The Backup Asset (32 page)
Authors: Leslie Wolfe
...Tuesday, July 12, 9:10PM EDT (UTC-4:00 hours)
...Sylvia Copperwaite’s Residence
...Lynnwood, Virginia
The doorbell startled Sylvia; she had dosed off on her couch, and the book she’d been reading had dropped to the floor.
She looked at her watch and frowned. It was late . . . Who could it be so late?
The doorbell rang again, prolonged, impatiently.
“Yeah, who is it?” she asked and looked through the peephole at the unfamiliar man standing there.
“Ms. Copperwaite?” the stranger asked.
She replied through the locked door, “Yes, who is this?”
“I am here to discuss your gambling addiction and what that will do to your career.”
She felt the blood drain from her veins and her heart starting to pound in a deafening rhythm.
“We can do this through the locked door if you prefer,” the stranger added unperturbed, “for your neighbors’ enjoyment. There’s no entertainment like real-life drama, you know.”
She removed the chain and unlocked the door, then invited the stranger in. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a fierce, uncompromising look in his eyes.
“Come in,” she said hesitantly.
The stranger walked in and remained standing.
“Ms. Copperwaite, tomorrow you will be fired from your job, because your employer will learn you stole money to cover your gambling debt. Then you will be arrested for theft.
Fear hit her like a fist in her stomach, almost making her keel over.
“That’s . . . that’s not true,” she managed to articulate. “I haven’t stolen a dime.”
“That’s not really relevant, Ms. Copperwaite, it’s just a minor detail.”
She let herself slide to the couch, her knees suddenly too weak to support her. She felt the burn of streaming tears coming from her eyes. She’d always feared she’d hit rock bottom some day, and wondered what that would look like.
“You have a choice though,” the man added. “Entirely up to you.”
“Who are you? And what do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter who I am; only what I want, and what I can do. I want the power source and storage schematics for the laser cannon,” the man said calmly, looking her straight in the eye.
She turned pale, as her brain started processing the information in a different light. She suddenly became aware of the man’s slight accent that she couldn’t place.
Oh, my God . . .
she thought.
Oh, my God . . .
She hugged herself and started rocking back and forth, still seated on the side of her couch.
“That’s all you want?” she asked quietly, almost whispering.
“Yes, that’s all.”
The man watched her silently, giving her time to make up her mind. There wasn’t much choice. Maybe she could call someone and explain. Would the Feds believe her?
“There’s a bright side to your cooperation, if you’ decide to help us. Your gambling debts have indeed been paid, every single dime. Cash deposits were made in your name at the ATM, using your bankcard. Incidentally, the same amount of money was stolen tonight. No one can correlate the two events unless you decide to decline my request.” The man made his threats with the calm and detached demeanor of a TV weather announcer. He was simply stating the facts.
She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes pinned to the carpet. Trapped. She was trapped, with no way out.
“It’s up to you if you continue to gamble or not, but as of today all your accounts are taken care of. All we need in exchange for this generous gift is the power storage schematics. Your call; take it or leave it.”
Silence fell between them, interrupted briefly by Sylvia’s whimpers and sniffles, as her tears continued to fall, staining her cheeks.
She felt a chasm of fear and darkness open inside her, then heard herself speak quietly.
“OK, I’ll do it.”
~~ The End ~~
~~~~~~~~
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EXECUTIVE
Leslie Wolfe
A Novel
*** PREVIEW ***
...1
...Thursday, March 25, 9:42AM
...Corporate Park Building, Third Floor
...Irvine, California
"I checked her out, and everything is just as expected." Steve pushed a thin file over the large desk, toward his boss. The man took it and flipped carefully through the pages, mumbling his agreement to the various things he was reading.
"Is she available yet?"
"No, sir, waiting for your approval."
The man gave the file and the photo attached to it another thoughtful look.
"Do you think she's ready?"
"No, sir," Steve answered. "But she could be, with a little bit of time and effort."
"She's so young," the man said, "so young. I hope we're right about this."
"She's not any younger than I was when I met you," Steve replied.
"True."
The man stood up and paced the floor for a few minutes, looking out the windows of his office. The sun was climbing in the sky, inundating their world with the crisp morning light. Everything would turn out all right.
"OK, please proceed."
Steve could hear the smile in his voice.
...2
...Friday, April 2, 11:13AM
...Traveling Tech Corporate Offices
...San Diego, California
"I can't do that. We're talking about one of the best tech support analysts I have ever had." George Auster's chubby face was sweating heavily, while trying to persuade his visitor.
His morning was turning into a nightmare that he could not begin to comprehend. The man standing in front of him was not willing to negotiate. This man had stepped through the door, put a picture on his desk, and looked him straight in the eye.
"She has to go. You have 48 hours. Or you lose everything."
He had no choice.
...3
...Saturday, April 10, 6:22PM
...Ridgeview Apartments
...San Diego, California
Your next opportunity awaits.
"I definitely hope so," Alex mumbled, waiting for a new search page to load, while staring at the promising slogan of yet another job board.
With little patience for what she was doing, and in desperate need of a job, Alex was browsing page after page of countless job postings, reading ads, and looking for possible fits. With rent due in just two weeks' time and no money left in the bank, she was considering a variety of jobs, spanning from boring-to-death customer service to marketing, but not ignoring any other available options. It was no longer the issue of making the right career choice; it was about survival and paying the bills.
At 29, she was living alone in a small two-bedroom apartment that looked like a war zone. Not preoccupied by the appearance of her home, she had furnished the apartment with a bizarre selection of items, all serving the purpose of functionality. She had focused on what she needed at particular stages in her life, with no consideration given to furniture styles or colors.
Her desk was huge, quite old, and made of solid wood. It had two sets of drawers, one on each side. Not one square inch of the desk's surface was visible, as it was covered with bills, handwritten notes, and office equipment. Her computer took most of the available space, together with a modem, two printers, a scanner, and a phone, all connected by numerous intertwined wires.
The past few days had been carbon copies of one another— search after search, application after application. She had no choice but to keep going.
...4
...Friday, April 16, 8:40AM
...Corporate Park Building, Third Floor
...Irvine, California
"She's available and running out of money."
"Good. Place the ad in a couple of days. Let me know the minute she sees it."
...5
...Tuesday, April 20, 5:17PM
...Ridgeview Apartments
...San Diego, California
Her chair looked as if it had been taken from a high-end, downtown office setting—black, massive, and all leather, in total contrast to the rest of the room. Leaning comfortably back in it, Alex was reviewing job posting after job posting, and applying to whatever would have had even the slightest chance of landing her an interview. Although she was quickly going through the ads, one caught her attention.
The Agency is looking for highly motivated, independent individual, possessing a variety of business skills and an adventurous spirit. Please email résumé.
"That's weird. The Agency? What kind of name is that?" Alex said out loud, breaking the silence. That had to be just another recruiter. The email address was a Yahoo account, and, without giving it much thought, she submitted her résumé and moved to the next ad.
Seconds later, a familiar sound let her know that she had new email. One look at the sender's name and she opened it right away.
From: The Agency
Subject: Received Application
Thank you for your application.
In order to perform an assessment of your skills, please click on the link below and complete the form. Please note that this process will take at least an hour of your time. Please give truthful answers to all questions, and indicate all the skills you possess. We will carefully review your online application. If selected to move forward in this recruiting process, we will be in contact with you.
"Oh, no, not another form," Alex cried. Most online recruiting forms had proven to be nothing but wasted time, without any benefit for her. Spending an average of 15 minutes on each online application form—creating profiles, usernames, and passwords for a variety of companies—was like shooting herself in the foot. She needed to spend less than one minute on each ad, because of the high volume of ads she had to browse every day. "And this has to be way worse, they say it takes at least a full hour," she complained, but there was no one there to hear her. "You have got to be kidding me . . ." Continuing to grumble, she clicked on the link indicated in the email. A browser page opened up.
Thank you for giving The Agency an hour of your time,
the message read.
"Oh, we're not there yet, pal. I've only given you 15 seconds so far," Alex replied to the written text, as she continued reading.
Please grab a cup of coffee, and let's proceed.
"OK." Smiling at the thought of having a conversation with an online recruiting form, Alex rose and went into the kitchen. Seconds later, she came back to her black leather chair, carrying a large, steaming cup of coffee. "Got it, what else do you want from me?" She clicked
next
.
If you promise total honesty, I promise a recruiting process without any bullshit,
the following page stated.
"Oh, that's fresh. That's totally new," Alex laughed. In an environment in which getting a job depended on how well you replied to some well-known questions by giving some well-known answers, the whole interviewing process seemed to her like a bad joke, told repeatedly. She was amazed at how most people refused to deal with intelligent, innovative people, preferring instead a standard, already-know-the-answer person, showing little initiative and absolutely no spark.
An old college buddy of hers was currently working as a human resources specialist for a big bank. She had taught Alex a few tricks and explained that recruiters look for specific indicators, such as no turnover of jobs without spending at least two years in the same company, no "empty time" between jobs, and no varied experience—the applicant should only reflect experience in the specific field of the job applied for. Therefore, if Alex wanted to apply for a customer-service position, she had a better chance to get that interview by listing only customer-service experience. Thanks to Leah, and to her own intuition, she was easily getting interview invitations.
With her curiosity at a peak level, she clicked
next
again.
Now that I have your full attention, let's start. Please select all options applicable to you.
The first page was the most bizarre selection ever put together. There was an endless list of skills and questions, grouped by categories. Next to each entry, there was a small check box, positioned next to an available option. By clicking in the box, a check mark would appear, indicating the respective statement was applicable or true. On the upper right corner of the Web page, a progress bar displayed that this was the first page out of 26.
"One hour? I might be fast, but I think you guys are trying to hire Superman." She took a long sip of coffee and started clicking.