The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (38 page)

-72-

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

8:47 a.m. EST

A network morning talk show

Back from commercial, the camera showed a single head shot of a
lovely blonde anchor, looking about 27 years old and expertly coiffed
and made up, but natural-looking. She smiled with expertly capped
and very white teeth directly into the camera.

“Welcome back. I'm pleased to welcome our next guest, Wesley
T. Farley, the new CEO of Donne Enterprises International, formerly
COO under Gordon Donne.

“Thank you for being here, Mr. Farley.”

The director cut to a two-shot, showing a handsome, tall, slim,
forty-five-ish ebony-skinned male, casually dressed in stylish jeans
and a short-sleeved knit shirt, seated on the couch with her.

“Call me Wes, Lindsey, and thanks for the invitation.”

“Now, tell me, Wes, what was it like to work for Gordon Donne?”

“Well, Lindsey, it was never like working FOR him; it was
always like working WITH him. We all knew he was the boss, the
owner, and he could be very tough, but he had a way of making all of
us feel like we were partners with him.”

“Do you stay in touch now that he's bought the country?”

“Occasionally, maybe three times since December 9th.”

“Can you tell us what you've talked about?”

“Sure, Lindsey. He's given me carte blanche to speak my mind
with anybody. It's been a lot different with him not running the
day-to-day operation of the company, so it's been mostly general
stuff, like 'How's it going over there at the White House,' or 'Is
Emily still trying to fix your diet,' or – I remember he asked
'How's Jean-Claude doing in Paris?'”

“And who is Jean-Claude?”

“He was the White House chef for the Obamas, and Gordy figured
he'd be bored cooking for him, what with his simple diet, so he asked
me to offer him the head chef job at one of our restaurants, and he
accepted the one in Paris, his hometown, and so far he's very happy.
Gordy kept the option to invite him back for any state dinners he
might have to have … and if I can, I'll say Gordy positively
hates those kinds of things, all the diplomatic BS, as he calls it …
not using the initials, though.”

Lindsey laughed politely. “Ah. We've heard he speaks his
mind.”

“That he does, Lindsey, that he does.” He laughed, too.

“Do you have enough influence with him to get him to come on
and talk to us?”

“Nope.”

Lindsey, unprepared for such a short answer, stumbled on her own
words, “Well, do – is there – do you know anybody
who does?”

“Nope.” Seeing her discomfort, Farley added, “If
he wants to come on, he will; if not, he won't. He's the most
independent … and most ethical … person I've ever had
the pleasure of meeting anywhere in the world.”

“Okay. Now, Wes, just how big is day?”

“We don't pronounce it like that, Lindsay; we just use the
letters, D-E-I. But to answer your question, all told, worldwide we
have about 1.4 million people working in our businesses, and we have
about 2800 businesses within DEI. Those numbers fluctuate, since we
are buying, building and selling businesses on almost a daily basis.

“Once we've done the turnaround and gotten a business on its
feet and profitable, our goal changes to building the profit pool to
the point where the employees of that business can buy it from us and
run it themselves, with occasional consulting, if they want it.”

“DEI is a private company, right?”

“Yes, it is. And the main reason we've remained private is so
we don't have to focus as much on the short term to satisfy Wall
Street each and every quarter, but can plan long-term strategies with
and for each business in our portfolio, build a solid foundation for
its growth and success.

“And what is Opus?”

“Again, we don't pronounce it that way. You're talking about
the US division of Optimum Protection, the largest of our businesses
and one that we'll never be looking to sell. We usually call it by
its initials, just O-P-U-S, or sometimes 'Ahp-U-S.' O-P is our
worldwide private security service, providing everything from light
surveillance to home and business security installs, to bodyguards,
undercover ops, analysis and recommendations, threat assessments,
preemptive threat containment or removal and general security
consulting.

“O-P has about 5,000 full-time employees, 107,000 part-time,
and thousands of independent contractors we can use from time to
time. The only place on earth we don't operate … yet …
is Antarctica.”

“That's a lot of people, Wes.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Can you stick around? We have to go to commercial.”

“Sure, Lindsey, as long as you've got questions.”

“Great. Folks, my interview with Wes Farley will continue
after this short break. Stick around.”

The screen went to a commercial for a prescription anxiety
medication, followed by one for a prescription shortness-of-breath
medication, another for car insurance, one for a scooter/wheelchair,
one for an arthritis pill (prescription, of course) and one
moderately entertaining one for a double-miles credit card.

-73-

Five Months Earlier

Sunday, August 14, 2011

3:15 p.m.

Bonita Beach, Florida

”They're coming,” Sharon rasped over the twins' earbuds.

“What, again?” Jill said, giggling.

“No, they're coming our way,” Carie said sharply.

“How is our way any different?” Jill shot back. Carie
rolled her eyes, then put a finger to her lips. “Here they
are.”

“Nobody touched your stuff, Jake,” Carie said as he and
Pam walked out onto the sand. Jill snickered to herself and very
quietly whispered, “Well, someone did.” Up on the tenth
floor, Sharon rasped out a laugh.

“Thanks, kids; appreciate it,” Jake replied.

“Hey, guys. How was Marco?” Norm asked, while Janet
focused on her sudoku, trying hard to hide her giggle.

“Marco?” Jake asked.

“We thought maybe you'd driven down to the island. You were
gone long enough.”

“Oh. No. But thanks for watching our stuff,” Jake
replied, smiling as innocent a smile as he could muster.

As Jake and Pam settled back into their lounge and chair, Janet
whispered to Norm, “They smell like a spring day in Ireland.”

Pam leaned in to Jake and said, “I forgot. You were going to
let me see the first hundred directives. Did you remember to bring
'em?”

“Yup.” He dug around in his beach bag for a moment and
pulled out three or four stapled sheets of paper and gave them to
Pam. “Here ya go. Enjoy.”

Pam unfolded them and leaned back to read, while Jake lay back on his
lounge, watching her.

Two minutes later, Pam said, “Jake, this one, Number 23, how
does that --”

She looked more closely at Jake, whose eyes had closed and whose
breathing was steady but light, a smile playing over his lips.

Pam smiled and whispered to herself, “Well, they do say there's
a nap for that,” and went back to the directives.

Five minutes later, a harsh, nasal voice intruded. “Hey, Jake,
did you try that cigar yet?”

Pam looked up, eyes flashing angrily. “Shhhh.” But too
late.

Jake jerked on his lounge, reached behind his head and mumbled,
“Wha?” but his eyes stayed closed. He rolled his head
side to side, then settled back in.

“Did you try that cigar yet?”

Pam hissed, “Shhh. Can't you see he's sleeping?”

“Well, I was,” he mumbled. “What d'ya want,
Sonya?”

“Have you tried that cigar yet?”

“Not yet. I will.”

“When?”

“After I wake up some more, okay?”

“Okay. That's a light. They also have flavors, like
strawberry --”

“I know, Sonya; you told me before.”

“-- cherry, peach --”

“I KNOW, Sonya; I know.”

“And they're only ten bucks a carton --”

“Sonya, I get it. I know, I know. Blue-and-white carton. And
I can get 'em at B2B. Got it. Got it.”

“So when ya gonna try it? I know you'll like it.”

“Okay, okay. I'll try it now. Where did I put it?”

“Right there.” Sonya pointed at his bag.

He picked it up, pulled out his magnifying glass, lit it and took a
puff. He immediately started coughing and stubbed it out in the
sand, put it back on his bag.

“Too soon, Sonya. Later.”

“But --”

“I said later. Got it?”

“But --”

“Got it?”

“Okay, okay; go tit.” She glared at Pam and stalked back
toward her chair.

“Well, back to the real world, Jake.”

“Yeah. Geez.”

“Sorry; I tried to stop her, but too late.”

“Don't worry about it. Nobody's been able to stop her yet.”

“I should have seen her coming. My situational awareness is
already slipping.”

“Oh, it'll come back when you get to O-N – orientation.
Uh, I'm sure it's part of their training – in your case
probably just a quick refresher and you'll be right back in top
form.”

“I hope so.”

“I'm sure. Of course, you're in top form right now.” He
smiled.

“Why, suh, I thank you.” She giggled and dropped her
voice to a whisper. “So does Ginny May.” She smiled
broadly. And Jake smiled back.

“Not gonna touch that one right now, right here.”

Pam fake-pouted. “Oh, well. Maybe later.” Then she
smiled. “We've got a week before I go.”

Jake smiled. “Yup, we do. Ready for some water time?”

Pam smiled and said, “I love noodling with you.”

Jake laughed. “Oh, Pam, you're so bad.”

“I can be, but only when I want to.”

“I know. Uh-oh. I really gotta get in the water.” He
picked up his noodles and foot-washing bag and headed in. Pam folded
up the papers, put them in her bag and followed him in, giggling.

-74-

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

8:53 a.m. EST

A network morning talk show

“Welcome back. I'm talking with Wes Farley, the current CEO
and former COO of Donne Enterprises International.

“Now, Wes, some in the press have noticed that Gordon Olin
Donne's initials spell G-O-D. Does he think of himself as God?”

Farley roared with laughter. “Oh, god, Lindsey –“
He looked up. “Oh; sorry, Gordy.” He laughed even
harder. “He's had to live with that his whole life, but he's
gotten used to all the jokes and reactions that anybody's been able
to come up with so far. And no, he does not think of himself as God,
although ...”

Lindsey raised her eyebrows. “Although?”

“Well, he does apply the old Teddy Roosevelt line, 'Speak
softly and carry a big stick,' and when he finds out something is
going wrong anywhere in any of our businesses, he says, only half
tongue in cheek, 'Don't make me come down there.' And if and when he
does, people 'down there' do start to pray, especially those who know
they haven't met our expectations.”

“What happens to them?”

Wes looked at her, squinting his dark brown eyes. “You don't
want to know, Lindsey – just kidding. Actually, it depends on
what country the business is in. In some countries in the Mideast,
we can cut off their hands … or their heads.”

“Oh, my god!”

“Gotcha, Lindsey.” He gave her a twinkly-eyed smile.

“But we do have to deal with local laws and policies, so the
remedies can range from mild reprimands to out-and-out termination,
which we have done when the situation calls for that.”

“Which leads me to this question, Wes. On balance, has Donne
been a job creator or a job destroyer?”

“Both. But the records we keep, which I had updated before
coming on this show, tell me that, as of last Friday, DEI has created
2,965,761 net jobs since 1985. And we've sold 3,789 businesses back
to employees, at a P/E multiple of about ten, which seems pretty
fair.”

“Many people have looked at his directives and are accusing him
of being terribly draconian. Is he?”

“Absolutely, but only if people abuse the freedom and
flexibility he gives them or take advantage of weaker or more
vulnerable people. The one thing he is not is an advocate of
byzantine and labyrinthine over-regulation, micro-managing and
nanny-statism.”

“We've only got a minute left, Wes. Anything else you can tell
us about Gordon Donne?”

“Well, I guess two things come to mind. First, his very top
priority is customers; they always come first. And everybody in any
of our businesses HAS to see their role as somehow serving that
priority.

“The other is that he's terrific at delegating. He ensures
that all of our people have the training, tools and authority to do
the job right, ideally the first time, and he also makes sure they
understand that they, each and every one, take full responsibility
for their own success or failure in their role. Everyone is
personally accountable.”

“Any dark secrets?”

“Sure. Doesn't everybody have some?”

“I don't.”

“Oh, c'mon, Lindsey. How about your affair with your produ- –
sorry; never mind. Can we cut that?”

Lindsey, stunned, was silent.

“Lindsey, I'm so sorry.” Then he looked off-camera and
said, “I'm sorry. Can we cut that, please? Lindsey, I'm
really sorry.”

The screen went to a commercial for an online pet supplies provider,
followed by others for a prescription allergy medication, a European
car brand, a female hygiene product, a fiber-rich breakfast cereal,
an online religious matching service, a Medicare supplement insurance
plan, a prescription incontinence pill, two network situation
comedies and the midseason premiere of a new reality competition
show, “Naked Tycoons,” in which a dozen billionaire CEOs
are given a thousand dollars each, dropped in separate cities and
compete to see who can not only survive, but start a business without
access to their contacts or resources, using only their own wits and
skills, and not their identity or reputation. After six months, the
one whose new business is the most successful wins a million dollars
from each of the other tycoons for his or her favorite charity.