Dupree's Resolve

  DUPREE’S RESOLVE

  (An Adam Dupree Novel #3)

  MICHEAL MAXWELL

  2020 Edition

  Copyright © 2020 Micheal Maxwell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Micheal Maxwell.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Please Consider This

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  Also by Micheal Maxwell

  PLEASE CONSIDER THIS

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  CHAPTER 1

  “Good morning! You’re up early for a Friday morning.”

  “I have to get up early if I’m going to see you.” Dupree smiled giving Dara a peck on the cheek.

  “So, what’s on your agenda for this lovely morning?” Dara turned to face him.

  “I’m not quite sure. There is a whole new vibe with all the staff changes. The buy-out has left a lot of our staff jittery. I’ve seen at least a dozen people who are scared to death they are going to be replaced or made redundant by the new automated systems that are being installed.” Dupree reached for the lid of her pan on the stove.

  “What’s your read on these new guys?” Dara reached over and gently pushed his shoulder. “No peeking.”

  “I hate ’em.”

  “Gee, don’t hold back.”

  “They are, for the most part, smug, arrogant, newly rich, condescending punks. That’s my legal opinion.” Dupree laughed heartily.

  “Well, it’s good to see you aren’t letting your personal feelings cloud your judgment.” Dara slapped him on the butt as she passed him. “Come for lunch? Hot turkey sandwich, your fav is the special.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Two pieces of sourdough bread popped up from the toaster. Dara spread peanut butter on one and cream cheese on the other.

  “Bacon?” She lifted the lid.

  “Please.”

  Dara put two thick strips of bacon on the toast. “Black coffee, Cream Cheese, Butter ‘n’ Bacon on sourdough, up for table one.”

  With breakfast over Dara was on her way to the Café. Dupree sat drinking his second cup of coffee. He felt a bit guilty for not telling Dara what was really going on at the Center.

  Ecomm Quantum, Inc. was the brainchild of two UC Berkeley computer geeks, Cameron Bartram and Joshua Stanton. Their idea was to develop a system to network and funnel text, email, Teletypewriter, or TTY for the deaf, into a one-stop communication center that used a platform they designed. Ecomm’s software revolutionized the speed and size of messaging being transported over the internet.

  This whole process was a threat to all the giants of internet technology. After graduation, and several successful years working and growing their business in the Bay Area, it was decided a move to the northwest, the most desirable place for the founders and their loyal followers to work and live. For a year, it was a utopian dream.

  White Owl was a perfect fit. The company was eco-friendly, community-focused, and all was right with the world. But it seems they were becoming too successful. Microsoft decided to sue Bartram and Stanton for unfair trade practices, and a lightly veiled threat of copyright infringement. The cost of fighting one of the world’s richest companies along with their whisper campaign inferring the company was soon to be insolvent, was too much.

  That’s when a conglomerate of young, startup millionaires made a sizable offer to Bartram and Stanton. News travels fast in the computer world and their offer was followed by an even better one from a company in Europe. As Stanton told Dupree in a closed-door meeting, “We didn’t sign up for this kind of aggravation.” They took their money and rode off into the sunset, Bartram bought a boat and sailed the Pacific. Stanton bought a ranch in Montana.

  The company was purchased by a Dutch conglomerate and renamed Kanaal Communications to match their European Social Media and Tele-Communications empire. The new administration was transferred in from a cannibalized take-over in California. It made a bunch of Silicon Valley wannabes into millionaires, with inflated egos to match. They removed the offending elements of the Ecomm process and sold Microsoft the software for somewhere in the low seven figures, a figure Dupree was not privy to.

  The things that made Ecomm a great place to work were, not all that slowly, being done away with. The new owners brought in a lot of their own people. This was not unusual or unexpected. What was problematic was their unwillingness to fit in with the Ecomm family. The new staff were young, single, overpaid and friends of the new management. They thought they were above rules, policies, and proper behavior.

  Like the rest of the employees. Dupree went with the sale. For a while, it was business as usual. The threat of litigation by Microsoft and other giant tech companies was dissolved with the sale. Dupree wrote contracts, settled disputes, and advised on employee conflicts.

  That is where Dupree found himself between the devil and his better angels. Daily since the takeover, employee after employee made their way to his office seeking advice and protection from termination. Though there was never a formal arrangement with Bartram and Stanton, Dupree was the attorney for the company, and as such was bound to protect and defend the company assets.

  The attitude in the building was just not the same anymore. As Dupree went through the security gate, the guard didn’t smile or greet him. The usually friendly man in the blue uniform seemed sullen and distant. Much of the art was removed from the lobby and the halls of the building. It was those bright splashes of abstract and pop art that were part of the constant stimulation that gave Ecomm its positive, engaging atmosphere. More than that, though, the spirit of the company seemed to be sucked out of the building, along with the hearts of the employees.

  “Good Morning, Mr. Dupree.” Dupree’s secretary would have made a good funeral attendant.

  “Morning, Melinda!” Dupree tried to respond to her gloom with a cheerful smile.

  “There’s a Tomara French in your office.”

  Dupree glanced over to the closed door and darkened panel of ribbed glass alongside it.

  “She said she was afraid to sit out here, so I let her go in. She turned off the lights. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Dupree moved toward the door. “Good Morning,” Dupree went into his office and flicked on the lights.

  “I’m sorry to have…” The pretty young woman with a little redder than auburn hair began.

  “No, it’s fine. Are you all right? Physically, I mean.”

  “Yes. I need someone to talk to I can trust. People around here speak highly of you.”

  Dupree approached where the young woman sat and extended his hand. “I’m Dupree, I guess you know I’m the company’s legal counsel.”

  “I’m Tomara, people usually call me Tomi.” She took his hand and squeezed it like she was clutching the rope�
�s end that kept her from falling into the abyss.

  Taking the chair behind his desk, Dupree smiled and tried to get a read on the emotional state of the young woman. Her eyes were a bit swollen and red from crying.

  “I came straight here from HR.” She sat a little straighter. “They tried to give me money. Can you imagine?” Tomi’s anger got the better of her and she burst into tears.

  “I can see you’re upset. Take a deep breath and let’s start at the beginning. Were you let go?”

  “I wish!” Tomi burst into tears. Dupree sensed an innocence, or an underlying sweetness, to Tomi. He was finding it hard to judge her age, but he knew she was well under twenty-five.

  Dupree grabbed a box of tissues from the credenza behind him and pushed it across the desk. He sat silently while the young woman tried to pull herself together.

  She took a deep breath and began again. “I went to HR to report sexual harassment. They offered me money to keep quiet. They didn’t care a bit.”

  “That is a serious matter. I mean them offering you money. The harassment is worse. Let’s start with the department you work in.” Dupree pulled a legal pad from his desk drawer.

  “I’m Leif Carlsson’s secretary.”

  “The vice-president?”

  “Yes, I was Josh Stanton’s assistant until the sale. I need this job, so I stayed. Now I’m just a secretary.”

  “Is he the problem?”

  “He is all over me. It started out just a touch on the arm when he would come to my desk. Then he kept going further, and further. Once he reached around from behind and squeezed my breast.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I jumped up and screamed at him. Told him to never touch me again.”

  “How did he respond?”

  “He laughed.” Tomi’s eyes were full of fire. “He said things too. Filthy things. What he would like to do to me. Remarks about my clothes and body. I hate him!”

  “So that prompted you to go to HR?”

  “He was standing at his door with a rep from California. He was telling the guy how he would like to bend me over the desk and…” She began to cry. “It was so degrading.” She sobbed.

  “That was today?”

  Tomi nodded. “As soon as he closed his door I left.”

  Dupree cleared his throat. “Who did you see in HR?”

  “The new director. Pilson? Pilmer?”

  “Pilmend.”

  “Yes, her. She started out OK, but as I told her about what I had put up with she started to make excuses. ‘I’m sure it is just a misunderstanding.’ Can you imagine? She took out a checkbook. She wrote a check and pushed it across the desk with a form she pulled from a folder.”

  “Saying?”

  “Saying, by accepting the check I agreed to keep quiet, basically. Hush money.”

  “How much was the check?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t look. I was so mad. I said something I probably shouldn’t then left. They can’t do that, can they? I mean, aren’t there laws?”

  Dupree sat silently and pretended to write meaningful things on his note pad. He was too angry to speak. This girl, for that’s what she appeared to be, was misused by the company. The more she spoke, the clearer he saw her. She was different than the women who came with similar complaints. They were mostly married or divorced, and more mature in the ways of the world. Tomi was shocked, embarrassed and wanted justice. There was a naiveté in her demeanor that projected an innocence that this crude assault on her emotions and person both shocked and terrified her.

  Dupree was caught in an ethical trap. He wanted to go punch Carlsson’s lights out. He wanted to demand to see the checkbook. He wanted justice for the poor young woman that sat across from him. But, he couldn’t.

  He was the one in the company that was paid to defend these guys. He was corporate counsel. Now that he heard her story though, she was covered by the attorney-client privilege. Likewise, he couldn’t file suit against his employer. His head spun with a whirlwind of law, compassion, and anger. He was bound to not help her. He was morally appalled at her situation. He was conflicted beyond his emotional, and professional ability to think straight.

  “So, what can you do?” Tomi interrupted his scribbling and thoughts.

  “I want you to go home. I’ll make the excuse. Do not, I repeat, do not, tell anybody about our talk or your trip to HR. Clear? It is very important that they don’t catch wind of this upstairs. I have no doubt Ms. Pilmend has already called Mr. Carlsson. We need you out of the building before he calls me. OK?”

  “But,”

  “But, nothing. Go.”

  Tomi picked her bag up from the floor next to the chair. “Tomorrow?”

  “If you’re ready, come in. Otherwise, call in sick.” Dupree tried to smile reassuringly but his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Thank you.” Tomi nodded softly.

  “Not yet.” Dupree stood. “This may get uglier before it gets better. I just want you to be aware.”

  “Yes sir, I understand.”

  I wonder if you do, Dupree thought.

  Tomara French closed the door of her Honda Civic. She sat still for a long moment then crossed her arms on the top of the steering wheel, rested her head against them and sobbed. Ecomm was her first real job. She was twenty years old. Two years out of high school, Community College dropout, and never had a serious boyfriend.

  Tomi was the oldest of five kids. She was homeschooled through eighth grade. High school was a dreamland of friends and caring teachers. New Hope Christian High School and its student body of fifty kids were like an extended family, a throwback to the days of no cell phones, no internet, school uniforms, and chapel. The only computers were in a Secretarial Skills class.

  The girls outnumbered the boys three to one. Mark Wilson taught Boys P.E. and what it meant to be a gentleman. Any report of ungentlemanly conduct was met with laps around the track, or wind sprints, short dashes at full speed of about thirty yards, back and forth until the offender was winded. The lecture, a combination of the teacher’s disappointment, disgust, and anger usually did the trick and there were few, if any, repeated offenses.

  The girls of the school were taught directly from Proverbs. The Old Testament description of The Wife of Noble Character was the guiding text for their training.

  It was certainly politically incorrect and often held up to ridicule by the community, but the teaching was not some tenant of religious zealots, rather a return to the values that built the nation and were seen as values more practical than political. No one expected the girls to comply with the examples completely. Part of the graduation requirements at the tiny unaccredited High School was for every girl to memorize and recite the scripture passage. Tomi scored highest in her class, reciting the passage word for word perfectly on her first attempt.

  For the girls of New Hope, the concept of serving and cherishing her family was the point of the Proverbs curriculum. Most of the girls would and did, marry after graduation. In the small communities in and around White Owl, they started their families and raised children that rarely strayed from the teaching of their faith and the lessons their mother learned in her multi-denominational schooling.

  Tomi chose a different path. She wanted more education so she enrolled at Edmonds Community College. She seemed to flourish in the large population of students in the rolling, wooded, eco-friendly campus. No doubt she would have graduated and even gone on to a four-year college, but the death of her father brought it all to an end.

  Ecomm came to White Owl a month after her beloved father’s sudden passing and she was first in line at the first Ecomm Job Faire. Her paperwork stood out for not only her certificates in typing and computer skills but for her elegant, print-like handwriting. It caught the attention of a graphics design coordinator as her resume was passed along the table of department representatives.

  Tomi was taken directly to Joshua Stanton who oversaw the artistic and creative divisions of the compa
ny. Her quiet, yet confident, persona won Stanton over completely and she became his administrative assistant. He was delighted at her honesty when she suggested that perhaps she was unqualified for such a lofty position.

  “Miss French, that is exactly why I want you for the job.” Stanton smiled. “You are honest enough to tell me the truth, not what you think I want to hear. We’ll train you as we go along. What do you say?” Stanton asked reassuringly.

  “I always tell the truth sir, thank you.” Tomi got the job and was a perfect sounding board and advocate for her boss.

  When the company was sold Stanton offered to introduce her to friends in big companies where he was sure she would be valued and well paid. She was so tempted to accept, but her mother and siblings depended on her income to supplement the small check from Social Security each month.

  On the last day at the company, Joshua Stanton gave Tomi the keys to a deep blue Honda Civic. He said he picked the color because it matched her eyes. It was the only time he made any comment on her looks. His respect ran so deep for Tomi he never swore around her or let anyone else, without a hard look and a warning about ‘language’.

  Breaking all the unspoken barriers of protocol and office etiquette they followed, Joshua Stanton gave Tomi a hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek and he thanked her for her inspiration and loyalty as he said good-bye. Tomi blushed for ten minutes after. She knew she loved him, and he loved her.

  “Melinda, got a second?” Dupree called from his desk.

  “What’s up?”

  “This is going to sound really silly, but when you want to call in sick and you’re not really sick, you just need a break, who do you call? What do you say?”

  “Mr. Dupree! I would never!”

  “Yeah, the lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Dupree grinned and let her know she could speak freely.

  “You can’t beat the old, “time-of-the-month” cramps thing. Usually, a call to Janet in HR at the clerical pool desk takes care of coverage.”