Authors: Kamy Wicoff
“Oh my God,” Jennifer said. “Your younger brother is the mayor?”
Alicia’s eyes were wide. “Seriously? Why isn’t your last name Fitch?” she asked.
Dr. Sexton’s eyes widened with horror. “Diane Fitch?” She shuddered. “I took my mother’s name when I entered the physics program at Caltech. Infinitely more elegant, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention I had long been an admirer of the great poet Anne.”
“So you’re saying,” Jennifer said, still trying to process this news and what it might mean for One Stop, “that if we have evidence that Bill has been embezzling and take it directly to the mayor, your brother, with you as our … liaison, or something, he would … what?”
Dr. Sexton was about to answer, when Alicia leaned in. For the first time since yesterday’s press conference, she was all smiles, her eyes practically dancing. “Oh, I think our mayor
would much prefer a quiet cover-up to a public airing of the city’s dirty laundry,” she said, “particularly when it involves one of his biggest campaign donors—not to mention the most prominent black businessman in the city—stealing from public-housing residents on his watch.”
“But could the program survive?” Jennifer asked.
“If the mayor is behind it, as he very publicly declared himself to be yesterday morning, and wants us to keep this to ourselves, then yes, it could,” Alicia said. “Bill goes away, and we move on.”
“You mean Bill
gets
away,” Jennifer said.
“Lesser of two evils,” Alicia said. “Better to get rid of him and save the center if we can.”
“So it’s settled, then,” Dr. Sexton said, obviously pleased. “I will call Aldon.”
“We’ll need to see him today if we can,” Jennifer said. “Before Bill gets back.”
“Consider it done,” Dr. Sexton said, rising. “Though perhaps I’d better make this call in private. Aldon and I haven’t spoken in a while.” Jennifer walked Dr. Sexton to the door.
“Dr. Sexton,” she said in a low voice, “I think you should know. There was a complication involving the network. We tried to call you—”
Dr. Sexton swiftly raised her hand, signaling Jennifer to stop. “Not another word,” she said.
“But—”
“Not another word!” Dr. Sexton repeated emphatically. “Please. I’d hope you would have learned this lesson quite clearly after the events of yesterday. Whatever happens at six o’clock today is what must happen, and what
has
happened, and I cannot interfere. Susan will be finishing her chemotherapy then. I will be with her at the hospital, and I will not have my phone turned on.” Jennifer nodded. It wasn’t urgent,
she supposed, if Dr. Sexton wasn’t using the app anymore either. But she’d have to let her know eventually.
Dr. Sexton opened the door, then turned to Jennifer, flashing her an amused smile. “I must say I find it amazing,” she said. “Who would ever have thought Aldon would turn out to be a person from whom one would require a favor!”
H
OURS LATER
, J
ENNIFER AND
Alicia were cooling their heels in Alicia’s office on the twentieth floor, with no word from Dr. Sexton. It was nearly two o’clock, and they’d been trying to stay busy while also trying to keep Tim calm. He was waiting around at home, as instructed, but texting incessantly to express his growing anxiety about Jennifer and Alicia’s need-to-know plan to break into Bill’s apartment—an event that, as far as he knew, hadn’t happened yet.
Jennifer was becoming increasingly nervous too. If they didn’t get an audience with the mayor before Bill returned, their chances of settling things quietly would diminish fast. What would Bill do when he came home and discovered his files were missing? Leave the country? Come clean? Alicia and Jennifer had spun out a variety of outcomes, but none of them was favorable to One Stop.
Alicia, drumming her fingernails on her desk, pulled the mayor’s schedule up on her computer for the fifth time that afternoon. “Department of Ed meeting finally wrapped up,” she said. “Dr. Sexton probably couldn’t have reached him until noon at the earliest.” She looked over the top of her screen at Jennifer. “Don’t stress,” she said. But Alicia, apparently having difficulty following her own advice, resumed her incessant fingernail tapping.
Moments later, to their great surprise, Dr. Sexton appeared, out of breath, in the doorway to Alicia’s office.
“Thank God!” she said exasperatedly. “I’ve been in the building half an hour now. Do you know how hard it is to navigate the corridors in this place? Everything so monotonously taupe! It’s like being trapped in a Soviet Holiday Inn.”
Jennifer and Alicia looked at her expectantly.
“Well, hello to you too,” Dr. Sexton said, taking a seat next to Jennifer and opposite Alicia.
“
Well?
” Jennifer asked.
“He’s not answering my calls,” Dr. Sexton said. “It’s strange. It isn’t like him. I so rarely call. I thought he’d be pleased.”
“Could he be unhappy with you about something?” Alicia asked.
“What could Aldon possibly be unhappy with me about?” Dr. Sexton replied indignantly. Placing both palms emphatically on Alicia’s desk, she looked Alicia, then Jennifer, in the eye. “We just have to go in and see him,” she said. “That’s all there is to it.” She stood, then stepped into the doorway again, poking her head out into the hallway. “I just hope you two know which way to go.”
O
N THEIR WAY FROM
NYCHA to city hall, Alicia called the mayor’s assistant, who reported that the mayor was due any minute at his office, where he had set aside some time to debrief with his chief of staff. “Perfect!” Dr. Sexton said. “He’ll have a moment, then.” Jennifer and Alicia thought that was unlikely, but time was running short, so they followed Dr. Sexton through one security checkpoint after the next. Entering the mayor’s chambers, however, they were stopped by a security guard, who asked if they had an appointment. “I am the mayor’s
sister
,” Dr. Sexton replied haughtily. “I hardly think I need an appointment.” Unsurprisingly, the security
guard disagreed. Reluctantly, he consented to call the mayor’s office and inquire whether a Dr. Diane Sexton should be allowed in to see him. This time, apparently, the mayor took the call.
“All right,” the guard said, waving them through.
“Honestly,” Dr. Sexton muttered as they gathered their bags from the conveyor belt after passing through the final checkpoint. “You’d think he was—”
“The mayor of New York City?” Alicia shot back. It was clear to Jennifer that Alicia was beginning to wish she had not thrown in her lot with Dr. Sexton—and perhaps not with Jennifer, either, for that matter. For her part, Jennifer was hoping Dr. Sexton’s younger brother liked her a lot more than his response to Dr. Sexton thus far suggested.
Jennifer was not reassured when the mayor stepped out into his reception area and Dr. Sexton stood up to greet him. Upon seeing her, Mayor Fitch exhibited all the filial warmth of a tuna fish. “Diane,” he said icily, “what’s so important? You do know I’m running the country’s largest city? Are you here about GETS? You couldn’t possibly expect me to reinstate your access, having so utterly abused it.”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Sexton said.
“GETS,” the mayor practically snarled, though his face remained so expressionless that the malice in his voice seemed to come from another body. “Remember? You asked for the code? Have you been using it as your
wireless
provider? Do you know how restricted access to that network? When I gave you the code, I told you it was strictly for emergencies, like tsunamis or terrorist attacks. Not to be used multiple times on a daily basis because you are too impatient to suffer through commercial service like the rest of us.” Dr. Sexton quickly took a step closer to the mayor and placed a hand on his arm.
“Aldon,” she said in a low voice, “let’s discuss this privately.” The mayor, who had not so much as glanced at Jennifer and Alicia, nodded curtly and showed Diane into his office.
“Oh my God,” Alicia said as soon as he’d shut the door.
“
That’s
why we were hanging by a thread on AT&T or whatever-the-frack,” Jennifer said. “He must have cut off her GETS access today!”
“I am battling the urge to run right out of this office,” Alicia said.
“Keep battling,” Jennifer said. “We’ve come too far to quit now.”
At least fifteen minutes passed before Dr. Sexton opened the office door, during which time Alicia practically drilled a fingernail hole in the armrest of her chair. Stepping out into the reception area, Dr. Sexton seemed relieved to see that they were still sitting there. “Thank you for waiting,” she said, motioning for them to come in. Dr. Sexton gave each of their arms a quick squeeze as they passed. “My apologies,” she whispered. “It should be all right now.”
The mayor was seated behind a large but not ostentatious desk, somewhere between the kind of gilded corporate veneer Bill had imported to his government digs and the more modest, conservative tones that had characterized it before. An aide was standing beside him.
“I met you both yesterday,” the mayor said, regarding them matter-of-factly, “at the press conference for One Stop. Alicia Richardson, formerly superintendent for district—don’t tell me—thirteen?” Alicia nodded, impressed. The mayor was clearly impressed with himself too. Dr. Sexton was looking at him, however, like he was a third grader showing off his knowledge of state capitals. “And you are Jennifer Sharpe, author of the One Stop community-center model, formerly a management consultant at—don’t tell me—Bain?”
“McKinsey,” Jennifer said. “And you have an incredible memory.”
“I always have,” the mayor responded, gesturing for them to take a seat. “Indispensable in this line of work.” Jennifer and Alicia sat down. Jennifer glanced over at the folder of documents in Alicia’s lap. The mayor, not one to miss a trick, eyed it too.
“Terrific project, One Stop,” the mayor added, with a hint of a smile. “We got some great press yesterday. But my sister tells me there’s a problem? Something that couldn’t go through the usual channels?”
Diving in, Jennifer and Alicia made their case as quickly and concisely as they could. When they had finished, the mayor asked for the documents supporting their claims. He opened the folder and reviewed them silently, thin lips pursed, face frozen in an expression so blank it was impossible to interpret. After what seemed like an eternity, he whispered something to his aide, who whispered something back. Then the mayor whispered back to him. Then the aide whispered back to the mayor.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Dr. Sexton burst out. Jennifer nearly kicked her in the shin.
“First of all,” the mayor said, after shooting his sister a withering look, “I want to thank you for bringing this to my attention, and for being so discreet. It’s a terrible thing for those residents, and I’m incredibly disappointed in Bill. Frankly, I can’t imagine why he’d do this.” He paused, seeming to consider something. “Is it your belief that Bill, confronted with the evidence, will pay the money back? So that the project can move forward without a scandal? Without Bill as its head any longer, of course.”
Jennifer and Alicia looked at each other. They had never said that. They didn’t know how deep Bill’s financial troubles
went, but it seemed unlikely he was in any position to pay back the funds. But how could they tell that to the mayor? It had already been difficult to explain how they’d attained the records they’d brought, which they had confined strictly to the payroll discrepancies and the transfers, in matching amounts, between BTE for Good and BTE Investment Securities. They could not say they had read Bill’s personal correspondence about his investment fund, or that he had embezzled from the city because his Ponzi scheme had caught up with him.
“
Is
that what you are suggesting?” the mayor asked impatiently.
Suddenly Dr. Sexton spoke. “Suppose I were to make up the difference,” she said, leaning forward, “as an anonymous donor?”
“What?” Jennifer and Alicia gasped simultaneously.
The mayor sat back in his chair, knitting his brow and studying his sister. “Jennifer Sharpe is your neighbor. That’s how you two know each other?” He shook his head. “Even for you, Diane, this is extremely eccentric.”
“She is my neighbor. And my friend. We’ve come to know each other very well, in fact,” Dr. Sexton added, “and having been witness to her passion for the community center for many months now, I’ve become very passionate about it too. It seems to me that it would be very reckless, and endanger this important work further, to involve a criminal in financing it, even if he were repaying what he stole.”
“It’s almost half a million dollars, Dr. Sexton,” Jennifer said softly, as though she were addressing a pitiable old lady who was beginning to go dotty. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh, she can do that,” the mayor said with a wave of his hand and the faintest eye roll. “She can do that easily.”
Alicia and Jennifer exchanged a look.
Really?
“It is a public-private partnership, is it not, Aldon?” Dr.
Sexton went on, determinedly making her case. “Isn’t that part of the innovation Ms. Sharpe has brought to the project, combining government funding with private donations? And I have the foundation Daddy set up for me. As you know, I’ve spent many years looking for a worthy cause.”
Jennifer almost laughed at hearing Dr. Sexton utter the word
Daddy
, but she was too riveted by the exchange to breathe.
“It is about time you took your duties seriously with regard to philanthropy,” the mayor said, though still a bit uneasily. The aide leaned in and whispered something else into his ear. The mayor seemed to brighten a bit. “And it would certainly be good publicity for the city, and the project, a gift of that size,” he continued. “A major vote of confidence from the private sector, a half-million-dollar gift.”
“A major vote!” Dr. Sexton cried, sensing victory. “To compensate for all the times I’ve failed to vote for you in the past!” Mayor Fitch scowled, and for a minute Jennifer could see the face of a little boy eternally made to feel like an also-ran by his brilliant older sister. “Don’t be cross, Aldon,” Dr. Sexton said, evidently making the same observation. “You know perfectly well that I never vote for anybody. After all, Daddy was a communist.” At this the aide’s eyebrows shot up, and the mayor abruptly stood.