The Last Lie Read online

  Cavanaugh nodded, then ran a hand over his unshaven chin as he sat across from me. “My daughter Kelly started working at VTF about two years ago. You probably already know that I was the production manager. I was there for about six years. Kelly kinda grew up there. I’m a single dad, Kelly’s mom left us when she was two, so that meant Kelly ended up being alone a lot of the time. Not a great thing for a high school kid if you know what I mean. So I’d have her come over to the factory after school now and then. You know, just to make sure she stayed out of trouble. High school kids can run pretty wild if you don’t watch them carefully.”

  I nodded, remembering Lane’s turbulent high school years. And the furtive phone calls I’d have to make to her friends trying to get her home so my father wouldn’t have to worry. I resisted the urge to pepper Cavanaugh with questions knowing that this was his story to tell and his pace to tell it.

  “But what I didn’t count on was that she’d have a thing for Bowman.”

  “A thing? As in she had a crush on him?” Interesting. I wondered if Seth had known.

  “Exactly. She followed him around like a puppy dog waiting for him to dole out treats. Didn’t bother me at first. What 17-year-old kid doesn’t develop a crush? As far as I could tell Bowman was always a decent guy. Least I could keep an eye on her there. But once she turned 18, things changed.”

  He looked up at me, shaking his head. “I don’t know, must’ve been all that hanging out at VTF. All everybody talks about there is what workout they’re doing. How many reps they did last night. All silly stuff to me. I don’t do any of that shit, but Kelly was into it. She started working out, getting in with that crowd of young people at the facility who are obsessed with how they look. Everybody wearing those tight leggings and stuff. So, she decides that she wants to be a model. A fitness model. You know one of those one of those girls that jumps around and sweats in her workout clothes.” He shrugged.

  “And how did you feel about that?”

  “Mixed feelings. I knew she wasn’t interested in going to college but I thought maybe if she was into that fitness stuff, maybe she’d be a trainer or teach some yoga class or something. I didn’t mind that. She was a pretty girl, but I didn’t think all that focus on how she looked was healthy. For her mind, you know? All I really cared about was that she was happy.”

  His eyes seemed to soften.

  “So what happened from there?” I asked, a picture of the relationship between Kelly and her father starting to form.

  “Bowman started talking to her about modeling for one of the campaigns. Some big ad campaign he wanted to do. I wasn’t involved in that stuff. I think it had to do with the expansion or some new product release. I don’t really know. Kelly didn’t care. She saw this as her big break. And I suppose it could’ve been with the company going national.”

  “And Seth was encouraging her?”

  “Sure seemed like that to me. It’s all she talked about. Started working out four hours a day if I let her. She said she needed to be “buff” for the photo shoot. I don’t know what buff means exactly, she looked good to me. But it didn’t seem to be hurting anything, so I didn’t hassle her too much.

  “But then the advertising campaign started getting pushed back. A few weeks, then a few more. Bowman kept telling her just to be patient, it was going to happen. It made Kelly crazy, she thought she’d done something wrong. That she hadn’t been working hard enough.”

  “Did the photo shoot happen?” I asked, jotting myself a note to look at dates.

  Cavanaugh got to his feet and stepped over to the mantle, picking up the photo I’d been looking at earlier. He looked at it wistfully a tiny smile on his face, and then returned the photo to its place of honor.

  “No, but that’s when things started getting a little too messy. Messy because I found out things had started to get more personal between Kelly and Bowman.”

  “Personal? As in romantic?” I tucked my hair behind my ear as I processed the thought.

  He nodded. His face was tight with anger. “Kelly kept it from me. She knew I’d go apeshit. The man’s old enough to be her father. What the hell does he want with a kid? But Kelly was over the moon. She was convinced not only that she had a big career in front of her, but that Bowman was going to help her get there. I don’t know what he told her, but something happened and all of a sudden, in her mind, she was already the new body of VTF. I warned her that Bowman probably didn't give a damn about her, that she was just the flavor-of-the-month, but she didn’t want to hear it. Not from me. She had it bad for him.”

  What the hell had Seth been thinking? An 18-year-old kid? I suddenly saw a side of Seth I hadn’t known existed, a side that disgusted me. I didn’t know if Cavanaugh was inferring a connection between Kelly’s death and the fact that she may have dated Seth, but I let him talk.

  “Do you know if they were still dating?” I said, but the question that came next was why had Seth hidden the relationship when we spoke earlier?

  “I think so, but she stopped talking about it after I gave her shit. Who knows with 18-year-old girls? There hadn’t been any big meltdowns that much I know. She was still hoping that this modeling thing was going to work. I think he was probably just stringing her along.”

  “Mr. Cavanaugh are you suggesting that their romantic relationship was somehow a factor in Kelly’s death?”

  He grimaced, then shook his head.

  “No, that’s not what I meant, I’m just saying there was something going on there that needs to be factored in. My point is she was excited. By the possible job, having a grown man pay attention to her.”

  “I understand that you would be concerned about a relationship between a man of his age and your daughter, but I’m still not clear on your accusation that somehow Seth had something to do with Kelly’s death.” My mind tussled with the implications. Seth had behaved badly, but the way I saw it, this was another strike against Cavanaugh.

  “What I’m just trying to tell you is the full picture,” he said. “That’s a part of it. The other part is that she was working her ass off to be this ideal. Having people at work tell her she needed to tone up here and tighten up there. Hours and hours a day were spent in the gym but she barely ate anything.”

  “You mean she was dieting?” I shifted in my seat and slipped off my coat. Cavanaugh was simply a father consumed by grief.

  “She went even further than that. She counted her protein intake, fat, all that. Said she was trying for ketosis, whatever the hell that is. It was really out of control. She weighed everything, measured everything she put in her mouth. Charted what she ate. She wouldn’t eat anything that didn’t help get her towards her goal. I thought it was crazy, but she felt this is what she had to do to get this modeling gig.”

  Cavanaugh was on his feet again, this time pacing, seemingly unable talk about these details without moving. Even his words were coming out now faster and more urgently.

  He sighed. “She also went hard and heavy with the VTF drinks as part of her program. She probably drank six or more of them a day. I would bring home cases for her.”

  I’d read a little bit about ketogenic diets. The theory was if you ate a low carb, high fat diet, you’d force your body into ketosis and therefor use your fat for energy production. It was popular among the extreme-health crowd and fitness enthusiasts. Seemed like too much work to me.

  “Beyond being worried about her nutritional level, do you believe that this regime was in some way taxing her body or that it contributed somehow to her heart failure?” I made another note to look into the health risks.

  “Lady, for a reporter you’re not picking up on this too fast,” Cavanaugh shot at me. “Let me put the pieces together for you. What I’m saying is the thing that changed, the thing I believe made a difference in her being alive or dead, is that she couldn’t get enough of that damn drink. I know they’ve got all these quality control measures in place, or at least we did before I got yanked out of there. Who the h
ell knows what they’re doing now? I’m saying that we don’t know what high doses of this stuff does. Six to eight drinks a day? Do we know that? No, we don’t.”

  He was agitated. Pummeling his argument as if I were a jury. And his question was valid. Could Seth or anyone say without a doubt that high doses of the drink were safe? What was the safe limit of caffeine intake? How much did Lane drink?

  “And the sales of the stuff were coming in so fast we couldn’t keep up,” he continued. “We were grabbing new vendors left and right. Running three shifts a day to meet the demand. This stuff has ballooned in popularity and we didn’t staff up. We didn’t have the money to staff up. Maybe something happened with the quality of the product? Don’t know. I’m not there. What I do know is that my daughter started drinking six or eight of these damn things a day and the next thing I know, she’s dead.”

  15

  I pulled up to the squat red brick building that was VTF’s production facility at 9a.m. Finding the parking lot nearly full, I squeezed my small Audi into a slot between the dumpster and a tricked-out Chevy Silverado. Grabbing my bag, I sidled out of the tight space careful to avoid brushing against the trash, and then headed toward the door.

  Cavanaugh’s pain had gotten to me. My initial instinct was that he was telling the truth, or at least the truth he believed. But his pain could also be guilt. Could he, as Seth suggested, have tampered with the product, and now believe it had accidentally caused his daughters death?

  I hadn’t been able to let go of the thought, so I’d phoned Seth late yesterday afternoon and asked for a tour of the manufacturing facility. He’d agreed, assuming he now had an ally that could throw some positive publicity his way. The best buffer against bad press was lots of good. I didn’t correct him.

  I still wasn’t sure of the timeline of the alleged tampering or how Seth was certain it had been a one-time event, but I intended to find out. Now the question was, what would I tell Borkowski? Nothing, yet.

  I walked in to a bare-bones reception area. Wood paneling, molded plastic chairs, and threadbare carpet. Designer furnished it wasn’t. An elderly Hispanic woman sat at a desk behind a sliding glass partition as if it were a doctors office. I introduced myself and told her I had an appointment with the plant manager. She told me to take a seat then buzzed my tour guide.

  Knowing that Seth was wired to turn on the PR spin at every opportunity, I’d asked him not to be here, but my request was dismissed out of hand. Seth fervently controlled his company message. Aside from the parade of bodies, which were nothing more than props in marketing images, no one else gave voice to VTF. Seth was the brand and not about to slack off now, even while healing from a gunshot wound. I had hoped for unfettered time to ask questions, to explore what might have happened without Seth guiding what I saw or heard, but that looked unlikely. After speaking with Cavanaugh yesterday, I was feeling confused and uncomfortable. Seth was a friend, and I wanted him to be successful, yet he’d chosen to hide his suspicions about product tampering and hadn’t disclosed his romantic involvement with Kelly. Why?

  A Hispanic man in his early forties opened the door to the left of the reception window and stepped into the room. He was short and round with an easy smile, a refreshing change from the hyper-toned gym rats in the corporate office.

  “Good morning Ms. Keller. I’m Martin Vasquez. Welcome to my second home.” He laughed.

  I held out a hand. “Thank you so much for meeting me on such short notice Mr. Vasquez.”

  “I’m always happy to show people around the place. Everyone seems so surprised that producing a drink is so involved.” He smiled. “Why don’t you follow me to the back? What I thought we’d do is run through production in the order we make it.”

  “Perfect. Has Seth arrive yet?”

  “He just phoned. He’s hit a small traffic delay and will meet us soon.”

  I smiled to myself and followed Martin down a spartan hallway. At the end, he opened heavy metal doors, and we stepped into a cavernous space. It was well-lit and bustling with a low din of machinery. I stood for a moment taking in the flurry of activity.

  We walked to a small office on the left, nothing more than four partitioned walls, three desks, a few whiteboards, and some battered file cabinets.

  “This is my office,” he said. “I’m both the plant manager and the head of production. This is where we handle ordering our raw materials, do projections based on seasonal demands, and manage our inventory.”

  “How many products are you producing?” I asked.

  “VTF’s primary product is our energy drink. Six different flavors. Based on the success of the core product, we have three other product lines in research and development. That’s done at the corporate office but I work with the team on formulation, sourcing, and production planning.”

  “Will those products be produced in this facility?”

  “Since we’re still in the R&D stage, we probably shouldn’t go too deep into that. Don’t want to give away any company secrets.” He smiled and winked.

  “So currently you produce only the energy drink.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “And 100% of the production is done here?” There was too much background noise, even in the enclosed office, to make recording possible so I resorted to old-fashioned pencil and paper, scribbling cryptic notes as we spoke.

  “Yes, although orders have tripled over the last year. At some point, we’ll need to add another production line. We haven’t determined if we’ll go outside or expand this facility, but for the moment we’re managing. It’s gotten a little hectic but we can handle it.” He smiled, the pride obvious.

  “And the raw materials, where are they sourced?” I was having trouble imagining how Seth’s theory of deliberate tampering could be true. Contamination, spoilage, accident, were all far more likely. Was Seth getting a little paranoid because of the IPO?

  “We make every effort to source our raw materials domestically. We have a handful of dedicated suppliers.”

  A young woman, in a plaid flannel shirt over her T-shirt and jeans, walked into the office and shut the door. She was in her early twenties with long dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail and a butterfly tattoo on the side of her neck. She eyed me suspiciously as she took a seat at one of the computers.

  “This is Olivia,” Martin said. “She’s my production assistant.”

  I held up my hand and introduced myself.

  “You doing a story on the place?” she asked, looking me up and down.

  “Possibly. I’m doing a little background work. Research,” I said, being as vague as possible. Martin hadn’t asked for specifics of my story and I didn’t need him to start now.

  “And Ms. Kellner is a friend of Mr. Bowman’s,” Martin chimed in.

  She stared at me unsmiling as if trying to figure that out. What was up with the attitude? I chalked it up to her age group and turned to Martin.

  “Let’s go see how the stuff is made,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said to Olivia as we passed. She looked up, nodded, then went back to her computer screen.

  I followed Martin out to the production floor. Metal shelving rimmed the left side of the space stacked with tubs and jugs and bottles. Rows of inventory of what I assumed were the raw materials used to make the drink were stacked nearly to the ceiling.

  “As you can tell, this is where we store the ingredients. Items are pulled from this area and used to fill the machines that we use for bottling.”

  I scanned the labels on the packaging, but it was hard to tell what I was looking at without a scientific journal in front of me, nor could I figure out the organizational system. The shelves were chock-full, tubs stacked sideways and on the floor, as inventory overflowed it’s assigned space. It wasn’t clear to me how they found what they needed.

  “Is there a master inventory marking system that tells you what you have on hand or where it’s stored?”

  “You may have noti
ced tags on each shelf. Each item we purchase is identified with an SKU, a stock keeping unit.” He pointed out a six-digit number on the nearby shelf. “Things have been a little crazy, given the demand, but we know exactly what we have and where it is,” he said confidently. “I’m hoping we’ll have time to do some reorganization after the first of the year. Although, I could probably use another 200 square feet for ingredient storage. Let’s go over to bottling.”

  The main cavern of the room was a hamster maze of conveyor belts moving empty bottles along the path where they were each filled with liquids.

  Martin’s phone pinged him. “Sorry, I’ve got a situation I need to check on,” he said, after reading the text. “Wait here for a moment and I’ll send Olivia over to finish things up. Stop in my office before you leave.”

  I stood watching in awe at the efficiency of the technology. Large silver drums containing the mixture squirted out rationed amounts of elixir. A single bottle moved to four stations before being capped at the end.

  Olivia joined me as I watched. “So, what’s in each of these hoppers?” I asked.

  “Sorry, trade secrets.” She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d have to kill you.”

  I ignored her clichéd joke. At least she seemed in a better mood now.

  “Each hopper contains its own mix of ingredients. The large one is water.”

  “Careful.” I smiled at her and cocked a brow.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, water, our big bad trade secret. The others contain botanicals and flavoring. Once the liquid ingredients are added, the bottles are capped and labeled, then they proceed down the belt where the mixture is shaken.”

  “And are the core ingredients of each of the flavors the same?” I asked, thinking about Seth’s theory that one shipment had been adulterated.

  “Mostly. Some of the botanicals change for flavor. Right now, we have six, with two more being released next month.”

  “So this production line handles one flavor at a time. Correct?”

  “Yes, we swap out the hopper when we need to switch to another flavor. Obviously that takes coordination so that the proper labels are applied to the proper drink. Line gets shut down when we switch out flavors, so it’s not too bad.”