51. INTERLUDE: QUENTIN PEARCE

“You’re obviously wondering why I’ve asked for another emergency board meeting before the thirty days is up,” Pearce says as the Sullivans take their seats around the table in one of Empire Group’s boardrooms.

“And while our chairman and chief shareholder is absent,” Agnes Sullivan says, cocking an eyebrow. “Of course you know that’s highly unusual.”

“Yes,” Pearce replies. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “On his honeymoon with my former investigator, if my sources are correct.”

Agnes smiles. “They are. It was a surprise, obviously, but I’m over the moon for them. Chance deserves to be happy, and Sara seems like a wonderful woman. I never thought you really needed an investigator, anyway.”

There’s no humor in Pearce’s smile.

“No, I don’t suppose you would. And yes, it certainly was a surprise that they decided to get married the day after Sara came to me with a shocking revelation about your company.”

That gets the old bird’s attention. She looks like a mother who’s just been told her child has been caught shoplifting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says as the rest of the Sullivans murmur amongst themselves.

“Then by all means, let me fill you in,” says Pearce. “Ms. Bishop confirmed information that I’d gleaned from other sources about Chance Talbot’s relationship with your late husband.”

Agnes frowns. “Patrick and Chance loved each other like family,” she snaps. “We all know it.”

“Is that right? And your husband willed Chance his own controlling shares, rather than passing them along to his own son, out of love?”

She glares at him in stony silence.

“What if I told you that Mr. Talbot was, in actuality, a blackmailing thug who got where he was by threatening to expose your husband?”

“I’d say this meeting is over.” She stands, but her son puts a hand on her arm.

“Wait, Mom,” he says. “We’re already here. We should at least hear him out.”

Agnes sits back down but levels a warning finger at Pearce.

“Listen to me very closely, Quentin,” she says. “If you came here to peddle scandalous rumors, you might as well tear up your offer right now.”

“I actually did tear up my initial offer, but I’ll come back to that. First, though, I’ll assure you that this is not a rumor. As I said, it was confirmed by Ms. Bishop.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then ask yourself this: you saw her and Chance meet again for the first time in, what, fifteen years? And less than three weeks later, they’re married. How convenient.”

Agnes scowls, but stays silent.

“As you know, a wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband. And now here is Sara Bishop, married the very day after she passes along incriminating evidence to me.”

“What are you trying to insinuate?” Agnes asks.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Pearce says mildly. “I’m stating a fact: Chance Talbot found out about what Sara discovered, and he either bribed or threatened her to marry him so that she wouldn’t testify against him.”

“That’s ridiculous. Chance would never do something like that.”

“Ah, yes, our noble, upstanding Chance Talbot. A paragon of virtue. The man who threatened to expose his mentor to the Central Intelligence Agency after discovering him embezzling funds during a covert operation in Mosul, Iraq.”

Agnes’s mouth drops open. The rest of the Sullivan clan look equally stunned.

“Where do you think Patrick got the money to expand Atlas after he and Chance returned from Iraq? Very convenient how it just showed up out of the blue. A couple years later and everyone had shares – including the man who had no capital invested in the company, just time.”

“I won’t sit here and listen to this –” Agnes starts, but Desmond stops her again.

“Hear him out,” he urges.

“The money was part of a CIA operation to identify and neutralize insurgents who were killing Christian civilians in northern Iraq,” says Pearce. “Chance came up with a way to convince the CIA that the cash had been destroyed, and demanded his share of the company in return. Exposure would likely have resulted in Patrick being assassinated, or at best imprisoned, so he agreed.”

“Now you’re slandering Chance and my husband!” Agnes barks. “I won’t stand for it!”

“I believe Patrick had only the best of intentions,” he says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Misguided, yes, but ultimately, he built Atlas into what it is today: a unique company that’s desirable to many investors. Chance Talbot, however, is nothing more than a thug and an opportunist.”

Agnes shakes her head. “No. That’s not true.”

Pearce reaches into a folder on the table and pulls out a sheaf of paper.

“Mrs. Sullivan, we’re you aware that Chance Talbot has a lengthy criminal record?”

She frowns. “No,” she says. “He doesn’t talk much about his life before the military. I know he grew up in foster care. I assume that’s not an easy life for anyone to survive in.”

Pearce flips through the papers. “Assault and battery, theft, breaking and entering. Does that sound like surviving?”

“How did you get those documents?” she asks. “If he was allowed to enlist, his juvenile records had to have been sealed by the courts.”

“I’m a resourceful man, Mrs. Sullivan.”

“It still doesn’t prove anything.”

“No,” he says. “And now, thanks to Ms. Bishop – I’m sorry, I mean Mrs. Talbot – we won’t be able to prove anything in court, either.”

“If this is true,” Desmond pipes up, “We can’t afford to screw around with this deal. I say we sell while we can and let Chance fend for himself.”

The older lady rounds on her son.

“We will not sell until I’ve talked with Chance and given him the opportunity to explain himself, is that clear?”

Desmond glances down at the table. “Yes.”

She looks to her other children and their spouses.

“The rest of you?”

They all mutter their agreement.

“Fine. Then it’s settled: I’ll talk to Chance as soon as he and Sara return to Chicago. Until then, we don’t do anything different.”

The Sullivans rise from the table and cross the boardroom to the door. As Agnes passes Pearce, he holds up a hand to halt her.

“What is it?” she snaps.

“I understand how you must feel right now,” he says. “And I respect your wishes. But may I give you some advice before you leave?

“Don’t trust Chance around any of your family members.”

“Mr. Pearce,” she says archly. “Chance is a member of my family.”

“As you say. But I feel the need to point out that one of his assault charges was against his own foster father. They were eventually dropped when the man refused to testify. Sound familiar?”

Agnes glares at him before turning to walk out of the room in silence.

As she slams the door behind her, Quentin Pearce smiles his first genuine smile in a very long time.