use rape with appalling frequency to keep women in their place. That is the deep truth of our society, and of all other societies before ours.

For their part, women simply do not oppress men. Women are powerless in the hands of men. And to claim that a woman committed rape is absurd. But that didn't stop Mr. Piggy, who is interested only in smearing his new supervisor. He's even bringing a formal charge of sexual harassment against her!

In short, Mr. Piggy has the nasty habits of a typical patriarch. As you might expect, they appear everywhere in his life. Although Mr. Piggy's wife is an outstanding attorney, he pressures her to give up her job and stay home with the kids. After all, Mr. Piggy doesn't want his wife out in the business world, where she might hear about his affairs with young women and his excessive drinking. He probably figures his new female supervisor wouldn't approve of that, either. Maybe she won't allow him to be late to work, as he so often is.

So Mr. Piggy has made his underhanded move, and another talented businesswoman sees her career unfairly jeopardized. Will she be able to keep the pigs in the pen at Company X? Stay tuned for updates.

"Christ," Sanders said. He read it through again.

Hunter came back with two cappuccinos in paper cups. She pushed one toward him. "Here. Looks like you need it."

"How did they get the story?" he said.

Hunter shook her head. "I don't know. It looks to me like there's a leak inside the company."

"But who?" Sanders was thinking that if the story made the paper, it must have been leaked by three or four p.m. the day before. Who in the company even knew that he was considering a harassment charge at that time?

"I can't imagine who it could be," Hunter said. "I'll ask around." "And who's Constance Walsh?"

"You never read her? She's a regular columnist at the Post Intelligence,” Hunter said. "Feminist perspectives, that kind of thing." She shook her head. "How is Susan? I tried to call her this morning, and there's no answer at your house."

"Susan's gone away for a few days. With the kids."

Hunter nodded slowly. "That's probably a good idea."

"We thought so."

"She knows about this?"

“Yes.”

"And is it true? Are you charging harassment?"

"Yes."

Jesus."

"Yes," he said, nodding.

She sat with him for a long time, not speaking. She just sat with him. Finally she said, "I've known you for a long time. I hope this turns out okay."

"Me, too."

There was another long silence. Finally, she pushed away from the table and got up.

"See you later, Tom."

"See you, Mary Anne."

He knew what she was feeling. He had felt it himself, when others in the company had been accused of harassment. There was suddenly a distance. It didn't matter how long you had known the person. It didn't matter if you were friends. Once an accusation was made, everybody pulled away. Because the truth was, you never knew what had happened. You couldn't afford to take sides-even with your friends.

He watched her walk away, a slender, compact figure in exercise clothes, carrying a leather briefcase. She was barely five feet tall. The men on the ferry were so much larger. He remembered that she had once told Susan that she took up running because of her fear of rape. "I'll just outrun them," she had said. Men didn't know anything about that. They didn't understand that fear.

But there was another kind of fear that only men felt. He looked at the newspaper column with deep and growing unease. Key words and phrases jumped out at him:

Vindictive… bitter… can't tolerate a woman… blatant hostility…

rape… crime of males… smearing his supervisor… affairs with young women… excessive drinking… late to work… unfairly jeopardized… pigs in the pen.

These characterizations were more than inaccurate, more than unpleasant. They were dangerous. And it was exemplified by what happened to John Masters-a story that had reverberated among many senior men in Seattle.

Masters was fifty, a marketing manager at MicroSym. A stable guy, solid citizen, married twenty-five years, two kids-the older girl in college, the younger girl a junior in high school. The younger girl starts to have trouble with school, her grades go down, so the parents send her to a child psychologist. The child psychologist listens to the daughter and then says, You know, this is the typical story of an abused child. Do you have anything like that in your past?

Gee, the girl says, I don't think so.

Think back, the psychologist says.

At first the girl resists, but the psychologist keeps at her: Think back. Try to remember. And after a while, the girl starts to recall some vague memories. Nothing specific, but now she thinks it's possible. Maybe Daddy did do something wrong, way back when.

The psychologist tells the wife what is suspected. After twenty-five years together, the wife and Masters have some anger between them. The wife goes to Masters and says, Admit what you did.

Masters is thunderstruck. He can't believe it. He denies everything. The wife says, You're lying, I don't want you around here. She makes him move out of the house.

The older daughter flies home from college. She says, What is this madness? You know Daddy didn't do anything. Come to your senses. But the wife is angry. The daughter is angry. And the process, once set in motion, can't be stopped.

The psychologist is required by state law to report any suspected abuse. She reports Masters to the state. The state is required by law to conduct an investigation. Now a social worker is talking to the daughter, the wife, and Masters. Then to the family doctor. The school nurse. Pretty soon, everybody knows.

Word of the accusation gets to MicroSym. The company suspends him from his job, pending the outcome. They say they don't want negative publicity.

Masters is seeing his life dissolve. His younger daughter won't talk to him. His wife won't talk to him. He's living alone in an apartment. He has money problems. Business associates avoid him. Everywhere he turns, he sees accusing faces. He is advised to get a lawyer. And he is so shattered, so uncertain, he starts going to a shrink himself.

His lawyer makes inquiries; disturbing details emerge. It turns out that the particular psychologist who made the accusation uncovers abuse in a high percentage of her cases. She has reported so many cases that the state agency has begun to suspect bias. But the agency can do nothing; the law requires that all cases be investigated. The social worker assigned to the case has been previously disciplined for her excessive zeal in pursuing questionable cases and is widely thought to be incompetent, but the state cannot fire her for the usual reasons.

The specific accusation-never formally presented-turns out to be that Masters molested his daughter in the summer of her third grade. Masters thinks back, has an idea. He gets his old canceled checks out of storage, digs up his old business calendars. It turns out that his daughter was at a camp in Montana that whole summer. When she came home in August, Masters was on a business trip in Germany. He did not return from Germany until after school had started again.

He had never even seen his daughter that summer.

Masters's shrink finds it significant that his daughter would locate the abuse at the one time when abuse was impossible. The shrink concludes that the daughter felt abandoned and has translated that into a memory of abuse. Masters confronts the wife and daughter. They listen to the evidence and admit that they must have the date wrong, but remain adamant that the abuse occurred.

Nevertheless, the facts about the summer schedule lead the state to drop its investigation, and MicroSym reinstates Masters. But Masters has missed a round of promotions, and a vague cloud of prejudice hangs over him. His career has been irrevocably damaged. His wife never reconciles, eventually filing for divorce. He never again sees his younger daughter. His older daughter, caught between warring family factions, sees less of him as time goes on. Masters lives alone, struggles to rebuild his life, and suffers a nearfatal heart attack. After his recovery, he sees a few friends, but now he is morose and drinks too much, a poor companion. Other men avoid him. No one has an answer to his constant question: What did I do wrong? What should I have done instead? How could I have prevented this?

Because, of course, he could not have prevented it. Not in a contemporary climate where men were assumed to be guilty of anything they were accused of.

Among themselves, men sometimes talked of suing women for false accusations. They talked of penalties for damage caused by those accusations. But that was just talk. Meanwhile, they all changed their behavior. There were new rules now, and every man knew them:

Don't smile at a child on the street, unless you're with your wife. Don't ever touch a strange child. Don't ever be alone with someone else's child, even for a moment. If a child invites you into his or her room, don't go unless another adult, preferably a woman, is also present. At a party, don't let a little girl sit on your lap. If she tries, gently push her aside. If you ever have occasion to see a naked boy or girl, look quickly away. Better yet, leave.

And it was prudent to be careful around your own children, too, because if your marriage went sour, your wife might accuse you. And then your past conduct would be reviewed in an unfavorable light: "Well, he was such an affectionate father-perhaps a little too affectionate." Or, "He spent so much time with the kids. He was always hanging around the house…"

This was a world of regulations and penalties entirely unknown to women. If Susan saw a child crying on the street, she picked the kid up. She did it automatically, without thinking. Sanders would never dare. Not these days.

And of course there were new rules for business, as well. Sanders knew men who would not take a business trip with a woman, who would not sit next to a female colleague on an airplane, who would not meet a woman for a drink in a bar unless someone else was also present. Sanders had always thought such caution was extreme, even paranoid. But now, he was not so sure.

The sound of the ferry horn roused Sanders from his thoughts. He looked up and saw the black pilings of the Colman Dock. The clouds were still dark, still threatening rain. He stood, belted his raincoat, and headed downstairs to his car.

0n his way to the mediation center, he stopped by his office for a few minutes to pick up background documentation on the Twinkle drive. He thought it might be necessary in the morning's work. But he was surprised to see John Conley in his office, talking with Cindy. It was 8:15 in the morning.

"Oh, Tom," Conley said. "I was just trying to arrange an appointment with you. Cindy tells me that you have a very busy schedule and may be out of the office most of the day."

Sanders looked at Cindy. Her face was tight. "Yes," he said, "at least for the morning."

"Well, I only need a few minutes."

Sanders waved him into the office. Conley went in, and Sanders closed the door.

"I'm looking forward to the briefing tomorrow for John Marden, our CEO," Conley said. "I gather you'll be speaking then."

Sanders nodded vaguely. He had heard nothing about a briefing. And tomorrow seemed very far away. He was having trouble concentrating on what Conley was saying.

"But of course we'll all be asked to take a position on some of these agenda items," Conley said. "And I'm particularly concerned about Austin."

"Austin?"

"I mean, the sale of the Austin facility."

"I see," Sanders said. So it was true.

"As you know, Meredith Johnson has taken an early and strong position in favor of the sale," Conley said. "It was one of the first recommendations she gave us, in the early stages of shaping this deal. Marden's worried about cash flow after the acquisition; the deal's going to add debt, and he's worried about funding high-tech development. Johnson thought we could ease the debt load by selling off Austin. But

I don't feel myself competent to judge the pros and cons on this. I was wondering what your view was."

"On a sale of the Austin plant?"

"Yes. Apparently there's tentative interest from both Hitachi and Motorola. So it's quite possible that it could be liquidated quickly. I think that's what Meredith has in mind. Has she discussed it with you?"

"No," Sanders said.

"She probably has a lot of ground to cover, settling in to her new job," Conley said. He was watching Sanders carefully as he spoke. "What do you think about a sale?"

Sanders said, "I don't see a compelling reason for it."

"Apart from cash-flow issues, I think her argument is that manufacturing cellular phones has become a mature business," Conley said. "As a technology, it's gone through its exponential growth phase, and it's now approaching a commodity. The high profits are gone. From now on, there will be only incremental sales increases, against increasing severe foreign competition. So, telephones aren't likely to represent a major income source in the future. And of course there's the question of whether we should be manufacturing in the States at all. A lot of DigiCom's manufacturing is already offshore."

"That's all true," Sanders said. "But it's beside the point. First of all, cellular phones may be reaching market saturation, but the general field of wireless communications is still in its infancy. We're going to see more and more wireless office nets and wireless field links in the future. So the market is still expanding, even if telephony is not. Second, I would argue that wireless is a major part of our company's future interest, and one way to stay competitive is to continue to make products and sell them. That forces you to maintain contact with your customer base, to keep knowledgeable about their future interests. I wouldn't opt out now. If Motorola and Hitachi see a business there, why don't we? Third, I think that we have an obligationasocial obligation, if you will-to keep high-paying skilled jobs in the U.S. Other countries don't export good jobs. Why should we? Each of our offshore manufacturing decisions has been made for a specific reason, and, personally, I hope we start to move them back here. Because there are many hidden costs in offshore fabrication. But most important of all, even though we are primarily a development unit here making new products-we need manufacturing. If there's anything that the last twenty years has shown us, it's that design and manufacturing are all one process. You start splitting off the design engineers from the manufacturing guys and you'll end up with bad design. You'll end up with General Motors."

He paused. There was a brief silence. Sanders hadn't intended to speak so strongly; it just came out. But Conley just nodded thoughtfully. "So you believe selling Austin would hurt the development unit."

"No question about it. In the end, manufacturing is a discipline."

Conley shifted in his seat. "How do you think Meredith Johnson feels on these issues?"

"I don't know."

"Because you see, all this raises a related question," Conley said. "Having to do with executive judgment. To be frank, I've heard some rumblings in the division about her appointment. In terms of whether she really has a good enough grasp of the issues to run a technical division."

Sanders spread his hands. "I don't feel I can say anything."

"I'm not asking you to," Conley said. "I gather she has Garvin's support."

"Yes, she does."

"And that's fine with us. But you know what I'm driving at," Conley said. "The classic problem in acquisitions is that the acquiring company doesn't really understand what they are buying, and they kill the goose that lays the golden egg. They don't intend to; but they do. They destroy the very thing they want to acquire. I'm concerned that Conley-White not make a mistake like that."

"Uh-huh."

`Just between us. If this issue comes up in the meeting tomorrow, would you take the position you just took?"

"Against Johnson?" Sanders shrugged. "That could be difficult." He was thinking that he probably wouldn't be at the meeting tomorrow. But he couldn't say that to Conley.

"Well." Conley extended his hand. "Thanks for your candor. I appreciate it." He turned to go. "One last thing. It'd be very helpful if we had a handle on the Twinkle drive problem by tomorrow."

"I know it," Sanders said. "Believe me, we're working on it."

Good."

Conley turned, and left. Cindy came in. "How are you today?"

Nervous."

"What do you need me to do?" "Pull the data on the Twinkle drives. I want copies of everything I took Meredith Monday night." "It's on your desk." He scooped up a stack of folders. On top was a small DAT cartridge. "What's this?" "That's your video link with Arthur from Monday." He shrugged, and dropped it in his briefcase. Cindy said, "Anything else?" "No." He glanced at his watch. "I'm late." "Good luck, Tom," she said. He thanked her and left the office.

Ariving in morning rush-hour traffic, Sanders realized that the only surprise in his encounter with Conley was how sharp the young lawyer was. As for Meredith, her behavior didn't surprise him at all. For years, Sanders had fought the B-school mentality that she exemplified. After watching these graduates come and go, Sanders had finally concluded that there was a fundamental flaw in their education. They had been trained to believe that they were equipped to manage anything. But there was no such thing as general managerial skills and tools. In the end, there were only specific problems, involving specific industries and specific workers. To apply general tools to specific problems was to fail. You needed to know the market, you needed to know the customers, you needed to know the limits of manufacturing and the limits of your own creative people. None of that was obvious. Meredith couldn't see that Don Cherry and Mark Lewyn needed a link to manufacturing. Yet time and again, Sanders had been shown a prototype and had asked the one significant question: It looks fine, but can you make it on a production line? Can you build it, reliably and quickly, for a price? Sometimes they could, and sometimes they couldn't. If you took away that question, you changed the entire organization. And not for the better.

Conley was smart enough to see that. And smart enough to keep his ear to the ground. Sanders wondered how much Conley knew of what he hadn't said in their meeting. Did he also know about the harassment suit? It was certainly possible.

Christ, Meredith wanted to sell Austin. Eddie had been right all along. He considered telling him, but he really couldn't. And in any case, he had more pressing things to worry about. He saw the sign for the Magnuson Mediation Center and turned right. Sanders tugged at the knot on his tie and pulled into a space in the parking lot.

The Magnuson Mediation Center was located just outside Seattle, on a hill overlooking the city. It consisted of three low buildings arranged around a central courtyard where water splashed in fountains and pools. The entire atmosphere was designed to be peaceful and relaxing, but Sanders was tense when he walked up from the parking lot and found Fernandez pacing.

"You see the paper today?" she said.

"Yeah, I saw it."

"Don't let it upset you. This is a very bad tactical move on their part," she said. "You know Connie Walsh?"

“No.”

"She's a bitch," Fernandez said briskly. "Very unpleasant and very capable. But I expect Judge Murphy to take a strong position on it in the sessions. Now, this is what I worked out with Phil Blackburn. We'll begin with your version of the events of Monday night. Then Johnson will tell hers."

"Wait a minute. Why should I go first?" Sanders said. "If I go first, she'll have the advantage of hearing-"

"You are the one bringing the claim so you are obligated to present your case first. I think it will be to our advantage," Fernandez said. "This way Johnson will testify last, before lunch." They started toward the center building. "Now, there are just two things you have to remember. First, always tell the truth. No matter what happens, just tell the truth. Exactly as you remember it even if you think it hurts your case. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Second, don't get mad. Her lawyer will try to make you angry and trap you. Don't fall for it. If you feel insulted or start to get mad, request a five-minute break to consult with me. You're entitled to that, whenever you want. We'll go outside and cool off. But whatever you do, keep cool, Mr. Sanders." "Okay."

"Good." She swung open the door. "Now let's go do it."

The mediation room was wood-paneled and spare. He saw a polished wooden table with a pitcher of water and glasses and some notepads; in the corner, a sideboard with coffee and a plate of pastries. Windows opened out on a small atrium with a fountain. He heard the sound of soft gurgling water.

The DigiCom legal team was already there, ranged along one side of the table. Phil Blackburn, Meredith Johnson, an attorney named Ben Heller, and two other grim-faced female attorneys. Each woman had an imposing stack of xeroxed papers before her on the table.

Fernandez introduced herself to Meredith Johnson, and the two women shook hands. Then Ben Heller shook hands with Sanders. Heller was a florid, beefy man with silver hair, and a deep voice. Well connected in Seattle, he reminded Sanders of a politician. Heller introduced the other women, but Sanders immediately forgot their names.

Meredith said, "Hello, Tom."

"Meredith."

He was struck by how beautiful she looked. She wore a blue suit with a cream-colored blouse. With her glasses and her blond hair pulled back, she looked like a lovely but studious schoolgirl. Heller patted her hand reassuringly, as if speaking to Sanders had been a terrible ordeal.

Sanders and Fernandez sat down opposite Johnson and Heller. Everybody got out papers and notes. Then there was an awkward silence, until Heller said to Fernandez, "How'd that King Power thing turn out?"

"We were pleased," Fernandez said.

"They fixed an award yet?"

"Next week, Ben."

"What are you asking?"

"Two million."

"Two million?"

"Sexual harassment's serious business, Ben. Awards are going up fast.

Right now the average verdict is over a million dollars. Especially when the company behaves that badly."

At the far end of the room, a door opened and a woman in her mid-fifties entered. She was brisk and erect, and wore a dark blue suit not very different from Meredith's.

"Good morning," she said. "I'm Barbara Murphy. Please refer to me as judge Murphy, or Ms. Murphy." She moved around the room, shaking hands with everyone, then took a seat at the head of the table. She opened her briefcase and took out her notes.

"Let me tell you the ground rules for our sessions here," Judge Murphy said. "This is not a court of law, and our proceedings won't be recorded. I encourage everyone to maintain a civil and courteous tone. We're not here to make wild accusations or to fix blame. Our goal is to define the nature of the dispute between the parties, and to determine how best to resolve that dispute.

"I want to remind everyone that the allegations made on both sides are extremely serious and may have legal consequences for all parties. I urge you to treat these sessions confidentially. I particularly caution you against discussing what is said here with any outside person or with the press. l have taken the liberty of speaking privately to Mr. Donadio, the editor of thePost-Intelligencer, about the article that appeared today by Ms. Walsh. I reminded Mr. Donadio that all parties in `Company X' are private individuals and that Ms. Walsh is a paid employee of the paper. The risk of a defamation suit against the P-I is very real. Mr. Donadio seemed to take my point."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Now then. The parties have agreed that Mr. Sanders will speak first, and he will then be questioned by Mr. Heller. Ms. Johnson will speak next, and will be questioned by Ms. Fernandez. In the interest of time, I alone will have the right to ask questions during the testimony of the principals, and I will set limits on the questions of opposing attorneys. I'm open to some discussion, but I ask your cooperation in letting me exercise judgment and keep things moving. Before we begin, does anybody have any questions?"

Nobody did.

"All right. Then let's get started. Mr. Sanders, why don't you tell us what happened, from your point of view."

Sanders talked quietly for the next half hour. He began with his meeting with Blackburn, where he learned that Meredith was going to be the new vice president. He reported the conversation with Meredith after her speech, in which she suggested a meeting about the Twinkle drive. He told what happened in the six o'clock meeting in detail.

As he spoke, he realized why Fernandez had insisted he tell this story over and over, the day before. The flow of events came easily to him now; he found that he could talk about penises and vaginas without hesitation. Even so, it was an ordeal. He felt exhausted by the time he described leaving the room and seeing the cleaning woman outside.

He then told about the phone call to his wife, and the early meeting the next morning, his subsequent conversation with Blackburn, and his decision to press charges.

"'That's about it," he finished.

Judge Murphy said, "I have some questions before we go on. Mr. Sanders, you mentioned that wine was drunk during the meeting."

"Yes."

"How much wine would you say you had?"

"Less than a glass."

"And Ms. Johnson? How much would you say?"

"At least three glasses."

"All right." She made a note. "Mr. Sanders, do you have an employment contract with the company?"

"Yes."

"What is your understanding of what the contract says about transferring you or firing you?"

"They can't fire me without cause," Sanders said. "I don't know what it says about transfers. But my point is that by transferring me, they might as well be firing me-"

"I understand your point," Murphy said, interrupting him. "I'm asking about your contract. Mr. Blackburn?"

Blackburn said, "The relevant clause refers to `equivalent transfer.' "

"I see. So it is arguable. Fine. Let's go on. Mr. Heller? Your questions for Mr. Sanders, please."

Ben Heller shuffled his papers and cleared his throat. "Mr. Sanders, would you like a break?"

"No, I'm fine."

"All right. Now, Mr. Sanders. You mentioned that when Mr. Blackburn told you on Monday morning that Ms. Johnson was going to be the new head of the division, you were surprised."

"Yes."

"Who did you think the new head would be?"

"I didn't know. Actually, I thought I might be in line for it."

"Why did you think that?"

"I just assumed it."

"Did anybody in the company, Mr. Blackburn or anybody else, lead you to think you were going to get the job?" No.

"Was there anything in writing to suggest you would get the job?"

“No.”

"So when you say you assumed it, you were drawing a conclusion based on the general situation at the company, as you saw it."

"Yes."

"But not based on any real evidence?"

“No.”

"All right. Now, you've said that when Mr. Blackburn told you that Ms. Johnson was going to get the job, he also told you that she could choose new division heads if she wanted, and you told him you interpreted that to mean Ms. Johnson had the power to fire you?"

"Yes, that's what he said."

"Did he characterize it in any way? For example, did he say it was likely or unlikely?"

"He said it was unlikely."

"And did you believe him?"

"I wasn't sure what to believe, at that point."

"Is Mr. Blackburn's judgment on company matters reliable?"

"Ordinarily, yes."

"But in any case, Mr. Blackburn did say that Ms. Johnson had the right to fire you."

"Yes."

"Did Ms. Johnson ever say anything like that to you?"

“No.”

"She never made any statement that could be interpreted as an offer contingent upon your performance, including sexual performance?"

“No.”

"So when you say that during your meeting with her you felt that your job was at risk, that was not because of anything Ms. Johnson actually said or did?"

"No," Sanders said. "But it was in the situation."

"You perceivedit as being in the situation."

"Yes."

"As you had earlier perceived that you were in line for a promotion, when in fact you were not? The very promotion that Ms. Johnson ended up getting?"

"I don't follow you."

"I'm merely observing," Heller said, "that perceptions are subjective, and do not have the weight of fact."

"Objection," Fernandez said. "Employee perceptions have been held valid in contexts where the reasonable expectation-"

"Ms. Fernandez," Murphy said, "Mr. Heller hasn't challenged the validity of your client's perceptions. He has questioned their accuracy."

"But surely they are accurate. Because Ms. Johnson was his superior, and she could fire him if she wanted to."

"That's not in dispute. But Mr. Heller is asking whether Mr. Sanders has a tendency to build up unjustified expectations. And that seems to me entirely relevant."

"But with all due respect, Your Honor-"

"Ms. Fernandez," Murphy said, "we're here to clarify this dispute. I'm going to let Mr. Heller continue. Mr. Heller?"

"Thank you, Your Honor. So to summarize, Mr. Sanders: Although you felt your job was on the line, you never got that sense from Ms. Johnson?"

"No, I didn't."

"Or from Mr. Blackburn?"

"No."

"Or, in fact, from anyone else?"

“No.”

"All right. Let's turn to something else. How did it happen that there was wine at the six o'clock meeting?"

"Ms. Johnson said that she would get a bottle of wine."

"You didn't ask her to do that?"

"No. She volunteered to do it."

"And what was your reaction?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Nothing in particular."

"Were you pleased?"

"I didn't think about it one way or the other."

"Let me put it a different way, Mr. Sanders. When you heard that an attractive woman like Ms. Johnson was planning to have a drink with you after work, what went through your head?"

"I thought I better do it. She's my boss."

"That's all you thought?"

"Yes."

"Did you mention to anyone that you wanted to be alone with Ms. Johnson in a romantic setting?"

Sanders sat forward, surprised. "No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes." Sanders shook his head. "I don't know what you're driving at."

"Isn't Ms. Johnson your former lover?"

"Yes."

"And didn't you want to resume your intimate relationship?"

"No, I did not. I was just hoping we would be able to find some way to be able to work together."

"Is that difficult? I would have thought it'd be quite easy to work together, since you knew each other so well in the past."

"Well, it's not. It's quite awkward."

"Is it? Why is that?"

"Well. It just is. I had never actually worked with her. I knew her in a totally different context, and I just felt awkward."

"How did your prior relationship with Ms. Johnson end, Mr. Sanders?"

"We just sort of… drifted apart."

"You had been living together at the time?"

"Yes. And we had our normal ups and downs. And finally, it just didn't work out. So we split up."

"No hard feelings?" No.

"Who left whom?"

"It was sort of mutual, as I recall."

"Whose idea was it to move out?"

"I guess… I don't really remember. I guess it was mine."

"So there was no awkwardness or tension about how the affair ended, ten years ago."

“No.”

"And yet you felt there was awkwardness now?"

"Sure," Sanders said. "Because we had one kind of relationship in the past, and now we were going to have another kind of relationship."

"You mean, now Ms. Johnson was going to be your superior."

"Yes."

"Weren't you angry about that? About her appointment?"

"A little. I guess."

"Only a little? Or perhaps more than a little?"

Fernandez sat forward and started to protest. Murphy shot her a warning look. Fernandez put her fists under her chin and said nothing.

"I was a lot of things," Sanders said. "I was angry and disappointed and confused and worried."

"So in your mind, although you were feeling many different and confusing feelings, you're certain that you did not, under any circumstances, contemplate having sex with Ms. Johnson that night."

“No.”

"It never crossed your mind?"

“No.”

There was a pause. Heller shuffled his notes, then looked up. "You're married, are you not, Mr. Sanders?"

"Yes, I am."

"Did you call your wife to tell her you had a late meeting?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell her with whom?"

“No.”

"Why not?"

"My wife is sometimes jealous about my past relationships. I didn't see any reason to cause her anxiety or make her upset."

"You mean, if you told her you were having a late meeting with Ms. Johnson, your wife might think that you would renew your sexual acquaintance."

"I don't know what she would think," Sanders said.

"But in any case, you didn't tell her about Ms. Johnson."

“No.”

"What did you tell her?" "I told her I had a meeting and I would be home late."

"How late?" "I told her it might run to dinner or after."

"I see. Had Ms. Johnson suggested dinner to you?"

“No.”

"So you presumed, when you called your wife, that your meeting with Ms. Johnson might be a long one?"

"No," Sanders said. "I didn't. But I didn't know exactly how long it would be. And my wife doesn't like me to call once and say I'll be an hour late, and then call again to say it'll be two hours. That annoys her. So it's easier for her if I just tell her I may be home after dinner. That way, she doesn't expect me and doesn't wait for me; and if I get home early, it's great."

"So this is your usual policy with your wife."

"Yes."

"Nothing unusual."

"No."

"In other words, your usual procedure is to lie to your wife about events at the office because in your view she can't take the truth."

"Objection," Fernandez said. "What's the relevance?"

"That's not it at all," Sanders continued, angrily.

"How is it, Mr. Sanders?"

"Look. Every marriage has its own way to work things out. This is ours. It makes things smoother, that's all. It's about scheduling at home, not about lying."

"But wouldn't you say that you lied when you failed to tell your wife you were seeing Ms. Johnson that night?"

"Objection," Fernandez said.

Murphy said, "I think this is quite enough, Mr. Heller."

"Your Honor, I'm trying to show that Mr. Sanders intended to consummate an encounter with Ms. Johnson, and that all his behavior is consistent with that. And in addition, to show that he routinely treats women with contempt."

"You haven't shown that, you haven't even laid a groundwork for that," Murphy said. "Mr. Sanders has explained his reasons, and in the absence of contrary evidence I accept them. Do you have contrary evidence?"