The Kingmaker's Redemption

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Jack awoke to the sound of the garage door closing. It was Sandy driving off to take Maya to school. Somehow during the night he had made his way from the living room to the bed in the sparsely decorated guest room. He showered and dressed in the bathroom he shared with Maya, then headed to the kitchen where he wolfed down a bowl of Cheerios and headed off to the office.

The morning commute was routine until he encountered a dump truck full of gravel that was peppering the cars behind it. He was very protective of his new Lexus and imagined the flying gravel creating a galaxy of scratches on the hood and windshield of his $60,000 automobile. Jack popped the accelerator and flew around the truck. The exhilarating rush of horsepower did much more to wake him up than the triple latte he’d picked up at the Starbucks drive-through. The sheriff’s deputy had clocked him going eighty-five in a fifty-five-mile-per-hour zone.

“I was trying to pass a gravel truck that was spewing its load all over the freeway,” Jack said.

“You passed him like he was standing still,” the deputy responded. “I had you at eighty-five miles an hour.”

“Sorry, I was just trying to save the paint job.”

“It’s my job to save lives. Your driver’s license and registration, please.”

Jack handed them over and watched in the rearview mirror as the deputy made his way back to his cruiser to run the plates and driver’s information through the on-board computer. He returned a few moments later.

“Your record is clean, Mr. McKay. I’m letting you off with a warning. Next time try to stay within the speed limit when taking evasive action. By the way, the sheriff says hi.”

Jack realized that his good fortune was due in large part to having run the sheriff’s campaign. The sheriff must have overheard the deputy calling in the incident and ordered the warning. Thankfully, he hadn’t run the opponent’s campaign.

The offices of McKay & Associates were housed in a converted warehouse building on Bay Street on the downtown side of the harbor. The building had been home to the Greenfield Grain Company for nearly one hundred years. The company folded in the early sixties and the building stayed mainly vacant until 1975 when the area became the focus of the early gentrification movement. With over two hundred thousand square feet, it was the largest vacant building in the harbor area with a lake view. Its proximity to downtown made it perfect for conversion to loft offices and condos. Jack’s firm had acquired a twenty-five hundred square foot space in 1995, two years after establishment of the firm.

McKay & Associates grew steadily in the nineties, and when the architectural firm next door closed in 1998, they expanded into that space, giving them a little over five thousand square feet. The offices were an open concept with exposed beams, painted pipes, and shiny industrial ductwork. The majority of the staff occupied high-tech cubicles arranged in pods. The key executives each had private offices with lake views. The two conference rooms were furnished in typical boardroom fashion: large, polished wood table with swivel chairs.

When Jack walked through the door that morning, he received a standing ovation from the staff. This was customary on the morning after a successful election outcome. It was a little awkward on those occasions when they represented several candidates running for various offices in the same election as invariably some won and some lost. But the unwritten rule was that the staff stood and applauded if anybody won.

“Well done, Jack,” congratulated Peter Evans, the firm’s managing partner. Peter was Jack’s right-hand man, almost from the beginning. Jack elevated him to partner after five years, allowing him to buy a minority stake over time using a portion of his annual bonus.

“Thanks, Peter, but it was a team effort as always.”

“Spoken like a twenty-game winner at an awards dinner.”

“Clichés are the lifeblood of PR, you know that.”

“Just calling them as I see ’em,” Peter said, carrying on the gag.

“So, what do we have going today?” Jack asked, returning to business.

“The Consolidated Foods people have decided to go with a regional firm and are ready to meet. They want a full capabilities presentation. It’s down to us and two other firms, one from Milwaukee and one from Chicago.”

“The meat of the sandwich again.’” Jack alluded to the geographical irony. Lakeville was right between the two on the map and was often considered an unsophisticated buffer zone, as it was half the size of Milwaukee and about a tenth the size of Chicago.

Getting the analogy, Peter responded. “The meat’s the best part.” Jack hoped so. Landing the contract for opening six grocery stores would be huge. The grand opening events alone would generate over $100,000 worth of billable hours. And they had the home court advantage. No firm knew Lakeville the way McKay & Associates did. But knowing the market and the ability to reach it were not the same. They needed to impress upon the client that they really knew their stuff and had as much firepower as the big city boys.

“Their key execs are coming in from their Atlanta headquarters to lay out their plans for entering the market and to review our capabilities. A typical meet-and-greet. They’ve scheduled us in for eleven on Monday morning,” Peter said.

“Crap!” Jack exclaimed. “I’ve got a commitment on Monday that’s going to be almost impossible to break.”

“We have to make that meeting,” Peter huffed. “Their people will only be in town on Monday. It’s then or not at all. I can handle it if you’re busy.”

“No, I’ll be there. This is too important to miss. Sandy’s going to have a fit.” Jack had to be there. Peter was extremely capable, but Jack was the personality. No one could sell the services of McKay & Associates like McKay himself.

“Your meeting is with Sandy? Sorry to pry, but what’s so important.”

“We’re getting a divorce,” Jack said, slumping into his private office.

“I’m very sorry,” Peter responded.

Jack knew it was no surprise. The rumors had been circulating for months. He closed the office door. His office was modern, like the rest of the company’s except for the antique mahogany desk that had once belonged to his father. It was in terrific shape with just the right amount of wear to show it had been well used. Jack sat down at the desk and stared out the window at the harbor. All he heard was his assistant Donna rustling papers at her desk outside his office. Donna had long been the company cheerleader and den mother. She had joined the firm at the very beginning. At the outset she was the entire clerical staff. Her job grew as the company grew, eventually overseeing all of the office administrative functions. Jack made her his executive assistant, which allowed her to step back and enjoy some time off, something she seldom did.

His mood had turned sour. All of the exhilaration of the election victory ovation and making the finals of the Consolidated Foods deal was gone. How was he going to explain the need to change the meeting to Sandy? He told her he would make the session without fail. It would only serve as further evidence of his “business over family” attitude. He was certainly guilty of that most often, but this was a case of poor timing, not a conscious decision on his part.

The collaborative divorce session could be rescheduled without harm, he thought. The meeting in Chicago could not. The question was how to explain it to Sandy in a way that would not instigate another major battle. Ever the PR man, he would explain diplomatically that the circumstances, not his endeavors, created the scheduling conflict. He would clear his calendar to accommodate any mutually agreeable rescheduled date. In fact, this new contract, if won, stood to increase his net worth and therefore her share of their community property.

Gathering all of his arguments, he called Sandy on her cell phone. He knew full well she was going to be angry no matter how well he positioned the dilemma.

“Hi,” he said when she answered. “I’ve got a problem that I need to discuss with you.”

“We have lots of problems that need discussion. That’s why we’ve hired divorce attorneys,” she shot back.

“Funny that you should bring that up—”

“You’re not canceling for Monday, are you?” she interrupted.

“Well, yes,” Jack said rather sheepishly.

“Unbelievable. It took you less than a day to break your pledge. This really pisses me off. So, what’s your well-concocted excuse?” Her voice rose several octaves.

“The well-concocted excuse, as you call it, is very real. Consolidated Foods has set a meeting in Chicago for Monday. If we don’t attend, we’re out of the running for a huge contract.”

“Send Peter,” she countered.

“I can’t. We need all hands on deck for this one. My name is on the door, remember? My presence is required.”

“Your presence is required at our meeting too,” Sandy reminded him.

“Listen, I will clear my calendar for any alternate day or time. Cut me a little slack on this, please. I will make this up to you.” Jack pleaded, angrily tossing his notepad on the desk.

“I will see what I can do,” she said, mocking him. “As far as making it up to me, I’ll just add it to the long list of ‘make goods’ you owe me. Expect to pay off on all of your markers as we come up with a settlement. Jack, there is a price for everything, and your turn at the checkout counter is coming.” Sandy’s tone was extremely edgy, almost ominous.

Jack breathed a small sigh of relief. He knew his day of reckoning was coming, but he had apparently averted the issue for the moment. He now had to collect himself so he would be able to proceed with the Consolidated Foods meeting. Peter would be relieved.

Jack’s assistant buzzed the intercom. “Jack, Lindsay Revelle is holding on line three for you.”

“Thanks, Donna,” he answered. Curious as to what the call could possibly be about, he paused for a few seconds and then pressed the line-three button. “This is Jack McKay.”

A deep, warm voice on the other end said, “Mr. McKay, this is Lindsay Revelle. You probably don’t know who I am, but I’m considering a run for Congress and I’d like to talk to you about it.”

“First, I do know who you are, and second, call me Jack.”

“Well, Jack. Will you take a meeting with me when I tell you that I am going to run against the Liberty Party candidate? Oh, and please call me Lindsay.”

“Lindsay, we have represented many candidates from the Reform Party.”

“The word on the street is that William Davies will be the candidate for the Party. I assumed your close working relationship with his father and the Party would preclude you from representing anyone else.”

“It wouldn’t, and if you assumed I wasn’t available, why are you calling?” Jack was somewhat puzzled.

“I was hoping you hadn’t committed to a candidate yet and that you had an open mind.”

“I haven’t and I do,” Jack assured him.

“Good. A meeting then?”

“Sure. When would you like to get together?”

“How does Monday sound?”

Jack laughed out loud.

“Did I say something funny, Jack?” Revelle said quizzically.

“No, Lindsay, not at all. It’s just that Monday’s schedule has been a collection of conflicts for me all day. How about lunch on Wednesday?”

“Lunch is fine with me, but do you want to be seen in public with me? Your Party friends might get uncomfortable.”

“You seem a lot more concerned about my relationship with the Party than I am. Besides, I could be meeting with you to talk you out of running against their guy or just seeking campaign advice from a Rhodes Scholar in political science.”

“You don’t need any advice from me on campaigning. That’s why I want to meet with you. I’m the one seeking counsel.”

“Wednesday lunch it is,” he said.

They made plans to meet at Kathryn’s, a delicious soul food restaurant. Jack was still pondering the phone call. Would he actually run a candidate with ideas who held real promise as a public servant? Randall Davies would string him up by his balls.

Jack returned to his desk and moved on to his emails, which were mostly the usual newsletters, press releases, and spam. A press release from the County Business Development Commission caught his eye. PetroMark Oil, a large oil and gas company, was looking for a location for a Great Lakes depot where tankers would off-load fuel that would ultimately be distributed to their Midwest gas stations. Lakeville was a potential site. McKay & Associates had represented PetroMark when they entered the market five years ago, and now they were considering working on William Davies’s campaign. The same William Davies who, for the last three years, chaired the County Business Development Commission.

He and Peter should stay on top of this one. PetroMark might need a little PR assistance, given the environmentally sensitive area of the harbor. Under the circumstances, young William would need to be guided through a potential political disaster if the PetroMark project encountered substantive local opposition and he was on the wrong side of public opinion.

“Peter, can you join me for a minute?” Jack squawked into the intercom.

“Be right in,” Peter replied.

Jack started in before Peter had made it all of the way through the doorway. “Did you see the tidbit on PetroMark looking for a depot site?”

“Yes. And I spoke with Rick Cartwright about it yesterday. He said they would like to work with us and we’re going to chat again tomorrow.”

“I suppose you didn’t feel this was worthy of mentioning.” Jack was visibly irritated and gave Peter a most disapproving stare.

“I was saving it for the staff briefing at ten. We always review these sorts of things at the briefing. It only happened yesterday after you left, and I’ve seen you for all of five minutes this morning. I’m not hiding anything, if that’s what the look is supposed to imply.”

“It’s just that big, new opportunities are the things that we live for. They are the ‘breaking down the doors to deliver the news’ kind of occasions,” Jack said in his most professorial tone. “Particularly when they’re tied into a political candidate that we’ve been asked to represent.”

“You mean William Davies is in on this?”

“Here. Look at this.” Jack showed Peter the press release email.

“Hmmm. Could be a conflict for us. What’s your take?”

“It’s an ethical dilemma for sure. Legally it may or may not be a problem. Regardless, if we take on Davies’s campaign, we should recommend that he recuse himself from the PetroMark project negotiations.”

“If?” Peter said in disbelief.

“Yes, if. We may want to go with the underdog candidate on this one.”

“Who’s the candidate?”

“Lindsay Revelle.”

“Lindsay Revelle? He can’t win.”

“We have backed a few long shots in the past.”

Peter was turning red. “Not like this one. Win or lose, the Party will blackball us until the twenty-second century. We’d be out of the political campaign business, and since the majority of our corporate clientele are affiliated with the Party, we’d be committing professional hara-kiri. And furthermore, if Lindsay Revelle opposes the PetroMark project, we lose on all counts. How can this be good for the firm?”

“As you said, we’ll discuss it at the staff meeting,” Jack said dismissively.

Peter left without a word. Jack envisioned steam whistling from Peter’s ears.

Could I really align myself with Lindsay Revelle? Jack pondered. Revelle certainly had all the right stuff: education, physical presence, progressive politics, and strong ties to the community. Even a reputation as a star basketball player. He rolled all of it around in his mind. Was it something he might really enjoy and reinvigorate his passion for politics or merely some quixotic attempt to save his self-esteem? One thing was certain. It would surely be a return to the roots of his political upbringing.

Growing up in a working-class home, in the Milwaukee south side neighborhood of Bay View, he adopted the belief early on that a well-organized group representing the common man could use the political process to compete with big money interests on legislative issues.

His father, Raymond, had been a foreman and union representative at Bucyrus-Erie, the company that manufactured giant industrial cranes in nearby Cudahy. Jack’s father instilled a strong work ethic in him early on. Jack had many chores, and he cut lawns and shoveled snow for spending money. It often seemed like his father was his foreman too. Actually, his father wanted a better life for Jack and recognized his ability, if not the drive in him. He used to say, “Jack, you need to go out on a limb sometimes, that’s where the fruit is.”

His father also introduced Jack to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. Together, they watched all the old movies with Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce. Jack read all the original short stories and books. He was particularly influenced by Sherlock’s oft-repeated saying, “You see, but you do not observe.” He took it to heart. Attention to details helped him in school, on the basketball court, and in business.

His father’s union involvement in those days gave Jack insights into their political power. Candidates got nowhere without their support. How times had changed. Union members had become much more independent, seldom voting as a bloc. They had also gotten much more conservative, coming curiously close in ideology to the big money interests they once opposed. It occurred to Jack that the African American and Hispanic political groups had the potential to wield political clout in much the same way as the unions once did. It was a detail that weighed heavily, and it reminded him of his father.

His intercom buzzed with another incoming call from Donna. “The staff is waiting for you in the large conference room for the briefing,” she reminded him.

“I’m on the way.”

When Jack walked into the crowded conference room, Peter was passing out copies of the County Business Development Commission’s press release on the PetroMark project to the six-person team seated around the large wood conference table with a pile of file folders and a laptop in front of each team member. Jack took a seat, grabbing coffee and a sweet roll on the way.

Peter began the briefing. “As you all know, we have represented PetroMark in the past. I spoke with Rick Cartwright, their executive VP, and they’d like us to represent them on this. We would be working directly with Don Buckley, their VP of marketing. Jack and I feel there may be a conflict if we choose to represent William Davies for Congress. His commission is negotiating with PetroMark for the land, tax concessions, etc. Thoughts?”

“Is there a legal conflict for Davies?” Carol Meyers asked. She was the head of McKay’s Marketing Communications Department and effectively number three in the organization.

“I don’t think so,” interjected Jack.

“Then why would it be a problem for us?” Carol asked.

“It’s not that it would be a problem for us,” Jack responded. “It’s because it could be a problem for both of the clients by creating the appearance of collusion. We would be the connection between them. With us being tied to both, they in turn would be tied to each other. That perception would damage both of their causes. Not exactly the positive PR they would be looking for from us.”

“I see your point. Which client do we choose?” Carol asked.

“Jack has another variable to throw into the hopper,” Peter interjected somewhat sarcastically.

Jack laid out the details and implications of Lindsay Revelle’s call. When he finished his scenario, he could tell not everyone was sold.

“So,” he said in admission, “we have quite a maze to traverse.”

Peter was the first to respond. “It seems to me the best option is just to sign on with PetroMark and sit out the campaign. They can be a lucrative, long-term client whereas the candidates could be a once and done deal. Even if they win and continue to use us in the future, it still doesn’t match what PetroMark can mean to us.”

The heads around the table were bobbing up and down in agreement, except for Jack’s.

Peter looked at Jack quizzically. “You don’t agree?”

“It’s definitely the safest approach,” Jack asserted. “I’d like to have my meeting with Lindsay Revelle before we decide. If he doesn’t present some compelling reason for us to run his campaign, I’ll go along with the group. The more I think about it, the less I want to work with Davies. This situation gives us the perfect out with PetroMark being a long-standing client.”

If Jack knew anything about Peter, he knew his business associate was squaring him up, deep down preparing for battle should Jack try to impose his own will on the firm.