The Sins of the Mother (2 page)

“What did you think of the meeting?” Olivia asked him as they waited at the elevator together. Phillip and John were still in the boardroom, and she had to get back to her office. Peter was heading back to his, a dozen blocks away. But as The Factory was his biggest client, he was at its main offices frequently. Olivia had moved the headquarters to New York from the outskirts of Boston forty years before. Her children had grown up in New York. Once they had opened branches in New Jersey, Chicago, and Connecticut, and on Long Island, New York was a more reasonable location for them than a sleepy suburb outside Boston. When they added the South, Midwest, and the West Coast, and eventually expanded their international operation, being based in New York made even more sense. Their offices filled an entire building on Park Avenue, and they had warehouses all across the country, and in Asia, South America, and Europe. Their stores had been international for thirty years. Olivia had been faithful to their old locations and maintained them but had added countless new ones. Worldwide, they now had close to a hundred stores, and every one of them was profitable and booming. Olivia had made few mistakes over the years, and corrected them rapidly when she did.

“I thought Phillip brought up some valid points,” Peter answered her as they got in the elevator together, and she pressed the button for her office floor. Phillip and John’s offices were on the same floor as hers. “I think we’re keeping a close eye on any potential trouble spots. That’s all you can do for now,” Peter reassured her.

“I don’t want to use factories with questionable practices.” She echoed what she had said in the meeting, which was a mantra for her. She had a powerful social conscience that was in operation at all times. She had a strong sense of morality, as well as a good head for business. She was an ethical woman, with a kind heart.

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, that we know of. And we’re keeping our eyes and ears wide open,” Peter said firmly.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked Peter directly with her piercing blue eyes. Nothing escaped Olivia’s notice—it was one of the many things he admired about her. And she never sacrificed her ethics for the bottom line.

“Yes, I am comfortable,” Peter said honestly.

“Good. You’re my barometer, Peter,” she said with a small smile. “When you’re not comfortable about our factories, that’s when I’ll start to worry.” It was an impressive compliment coming from her.

“I’ll let you know if anything changes. I believe that our sources are keeping us well informed. Do you have time for a quick lunch before we both go back to work?” She knew that he worked as hard as she did, and had as little idle time. They enjoyed talking business together and catching up on each other’s news. Peter was sixty-three years old, married, with a grown son and daughter, and had had a rewarding career. They had fought many battles for The Factory side by side, and won.

“I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I have an interview with
The New York Times
at one-thirty, and a mountain on my desk to deal with before that.” She dreaded the day he would retire. She relied heavily on his advice and clear-headed analysis of situations, and valued his friendship. She trusted him more than anyone else. And fortunately, he was vital and in good health and had no plans to retire for now.

“I would tell you that you work too hard, but I’d be wasting my time,” he said with a rueful smile, and she laughed as the elevator stopped on her floor.

“Tell that to yourself,” she said with a wave, as she got out, and the elevator doors stood open for a minute.

“When are you leaving on vacation?” he called after her, and she turned back as she answered.

“Not for another six weeks, in July.” He knew about the birthday trip she took with her children every year. Each time she chose a different spectacular venue to entice them and entertain them. It was a tradition she had started after her husband died, and she knew Joe would have approved. It was something she did to try and make up to them for the father they had lost, and the time she hadn’t spent with them when they were young. She knew she couldn’t make up for lost time, but the trips she arranged for them were wonderful for all of them, and she put a lot of thought and effort into it every year. She considered it a sacred time.

She waved to him and hurried back to her office just as the elevator doors closed. It was nearly twelve-thirty, and she had an hour before the reporter from
The New York Times
arrived. She had already asked her assistant to provide a salad for her at her desk. She didn’t want to waste any time. She often did that or skipped lunch, which gave her the still-lithe, girlish figure other women envied and admired. It contributed to her looking younger than her age, along with her youthful, surprisingly unlined face. She never thought about her looks.

Peter had reminded her of something with his question about her trip, and she stopped to speak to her assistant, Margaret, on her way back to her office.

“Did the e-mails go out this morning about the trip?”

“I sent them at ten o’clock this morning. And your lunch is waiting on your desk, with your messages and your call list.” She was planning to have her own lunch at her desk as well. She knew how busy Olivia was on the days that they held board meetings. Olivia would spend the rest of the day trying to catch up, and probably work late that night. Margaret was prepared to do the same. She never begrudged Olivia the time, and arranged her personal life accordingly. Her dedication to Olivia came first. Olivia inspired those who worked for her to work as hard as she did herself. They found her energy exciting.

Olivia thanked her and walked into her large, elegantly appointed office. Everything in the room was light, airy, and beige. There were contemporary paintings on the walls, some of them by her son, and a handmade beige silk rug she’d had made in Italy. It was a pleasant place to work, and there were a couch and several chairs in one corner. It was where she would conduct the interview in an hour. It was for the business section of
The New York Times
. She was being interviewed by a young reporter she hadn’t met before. Margaret had already given her a sheet with his credentials and his background. He sounded relatively harmless to Olivia, although a little green. But she had profound respect for youth, and always valued a fresh perspective and new ideas.

She loved talking to her grandchildren for that reason, and having them on the summer trip with her. It was a time she cherished with them every year, as much as she did with her own children. She hoped they’d all be excited by the trip she’d planned for them this year. It sounded like it was going to be one of their best. In her mind, it was an invitation, and in theirs it was a command performance. They knew she expected them to be there, and her invitations were always hard to resist.

The next hour flew by, as Olivia returned dozens of calls and responded to several e-mails herself. She never had time to touch her salad, before Margaret called on the intercom to tell her the reporter from
The New York Times
had arrived. Olivia told her to bring him into her office, and she stood up to greet him and came around the desk, and led him to the comfortable couch and chairs.

The man who sat down with her and returned her gaze was somewhere in his mid-twenties and was wearing jeans, running shoes, and a T-shirt. His hair was long and wild, and he looked as though he hadn’t shaved in several days. It was a familiar look for someone his age. He certainly hadn’t dressed for the occasion, and Olivia didn’t mind. She was used to earnest young reporters. Most of them looked awestruck or intimidated when they met Olivia, but this one didn’t. He began firing questions at her immediately. Olivia was undismayed by his lack of preamble or manners, and answered his questions clearly and directly, with a pleasant expression, undaunted by his style and appearance.

The interview went well for nearly an hour, despite the unbridled frankness of his questions. He asked her some hard questions, and she enjoyed them and had ready answers. And then he broadsided her by touching on the topic of their meeting that morning. He was both alert and well informed, and obviously hoped to hit her Achilles’ heel and surprise her. Nothing showed in her face, as she carefully answered him.

“Are you concerned about possible violations of child labor laws in the factories you’ve used in Asia?”

“We have no proof of that,” she said calmly, “although we’ve done extensive research. That’s always a subject that concerns me, in any aspect of our business.”

“Don’t you think it’s fair to assume that in those locations, and at the prices you’re paying, there must be violations somewhere along the line?”

“I can’t assume anything,” Olivia said quietly. “We’re continuing to explore that possibility on an ongoing basis. We have no evidence of abusive practices from any of our sources.”

“And if you do at some point, then what will you do?”

“Respond appropriately, and take action. We don’t support human rights violations,” she assured him. “Nor child labor law abuses. I have four children and three grandchildren. The plight of children has always been a subject of deep interest to me.”

“Enough to be willing to raise your prices, if you have to change factories? And start buying products at higher rates in Europe?”

“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. “The Factory does not support any kind of violation, of children or adults.” He moved off the subject then, satisfied for the moment, but she could tell that he was leery of her, and he had been very aggressive with her. He was skeptical of what she’d told him but had no proof otherwise. There was none to have. The Factory was clean and aboveboard in its dealings, which was a source of great pride to her.

She accorded the young reporter nearly an hour and a half, and then her assistant came in and rescued her, and reminded her of another meeting, which she actually didn’t have. But an hour and a half seemed long enough for an interview. He would have stayed all afternoon if she allowed it. And Olivia’s time was precious, she had work to do and an empire to run.

They shook hands, and the journalist sauntered out of her office looking as though he owned the world. She sensed that it was all posturing for her benefit, and as soon as the door closed behind him, she called Peter Williams to report to him on the meeting.

“He asked about the child labor law issues at the factories in Asia,” Olivia said, sounding concerned about it, but pleased that they were alert and had raised the issue at the board meeting.

“We have no proof of anything,” Peter reminded her. “And we’re keeping a very, very close watch,” he reassured her.

“You’re still not worried?” she asked, checking the barometer again—no one else could advise her as well as he could on this issue. She trusted Peter’s judgment completely.

“No, I’m not,” Peter said easily. “We’re clean, Olivia, no matter how hard he tries to scare you. It’s a cheap shot. Don’t buy into it. We’re keeping a very careful eye on the entire situation.”

“We’ll see what happens. I hope the article is decent.”

“It will be,” he said kindly. “How could it be otherwise?” She laughed at his comment. She knew better than that. The press wasn’t always fair, and seldom kind, even to her.

“It could be otherwise, and we both know it,” Olivia reminded him. “We’re just lucky things are going smoothly for the moment. This would be a big headache if it ever went against us.”

“We’ll take care of it, if it happens,” he said, sounding unruffled. And she knew he would. He had handled other difficult issues before, strikes in their factories, threatened lawsuits, and all manner of big and small aggravations, which was part of his job. “Just forget about all this now. We have it all in control. And in six weeks, you’ll be on vacation.”

“I can hardly wait,” she admitted to him. She’d worked hard for the past several months, just as she always did. She worked long days, and her travel schedule was brutal. She had a trip to Brazil planned, and another to New Zealand.

“You deserve the time off,” Peter said kindly. Sometimes he wondered how she juggled all that she did, and how she survived the constant stress of her responsibilities. So much was expected of her and rested on her shoulders. And she wore the heavy mantle of her position with patience, fortitude, and grace. He knew what a toll it took on her, but she rarely if ever complained, and the stress never showed on her. She always appeared to be completely in control of any situation. And a few minutes later Olivia went back to work and forgot the interview and the conversation with Peter. All was well. The concern they had about child labor violations in their factories appeared to be unfounded. That’s all she needed to know, and if something changed, she’d be the first to react. And Peter Williams knew it as well. Olivia Grayson was a force to be reckoned with, like no other, and God help the person who thought they could put something over on her, and expect her not to respond. That day would never come, no matter what the cost to her. Olivia Grayson was an honorable woman. And for the rest of the afternoon, she worked like a demon at her desk, just as she did every day, and had for nearly fifty-two extraordinary years. It was everything she loved best in life. She thrived on hard work and always had. She knew that would never change.

Chapter 2

O
livia had been helping her mother run The Factory for four years, and was twenty-two years old, when Maribelle decided they should bring in a financial adviser to help them manage things. They were growing so rapidly with the changes Olivia had made that Maribelle could no longer handle the books herself. She had hired two more bookkeepers, but Olivia and her mother agreed they needed more than that. Maribelle put out feelers through their bank, and within a short time they recommended a young man from Vermont. Joe Grayson had a bachelor’s degree in business and economics and after graduating had become a CPA. He was twenty-seven years old, and seemed far more mature than his age. He was a quiet, solid man, and had been working in the Boston area for a year, doing accounting work for small businesses. The bank manager introduced him to Maribelle, and a week later he was going over their books. And after studying them carefully for a week, he made several suggestions that made sense to her. She hired him immediately, and although he still did work for others, he rapidly became a fixture at The Factory, and was frequently in the offices at the store. He was a pleasant, easygoing young man, with a good head for figures and a practical mind. He was even-tempered and reliable, and Olivia began discussing some of her expansion plans with him, and he gave her good advice. He never just told her what she should be doing, but explained the reasons why, and she began to consult with him more and more.