T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“Alma, I’m not-”

“Don’t you start. Don’t you even try.” The carpeted stairs thunked like a muffled bass drum under her angry tread. “Get yourself down here now. ”

Marcus waited to turn around until he heard her say, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Glenwood.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He showed no sign he had heard anything untoward. He had bitter experience of marital arguments carried into the public eye.

“Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you.” The furniture, carpeting, and wallpaper were various shades of off-white, deepening to latte-colored wall shelves and a painted brick fireplace. The effect was muted, soothing. Marcus did a quick search for family photos, anything that suggested the presence of children, found none.

“Can I get you something? I’ve got some fresh iced tea, or I could put on a pot of coffee.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“All right.” She watched her husband do a sulky walk into the living room, her face blank as uncarved stone. Only when Austin had seated himself in the chair closest to the hallway did Alma turn back to Marcus and say, “Our daughter has been kidnapped.”

The round-backed chair creaked as Austin Hall shifted his weight. But he said nothing.

Alma Hall gave her husband a swift warning glance, then repeated for emphasis, “Kidnapped.”

“When?”

“I can’t say for certain. But I would guess it was about six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks,” Marcus repeated. “And you are only now contacting the authorities?”

“My wife has run herself ragged,” Austin Hall muttered. “Talking to every au-thor-i-ty there is.”

Alma blasted an angry breath. Marcus took it as permission to inspect Austin Hall. The man was darker than his wife and an inch or two shorter in height. He held to the same dignified authority, only on him it seemed tighter, like he had worked himself into a suit two sizes too small. “What do you do for a living?”

“Me?” The man stiffened slightly, disliking this momentary spotlight. “I teach statistics at State.”

“At the Raleigh campus?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in the mathematics department?”

“Yes. But they share me with economics. I teach two classes in econometrics. I also teach introductory calculus.”

Marcus nodded as though the news had great import. “You say your wife has been in contact with the authorities?”

A hand reached for the knot of the tie Austin Hall no longer wore. He still had on a pair of dark suit-slacks and a carefully ironed shirt. His hair was close-cropped, his cuff links gold. Marcus had the impression that taking off his tie was about as informal as this man would ever get. “She started the day we received Gloria’s letter, and she hasn’t let up. Not for an instant.”

“I see.” Marcus did not turn back to the wife. Not yet. It would be too easy to dismiss Austin Hall’s attitude as that of a severely impatient man. One tired of going through the motions, angry at the disturbances to his tightly controlled world. “Have you contacted an attorney prior to this?”

“Two of them.” Austin Hall glanced at his wife, but not for confirmation. Rather to tell Marcus, look over there, that’s who you ought to be asking these questions. “One local fellow, he said it wasn’t his field of expertise.”

But Marcus remained focused upon Austin Hall. “And the other?”

“The man looked into it.” He tried for defiant, and failed. “He said our claim was so flimsy we’d risk being countersued by the company for filing a frivolous case. Told us he’d be censured by the court. Wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole.” When his wife shifted impatiently, he added, “Those were his exact words, Alma. You heard them the same as me.”

Marcus remained held not by the man’s words, but rather by his eyes. There was a hollow point at the center of his dark gaze, a shadow so deep it bore a hole straight through the man’s center. “Do you recall the attorney’s name?”

“Larry Grimes with Morgan and Jones.”

“They’re a good firm. One of the largest in the state.” Marcus finally turned from the man and his tightly vacant gaze. He said to Alma Hall, “You believe New Horizons is connected to this matter?”

“I’m not believing anything. They are.”

“I see.”

Alma Hall had a smattering of freckles across her high and slanted cheekbones. It was the only trace of softness to her face and tone and gaze.

“You’re suggesting that one of the largest companies in eastern North Carolina has kidnapped your daughter?”

“That is exactly right.”

“Did this take place here in Rocky Mount?”

“No. In China.”

When Marcus leaned back, the sofa accepted him like he would never be allowed to get up and leave this behind. “China.”

“That’s right. Between Hong Kong and a city called Guangzhou.” Alma Hall had clearly gained a lot of practice saying that name. “About thirty-five miles over what used to be the Chinese border.”

“Mrs. Hall-”

“Gloria has been investigating New Horizons’ labor violations for almost two years.” Alma Hall had no intention of letting go. “They’ve been involved in dirty practices since the beginning. Gloria collected all kinds of evidence. She’s shown me a whole box of press clippings from just one factory up in Richmond.”

Marcus suppressed his list of objections. Sometimes a necessary part of lawyering was waiting and listening until a client ran out of steam.

“New Horizons shows this fancy face to the outside world. Signing on the top stars in every sport you can imagine-tennis, basketball, golf, football, skiing, everything. They spend a ton of money on their advertisements. Slick music, wild lights, everything you can imagine.”

“I’ve seen the ads.”

“Of course you have. So has the rest of the world. They pay the stars millions, but they treat their employees like dirt.” She was steam-rolling now. “Gloria was working to show how they locate their factories in the poorest areas, here and abroad. Places like Rocky Mount, where the authorities will be on their side no matter what mess they get into. And there are a lot of messes.”

Marcus asked quietly, “What do you do, Mrs. Hall?”

“I’m dean of admissions over at Shaw University.” Shaw was one of the largest black colleges in the state. Alma Hall dug into her jacket pocket, then spent a moment carefully unfolding a sheet of paper and rubbing out the creases. “Gloria is our only child. She left here with a full scholarship to Georgetown University. She took two undergraduate degrees, in sociology and economics. She’s doing her master’s now in labor relations. The topic of her thesis is New Horizons.”

Alma Hall handed over the page. “Six weeks ago, we received this letter.”

Marcus accepted the typewritten page, and read it carefully. Then he read it again. And a third time.

He then turned and looked out the plate-glass window. Sunlight streamed through the pines to splash the glass with brilliant light. A gentle wind waved the trees’ shadows, weaving black script upon the gold. Gloria’s letter was as lucid and determined as her mother. Gloria wrote that she had asked someone named Kirsten to mail this a week after her departure. It was the best way, Gloria wrote, to ensure that her parents did not try to stop her. She was going over to chase down rumors about the New Horizons facility in China. Factory 101, it was called, and what she had gathered so far made the place sound like a glimpse into hell itself. She hurt for those people, Gloria said. She wanted to interview workers from the compound in which Factory 101 was situated. There was a special reason for the timing of this journey. Something that made her mission particularly vital. If they received this letter but had not heard from her personally, they were to contact the United States embassy in Beijing, the consulate in Hong Kong, and the FBI. They should get hold of the best lawyer they could find, and push. Push hard. Her life might depend on this.