Bainbridge Ferry, Seattle, Washington
Thursday, March 7, 1996
“Hey Doc,” said Robert Davis Sheffield, his trademark reddish brown lion’s mane hair and full beard lively in the breeze created by the forward motion of the Bainbridge Island Ferry “Wenatchee.” The ferryboat had just left her shady dock on the Seattle side and was picking up speed as she moved into the bright afternoon waters of Elliott Bay. Davis, 6 feet tall, trim and fit if a little lanky at age 36, was dressed in standard Seattle Denim, complete with a cotton plaid shirt, Gore-Tex jacket and weather-worthy hiking boots. His large, brown, almost feminine eyes were bright with amusement.
Doc, also known as Maynard Travestor, M.D., looked even more like Santa Claus than usual thanks to rosy cheeks from the crisp weather along with his rotund, 73-year-old physique and white beard. He sported a wool captain’s hat against the inevitably chilly ferry trip with the sun starting down.
Doc turned from his place on the rail to greet his old friend.
“Hey Davis,” he said, moving forward for a hug. “You brought your car on board?”
“As instructed,” said Davis, grinning and shaking his head.
“So what are we going to do,” said Doc, also smiling, “park them in the ferry lot and then drive them back on the next ferry? I can’t imagine why we would need vehicles.”
“No idea why the ferry to start with,” said Davis. “Is this crazy or what?”
“So go over this phone call once more for me,” said Doc. “She told you to call me and we should make sure no one is following us. Drive onto the ferry. Okay, so here we are. Now what?”
“Judging by her voice we’ll now meet a mysterious Lauren Bacall look-alike who’ll deliver microfilm containing military secrets.”
“Cloak and dagger,” said Doc. “Are you feeling as foolish as I am?”
“Something about her voice on the phone… I don’t know,” said Davis, grinning. “I just decided to go with my instincts. Thanks for humoring me.”
“Gentlemen,” said the husky voice Davis remembered from the phone. They turned to see a pretty young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, dressed in a wool power-suit modeled after a Navy pea-coat and carrying a briefcase. Her slim build, 5' 4" height, short cut red hair, serious freckles and little apparent make-up gave her a winsome boyish look. Uneven brown flecks ringing her hazel irises were cat-like in effect. She didn’t match her voice at all.
Davis and Doc raised eyebrows at each other.
“You don’t look like Lauren Bacall,” said Davis, smiling. “Did you bring the microfilm?”
“No microfilm,” said the woman, not smiling and with careful seriousness, “but I do have some information that you’ll want to know about.” She introduced herself as Ange Parker and shook hands.
“Information that requires a ferry ride?” said Doc.
“There’s a man whom you do not wish to meet. He’s probably knocking on the doors at your foundation offices as we speak. We came out on the plane from New Jersey together. I watched the ramps to the ferry to make sure he hadn’t followed you aboard and then I got on at the last second.”
“And if he had followed us on board, what would you have done?” asked Doc.
“Well,” said Ange, “it would’ve been too late then. But now we have the jump on him.”
“Doc is a psychiatrist,” said Davis. “He can spot a paranoid delusion a mile away.”
“Yes, I know about Doc,” said Ange, “but before you get out your Thorazine, Doc, better hear me out.”
“Shoot,” said Davis.
“Can we find a spot out of the wind a little?” said Ange. Davis and Doc obliged by moving the conversation to a private area behind a Plexiglas windbreak.
“Vincent and Michael Sheffield have devised a legal strategy to remove you from the board and as president of Sheffield Industries,” said Ange, in lower tones now that her alto voice did not have to compete with the wind.
“Makes perfect sense,” said Davis, smiling. “Do you have papers I need to sign?”
“Please don’t joke,” said Ange.
“Who’s joking?” said Davis. “I’m president by happenstance and I’m not particularly enjoying it.”
“But you have promises to keep,” said Doc in a soft voice that growled with intensity.
Davis looked at Doc, then out over the bay for long seconds. “And miles to go before I sleep,” he sighed. “Okay, Ms. Parker, what’s this legal strategy and how can it have any teeth? I own 51% of the shares of the stupid corporation.”
“Being majority shareholder does not automatically translate into control of the organization, especially if you absent yourself from the scene,” said Ange primly and a little testily, Davis thought. “Nor does it confer immunity from the sort of action they’ve cooked up.”
“You’re an attorney,” said Doc.
“Yes,” said Ange, still with not a hint of a smile. “The Sheffield brothers rationalize this plan by saying you are not a true Sheffield, having acquired your interest in marriage and even your Sheffield name in marriage and that you know nothing about management.”
“True enough,” said Davis. “Are you representing them?”
“I hardly think so,” said Ange, with a grim half-smile. “I was, but I stand to be fired and disbarred and who knows what else for doing this. My career, gentlemen, is quite over and that’s as it should be.” Ange’s chin trembled visibly as she set her teeth against emotions.
“So what’s this legal strategy the brothers have devised?” said Davis.
“No, first,” said Doc, “this man, is he dangerous?”
“He’s a process server,” said Ange “and quite dangerous in that capacity. The board has filed a civil action in New Jersey to have you removed from the board for reasons of… moral turpitude.”
Davis’ jaw dropped and he exchanged incredulous looks with Doc.
“They claim you have engaged in… I should read this.” She snapped her briefcase open and pulled a file. “… ‘has engaged in conduct that is shamefully wicked, an extreme departure from ordinary standards of morality, involving a base, vile, or depraved frame of mind, to wit, public displays of sadomasochism and other deviant sex acts.’” Ange paused to allow comment but both men just stared. “They say this meets the criteria of moral turpitude that’s a part of the provisions of the corporate bylaws allowing removal of a board member. They go on to quote a part of the bylaws which states that a board member can be removed if (reading again) ‘a reasonable person in the position of said board member or officer took actions involving moral turpitude which would reasonably be expected to have a significant adverse effect on the business or reputation of the company or any of its directors, officers, employees, or affiliates.’”
Davis and Doc remained speechless, which was a very unusual state of affairs for the two. Ange waited them out.
“You say the board filed the action. How could the board have filed an action?” said Davis, finally. “That would take three votes. Morris and Phil have my proxies and neither of them would stab me in the back. Plus, if Vince tried to use his tie-breaker vote as acting Chair, Morris and Phil both understand that the bylaws allow them to delay the vote for a week until I could get there.”
“One of them must have stuck it to you,” said Ange. “I don’t know. The vote wasn’t announced. In any case the civil action lists the board as plaintiffs but also Michael and Vince separately as minority shareholders. So the board action only lends weight to the lawsuit. It isn’t crucial to it.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Davis. “But say it was what they say, this alleged moral turpitude -- or some part of it. How could they prove it? Wouldn’t they need photos or something? And what about the statute of limitations? It’s been years since… uh, since I didn’t do whatever they said I did. And what if I said I used to have moral turpitude but Doc here cured me?” Davis fought back a smile.
“Please don’t joke about this,” said Ange.
“Sorry,” said Davis, responding to the intensity in her eyes. Perhaps she had more on the line than he did. He found himself liking her even on short acquaintance. He thought she was quite attractive as well, even in this context where she was all business, or maybe her intense professionalism added to the appeal. Somehow he trusted her. He thought he might have met her before somewhere.
“They might not have to prove it in the full sense,” said Ange. “All they need is to ask you questions while you’re deposed during a pre-trial discovery phase and get you to lie on any point that they have evidence on. Then they can charge perjury, which is a serious matter, and also cause for removal from the board, plus criminal penalties, God forbid. If there is anything to the charges, you don’t want to get in their clutches.”
“How am I supposed to avoid that?” said Davis.
“They have to serve you,” said Ange. “If they serve you, you have to show up or risk losing by default. Fortunately, in Washington State they have to personally serve you. They can’t just drop off the subpoena at the Foundation offices like in New Jersey.”
“So I play hide-and-seek with process servers?”
“That’s what I would recommend, until you figure something out, I guess. Worst case scenario, maybe only until next January when your shareholder votes give you some leverage, but even then it’s tricky.”
“That’s why we brought our cars,” said Doc. “You had this figured out pretty good, Ms. Parker. We sneak out the back door from Bainbridge Island. We high tail it like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. What do you think, Davis?”
“I think I need a drink,” said Davis. “Do they have liquor on this barge, Doc? No? I was afraid of that. Okay, coffee, then.”
The trio stood in line at the coffee counter with barely a word to each other, all lost in thought. Then they found a table inside on the observation deck.
“What are you doing here, Ms. Parker?” said Davis finally. “You said you flew out with the process server. Did they send you?”
“I haven’t passed the bar in New Jersey yet, but I’m working as a paralegal for Smithson, Merriman….”
“….Douglas and Frazer,” Davis finished her sentence for her.
“Yes. I’m normally a go-fer and general flunky but they sent me here because I’m licensed in Washington State. I graduated from the University of Washington Law School and took my bar exams here.”
“So you probably know Merriam Lockett, on the faculty at The School of Law and on our Foundation committee.”
“Professor Lockett was my academic advisor.”
“What would Merriam say about you if she were here?”
“Good things, with all due modesty, or would have. Now, I’m not sure. Anyway, Professor Lockett told me a great deal about you, Mr. Sheffield, and I guess that was the main influence in my… mutiny. I came to see you as a sort of hero in the corporate world, and I have come to see the Sheffield brothers, Vince Sheffield and Michael Sheffield as…. No, I won’t say that. And I shouldn’t say this either, probably, but this is all about the Green Helmet program. I’m sure you realize that.”
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“Yes,” said Doc. “There’s nothing else really important to us. What exactly do you know about the Green Helmet program?”
“What everybody knows, I guess. It’s an American fairy tale. People in green Sheffield Industries construction helmets pay surprise visits to charities and give out grants with no strings attached. It’s a jewel in the crown of American philanthropy.”
“I take it you approve,” said Doc.
“Personally, yes. The Green Helmet program is the reason I wanted the chance to work with Sheffield. However, the guys in New Jersey look at it differently. I was told to wait until the papers were served on you and then to install myself in the Green Helmet offices -- which are apparently a subset of the Rachel Sheffield Memorial Foundation offices in Smith Towers -- and wait for instructions.”
“Why you?” said Davis.
“Why not me? Could have been anybody. They just wanted boots on the ground in Seattle.”
“And instead, you came to me, to warn me. You’ve done me… you’ve done the Green Helmet program a great service,” said Davis. “Thank you. Would you like a reward?”
Doc rolled his eyes. Foot-in-mouth Davis strikes again.
“That would certainly put the capper on my short career, wouldn’t it?” said Ange. “Unethical attorney betrays her client for twenty pieces of silver. No, thank you. I’ve done what I thought I had to do and now I’ll just take it on the chops like a big girl.” She smiled but the corners of her mouth turned down.
“Now you expect to be fired,” said Davis.
“And disbarred, I wouldn’t doubt. These guys play pretty rough.”
“Okay,” said Davis. “You’re fired.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“As I recall, virtually the entire practice of the law firm Smithson, Merriman, Douglas and Frazer, and associated paralegals, is devoted to Sheffield Industries, for which I’m the president. So, I can fire you, can I not?”
“Technically, no. I work for the law firm.”
“Then, I’ll fire the law firm. Can I do that?”
“Well, in theory,” said Ange, almost smiling, “although your powers as president leave a little to be desired at the moment. Besides, why bother. I’m as good as fired anyway. Why double down?”
“So that I can hire you,” said Davis.
Ange blinked, then gazed off in the distance, shaking her head. The Seattle Space Needle was golden with the last rays of the sun, the only brightness in her world at the moment.
“Hire me for what?” she said glumly, “As a way of rewarding me?”
“Maybe to sit in for me, with powers of attorney and proxies, to watch out for my interests and the Green Helmet program in New Jersey, assuming that you check out when I call Merriam.”
Ange stood. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Well, I can’t go there myself. Somebody has to represent my interests.”
“I like it,” said Doc, laughing. “They’d shit their britches!”
“They’d eat me for lunch,” said Ange, standing back and looking aghast.
“And then your law career would be over? But you say it’s already over.”
“Yes, well, at least I have a little honor left, a little dignity.”
“But that’s what I’m talking about, honor and dignity. You haven’t been unethical, Ms. Parker. I’m as much… in fact, I’m more a client of your law firm than Michael and Vince are. So you haven’t breached client trust by coming to me with information. I am your client – or I was until I fired you.”
“Well, I guess you could parse it that way. Maybe.”
“I’m not parsing it. I’m going to the truth of the matter. Did your firm betray its contract by siding with one side against the other in what is basically an intramural dispute?”
“Arguably.”
“Well, take a side. Did they or didn’t they?”
Long pause, then: “Yes, they did.”
“There you have it then. I’m an aggrieved party. Will you represent me?”
“You make it sound simple but get real, these guys are heavyweights with enormous resources backing them up.”
“Actually, I think they’re lightweights with enormous resources backing them up, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“Either way,” said Ange, “we’re talking enormous resources.”
“You would have resources as well. You could hire your own battery of attorneys, your own accountants, your own staff all the way down the line.”
“Your own bodyguards,” said Doc.
“Oh, Doc,” said Davis, then to Ange: “Don’t mind him. He’s paranoid.”
“If you’re really serious,” said Ange, “then this is the most outlandish proposal I’ve ever heard. Sheffield Industries owns and manages dozens of companies worldwide.”
“Maybe a hundred,” said Davis, “but who’s counting?”
“I have trouble balancing my checkbook,” said Ange.
“Hire an accountant for that,” said Davis. “No, seriously,” he said, seeing her start to wave him off, “do you think the brothers manage those companies? No. Every company has its own managers, its own CEOs. Sheffield buys up contractors and makes them subsidiaries. That’s been the Sheffield M.O. since the beginning. Vince couldn’t tell you the names of most of the real managers.”
Ange opened her briefcase to put a file back in. She was shaking her head. Bad sign.
“And, here’s the thing, you wouldn’t have to worry about managing anything. I could care less who Sheffield Industries builds ships for, or sells arms to. I just need a watchdog for the Green Helmet program.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Ange, sitting with her briefcase on her lap. “I waltz into the Sheffield offices armed with a power of attorney, little me, paralegal who had to ask for help with the coffee pot last time I was there, and I say, ‘uh, guess what, fellows’….”
“On second thought, Davis,” said Doc, “this is all too fast. Maybe the power of attorney would work but is Ms. Parker the right person for the job? Merriam would have some names. Let’s run this by her.”
“Have we met before?” said Davis, ignoring Doc. “I keep thinking I know you from somewhere.”
“You sat in on a Foundation hearing where I made a presentation,” said Ange.
“Refresh my memory,” said Davis.
“About two years ago. I was still in law school. I was trying to get a grant for a pilot program on alternatives to pesticides on golf courses. Sounds a little silly at the moment. Anyway, my proposal didn’t meet the Foundation criteria, but a few days later the money for the project came in carried by a guy with a green Sheffield Industries helmet on.”
“I asked some questions in the hearing?”
“You argued my case for me.”
“What did I say?”
“You said you and your wife had once taken your daughter with you golfing and you remembered your daughter frolicking in the grass.”
“Okay, I remember that now. And I remember you now, too. A firebrand. I was taken with you.”
“Aw, shucks.”
“She’s a warrior, Doc. That’s what I need.”
“She’s a warrior because of a golf course pesticide program?”
“Well, look at her now. Out on a limb to save my bacon and the Green Helmet program. Are you a warrior, Ms. Parker?”
“Well now, that’s not a question a girl gets asked every day.”
“Well, are you?”
“Define warrior.”
“It’s in the heart. If you have the heart of a warrior, you’ll know it.”
Davis and Ange searched each other’s eyes.
“Yes,” said Ange, hissing through clinched teeth. “I’m a fucking warrior.”
A grizzled old-timer with an unkempt beard heard Ange’s comment and stopped at their table. He gazed at Ange thoughtfully through the narrow space above horned rimmed glasses and below bushy eyebrows.
“Yup,” he said as he moved away. “She’s a warrior, alright.”
“Well, that settles it,” said Doc, when the old man was far enough away not to hear. “However, being a warrior and knowing how to handle those guys in New Jersey are two different things.”
“Doctor Travestor is right,” said Ange. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“We’re coming into dock,” said Davis. “Let’s find a place to have a drink. We’ll talk.”
****
Ange and Doc drove in Doc’s Caddy to look for a bar near the ferry. Davis followed, taking advantage of being alone in his Jaguar to call Merriam on his mobile phone. Luckily, she was home.
“Ange Parker is sharp as a tack and she has a good heart. Very honorable but not much experience. Why? What’s going on, Davis?”
“No time to explain right now, Merriam. It’s bad. Tell me this: If I had to pick somebody to fight off the wolves in New Jersey, would Ange make the cut?”
“No. Absolutely not. Why in the world would you do a thing like that? Ange has great potential, but she’s just a kid.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-Eight or Twenty-Nine, I think, but still just a kid in terms of experience as an attorney.”
“What if you and some handpicked heavy hitters backed her up?”
“In New Jersey?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit, Davis. I certainly hope you’re kidding.”
“The brothers are trying to get me off the board and removed as president.”
Long silence.
“Merriam?”
“Can they do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would they do it?”
“The Green Helmet program is my guess.”
“Green Helmet is in the bylaws.”
“But if there’s a way to cut it back they’ll find it. I’m hoping Ange will come to you in the next few days and you can vet the whole thing with her.”
“You won’t be there?”
“You won’t believe this, Merriam, but it looks like I’ll have to go into hiding to keep from being process served. They’re after me as we speak.”
Long pause.
“Obviously, I’m going to have to wait to hear the whole story, but why put Ange on point with this much at stake?”
“Good question. Without her, it’d probably be game over already.”
“Plus she’s very attractive, don’t you think, Davis?”
Davis had a pretty good idea what Merriam was driving at but didn’t bite. “Yes. I think she’s the hero in this movie. The female hero is always pretty.”
“What does Doc think?”
“Doc thinks I ought to slow down and think things over.”
“I agree,” said Merriam.
“Merriam?”
“Yes, Davis.”
“Look, you’re right about how we’d be putting Ange in some deep water. I’m thinking of sending her back with my proxies and a power of attorney.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“But I can’t ask that of her unless I know you’re aboard with a squad of helpers.”
“I don’t know, Davis. I have to think about it.”
“Merriam, they’re filing a civil action alleging moral turpitude. It’s in the bylaws. Moral turpitude is against the rules.”
Silence on the line.
“Mo and I did some pretty wild stuff in the early Eighties. Maybe they have a witness or something.”
Silence.
“I can’t let them depose me and drag Mo’s memory through the mud.”
Silence.
“Merriam?”
“Okay, Davis,” Merriam sighed. “I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks, Merriam.”
“Tell Ange to get to me as soon as she can. New Jersey! Fuck me!”
****
Doc and Ange had found a bar and table in Winslow at the Eagle Harbor Inn. When Davis entered he immediately asked the waitress to bring him a bottle of whiskey, Dickel’s White Label, or Johnnie Walker Black or whatever the hell.
“Belay that order,” said Doc. The waitress stood awaiting further developments, affecting a bored look as in “we get all kinds in here.”
“You didn’t have me fooled with your blasé reaction to all this,” said Doc. “I knew you were upset.”
“Upset?” said Davis loudly. “Upset isn’t the word. I’m fucking pissed, Doc!”
“Davis!” Doc scolded. “This isn’t like you using language like that. There’s a person standing here trying to do her job. Have a little respect.”
“I’m sorry,” said Davis with chastened sincerity. “Please bring me just one whiskey. Make it a double.”
Doc shook his head “no” at the waitress.
“Nope,” said the waitress, whose nametag read Shirley.
“Nope?” said Davis. “What do you mean, nope?”
“Bring us a pitcher of PBR,” said Doc, looking at the display signs behind the bar.
“Coming up,” said Shirley.
“Wait a minute,” said Davis to no avail as Shirley left for the beer. He said to Doc: “Can she do that?”
“Just did,” said Doc.
Ange seemed amused.
Shirley returned with the pitcher. Davis said, “I’ll give you $500 for a whiskey,” then looked smugly at Doc.
“$600 if you turn him down,” said Doc.
Shirley smiled and took a seat on the edge of their booth next to Davis. “Do I hear $700? Going once, going twice….” Davis sighed and tipped his head back in defeat. Shirley put a hand on Davis’ shoulder in a friendly bartender manner. “Me and my family, we’ve had a few little issues with alcohol, sugar. I know an issue when I see one. $500 would mean a lot to me at the moment, that’s true. I got myself a world of problems with my daughter and autistic grandson moved in with me and so all tips are welcome. But, no whiskey, champ. You see that sign behind the bar, ‘we reserve the right’, et cetera? Well, that’s what’s happening.”
Shirley left to go behind the bar and Doc followed her. The two of them talked awhile. Then he gave her some money and a card after writing some notes on it. When he came back to the table, Ange said, “So what was that about?”
“Shirley’s $600 and a Foundation referral so that she might get some help with her grandson. Nice woman.” said Doc. Then he looked at Davis. “So, out with it Davis.”
“I should have seen this coming, is all,” said Davis. “I just thought whatever they might pull I could handle it. But this is impossible. I can’t go into a deposition and let them grill me about Maureen. It would be so violating. It would violate Mo and my memories, the things we did together; the wonderful way things were… and the idea of those old hypocrites with their sneering, smarmy attitudes making something so innocent and natural into a dirty, gossipy…. You know what I mean, Doc. You’ve been through that. They are the same guys, which I always doubted until now.”
Ange looked at Doc, then at Davis, puzzled.
Davis, Doc and Ange talked for an hour about Davis’ proposal. Merriam would help, argued Davis, and he trusted Ange, and things had to happen fast. But why did they have to happen so fast, argued Doc, and Ange could be in danger. And what do you really know about me, argued Ange. In the end they were at about the same place as when they started. So they decided to head for Tacoma, find a motel and talk some more, fill Ange in on history and various issues, and then in the morning perhaps look for an attorney and notary to set up powers of attorney if it came to that.
On the drive towards Tacoma, Ange and Davis were in the Jaguar and Doc followed in his Cadillac. Ange drove in order to accustom herself to the stick shift, because she might, in theory, be returning with the Jag to Seattle. Davis talked nonstop for some miles regarding various logistical matters: There was a safe in the Smith Tower penthouse. In it was what Davis called “petty cash” which Ange should take for her immediate needs, amount unknown, “maybe twenty or thirty” -- thousand, it turned out. Also in the Smith Tower penthouse safe was his birth certificate and an old passport, still valid, in his “maiden name.” He asked her to send both to general delivery, Gold Hill, Oregon. He planned to reassume his birth name, Robert Davis Jones. Davis seemed sure of himself as he laid out the details, even though Ange had not committed to anything.
Davis was the navigator and a rather poor one as it turned out, so the trio ended up making a couple of false turns. Eventually, however, they found their way north from Winslow on Highway 305 to Highway 3, then south to Silverdale. At Port Orchard they finally picked up Highway 16 south towards Gig Harbor. A side benefit to Davis’ struggles reading the road maps by map-light was the easy lightness in their communications together, with laughter and joking, in contrast to the drama earlier. Without mentioning it, they both began to feel more comfortable with each other.
“I asked Doc on the way over to the bar about Maureen and he said it was yours to tell,” said Ange, after they had settled onto the Hwy 16 freeway. “If you’re serious about me going back east for you – and I’m not saying I will – it would help me to know more.”
“You want to know about Mo?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Once upon a time there was a very shy young man, namely me, painfully shy, especially with girls. I was a virgin at age twenty. No prince, I. Definitely not a prince. But then one day, against extremely long odds, along came a beautiful, wealthy, amazing princess, who swept me off my feet. And we lived happily ever… well, for eleven years and 4 months. How’s that for a fairy tale?”
“That’s a good one, all right. Could you fill in the blanks a little?”
“Actually, as it turned out -- because I didn’t know this at first -- Mo picked up on me because I was so shy. I’d never even really kissed a girl. I’d realize she was looking at me and I’d turn beet red. That turned Mo on. She was an unusual girl.”
As they drove, Davis told Ange the story of how he met Mo and their first months together.