Michael Crichton - Disclosure

Blackburn frowned, watching him pace. "I understand that you are upset. I can see that. And you're a valued person in this company. But what I'm trying to do here Tom is to get you to look at the situation."

"What situation?" Sanders said.

Blackburn sighed. "Were there any witnesses, last night?" No.

"So it's your word against hers."

"I guess so."

"In other words, it's a pissing match."

"So? That's no reason to assume I'm wrong, and she's right."

"Of course not," Blackburn said. "But look at the situation. A man claiming sexual harassment against a woman is, well, pretty unlikely. I don't think there's ever been a case in this company. It doesn't mean it couldn't happen. But it does means that it'd be very uphill for you even if Meredith wasn't so well connected." He paused. "I just don't want to see you get hurt in this."

"I've already been hurt."

"Again, we're talking about feelings here. Conflicting claims. And unfortunately, Tom, no witnesses." He rubbed his nose, tugged at his lapels.

"You move me out of the APD, and I'm hurt. Because I won't get to be part of the new company. The company I worked on for twelve years."

"That's an interesting legal position," Blackburn said.

"I'm not talking about a legal position. I'm talking about-"

"Look. Tom. Let me review this with Garvin. Meanwhile, why don't you go off and think this Austin offer over. Think about it carefully. Because no one wins in a pissing match. You may hurt Meredith, but you'll hurt yourself much more. That's my concern here, as your friend."

"If you were my friend-" Sanders began.

"I am your friend," Blackburn said. "Whether you know it at this moment, or not." He stood up behind his desk. "You don't need this splashed all over the papers. Your wife doesn't need to hear about this, or your kids. You don't need to be the gossip of Bainbridge for the rest of the summer. That isn't going to do you any good at all."

"I understand that, but-"

"But we have to face reality, Tom," Blackburn said. "The company is faced with conflicting claims. What's happened has happened. We have to go on from here. And all I'm saying is, I'd like to resolve this quickly. So think it over. Please. And get back to me."

After Sanders left, Blackburn called Garvin. "I just talked with him," he told Garvin.

"And?"

"He says it was the other way around. That she harassed him."

"Christ," Garvin said. "What a mess."

"Yes. But on the other hand, it's what you'd expect him to say," Blackburn said. "It's the usual response in these cases. The man always denies it."

"Yeah. Well. This is dangerous, Phil."

"I understand."

"I don't want this thing to blow up on us."

"No, no."

"There's nothing more important right now than getting this thing resolved."

"I understand, Bob."

"You made him the Austin offer?"

"Yes. He's thinking it over."

"Will he take it?"

"My guess is no."

"And did you push it?"

"Well, I tried to convey to him that we weren't going to back down on Meredith. That we were going to support her through this."

"Damn right we are," Garvin said.

"I think he was clear about that. So let's see what he says when he comes back to us."

"He wouldn't go off and file, would he?"

"He's too smart for that." "We hope," Garvin said irritably, and hung up.

Look at the.situation.

Sanders stood in Pioneer Park and leaned against a pillar, staring at the light drizzle. He was replaying the meeting with Blackburn.

Blackburn hadn't even been willing to listen to Sanders's version. He hadn't let Sanders tell him. Blackburn already knew what had happened.

She’s a very sexy woman. It's natural for a man to lose control.

That was what everyone at DigiCom would think. Every single person in the company would have that view of what had happened. Blackburn had said he found it difficult to believe that Sanders had been harassed. Others would find it difficult, too.

Blackburn had told him it didn't matter what happened. Blackburn was telling him that Johnson was well connected, and that nobody would believe a man had been harassed by a woman.

Look at the.situation.

They were asking him to leave Seattle, leave the APG. No options, no big payoff. No return for his twelve long years of work. All that was gone.

Austin. Baking hot, dry, brand-new.

Susan would never accept it. Her practice in Seattle was successful; she had spent many years building it. They had just finished remodeling the house. The kids liked it here. If Sanders even suggested a move, Susan would be suspicious. She'd want to know what was behind it. And sooner or later, she would find out. If he accepted the transfer, he would be confirming his guilt to his wife.

No matter how he thought about it, how he tried to put it together in his mind, Sanders could see no good outcome. He was being screwed.

I'm your friend, Tom. Whether you know it right now or not.

He recalled the moment at his wedding when Blackburn, his best man, said he wanted to dip Susan's ring in olive oil because there was always a problem about getting it on the finger. Blackburn in a panic, in case some little moment in the ceremony went wrong. That was Phil: always worried about appearances.

Your wife doesn't need to hear about this.

But Phil was screwing him. Phil, and Garvin behind him. They were both screwing him. Sanders had worked hard for the company for many years, but now they didn't give a damn about him. They were taking Meredith's side, without any question. They didn't even want to hear his version of what had happened.

As Sanders stood in the rain, his sense of shock slowly faded. And with it, his sense of loyalty. He started to get angry.

He took out his phone and placed a call.

"Mr. Perry's office."

"It's Tom Sanders calling."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Perry is in court. Can I give him a message?"

"Maybe you could help me. The other day he mentioned that you have a woman there who handles sexual harassment cases."

"We have several attorneys who do that, Mr. Sanders."

"He mentioned a Hispanic woman." He was trying to remember what else Perry had said about her. Something about being sweet and demure? He couldn't recall for sure.

"That would be Ms. Fernandez."

"I wonder if you could connect me," Sanders said.

Fernandez's office was small, her desk stacked high with papers and legal briefs in neat piles, a computer terminal in the corner. She stood up as he came in. "You must be Mr. Sanders."

She was a tall woman in her thirties, with straight blond hair and a handsome, aquiline face. She was dressed in a pale, cream-colored suit. She had a direct manner and a firm handshake. "I'm Louise Fernandez. How can I help you?"

She wasn't at all what he had expected. She wasn't sweet and demure at all. And certainly not Hispanic. He was so startled that without thinking he said, "You're not what I"

"Expected?" She raised an eyebrow. "My father's from Cuba. We left there when I was a child. Please sit down, Mr. Sanders." She turned and walked back around her desk.

He sat down, feeling embarrassed. "Anyway, thank you for seeing me so quickly."

"Not at all. You're John Perry's friend?"

"Yes. He mentioned the other day that you, uh, specialized in these cases."

"I do labor law, primarily constructive termination and Title VII suits."

"I see." He felt foolish that he had come. He was taken aback by her brisk manner and elegant appearance. In fact, she reminded him very much of Meredith. He felt certain that she would not be sympathetic to his case.

She put on horn-rimmed glasses and peered at him across the desk. "Have you eaten? I can get you a sandwich if you like."

"I'm not hungry, thanks."