Don’t let the good looks fool you, the lawyer warned him; my balls are rolling around the floor by your receptionist’s desk.

Warrington stepped out and ushered Mia into the office. With a show of affected calmness, he offered her a seat. She fell into the rotating chair across from Parner’s big desk and carefully crossed her legs. Parner stayed in his chair, feet planted on the desk, and studied her with a pugnacious smirk. If she wanted to play macho games, she had come to the right place, the right guy. No introductions were offered, no handshakes extended. The lawyer moved to a corner, where he stood stiffly and tried his best to look threatening.

“What’s this about?” Parner demanded forcefully, switching his expression to a deep scowl.

“I’ll ask the questions,” Mia answered, not the least bit friendly or intimidated.

“Then I may not answer,” Parner shot back. He was not about to be pushed around by some pip squeak with a shield, no matter how great her legs-and they were indeed perfect, far as he could tell.

The lawyer quietly nodded his approval at Parner-that’s it, this is your turf, your office, and your rules, his nod said.

For a moment Mia said nothing. She also turned her eyes to the lawyer in the corner and, speaking at Parner, asked, “Did I read you your Miranda warning?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Because if I had,” she continued in a cool professional tone, “you would have the right to be silent, the right to have a lawyer present, and I have the right to use anything you say against you in a court of law.”

“I watch television. I know my rights.”

“Always nice to have an educated public. Surely you also know, then, that in the absence of that warning, Mr. Parner, you have no right to be silent. Since I’m a federal officer pursuing an official investigation, in fact, you have the obligation to answer my questions. Do you understand that?”

Parner glanced at the corner and the lawyer nodded again, not quickly this time, almost glacially. His specialty was corporate law, but best as he could recall, it sounded like a pretty good rendering of con law 101. He wished now he had paid more attention in class. He wished even more that some other lawyer from the office had been sent to handle this banshee.

Parner said, somewhat reluctantly, “I think I understand.”

“Let me help you understand better. I can ask you these questions here, in the comfort of your office, or I can come back with a warrant, drag you out in cuffs, and ask you in less comfortable surroundings. Do you understand that?”

Parner nodded again, without any more silly glances at Warrington. The fancy mouthpiece in the corner was slowly shaking his head, not in disagreement, but in amazement. This agent had raced from a friendly little drop-in visit to flinging around vile threats in nothing flat. Parner’s feet were off the desk now. He was shifting in his seat, playing with a paperweight, struggling to conceal his growing anxiety.

Parner managed a very weak, “You can do that?”

She offered him a bitchy smile. “Amazing how much power and authority the Supreme Court grants me, don’t you think?”

“Very amazing,” Parner agreed, and he meant it.

“Question one,” she announced, getting right down to business. “How did Arvan Chemicals come to your attention?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

Mia uncrossed her legs and edged forward in her seat. “You boys wait here, and I’ll be back in an hour.” She stood and began straightening her dress.

“Wait!” Parner yelled, and it was nearly a scream.

“Why should I? You’re wasting my time.”

“All right, I’ll answer your questions.” He paused, drew a few deep breaths, and tried to compose himself. “We have nothing to hide. The Arvan deal was brought to us by a New York investor.”

“Name?”

“Uh… I don’t remember.”

“See if this helps. Jack Wiley?”

Parner and the lawyer exchanged looks she wasn’t supposed to see. How did she know that? More important, how much else did she know? After a momentary hesitation-what would it hurt to answer truthfully?-Parner managed to produce a slow nod. “I think that’s the correct name.”

“And what did Wiley offer you?”

“I wasn’t present at the initial meeting,” he offered truthfully. “So I have no idea,” he lied. He had listened to that horrible tape of Jack running circles around his underlings at least half a dozen times, but was confident she had no way of knowing such a tape even existed.

“Was it a takeover?”

“Something like that.”

“Would you describe it as a friendly takeover, or an unfriendly one?”

“Friendly… definitely friendly, Agent Jenson,” he said, regaining his confidence. “Mr. Arvan developed a wonderful product that showed remarkable promise. But he was way over his head, and he knew it. He wanted to get it into the hands of a bigger company that could get into the field fast. I’m happy to say he chose us. We felt honored. He was handsomely paid.”

“How was it tested?”

“Thoroughly. And under the most authentic, arduous conditions.”

“I asked how, Mr. Parner, not how well.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Parner said, “Uh, I wouldn’t know, not exactly, anyway. I head LBOs, not test and evaluation.”

“I know who I’m talking to.” Then very calmly she asked, “Did your company contribute any money to Congressman Earl Belzer, of Georgia?”

“What?”

“It’s not complicated. Did you bribe Belzer, yes or no?”

Parner wasn’t about to answer that. No way. Not truthfully, anyway, and he was saved the trouble of having to tell another big whopper by Warrington, who somehow worked up his nerve, took a big step forward, and planted himself firmly in the middle of the discussion. “We’re through answering questions without a subpoena. This company has done nothing wrong, and I don’t like your questions.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Uh… are we under investigation, and if so, for what?” It was the question he should’ve asked the moment he laid eyes on her. He knew he was on dangerous ground, but wasn’t exactly sure why. “What’s your purpose for coming over here?” he demanded, continuing his feeble attempt to turn the tables.

Now Mia looked amused. “I came to introduce myself.”

“Introduce yourself?”

“Since you’ll be seeing plenty of me, I thought we should become acquainted.”

She was on her feet and out the door before they could ask her what she meant by that vague threat.

20

The meeting convened in the expansive office of Mitch Walters. The pen-and-ink portrait of his head from the Wall Street Journal now hung, front and center, in the place of honor on his wall of fame. Only a select few were invited-Walters himself, Daniel Bellweather, Alan Haggar, and Phil Jackson, the steering committee for the polymer. It was an emergency meeting. It was also a tense one.

Jackson was the legal cutthroat whose judgment would mean the most, and from the beginning he proceeded to take charge.

It opened with a hard, fast-paced interrogation of Thomas Warrington, the babyfaced lawyer from the general counsel’s office who had had the dismaying misfortune to meet Mia. Jackson treated him with all the cold contempt he reserved for a rookie attorney who had gotten his pants pulled down. “So you just let her waltz into our LBO section,” Jackson taunted, as if to say Warrington had stood aside and let her pillage the company safe.

“She had a shield,” Warrington answered, plainly terrified. “And she was very assertive.”

“But you failed to force her to explain why?”

“She never gave me the opportunity.”

“Idiot. Of course she didn’t.”

He winced. “I tried to get it out of her,” he complained, painfully aware of how pathetic that sounded.

“Beat it, get out of here. I never want to see your face again,” Jackson barked with a threatening glare. Warrington nearly scorched the carpet he moved so fast.