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BOSTON

     Madison McKean checked her list. Two more client matters and she was done for the day. First, she had to reassure a nervous client that the jogging bra advertisement would run in the marathon section of Sunday's Boston Globe. Then, she'd review some rough-cut television commercials for Norwegian Skin Care Products before tomorrow's presentation.
     As the account director on Norwegian Products, a major client at Boston's CPR Advertising agency, Madison was responsible for all aspects of the Norwegian Products advertising. And her recent promotion to Group Account Director had made her responsible for some other agency clients as well. It was a lot of work, at times overwhelming, but she loved it.
     Suddenly, she remembered Hanna and Emily, her new copywriter and art director team. It was their first day on the job and she'd been too busy to see how they were doing. She hurried down the hall and leaned into their joined cubicle.
     "So, by now you two have probably whipped up some fantastic ads for Lunch Munchies, right?" Madison said, smiling.
     They smiled back, but their smiles faded fast.
     Madison sensed something was wrong. "Problems?"
     "Sorta," Hanna said.
     "Like?"
     "Like our first assignment. It's not Lunch Munchies. It's weird!"
     "Why weird?"
     "Because Larry, the creative director, and his associate asked us to work on that ... new Norwegian product."
     Madison hadn't heard anything about any new Norwegian product, and as account director she would know. Her antenna went on prank alert.
     "What strange new product?"
     Hanna and Emily seemed surprised that she didn't know.
     "Well, you know about Norwegian's feminine hygiene spray...." Hanna said.
     Madison nodded. "Well, they told us that Norwegian is introducing a hygiene spray for men. A genital spray. They want us to name it and come up with a theme line for it."
     Madison's laugh exploded from her mouth.
     Hanna and Emily stared at her.
     "Excuse me, but there is no new Norwegian male genital spray."
      "What?"
     "The boys were putting you on, initiating you new girls."      Hanna and Emily blushed, then began to laugh.
     "That's too bad," Hanna said.
     "Why?"
     "We came up with a cool name and theme."
     “For a male genital spray?”
     “Yeah.”
     “What?”
     “UMPIRE ... FOR FOUL BALLS!”
     Madison buckled over with laughter and had to steady herself on a nearby chair. “I love it! Stick that line over the photo of a male crotch, then show those bozos!”
     They smiled.
     Suddenly, Madison sensed someone behind her. Turning, she saw Elaine, her assistant, looking concerned.
     “Your father’s on your private line,” Elaine whispered. “He says it’s very urgent.”
     Her father, Mark McKean, didn't make urgent calls. He hadn't made one to her since the day her mother died six years ago. Madison excused herself, hurried down to her office and grabbed the phone.
     "Dad...?"
     "Sorry to interrupt, Madison. But I...." He sounded short of breath. "I still can't believe it!"
     "Believe what?"
     "Someone at my agency sent me an anonymous e-mail accusing me of misappropriating 8.7 million dollars of company money. It's absolutely preposterous!"
     She was stunned. "Of course it is." Her father, chairman and CEO of Turner Advertising in Manhattan, was the most ethical man she'd ever known.
     "I haven't taken a dime! Ever!"
     "I believe you."
     "Our CFO just checked all agency financial records. There's not one red cent missing anywhere."
     "You're fighting this?"
     "With everything I've got! But the memo demands that I resign now. I wanted you to hear all this from me, and not through the agency grapevine, or worse, the newspapers."
     “Any idea who’s behind this?”
     He paused. “No, but the $8.7 million figure seems familiar. I saw it somewhere in the company recently. In someone’s office, I think. On a file, or computer maybe. But there’s so much happening so fast, I can’t remember where. I’m even concerned my office phone may be tapped. That’s why I’m calling you on my cell phone.” Her dad, always cool-headed and unflappable, sounded very anxious.
     “Dad, listen, I’m taking the next flight home tonight.”
     “That’s not necessary, Madison.”
     “I’m coming. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
     He took a deep breath.
     “What’s wrong?” she asked.
     No response.
     “Dad, what the hell’s going on there?”
     “I’m not sure. Just be damn careful, Madison, please!”
     “Dad...?”
     The phone connection went dead.