after the funeral, the Marshmans, Maroneys, and their respective attorneys entered a no-holds-barred, highly personal court battle to settle AFA ownership.
Jolene, in what appeared to be a rare display of largess, agreed to give the two kids 33 percent of the sale proceeds. In reality, she wanted an expeditious ruling because unconfirmed rumors surfaced that Jolene paid her father’s attorney $500,000 to ‘insure’ Pete died intestate (with no will).
Daughter Julia, age 24, challenged the intestate characterization in court. She testified that she and her brother had signed trust documents which named them controlling owners (51%) of the business.
Since there was no supporting documentation, Marshman’s attorney went straight for the jugular. “Your honor, this is a case of a disgruntled family who was rejected by their father, attempting to build a financial claim based upon loose recollections, nonexistent documents, and casual conference room conversations with Mr. Craft, the godfather of Mr. Maroney’s money-mongering daughter. Judge, as difficult and tragic as this case may be, you must render a decision based purely on the facts as we know them. The lack of a will meant Mr. Maroney intended to leave the business and all related assets to his current wife, Jolene.”
The judge ruled in favor of Jolene but did cut the Maroney family some slack. He ordered both families to meet privately to discuss the sale of AFA and determine an appropriate split of the net proceeds.
He cautioned, “If the families cannot agree on a fair share within three months, the courts will appoint an independent arbitrator to resolve the dispute.”
~
Between Pete’s death and the public legal proceedings, all the office employees were emotionally rattled and concerned about the loss of a regular paycheck. The most concerned were the senior business consultants — like Alexandria Plummet — who were making more than they had ever made in their life.
4.
Enter the perennially nosy Alexandria Plummet.
Alexandria Plummet was the whole package: smart, sexy, street-savvy, and insecure.
She also knew information was king. Before Pete’s death, the rumor was she had made a point of befriending Jolene, using the trials and tribulations of being a single mom as their common bond. Much to her chagrin, after Pete died and Jolene fled, Alexandria’s flow of insider information vaporized.
For reasons unknown to me at the time, she had decided I was going to be her new source of insider information. First, she began to casually drop by my office to chit-chat, beginning each conversation with a disarming “Hey, you.” Before long, I noticed we were playing twenty questions. “As a single mom, should I be looking elsewhere? Who’s going to own the company? Are commission rates going to be reduced?”
“Why do you think I know the answers to those questions?” I responded.
Alexandria crossed her legs, smiled her mischievous smile, stared into my light blue eyes with her bright blue ones, and said, “As a member of the buy-out group, I want you to remember that Mommy deserves her fair share. I want to be treated as an equal, not just as a woman.”
“What buy-out group?”
“Mommy’s not stupid; I can read between the lines. Dawson told me Pete’s death could be a huge income opportunity.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Dawson told me to schmooze my top producers into believing that closing a few new cases a month would be the best tribute we could give to Pete. As you can see from my production numbers, the guilt pitch is working like a charm.”
As we talked, three things became clear:
1 She was confident that the eight male account managers always received higher commissions than the two females.
1 She was financially insatiable. Whatever she earned was never enough.
1 She drove my testosterone level through the roof when she crossed her legs and revealed her shapely thighs.
“Gotta get going,” she said. ”Have a producer in town for dinner.”
I had one last question. “Who’s the head of your buy-out rumor committee, in case we need some professional advice?”
Alexandria smiled coyly. “No investigative reporter worth their salt reveals sources.”
~
Enter brash, razor-sharp Courtney Street.
Courtney and I were like the original odd couple. When I arrived at AFA, she was an eighteen-year-old part-time clerk who was going to NYU full time. She was also Julia Maroney’s best friend. I remember Pete laughing, “It’s your turn in the box. Figure out what to do with her. She’s pissed off everybody else in the company, but she’s super smart.” I spent about thirty days doing Courtney trial and error. Creative writing, marketing, accounts receivable, recruitment telemarketing, etc. There were peaks of excellence followed by valleys of highly vocal dissatisfaction – for Courtney and for her immediate supervisor.
Like Pete, I enjoyed her spunk and respected her intelligence. Hence, an unorthodox solution — I’d make Courtney my executive assistant! People thought I was completely nuts. Craft laughed, “ Buddy, can’t wait to see this rodeo. It will be like trying to tame a wild stallion.”
When I informed Courtney of my decision, she went bonkers, “Me, work for you! Not a chance. You’re too demanding. Too undisciplined. You try to do too many things at once. You…”
I asked her to shut up for a moment so that I could explain her options. I told her she could work for me and get a forty percent raise, or she would get fired. She decided to “try” option number one. To everyone’s surprise, she became my loyal eyes and ears. Lauren became her second mom, polishing her rough edges and sharing my little quirks, woman-to-woman, providing Courtney with insights on how to work most effectively with me while bonding the two of them together forever. “Men,” I overheard Courtney commiserating with Lauren one afternoon. “It doesn’t matter what age. They need to be led around by the nose.”
Whenever Alexandria “accidentally” happened by, Courtney smelled the testosterone percolating and made it abundantly clear she didn’t approve. At the five-minute mark, Courtney would storm through the doorway brusquely. “Time’s up! You’ve got your next meeting with so and so…. right now!” Then Courtney would stare at Alexandria until she left.
~
As I was to learn, Alexandria had a patented information collection and distribution system. When she felt her questions had unearthed worthy tidbits, she’d pass them on to her two closest cronies, Sam Cameron and Bill Johnson. They, in turn, would redistribute their version of what they heard to the rest of the account managers, who would then create their own versions of the truth.
In the end, what Alexandria initially understood and passed on bore little resemblance to the rumors that would resurface in my office days later. It was like the children’s game of “telephone.” They were so obvious that it was comical. My biggest concern, however, was not the rumor-mongering. In many ways, that was harmless, mainly since I was able to manage the content that went into the Alexandria newswire. The more significant concern was the
