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Ruffling Feathers Chapter 4 -Sweet Old World
Long after his employees gave up for the day and wandered out into the dry ninety-five degree heat to find dinner and families and softball games, Paul Donovan finished reading the report on his company's quarter two projections. Division by division, he worked his way through the numbers. He wrote out comments for Carol to distribute in the morning, and glanced at his watch. Dennis should be calling soon. Just get it over with and call. He was coming to dread the weekly phone calls. Since Paul had come to Colorado, Carol kept his days and nights filled with business engagements. Thankfully, he didn't often have the luxury of killing time—only when he was waiting for Dennis' call. By day and into the night, he worked in his office in the software building and watched the Foundation headquarters go up across the street. He frequently went to Denver to meet with local lawmakers and fundraisers looking for a piece of Foundation action. He flew back to corporate headquarters in Chicago. In Piñon, he tried to sleep in the executive house that Carol leased for him. It felt like a hotel—someone would clean it, stock the kitchen, do the laundry. An anonymous, empty life waiting for resolution. And then Amy happened. She was nothing like he expected. Paul thought back to the day two years ago when Special Agent Dennis Brown called him up to say that the Bureau was reopening their investigation of his parent's airplane crash. At the time, they were closing in on the Unabomber and wanted to determine whether his father had been another victim. The case hadn't fit the Unabomber's MO very closely, but they wanted to check it out. It hadn't checked out, but Dennis had uncovered some disturbing information in the process. The result had been the project. First, Dennis laid out his theory—George and Anne Donovan, and the pilot who flew the plane, were casualties of turf war between radical environmental activists in Colorado. They had sabotaged the Donovan jet not to send a message to industrialists but to simply escalate the stakes. Get a testosterone rush. See who could take the bigger risk. Dennis explained, "Some people bungee-jump off bridges; some people hold up liquor stores; some people sabotage planes. They hide behind their cause—but it's really all about the rush." Then, came the plan. The "project," as Dennis came to call it. Paul almost threw him out of his office when he first laid it out. "We have to smoke out the killers. We have no evidence—just theory. We have to get them to repeat the crime. And you're the bait." Being bait meant reversing everything Paul had put in motion since he had assumed control of the company. After the grief and shock of the loss of his parents had subsided into numbness, Paul had quietly started divesting the company of its less savory enterprises. He sold off the oil and gas divisions, invested heavily in software development, and charted a course for the company to become specialists in reuse and regeneration rather than exploitation. Once the company had been reinvented, he had planned to go public, retire from day-to-day operations, and put together a quiet life at Carlisle Point. Maybe he could find a pretty girl from the village who wouldn’t mind marrying a Donovan and then finally have a family again. Now, Dennis' plan required that he put his life on hold and play the heavy. At first, Paul was nauseous whenever he thought about the activities he would have to engage in once the project was launched. The worst was Dennis's brainstorm that led to The Donovan Foundation. Paul's parents and grandparents had abhorred corporate philanthropy. In keeping with their obsession for privacy, they had drilled into Paul that Donovan money should be given away in large quantities and anonymously. Dennis argued that Paul's image as scorched-earth industrialist wouldn't be believable unless Paul could seem to hide behind a good-guy enterprise like the Foundation. According to Dennis, bad guys usually try to look like good guys—they build stadiums and buy chairs at universities and fund libraries. So Paul had to be a bad guy with Donovan Industries, and try to look like a good guy with The Donovan Foundation. It was a good thing that Dennis had it all figured out because Paul was having a tough time with some of the logic. Early into planning the project, Dennis could see that Paul needed a confidant. Paul wouldn't have the stomach for the long haul without support. So Dennis recruited Richard Clayton, Paul's cousin. Richard was a perfect addition—he kept Paul's spirits up and he even knew some of the principals from his college days in Colorado. In particular, he was good friends with Amy Hutchins, the tree-hugging columnist they were counting on to overreact and rile up the press all over the West. With the press fanning the flames, the activists on the lunatic fringe would come out of the woodwork. Hopefully, the thrill-seekers would be there too. Ready to take out the son the way they had taken out the father—a notch in the belt and bragging rights round the campfire. Except that Dennis was going to beat them to the punch and nail them on a ten-year-old murder rap before they could get to Paul. To get the project underway, Paul brought Dave Landry into the fold as well. Although Dave didn't know the full extent of the plan, he did know that the Foundation was a smoke screen, a foil for Paul to go nasty with the environmentalists while saving face with the world at large. Paul went to Colorado determined to see the project through to completion. He had complete faith in Dennis—in his understanding of the criminal mind and how to motivate it; in his need to close this case; in his uncanny ability to read Paul's doubts and fears and deal with them. Dennis' mantra as he prepped Paul was to maintain emotional distance. Over and over, he told Paul to focus on bringing his parent's murderers to justice so that he could live the rest of his life in peace. Paul didn't need extra help on this one—maintaining emotional distance was one of the things he did best. Following Dennis' marching orders, Paul transferred one of his divisions to Piñon, the hotbed of environmentalism in Colorado. He converted a warehouse into a software house. Then, he ruthlessly bought one of the town's prettiest old houses, razed it to the ground, and ordered the magnificent maple on the property to fall under the chain saw to make way for the Foundation's building. Amy Hutchins's column dripped venom...then she got personal and sued the Foundation. One day in May, almost a month before the press conference that would bring Paul out of the shadows and into the limelight, an ad for E-town caught his eye as he scanned the local paper. From Dennis' expert coaching, he knew that E-town was a public radio show dedicated to making the world a greener place, one neighborhood at a time. It was taped in Boulder Sunday evenings. Amy Hutchins was awarding the e-chievement award at the next taping—probably because she was suing big business over a tree. Paul's curiosity got the better of him. After living with the project for two years, he was eager to get a glimpse of one of the principal players. He wanted a taste of what battle was going to be like. Without telling Dennis, he called the box office and bought a will-call ticket for the show. The show was pretty much what Paul expected—an evening of folk music and testimonials on how to make the world better. Even Amy was what Paul expected. She came on stage to loud applause for a local hero—joked with the show's hosts, then gave out the award with simple, earnest words that came from the heart. Too bad she's caught up with such a bad lot, Paul mused. He didn't savor the unpleasantness he was bringing to her little world, but it had to be done. Her father, her boyfriend, one of her neighbors, perhaps even a colleague—someone had caused his parents' plane to crash ten years ago and that someone had to pay for it. Paul's attention was wrestled out of his reverie when Amy Hutchins was announced as the show's surprise music guest. Paul had known that she sang at weddings, but he hadn't expected to hear her. The lights dimmed. Amy stood alone on stage—her simple black sleeveless dress shimmering in the gels. Brown curls framed a sweet face. She strummed her guitar as she talked about the song she was going to sing—something by Lucinda Pauls, a love song for when the going gets rough...See what you lost when you left this world. This sweet old world. The music cascaded through the warm, old, musty theater—Paul leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The breath from your own lips. The touch of fingertips. A sweet and tender kiss. He closed his eyes as he remembered the last kiss he had tasted—how long ago was that? Was it even before the project? What was her name anyway? The sound of a midnight train. Wearing someone's ring. Someone calling your name. Her voice was misty, singing a eulogy for a life that he had let end even though his body kept on walking around. Somebody so warm. Cradled in your arms. Didn't you thing you were worth anything? But family comes first—even if you have no family except a portfolio and a sister that some other family has raised and who is too afraid of you to come close. Millions of us in love. Promises made good. Your own flesh and blood. Ten years of pent up grief surfaced in Paul's eyes and he covered his face as he felt his cheeks dampen. Looking for some truth. Dancing with no shoes. Holding Amy. Dancing with Amy. Kissing Amy. The beat, the rhythm, the blues. Losing his hands and face in her lovely curls. Wrapping his body around hers. The pounding of your heart strong. Together with another one. Didn't you think anyone loved you? For such a woman, a man would ride into battle—would wear his heart on his sleeve—would whisper her name into the shadows of night. See what you lost when you left this world. This sweet old world. "I am undone," Paul breathed to the ceiling. The show over, Paul walked out into the cool night. The streets were damp from a thunderstorm that had rumbled through, taking the heat and washing the air. His skin tingled—every nerve ending reawakening, stretching and flexing as his mind replayed her song. Securing the memory and anchoring it to the sights and sounds, smells and tastes that surrounded him. He walked through the downtown mall of Boulder—music spilling out of open doors and windows, people spilling out of sidewalk cafes, sipping lattes, window shopping, watching jugglers and artists and lovers, children climbing and skipping along flower boxes. The great pulse of life emanating from the mountains was almost palpable as Paul felt the rhythm and beat of the summer night carry him along like the strong current of a snow-fed river. Forever in his mind, Amy would be one with this surging life force, this fresh, cool, powerful feeling that filled every pore with peace and strength. In the first flush of reawakening to the joys of a sweet old world, Paul impulsively called Dennis to cancel the project. Richard flew out instead. They were beyond the point of no return. The Bureau had agents swarming all over Colorado and down into South America. It was a good plan; it would work...then Paul would be free to do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted. Paul kept his feelings about Amy from Richard. Not clear as to their real relationship—Richard joked about loving her, but with a gleam in his eye that spoke of her manifold attractions—Paul held onto his night in Boulder as a precious, private moment in time, not to be sullied by banter and innuendo. Reluctantly Paul came back on track with the project. Despite Dennis' confidence, Paul now knew the project to be fatally flawed. Completing the project would cut a chasm between Amy and him that would be irrevocable. She had awakened him from his stupor only to be forever beyond his reach. No woman would love a man who would do to her family, friends, town, and world what he intended to do, regardless of his motivation. Adept at wearing masks, despite his abhorrence of them, Paul continued playing the role Dennis had carved out for him. A role he had been groomed to play from his father's knee—a business man harvesting his nation's natural resources of minerals and fuels, water and land in the name of progress. It was a role he had hoped to cast off. Instead, it had become a noose for his last, best chance for happiness. The toughest mask was the one he had to assume when jogging. Each morning as Amy came into view, her dog at heels, Paul steeled himself to ignore her. Dennis wanted Donovan Industries to make waves but he had given Paul strict instructions to lay low and not engage with anyone from Piñon, especially Amy, until after the press conference announcing the ten-million dollar gift. The project would only work if Dennis could keep everybody on both sides of the green line guessing about Paul Donovan and his motivations. And so Amy was off-limits, and Paul was forced to jog past her with a nod of the head that was barely civil. It shouldn't have been so hard to ignore her. After all, until he had seen and heard her at E-town, he had never given a second thought to the woman in gray he encountered every dawn. After E-town, he was incredulous that he hadn't really noticed her before. He was pretty sure she had no idea of his identity. He never allowed any pictures to be published of himself. And, following Dennis' instructions, he had kept his profile at ground level until the press conference at the governor's. Now Paul had met Amy. They were friends, at least for a little while. Until Dennis executed Phase Two. The phone on Paul’s desk rang. It was Dennis. He was moving up the timetable. The press conference had gone so well that he wanted Paul to start Phase Two tomorrow. News of Donovan Industries pumping water from Douglas County back across the Front Range to irrigate a posh resort while eastern Colorado died of thirst would make Paul Donovan the most hated man west of the Mississippi. By week's end, Ed Hutchins would be organizing rallies to protest Donovan Industries, and daughter Amy would be making the attack on Colorado a celebrity cause. Paul felt his heart free falling. He heard himself arguing for one more week. The stage wasn't quite set. One more week of Paul Donovan as philanthropist was necessary before Donovan Industries commenced plundering Colorado. Dennis' voice was cold on the other end, "Why did you send her flowers?" Paul held silent as Dennis continued, "I told you. We have agents all over Piñon. We have someone in the flower shop where you ordered the flowers—he probably wrote the card." Dennis softened his voice, "Paul, you can't have a relationship with this woman. I can't let you throw in a wild card like that. I don't know how she'll respond." I don't know either, thought Paul. "All of a sudden we'll have a whole new set of motivations, and, frankly, we don't have time to figure out contingencies." It was Paul's turn to go cold. "We are not implementing Phase Two before this time next week." Dennis knew when to hold his cards. "Yes, sir. If you say so, sir. I'll start work on those contingencies now. But sir, please let me know if you go off on any other tangents. It's my job to keep you safe during this operation, and I can't do that if you don't keep me in the loop at all times."
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