Authors: Little,Bentley
“He said a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“He told me that the happiest day in history was February eleventh, nineteen seventy-seven. That was the only day where more people were happy than miserable, more good things happened than bad. There were more births than deaths, more promotions than demotions, more marriage proposals than divorce decrees. I asked him how he knew that, and he said he has access to a lot of statistics, a lot of information. He does, too.” There was a long pause. “February eleventh, nineteen seventy-seven was the happiest day on earth. It was the day Jethro Tull released their album
Songs from the Wood
.
“And it’s the day I was born.”
Craig frowned, feeling worried. “Phil?”
His friend stared blankly at him.
“He could be making this shit up. He probably is. You know that.”
Phil shook his head. “He has a lot of information.”
“Maybe so, but…”
“There are
patterns
here, Craig. We don’t see them because we don’t have access to all the data, but Patoff
does
. These are the patterns that control our lives, that determine success or failure, that make us what we are. Do you know why he called this meeting with me today? He’s looking for a replacement for Matthews. Someone to run the company.”
“Run the company? He doesn’t make that decision. The board does. And, no offense, but they’re not going to choose a division head from Sales to be CEO when there’s plenty of people above you in the hierarchy. In fact, they probably won’t even choose anyone from in-house. There’ll be a search committee—”
“I’ve been chosen. He offered me the job.”
“It’s not his to offer.”
“I’m fated to do this.”
“
Luke.
It is your
destiny
.”
Phil didn’t even crack a smile. “I think it
is
my destiny. All roads have led to this. Patoff has shown me—”
“That’s not even his name,” Craig said.
“Your name is not who you are.”
“So are you going to change
your
name? Are you going to call yourself General Mills and lead our army into the future?”
“You do not understand.”
“Understand what? Jesus, Phil—”
“Not Jesus. Ralph.”
“You’re not even making any sense!” Craig forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. “Look, if you were made the CEO of CompWare
last week
, that would have been amazing. It would have meant that we won. We’ve been fighting against these bastards the whole time, and right now you’d be in a position to dump the consultants and get things back on track. But from where I stand, it seems like you drank the Kool-Aid. Don’t you remember what happened to Jess? To Tyler? To Lupe, for God’s sake? Remember hunting the dog? Remember the other night? I mean, shit, look around at this
floor
. Does this look even remotely like any software company you’ve ever seen? This isn’t normal. This isn’t right.”
Phil looked at him flatly. “Your attitude leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Patoff’s a monster, Phil. You used to know that.”
“I suggest you go home, take the rest of the day off and think about what you’re saying.”
The elevator doors opened. Craig got in, pushing the button for the sixth floor. “No offense, Phil, but you’re not my boss.”
“I am now.”
“I’m not taking your word for that. Until I get official confirmation that you, Phil Allen, have somehow, for some reason, been promoted over everyone else to take over as CEO from Austin Matthews,
who committed suicide after killing Dash Robards with an ax
, I’m going to assume that you’re still in Sales and I’m in Programming.”
The elevator stopped at the sixth floor, and Craig got off, ignoring Phil and heading straight down the corridor without looking back. He passed by Lupe’s empty desk and walked into his office, closing the door behind him, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.
THIRTY NINE
Craig checked his messages immediately upon waking, though he had promised her he would stop doing that, and Angie could tell by the expression on his face that the news was not good. “What is it?” she asked.
“Phil
is
the new CEO. It’s official.”
“I assume the fact that he didn’t call to tell you is not a good sign.”
Craig sighed. “I don’t know what’s happened to him.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Play it by ear.”
She put her hand on his arm. “I think you should quit.”
He nodded. “It’s occurred to me,” he admitted.
“People are
dying
.”
“I know. I was there. But…”
“But what?” she said, starting to get angry.
“Phil’s in charge now, and maybe—”
“Phil’s not Phil!” She gripped his wrist. “You have a family to think about.”
Craig got out of bed, putting on his bathrobe, and Angie did the same. “You’re not going in today?” she said. From down the hall, she heard Dylan stirring in his room, already awake.
“I have to.” He walked over to the closet, picking out clothes.
“Craig,” she pleaded.
Dylan jumped through the doorway. He was wearing Superman pajamas, which always made him act in a manner he thought heroic. “What are you guys arguing about?”
“We’re not arguing,” Angie said.
“I heard you.”
“We’re not arguing,” Craig seconded.
“Okay.” He didn’t really seem to care. “What am I having for breakfast? We have a math test today.”
“How about an omelet?” Angie asked him. Craig headed toward the bathroom to take his shower.
“And toast!”
“And toast,” Angie agreed. She patted him on the back. “Now go get dressed, and I’ll start making your food.”
Craig had squirmed his way out of that conversation, but she wasn’t about to drop the subject, and she wouldn’t give in without a fight. As soon as he finished his shower, she was going to guilt him into quitting his job—and if she had to use Dylan to do it, she would. Walking into the kitchen, she bypassed the light switch and opened the shades above the sink. The room faced the morning sun, and she preferred natural light. She moved over to the breakfast nook, pulled open the shades—
And saw Regus Patoff standing next to the window, staring in at her.
Angie managed not to scream, but she bumped her hip on the table and stumbled over the legs of one of the chairs in her effort to get out of the kitchen. She ran down the hall. “Stay in your room!” she ordered Dylan, closing his door.
“Why?” He sounded scared, clearly aware that something was wrong.
“Just stay there!” she shouted as she hurried into the master bathroom. Craig was standing on the rug in front of the shower stall, toweling off. “He’s here!” Angie said in as low a voice as she could manage. “Patoff’s standing in the front yard staring into the kitchen window!”
Still wet, hair wild, not bothering to put on underwear, Craig pulled on his pants and ran toward the front of the house. “Stay with Dylan!”
Dylan was safe in his room; there was only the one door that opened into the hall, and his window faced the back yard. “Stay there!” she ordered her son again, rapping on his door as she rushed by. “Don’t come out!”
She wasn’t about to let Craig face the man by himself, and she hurried into the kitchen directly behind him. The consultant was gone. He was not at the window by the breakfast nook or peeking in through the window above the sink. Craig leaned over the counter, looking through the glass in both directions. “I don’t see him.” There was relief in his voice but also wariness.
A knock sounded at the front door, a jaunty shave-and-a-haircut tapping on the wood.
She hadn’t expected this to be over, had known the consultant would pop up again, but she jumped anyway.
“Stay back,” Craig said as they passed into the living room. He motioned toward the hallway entrance, and Angie took up a position there, a mother bear guarding her cub. She wished she had some sort of weapon in her hand.
“What do you want?” Craig shouted through the closed door.
The door opened of its own accord. She knew it was locked— she’d checked the deadbolt herself before going to bed last night— but the door swung wide, and through the screen she could see the consultant looking in at them. He had always been an odd-looking man, but something about his appearance this morning seemed even stranger than usual. Ordinarily tall and thin, he now looked even taller and thinner, his usually light brown, almost-orange hair now a brighter orange that matched his bow tie. His mouth was smiling but, as always, his eyes were not. Even through the dusty mesh of the screen door, she could see their hard intensity.
He bowed in a comically formal manner. “Regus Patoff, at your service.”
“That’s not your real name,” Craig said flatly.
He chuckled. “Isn’t it?”
“So I assume you’re registered with the U.S. patent office?”
The consultant took an exaggerated look at his watch. “It took you this long? I’m disappointed.” He leaned forward. “So what does BFG stand for?”
“I don’t know. Yet.”
“If you don’t know that, you don’t know anything. And—tick tock—I’m afraid that your time is almost up.”
Angie’s control was holding, though it was only through a sheer effort of will that she herself had not screamed after the door opened.
I should be calling 911
, she told herself.
I should be calling the police
.
“Why are you here?” Craig demanded.
“I just wanted to make sure you were coming in today. I was passing by, on my way to the office, and I thought I’d stop in and check on you. Maybe you want to carpool?”
“No.”
“But you are coming in?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent! Excellent! There are big changes afoot, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss anything.”
Craig said nothing, simply stared at the man.
“I’ll take my leave, then.” He looked past Craig at Angie. “You’d better get busy making Dylan’s omelet. A boy needs protein before a test.”
And then he was gone.
He didn’t disappear, but somehow she didn’t see him turn around and walk away, and in what seemed like only seconds after his last words, he was on the sidewalk in front of the house.
Craig closed the door, locked it.
“Oh my God,” Angie breathed. “Oh my God.”
They both hurried down the hall to check on Dylan, who was sitting on the floor, still tying his shoes. “Is it over?” he asked, looking up. “Can I come out now?”
Craig picked him up, and Angie gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You can come out,” she said.
“Is my breakfast ready?”
“Not yet. But I’ll make it right now.”
Dylan looked from her to Craig, and she saw an understanding in his eyes that shouldn’t have been there. “Was it Mr. Patoff?” he asked.
“Yes it was,” Craig said. “But he’s gone now.”
There was a pause. “Is he coming back?”
“No,” Craig said. “I’m going to talk to him today and tell him he’s not allowed to come over to our house.”
The answer satisfied Dylan, who smiled with relief, but when Angie looked at her husband, she saw an apprehension that mirrored her own. Shooting him a supportive glance, she gave her son another quick kiss, then went out to the kitchen to make breakfast.
****
It was mid-morning, and Angie had just finished vacuuming when Craig walked into the house. He’d left for work only a few hours ago, after a whispered fight conducted out of Dylan’s hearing, and she hadn’t expected to see him until the end of the day.
“Did you quit?” she asked hopefully, wrapping the vacuum cleaner cord around the hook below the handle.
“Phil’s giving me a week off.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a reward or a punishment?”
“Who the hell knows?”
“What happened?”
“I went up to see Phil as soon as I got there. I thought I’d congratulate him and sort of…see where he was at, how he was. I should’ve called first because when I went up to Matthews’ office, he wasn’t there, and when I went to his regular office, he wasn’t there. I asked his secretary where he was, but she was crying and packing up her stuff because he’d fired her.”
“Phil?”
“Yeah. In fact, when I got back to my desk, I found an email on my computer announcing that six people from my division were being furloughed, and six others were being cut down to part-time. I called Phil at his old number, left a message on his voice-mail, then sent him an email, asking to talk to him. I went down to talk to the employees who were being cut, but none of them were there; they’d been told not to come in. I called Human Resources but got a voicemail. The programmers were all up in arms, the ones who were left, wanting to know what was going on, and I had to admit that I had no clue. Scott was still in jail, for all I knew, and I couldn’t find anyone who could tell me what was happening.
“Phil showed up, and he was happy, excited, acting as though everything was normal. I tried to ask him about the furloughs, about the hours being cut, about his own secretary, but he pretended he didn’t know anything about it. I said it must be BFG, but he wouldn’t take the bait. He ignored that and only said that he’d call HR and look into it. I played along because he was acting like Phil again—but he wasn’t. It was in his eyes, it was…” Craig shook his head. “It was like he was a pod person or something. He told all the programmers to get back to work, and we walked back up to my office, and he said he had something to do but would get back to me about the furloughs and everything.
“He did get back to me about an hour later. Called me on the phone and told me to take the week off. I asked why, and he said there was some restructuring going on, and all supervisory personnel were being asked to take a short vacation.”
“Maybe you’ll be laid off,” Angie said hopefully.
“Maybe,” he conceded, “but it didn’t sound that way.”