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But the next phase of the decision-making process loomed just a cab ride away.
CHAPTER 8
11:35 A.M.
Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation
Roland Ferguson was fifty-six, and had been Ruisseau's VP of human resources for eleven years. He'd left corporate America at forty-one to start his own recruiting firm. He liked being his own boss, and had fully intended on keeping and running his small but successful company until retirement.
That was before Carson Brooks got ahold of him.
He'd called Roland out of the blue. But he'd sure as hell done his homework. He knew Roland's résumé inside out, including every promotion he'd ever received from the three different human resource departments he'd worked in, as well as the promising reputation he'd established since going out on his own. And, yes, he was impressed. Impressed and impressive. Carson Brooks was a dynamo. Saying no to him was almost as hard as say
ing yes. "No" meant walking away from the opportunity of a lifetime; "yes" meant committing yourself body and soul to your work.
It was a tough choice.
Not that Carson gave you one. When he wanted something, he was like a dog with a bone. And he wanted Roland to head up HR. It wasn't just what he'd seen on paper. He liked Roland's style, his inherent people skills. And he wanted those skills applied at Ruisseau.
After two weeks of intense negotiations and equally intense soul-searching, Roland had hired a manager for his recruiting firm, and had gone to work for Carson Brooks.
Two months later he'd sold his company outright and made his stay at Ruisseau permanent.
His job wasn't easy. Working for a hard-assed genius with the energy level of an eighteen-year-old and a 24/7 work ethic produced an environment that was fast-paced, high-pressure, and crackling with ambition. Which meant equal amounts of success and tension, commitment and rivalry.
As a result, Roland had faced his fair share of hostile employees and explosive situations.
But the current crisis blew the rest of them out of the water.
Nothing had prepared him for the past two days. First, walking into Ruisseau and finding a roped-off CEO's office that was now a crime scene. Second, hearing that Carson was hovering somewhere between life and death. And third, enduring the somber aura enveloping the office, not to mention the taut apprehension emanating from an office full of coworkers who were now attempted murder suspects.
Including him.
He'd seen the two detectives briefly, first yesterday when they'd dropped in on the team of cops scouring Carson's office for clues, then again this morning when they'd arrived around ten-thirty, only to vanish into the executive wing for almost an hour, presumably to interview people.
Now it was his turn.
There they were in his office, pressing him for whatever leads they could find.
God, this was a political nightmare. And it might end up being a personal one, as well.
He had to be careful.
"Mr. Ferguson, we appreciate your time." Detective Whitman was seated adjacent to her partner in one of the two chairs directly across from Roland's desk. "We'll try not to keep you long."
"I'll help in any way I can." Roland pulled off his glasses, rubbing his eyes in a few unsteady motions before shoving the glasses back onto his nose. "I still can't believe this happened."
"We understand your shock. Hopefully, Mr. Brooks will pull through. In the meantime, it's up to us to find out who's responsible." Whitman glanced over her notes. "Let's start with some basics. In total, how many employees work at Ruisseau?"
"Just over a hundred. That includes the part-timers, and the R&D staff at our New Jersey research facility in Englewood Cliffs. We also have about a dozen interns in the various departments. In addition, there's our European Operations, headquartered in Paris. It's got a managing director and a half-dozen employees."
She nodded. "And how many of the people you just described would have access to Mr. Brooks?"
That question was safe enough. Answering it candidly required no finger-pointing. "If you're asking about the chain of command here, it's very informal. Carson's not into protocol. If the custodian came up with a great idea, Carson would meet with him. So I don't think you can zero in on anyone using that method." Roland cleared his throat, giving the detectives a cautious look. "I realize you're just doing your job, but do you really believe someone at Ruisseau shot Carson?"
"We don't know, Mr. Ferguson," Detective Barton retorted. "Why? Do you think someone here's guilty?"
"Definitely not."
