On Feb. 13, the day before she gave the first of two damning testimonials to Congress, Enron vice president Sherron Watkins spent the afternoon in a cluttered conference room in the Rayburn House building on Capitol Hill. It was a cram session of sorts, a final chance for Watkins, her attorney and congressional staff members to review the dozens of subpoenaed documents she would be quizzed on the next morning. As they ate cold pizza, someone drew her attention to an e-mail titled “Confidential Employee Matter” that had been written by one of Enron’s external lawyers. “Per your request,” it began, “the following are some bullet thoughts on how to manage the case with the employee who made the sensitive report.” Her eyes skipped halfway down the page: “Texas law does not currently protect corporate whistle-blowers. The Supreme Court has twice declined to create a cause of action for whistle-blowers who are discharged…” Her pulse quickened. “I’m reading this and I’m thinking, Oh my God, it’s [dated] two days after I met with Ken Lay. Talk about shoot the messenger. I can’t believe they looked into firing me,” she says, sounding wounded even now in the retelling. “It was a horrible response. There’s nothing in there to remind them to remember the code of conduct, the vision and values.” This was how hard Watkins had fallen for Enron. Here she was, almost six months to the day since she first warned chairman Kenneth Lay of “an elaborate accounting hoax.” Her boss had long ago confiscated her hard drive, and she had been demoted 33 floors from her mahogany executive suite to a “skanky office” with a rickety metal desk and a pile of make-work projects. The atmosphere had grown so ominous that she had called office security for advice on self-defense. But still, Watkins simply could not fathom that this company, the one she had tried to save from itself, had considered taking away the job she loved. The next morning Watkins appeared before the tangle of cameras in her periwinkle blazer, with her pastor seated directly behind her. For five hours, she patiently explained the intricacies of the financial schemes that had allowed the energy giant to conceal billions of dollars of debt in dubious partnerships. Though Watkins had not worked in accounting for a decade, she knew the arcane material cold, making it sound as simple and intelligible as long division. She was relaxed enough to give the Representatives a taste of her piercing Texas wit. But her square jaw clenched whenever she spoke about her feelings for the company. She firmly indicted several top executives, yet she insisted that Lay was a “man of integrity.” And she spoke almost wistfully of Enron’s “electric” atmosphere, of people “energized to change the world.” It was Valentine’s Day, and she was still very much in love. For months afterward, Watkins faithfully went to work each day. In the absence of any real assignments, she could only bear witness to all that she had wrought, looking on as Enron auctioned off everything down to the sign at its headquarters and as the firm’s esteemed accountants, Arthur Andersen, went down in their own wave of scandal.
