[32]
QR66, 1989
Rowan sat on a mahogany bench in the antechamber of a San Francisco courtroom.
Atkins and Thames’s newest vice president, a twenty-something man named Billy Abernathy, patted his thigh. “We’ve been over this. Tell the truth.” Billy Abernathy had been with Rowan for the past three days. Their hotel rooms at the Gypsy Spa connected. For three days, over breakfast, lunch, golf, and in-room massages, Billy advised Rowan to listen to the attorneys, and above all else, tell the truth. “Susan Copper’s lawyers have the documents, so tell the truth.”
Waiting, his palms moist with perspiration, Rowan said, “I don’t see why I have to testify.”
“Look, Rowe. This is all about money. Nobody put a gun to that woman’s head and said she had to smoke two packs a day. Put on a good face in there. Nice suit, by the way.”
Rowan looked at the sleeve of the pinstriped suit that one of the lawyers’ flunkies had picked out for him. “Thanks.” It was a nice suit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn a suit. Maybe that cocktail party last year. No, he’d worn jeans and a sports jacket. Until this trial, he’d almost forgotten that he was associated with Atkins and Thames, except for those checks. The large door swung open. The bailiff, a short Hispanic woman with a scowl, said, “They’re ready for you now.”
“Tell the truth,” Billy Abernathy said. “You’re fine.”
Rowan was sworn in. Sitting in the witness box, he remembered what Billy Abernathy and the attorneys assured him: This is only a pre-trial. Tell the truth. There’s nothing to worry about. We have one hundred and fifty lobbyists in forty-seven states.
Still, thought Rowan, if this “pre-trial” were nothing to worry about, why had he been escorted around San Francisco for three days by Billy Abernathy and an entourage of attorneys?
The plaintiff’s lead attorney, Betty Solznick, a young redheaded woman in a crisp peach suit, approached the witness box. She put her hands on the box and cleared her throat. She looked to the judge, then to the plaintiff, Susan Copper, wheezing away, her face browned and carved with wrinkles. Then she looked at Rowan, her hands still on the witness box. “A few questions for you, Mr. Burke. Please state your occupation.”
“Chemist.”
“Your employer?”
“Atkins and Thames.”
“And what do you do at Atkins and Thames?”
“I’m a chemist.”
“Specifically, what do you do at Atkins and Thames?”
“I develop cigarette additives.”
“Did you develop QR66?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s in QR66 exactly?”
“Hydrochloroloxinate.”
“What does hydrochloroloxinate do?”
“It’s an additive.”
“Yes, we understand. What does your additive do exactly?”
“It enhances the flavor of a cigarette.”
“Is that all that it does, because we’ve already heard testimony from Dr. Daniel Witzel that hydrochloroloxinate, QR66, the additive you developed, triples the addictive effects of nicotine in the bloodstream. Is that a fair statement?”
“I don’t know about triples.”
“I don’t think that’s been proven.” Why hadn’t his attorney spoken up? Wasn’t Betty Solznick out of order? Rowan pushed his graying hair back. One strand after another drooped its way onto his forehead. The woman at the salon had used too much gel. His head felt greasy. He smoothed his widow’s peak.
“Are you a shareholder?”
“Yes.”
“How much did you receive last quarter in dividend checks, Mr. Burke?”
“Objection.”
Finally, Rowan thought.
One of the Atkins and Thames attorneys, a man Rowan’s age, but with a nasally voice that made him sound like he was whining, rose from his chair. “The witness’s dividend check is irrelevant.”
“Sustained,” said the judge, who appeared to Rowan to be at least eighty years old.
“Is QR66 addictive?”
“Yes.”
“Did your employers, specifically the executive officers at Atkins and Thames, know that QR66 was an addictive additive?”
“Objection, your honor. That’s hearsay. The witness has no way of knowing if the executives at Atkins and Thames were aware of the addictive nature of QR66.”
“I’ll rephrase the question. Were you ever present when your employers, specifically Roger Billingsworth, Franklin Thames, and Max Childress, were discussing the … I guess we should say addictive qualities of QR66, hydrochloroloxinate?”
“Yes.”
Betty Solznick smiled.
Rowan testified for more than an hour. He would not do this again. Never again, he thought. The gate to the witness box slammed shut as Rowan stepped down and started for the double doors.
The bailiff grabbed his elbow. “Wrong way,” she said, pointing to a side exit where another bailiff held the door open for him.
The subpoenas poured in. There were more trials, not just pre-trials, but grand-jury trials and state trials and then Rowan had to testify before the House Commerce Committee. He was always asked the same questions, and he always answered truthfully. The legal team of Atkins and Thames, thirty-six strong, ever vigilant, telling Rowan to be honest. Tell the truth. They wouldn’t be asking about QR66 if they didn’t already have the proof. Internal documents had been smuggled out of the company. Rowan thought, That fink—whoever took those documents should be shot. Look what they’ve done to me.
From his hotel room in San Francisco, Rowan phoned Becca in New York. It was six West Coast time. Nine o’clock in New York, but his daughter sounded drunk. Music blared. “How’s the apartment?”
“Good,” she said. “How’s Patty?”
“She’s good.” He clicked the TV off and sat up in bed. “I’m just calling to say I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Dad. Is everything okay?”
No, thought Rowan. Nothing’s okay. “Are you having a party?”
“Sort of. My neighbors, Lucy and Jack—I told you about them. Lucy just got a bit part in this movie they’re filming in Murray Hill.”
“Tell her congratulations.” He’d never heard of Lucy or Jack.
“Will do.” Becca relayed, “My dad says congratulations.”
“We’ll see you at Christmas,” he said.
“Will do.”
Eight months later, walking down Sixth Avenue on her way to the train, Becca stared at her father’s picture on the April 15, 1990, front page of the New York Times. The headline read, “Atkins and Thames Contends Chemist Lied.” She turned to page A12. “Franklin Thames, CEO of Atkins and Thames, testified before the House Commerce Committee, ‘Rowan Burke did not make us aware of QR66’s adverse effects. There is no documentation that myself or the Board of Trustees was ever informed of the addictive enhancement QR66 has on nicotine. In fact, documents show that QR66 was an additive meant to improve the cigarette’s flavor. Nothing more. Rowan Burke is a liar.’”
Becca read and reread, “Rowan Burke is a liar.” She tore page A12 into shreds and walked on, the scraps of newspaper trailing behind her.