Highest Quality

Chapter 1

Months after the fact, sitting on the front porch of our new but old house I knew I hadn’t risen that morning and decided to kill someone. I was simply a divorced, decent-looking, fifty-year old guy with a past who was trying to hang on to his job.

It was a telephone call that started the whole thing. The call was between a well-intentioned coworker and a bureaucrat who received the whistle-blower information from that call. It snowballed from there, smashing and breaking everyone and everything in its path as it went.

As I sit here, at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning in May, gently rocking in one of the matching chairs on the columned front porch of the house that my new bride and I had recently bought, there is already stickiness on any exposed skin from the thick humidity.

A few puffy white clouds, which are remnants of last night’s thunderstorm, float across the hazy Atlanta, Georgia, sky. The whole scene would give anyone a feeling of tranquility, but for the last few months my life, and the lives of those around me, have been anything but tranquil.

The new job that I’ll return to on Monday ​morning is a position I’ve held for barely two months, and there is more responsibility than I have dealt with in a while. The only help in that regard is that I’ve been with this company before, working for the guy that used to have the job.

And that’s where it all started, with this company, on what began as a workday like any other.

Chapter 2

I was clearing my desk of paper that day when Mike, my boss, appeared at my cubicle entrance with his arms full of documents.

Mike’s a big burly man with thinning dark hair, and Popeye-like tanned forearms that are always exposed because of the rolled up sleeves of his ever-present long sleeved starched shirt and tie. He has a small corner office that he nervously guards from perceived threats to his status by upper management, and being the sole provider with four kids to support, I guess I understand why. If you need a guy to sweat the small stuff Mike’s your man.

Hey, Mike. What’s up? I asked as I spun my chair around to face him.

Hey, Bobby; have you heard about the Delta-5 project?

I’ve heard that there’s a large database conversion project called something like that being talked about. And by the way, who comes up with these project names; is PHARTEK invading a country or something? I asked.

Alright, alright; so you don’t know anything about the details of the project? he asked as he looked at me intently over the rims of his reading glasses.

No, I guess not, I shrugged.

Well, drop whatever you’re doing and take a couple of hours to review these planning documents, he said as he handed me a two-inch thick stack of paper with a large black metal spring clip on it.

You, Stan; and Holly and I are going to be in a meeting in the twenty-first floor conference room with me and some of the folks upstairs at two o’clock this afternoon. They want to discuss getting this thing off the ground sooner than anyone thought, he said before he turned and left.

‘Folks upstairs’ I thought to myself while I looked over the documents. I didn’t like the whole idea of this two o’clock meeting.

In the corporate world there is a divide, with any large project, between senior management expectations and what actually gets delivered. Always: no exceptions. The severity of the resulting shit storm just depends on the level of management involved. Consulting companies make most of their income from managing and mitigating these divides. I know, because for years I was one of those consultants.

If the project is high profile and the dollar amounts are great enough, then very senior heads can roll because of failure. Out of a hundred examples I had witnessed in my career I could count actual large project successes on two or three fingers.

If senior management could be fired, a worker-bee at my level could be brushed aside without a second thought. Now I was going to be involved with one of those large projects, at least initially, and I didn’t like it.

With my checkered history, coming up on fifty years old, I’m lucky to have this gig. I piss and moan about my job like everybody else, but every rule I have learned in the corporate world tells me PHARTEK is my last chance.

Chapter 3

In over six years at PHARTEK, it was my first time in the famous twenty first floor conference room, and I could see that the rumors were true. The entire west wall was a bank of windows, from the twenty foot ceiling to the floor. The downtown skyscrapers, and the famous tree-lined Atlanta skyline; spreading for miles, was hard to ignore.

I stood in front of the panorama for a moment and tried to pick out where my apartment was, but in Atlanta, unless a building is six or seven stories high, then even at this height; the thousands of massive oak trees and huge long-leaf pines hide it from view.

When flying into town for the first time I was not surprised when I later learned that Atlanta is considered an urban forest. From twenty-five thousand feet, except for the sections of skyscrapers in the downtown and Buckhead areas, it’s like looking down on an expansive, undulating lawn with tiny thin straight lines running through it.

Because of the way the wide open grassy expanse of Piedmont Park cuts through the forest-like vastness I could now see the roof of the Flying Biscuit Cafe at 10th and Myrtle Streets. It was there I had met Kayla, the woman I had been married to for four years.

I used to stop there for coffee on the way to the office when I worked for the Federal Reserve downtown, and I noticed her almost every morning. She was a knockout. We began to speak, and I found that she was one of the four hundred attorneys with Alston & Bird, at One Atlantic Center a few blocks over on West Peachtree.

I had cleaned myself up, I was working hard during that period, and we hit it off. We talked a few times, and then dated for ten months before being married. She was a beautiful person both inside and out, but because of old habits and bad behavior I was soon fired - by both her and the Fed. It was a little over seven years behind me.

Thinking now about what I was like during one of those bad periods, during the day time and while I was straight, was painful. That’s the uncomfortable insight, growing-up part of getting sober that drives most drunks and dopers back to their drug or drugs of choice. Old-timers in twelve-step programs call these perceptions moments of clarity.

I gently shuddered, turned from the view and back to my surroundings.

The conference room had a highly polished, thick and dark mahogany table in the middle of the sixty by forty foot room, surrounded by silk backed matching chairs. A line of paintings of former PHARTEK chairmen hung on the east wall, opposite the windows.

I quickly picked out one of the six chairs that lined the wall under the paintings, away from the table, and away from the other five people in the room.

The other people in the room consisted of Holly Mathers; from my department, who’s pretty, but a little tough to get along with; Stan Rogers, also from my department, who’s a good guy, and three suits. From the conversation between them, I gathered the three sites were from either sales or marketing.

Mike abruptly came through the door with two other people; a woman I didn’t recognize, and the man who was second in command at PHARTEK, Mr. Sam Boutin. As soon as I saw Boutin, I knew that no good could come from this meeting. Boutin’s reputation was that he would fire someone for the slightest of failures or infractions, whether real or perceived.

When Mike sat at the table, he motioned for me to sit next to him, right across from Mr. Boutin.

The woman spoke as soon as she sat down. I’m Libby Benjamin, senior vice president of marketing, and this is Mr. Sam Boutin. Let’s go around the table and have everyone else briefly introduce themselves, she said smiling ferociously. Go ahead, she added and she gestured at me with a dismissive hand motion.

Right, I responded flatly. I’m Bobby Allison, senior program manager from the database section of the IT division.

Boutin stared at each person as Mike, Holly and Stan repeated the process. Then the sales geeks filled us in, each one showing off their overly white teeth contrasted against their tan faces.

The Benjamin woman then focused everyone on copies of the graphic-intensive document that each person had, and we began on page one, image one.

In a very short time the woman revealed that she had either done some serious homework or had a background in information technology. She immediately keyed in on details relating to the interface mechanics that would need to take place between the mainframes and the desktops, which was going to be at least one of the biggest challenges of the project.

They tried to pull Stan into the conversation, but he had just come here four months ago after several years at the Coke headquarters downtown, and his answers apparently didn’t satisfy the crowd. I tuned out from the verbal tennis match, staring out the windows as I watched a jet airliner leave a contrail across the afternoon sky. I tried to imagine what exotic location the flight might be going.

Have you given any thought to the data base captures at this point, Bobby? Mike asked me.

Excuse me?

The data captures. What are your thoughts on that portion of the project? he went on.

In defense, I blurted out a knee-jerk knowledgeable response. Apparently, the answer went over big, because after what I said the focus was on me, thirty minutes and ten pages into the document later.

It came down to the woman from marketing, Mike, and me batting around the fine points for another twenty minutes before Boutin spoke. He had wordlessly watched all of the conversations, but when he finally said something the room became instantly silent.

We’re not going to resolve every detail of the project this afternoon, and I think that the technical staff do seem to have a handle on where we want the project to go. Libby, I’d like you to oversee this thing, and I’d like Mike’s people to put together a detailed project plan as soon as possible; resources, timelines, cost estimates, everything, Boutin said.

Bobby Allison, isn’t it? he asked, as he leaned toward me from across the table, his large hands with manicured fingernails folded in front of him. He was a big, expensively-dressed man, with strange heavy-lidded eyes, huge shoulders and neck.

Yes, sir, I answered.

Bobby, I’d like you to handle all the day to day issues, manage this thing. Are you okay with that? he asked. I replied with a half-hearted nod of my head. How soon could you have this thing planned out? Boutin asked.

It’s a very large project, with tentacles all over the place. I estimate at least three to possibly four weeks before I could have a meaningful project plan together, I responded.

Make it two weeks, he said. Mike, make every resource available that Bobby needs. This is your highest priority right now, Boutin continued.

Yes, sir, and you keyed in on the right person. Bobby is my most experienced associate, Mike said.

I didn’t say anything to Mike in the elevator about what had just happened in the meeting because Holly and Stan were with us. Holly looked like she was pissed off, and if it was because she wanted the assignment instead of me I wish to hell she had spoken up. I’d trade places in a heartbeat.

It just shows how out of synch I am with corporate people. She probably thinks I’m bursting with glee about my new assignment, with images of promotions dancing in my head. But everybody judges everyone through their own eyes. She assumes that because she would have killed to get the assignment every other person on the planet must feel the same.

We all split up outside the elevator, except for me. I followed Mike all the way to his office.

Oh, this is great, Mike, I sarcastically said as soon as I closed his office door behind me.

Come on, Bobby, he said as he tossed a stack of paper onto his desk, leaned back into his chair and put both hands over his face.

Come on, what? I’m the one that just got fed to the lions, I replied.

Fed to the lions, my ass, he said. We’ve been through this a thousand times. The company has a right to get the benefit of your experience.

Why can’t Holly treasure this wonderful event? She looked disappointed that her name wasn’t called, I threw out.

You have a lot more experience and she has trouble getting along with people, he said flatly.

I’m sure I’ve got a reputation around here for being a little prickly myself, Mike, I said crossing my arms.

Look, you and I both know you’ve handled projects this size a dozen times so you got the assignment. It’s what we do here, Bobby, deal with it, he said as he crossed his arms and looked at me with his head tilted. His face looked very tired.

I leaned my back against the wall in front of Mike’s desk. I looked sideways at the dark circles under Mike’s eyes for moment and then I stared at the opposite wall in silence.

The decision had been made by people several levels above Mike. There was no point in beating up on him, one of the few people around this place who was more or less on my side. I would need his support before this was over.

Okay. The assignment’s been made, I finally relented.

Christ, Bobby, you can handle this blindfolded. Help me out, here, he said pleading.

I get to choose who works with me, I stated after letting him hang for a minute.

We’ll have to talk through that one. You get busy on that project planning and then we’ll discuss who’s on the team. At most, you’ve got two weeks. Get back with me after you’ve got a start on the plan and the budget, say three days from now, he said looking at the calendar on his smart-phone.

When I was away from Mike, back at my desk, I felt really anxious. I’d been around enough to know this project was starting off badly.

A non-technical marketing person, albeit a relatively knowledgeable one, was leading the whole thing. Strike one. Schedule demands, even for the initial project plan, were being dictated by upper management and were already unrealistic and inflexible. Strike two. The size of the effort would be hard for anyone to get their head around, and that alone multiplied the chances for failure several times. Strike three.

I couldn’t voice it, but I felt like a condemned man who was assigned to design and build the electric chair that was to be used for his own execution.

All I could do at this point was take Mike’s advice and plow into the project planning and hope that by some miracle this project would be one of the large-project successful exceptions.

Chapter 4

On Thursday I met with Mike again for a work session between the two of us in his office. We spent over an hour of the ninety minute meeting on the initial cost estimate work I had completed, and then we got into who would actually help me.

Can I have Stan? I asked.

You can have Stan, but if you take Stan, the other senior person is Holly. It’s a package deal, he said as though he had already thought through the issue.

Mike, you’re killing me here. I think she’s pissed that she didn’t get this assignment and the woman hates me.

Nope, no substitution from the menu; and besides, everybody hates you, he said as he shook his head. He was kidding, but not really kidding, so I just let it go.

When we finished the meeting I walked straight from Mike’s office to talk with Stan and Holly, and surprisingly, Holly was at least passively cooperative. I assigned her to handle the project plan creation, maintenance, and all of the scheduling. Stan and I would crunch the budget numbers and manage the four teams. I got an intern to help Holly because I knew the planning and scheduling detail was going to be bigger than a one-person job.

Stan and the intern had the hardware techies set up three desktops, and another one to act as our server in the second floor small conference room. After they tested all of the hardware Stan spent some time checking out the accesses we had been allowed.

They’ve given us access to everything, and I mean everything, Stan said handing me a list.

Wow, even access to the lab and field test data, I said as I glanced at the sheet. I thought only senior security people and God saw that stuff, I added, handing the sheet back to Stan and turning away to continue preparing for a meeting for which I was almost late.

That’s what I’ve heard, too.

Keep that intern away from the testing stuff. We’re not familiar with this kid, and for all we know she was planted here by a competitor or something, I said.

Isn’t that being a little paranoid? he responded.

Look, remember when you were at Coke, how protective they were of their formula? I asked, turning toward him again.

Yeah, sure, he shrugged.

I was a consultant there for a while, and I sure do. These guys are the same with their test data, maybe more so. Hide and watch; before this thing is over, security will be all over our asses about how we handle that data, so be careful.

Okay, but Bobby, there’s something you should know, Stan said.

What’s that? I asked, still looking at the screen in front of me.

There are some things about this data that look fishy, and I mean really fishy, he said.

Look, I’ve got to run, I said, glancing at my watch. When I’m done with this meeting, you and I need to talk. I don’t like the sound of the word ‘fishy’ when we’re talking about data on any project that’s got my name on it, I added and then hurried off.

Chapter 5

I went straight to a three hour whiteboard work session with a team of coders who were to deliver the software changes for the PC and mainframe interface, but Stan’s comment stayed on my mind and I sought him out after the meeting.

I saw him alone in the snack room, and asked right away, What did you mean earlier when you said the data looked fishy?

That data’s been tampered with, he said, whispering and looking over his shoulder.

Tampered with? I asked, looking at him as though he was a crazy person.

I’ve looked at the test data, and I’m telling you, that data has been altered, he said very seriously.

Stan, what in the world are you talking about? I asked.

Let me back up a couple of steps, he said leaning toward me. When I was at Coke, I was temporarily assigned to a large security project. I worked on it for about six months. The software security experts they hired taught us how to read logs and erased data on hard drives, even after someone had attempted to delete the activity, he said.

Yeah, I think anyone that’s ever watched a cop show on TV is familiar with that concept, I responded.

What I’m getting at is that I know enough to know that the original entries on the lab and the human test data were deleted. They then replaced the deleted data with other data that indicates the testing was positive, he added.

What is it, uh, Cardi something, and Arti something?

Cardiphan, and Articlear, Stan answered.

Yeah, right. Big money makers, I replied.

They’re out not even two years and the company has made billions. But they’ve made their money by lying, Bobby he said.

Big corporations lie every day, so what?

Two hundred and four people have died, and counting. They’ve covered it up with legally sealed agreements with the families they pay off. They knew the drugs were bad before they hit the market, and they just manufactured data to prove otherwise, he said.

I just stood there in silence with raised eyebrows.

And all of those lawyers up on the nineteenth floor have probably all been pretty busy the last eighteen months covering their asses. I think we’ve got to report this, Bobby, Stan added.

Chapter 6

At six thirty, after spending more than an hour checking out the databases Stan told me about, I called it quits for the day. As I walked to my car I realized how exhausted I was after an eleven-and-a-half hour day.

Besides fatigue, the thing that really weighed on me was Stan’s persistence to report what was contained in the databases to the authorities. I spent hours checking the data myself and I could see what Stan was talking about, but I needed this job, if for no other reason than dependence on the income. I wanted to talk with Malcolm Rawls, the man who hired me here, and the person who’s always my voice of reason.

I dialed his number and he answered right away, and invited me to come to his home.

I nervously checked my watch several times while inching through what was left of rush hour traffic on the way to Malcolm’s.

Come, in, come in, Malcolm said, smiling when he answered the door.

He put his arm around my shoulder as he ushered me into the large sunken den area in front of one of the huge fireplaces in his home just as his wife, Jeanne, appeared.

Hey, sweetie, where have you been? We haven’t seen you in ages, she said as she leaned in and smooched me on the cheek. She was wearing a low-cut summer dress which accentuated her voluptuous figure. She was constantly tanned from hours of tennis and gardening in the relentless Georgia sun, and her gorgeous face always beamed when she flashed her smile. She was well over fifty, but anyone would think she was an attractive woman in her late thirties.

Not intentional at all, Jeanne, and you’re gorgeous as always.

Oh, stop it, you old flirt. Would you like a glass of wine? We have that kind you like already chilled? she said with her bright green eyes looking up into mine.

Yeah, I need one, or maybe a couple, I added.

Jeanne whisked out of the room, and I noticed that Malcolm winced at my comment about the wine. He knew my past.

Malcolm motioned for me to sit on the cream colored sectional and he sat on the corner of it opposite of me, about two feet or so feet away.

He and I were alone and I faced one of the wide, raised natural stone fireplaces in his home. The heavy stone mantle of this fireplace was covered with pictures of his nieces, nephews and grandchildren, in frames of all sizes, with goofy little faces laughing out at the world from campgrounds and back-yard settings. While we shared a second glass of wine I poured out my story.

And this fellow, what’s his name again? Malcolm asked after I was ten minutes into the tale about Stan finding the altered data.

Stan. Stan Rogers, I answered.

Rogers is sure that the data was doctored, absolutely sure? Malcolm asked, focusing on my every word.

As sure as he can be. He told me that he had several months of data security training on a big project at Coke, and he said that the negative lab and field test data had clearly been deleted and replaced with other data showing positive results, I answered.

And the new data showed the Articlear and Cardiphan lab and human trials being okay? he asked leaning closer to me.

That’s what he told me, I said.

Malcolm put his hand to his mouth and looked at the floor, and the room became totally quiet. He then stood and paced with his arms folded behind him for a couple of minutes, the only sound was his feet rustling on the carpet.

The reason I dumped this on you, Malcolm, is that I’m worried about being involved in a whistleblower situation that will cause me to lose my job. You know my background; this is probably my last rodeo.

Don’t panic yet, he said after returning to his seat and looking into my eyes. But, if all of this is true, Bobby, you know what has to be done.

And you know what happens to whistleblowers. It’s corporate suicide. I’ll be unemployable, and I am in no shape to handle it financially, Malcolm. With the way I was living I’m lucky to be straight and holding a good job, and saving for the future wasn’t a part of that old lifestyle, I added.

I know, Bobby, I know, he said, and then looked at a picture of his daughter in an ornate silver frame on the end table next to us.

My career at PHARTEK began with the million to one interview I got with Malcolm about seven years ago. I had been straight, but unemployed for a year, and had fruitlessly sent out resumes on borrowed computers for months.

During that interview he looked past my somewhat spotty job history and focused on the extensive program management and consulting experience I had legitimately accumulated, which PHARTEK badly needed at that time. The interview was scheduled for forty five minutes, but we talked for an hour and a half, about everything.

Midway through the discussion, he shared that he had a thirty year old daughter who had overcome a drug addiction, how thankful he and his family were to have her back and how well she was doing. I’m pretty sure Malcolm was able to read between the lines with my resume, and his sharing the story about his daughter was a way of saying he understood. Her photo on the end-table next to him is what had now diverted his attention.

First, do what you can to safely verify your suspicions, he said as he looked back from the photo and directly into my eyes. If your intuitions are true, then perhaps if it were reported to the FDA instead of the police there might be the chance of anonymity.

I nodded in silence and looked at the floor.

Chapter 7

I went home to walk and feed my best friend, Mac. He’s a brown and white spotted French bulldog who’s four now, and I’ve had him since he was a puppy. He’s the most easygoing little guy in the world, and the unspoken covenant between us is that I provide the veterinary care, the food and shelter, and he provides the non-judgmental unspoken adoration. It’s probably the best agreement I’ve ever made.

A Mrs. Calhoun comes over twice a day when I’m at work and takes him for a walk. She loves Mac, and he likes her as well, but since Mac seems to like everyone so much it’s hard to say who his favorites are.

As I walked Mac around the neighborhood, I thought about the fact that Stan wanted to report what we had found in the PHARTEK databases, and how it was going to affect my life.

The loss of our jobs was a foregone conclusion. I had maybe a two, or possibly three month money reserve. After that I’d be on the street, because after being named as a corporate rat the chance of getting another job would be slim and none.

After eating, I watched a Braves game and fell asleep in my recliner in front of the television with fitful thoughts of job-loss running through my brain. I dreamt of Mac and me, filthy cold and wet, sleeping under a freeway overpass with all of our possessions in a grocery shopping cart.

I woke up at a quarter past two with Mac snoring on my lap. I stumbled into my bedroom and Mac waddled right behind me, chasing the body warmth.

Chapter 8

When I arrived at the office at eight twenty on Saturday morning, it was completely quiet. I spent about an hour-and-a-half on the budget, and it was coming together.

When I checked the project schedule for a headcount I was blown away. Holly and the intern had it nearly a third of the way done and they had started less than four days ago. The resource data for the forty-nine people to be involved in the project, and a quarter of the hourly estimates, were already in. I was impressed. Holly wasn’t the most approachable person in