T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“Then the answer is, I don’t need to do any searching. Gloria kept her case documentation very up-to-date.” The lofty impatience broke through once more. “I’ve been through all this with Mr. Grimes. Didn’t you discuss this with him?”

Marcus grabbed the folder that had arrived with the morning’s mail. “You spoke with Larry Grimes?”

“I told you I had the last time we talked, Mr. Glenwood. I do not like to repeat myself.”

“No. Of course not.” The folder from Grimes contained nothing but the initial agreement with Gloria’s parents, a page of patchy notes, and the letter informing the Halls that there was no case to be brought. “How much in the way of data did Gloria compile against New Horizons?”

“I don’t know.” Her wary hostility etched the air. “The attic is full of boxes. Gloria was a lot of things, but neat was not one of them.”

Marcus sifted through the three spare pages another time, shook the folder, discovered nothing more. “In the letter Gloria wrote her family, she mentioned something about how the timing of her trip to China had become critical. Did she say anything about this to you?”

“No. And I have to go, Mr. Glenwood. I’m already late for a meeting.”

Marcus shut the folder, spread his hand out flat over the slick surface. “Would you mind if I came to Washington and had a look at Gloria’s work?”

“I suppose not. When would you come?”

“Tomorrow midafternoon, say around four.” Closing his hand into a fist. “I’ll leave here at dawn.”

After lunch Marcus took a drive. His only vehicle these days was a six-year-old matte gray Blazer with a hundred thousand very hard miles-a far cry from his former Lexus. Marcus slowed as he passed the New Zion Church. The whitewashed building was rimmed on three sides by dogwoods and tulip poplars taller than the steeple. The air above the ancient structure still shimmered from remnants of the Sunday service. As he drove past the cemetery and entered the rise of woodlands, it seemed as though Marcus could still hear the call of voices and the constant clapping.

Early September had remained dry, hot, and cloudless. Sunlight bladed through the trees, then flattened across his windshield as he crested the hill. Marcus slowed and turned into the New Horizons drive, unable to read the brick entrance sign for the harsh afternoon light. He pulled to one side of the road and climbed from the car.

Against the backdrop of thundering machinery, Marcus inspected the New Horizons facility. Despite the raw scarring of recent construction, the site had the air of a high-tech campus. To the east stood the oldest buildings, now dwarfed by a behemoth clad in brick and smoked glass. A sign planted in the landscaped foreground declared it to be the new central distribution facility. The two walls he could see were embossed with New Horizons emblems, bright gold stars streaming silver-clad rainbows. Beneath the logos, letters three stories high shouted the latest New Horizons slogan, GET IN GEAR.

Closest to the state road, an old wooden farmhouse and barn had been converted to corporate guest houses. The farm buildings were now connected by a pillared walkway and decorated with fruit trees and blooming trellises.

A half dozen brick factories and warehouses covered the area to his left, all surrounded by pristine gardens and adolescent trees. To his right rose the skeletal outlines of three mammoth buildings. Each was fronted by a sign sporting the world-famous logo, followed by completion dates. The dust and the noise were as constant as the light.

Marcus climbed back into his car and drove up the hill to the office complex. The older building was steel and marble and mirrored glass. The new structure rising to its right was twice its size. As he pulled the Blazer into a visitor’s space, he could see down through the tops of trees to where the clapboard church and ancient cemetery shone in the hot afternoon sun.

The first thing Marcus noted when he entered the marble-clad foyer was the battery of cameras. Four of them. Two mounted in the corners behind the receptionist’s desk, one over the electric doors leading back into the building, another rotating in the center of the high ceiling. The receptionist’s desk also merited a second look-chest high and tiled like the floor. The two men behind the marble counter wore dark blue jackets and cordless telephone headsets. One was white and bulky, the other black and even bigger. Behind them, a waterfall splashed down an aluminum slide. Both men watched Marcus’ approach with blank expressions.

The black man asked, “Can I help you?”

“I’d like to see someone from your legal department.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Then we can’t help you.”

Marcus chose his words carefully. “I’m here regarding a union matter.”

Their focus upon him tightened. “Which union are you with?”

“None. I’m an attorney.”

“Your name?”

“Marcus Glenwood.”

“Who are you representing?”

Clearly this was not the first time they had fielded such a request. Marcus sidestepped the question. “I’d rather discuss that with someone from your legal staff.”

The two men both possessed the thick-corded necks and sloped shoulders of serious bodybuilders. The black man pointed behind Marcus with his chin. “Wait over there.”

Marcus retreated obediently to a series of marble benches adorned with suede pads. The corporate logo was everywhere-the pads, the walls, carved into the aluminum waterfall, tiled in mosaic into the floor. The wall opposite the entrance sported a huge television screen that played a constant stream of corporate ads, all displaying the nation’s top athletes making their hottest moves. Between each ad, the shooting-star logo showered sparks that formed the words GET IN GEAR. Flanking the television were back-lit posters covering almost every conceivable sport. The top PGA golfer squinted down the fairway to where a Chicago Bulls former guard slam-dunked a basket. Beside him twirled the women’s Olympic gold-medal figure skater. Marcus walked from picture to picture, pretending to ignore the pair of receptionists. Their eyes never turned his way, but he sensed they were constantly watching him.

The back doors sighed open, and a bright young woman walked straight to where he stood. “Mr. Glenwood, did I get that right?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” She offered him a cheery smile and her hand. “I’m Tracy. Welcome to New Horizons.”

“You’re not an attorney.”

“No way. I’m a summer intern in the PR department. This is my last week. School starts next Monday.” She gave a buoyant grimace. “Back to the old grind.”

“I asked to speak with someone from legal affairs.”

“Hey, I know, I’m so sorry. Everybody is really tied up right now. You wouldn’t believe how busy we are.”

“Of course.”

“But they asked me to give you a company brochure and thank you for stopping by.” She handed over the glossy magazine. “Say, do you have a card?”

Marcus hesitated. “I’m in the process of moving.”

“Sure. I can understand that. I am too.” Another grimace. “That’s the breaks, right?”

Marcus allowed her to usher him toward the outer doors. “Have you had a good time here?”

“Oh, hey, the greatest.” The blue corporate jacket did not entirely hide her bouncing curves. “You wouldn’t believe some of the people I’ve met. Just last week I helped host Todd Rankin.” When Marcus was not suitably impressed, she added, “Quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys.”

“I know who he is.”

“Sure you do. Me, I’m just your basic sports nut. Guess that’s why they said I could come back next year.” She halted as the doors slid back. They were instantly surrounded by the grind of construction machinery. She offered another cheery smile and raised her voice to say, “Thanks so much for stopping by.”