by Bianca Cole
My building is opposite the station, and I’m glad when I make it across another busy street and head through the revolving glass doors. I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of the gleaming, freshly polished marble, and the sterile chic interior. It’s a calming sight—logical and angular.
I march up to the front desk passing the security guard. “Good Morning, Marlon.” I greet him with a quick smile.
“Morning, Tessa, have a great day.” He smiles.
“You too.”
“Good Morning, Anna,” I say to the receptionist, who is typing frantically at her computer.
“Oh, hey, Tessa, nice day,” she says, absentmindedly and returns her attention to her screen.
I sign myself in and scan my badge before heading for the elevator. There’s a group of people queued and waiting to go up. I pile in with the rest of my colleagues.
All of us stood perfectly erect like foot soldiers awaiting deployment orders. This part of the morning always makes me worry about how bad my posture is, so I adjust the straightness of my back to fit in.
The doors open, and I struggle to get to the front and get out, walking down the corridor toward my little office at the back of the accounting floor.
I share a few cordial smiles and good morning greetings with my colleagues in passing. The door to my office is a welcome sight. I let myself in and shut the door behind me, sitting behind my desk and letting out a long, shaky breath.
My heart breaks a little as I glance down at the photo on top of my desk. My mom had a picture of our last family trip framed before my brother’s accident. I stare at it a moment, lost in the heartache of how much I miss him.
Finally, I move my attention to the stack of ledgers on my desk. I let out a sharp exhale as I run my fingers through my hair, reaching into the left-hand pocket of my blazer. I pull out my reading glasses, putting them on. The silver pen that sits aligned with the writing guard under the mound of ledgers is in my hand within seconds.
I smile to myself and scan the room, I take comfort being in my second home, before diving into the work and losing myself in numbers.
* * *
My hands fly across the keyboard as I work through one file at a time. If I wasn’t so preoccupied, I probably would have congratulated myself on how much I’ve done today. I’m too lost in the rhythm of work to register how well I’m getting on.
I stop for a moment and take a sip of the coffee I’d brought back from lunch. I’d only stopped ten minutes to grab a sandwich and a cup of coffee to bring back to my office. I don’t have time for lunch. My new formula for getting work done is working until I’m too tired to keep going.
I intend to be the most productive analyst on the floor. I was promoted soon after joining, and I need to prove that I’m worth the extra pay and office. I’m here to win. Who needs breaks or sanity? Both of those things are pretty overrated.
I can hear my mom’s lecture now.
Sweetheart, you know that’s how people end having heart attacks before they’re thirty and end up having to have organs replaced.
I take a long breath and take a glance at the outbox of my office. It’s stacked. If I worked anywhere else, there would probably be someone around for me to high five, but this isn’t that kind of place.
I smile to myself, losing myself in numbers makes everything else fade into the background. I feel better than when I woke this morning. I scoot backward on my wheeled office chair to give myself room to open the drawer on my right and remove my leather shoulder bag.
I stand from my seat and turn off the desk lamp when a ding from my email rings out. I’d forgotten to turn off my desktop. I sit back down in my chair, the work bug pulling me back to my computer. What could it hurt to take a look?
I put my glasses back on and slide closer to the screen, opening a file I’ve been sent. There are several expense sheets attached, which I open one by one. I pull out my pen and calculator to process the numbers. Everything is going well—your run-of-the-mill expense reports for The Go-To Construction company doing some outsourcing for the general hospital. Until, suddenly, I hit a snag. No doubt because I’m tired and my brain isn’t functioning right.
I shake my head and start the calculations over again. Then, run them through the accounting software on my computer to be absolutely certain. I’m stumped when everything comes out the same.
How is this possible?
There shouldn’t be this many discrepancies, especially not from the Stafford Financial Group. It must be a mistake somewhere along the line. I need to get a second opinion.
I print off the sheets, grabbing them. I head for the office of my department supervisor. Maybe, she can make some sense of this. Hopefully, she is still here as it is late.
My sensible flat shoes make slapping sounds as I walk across the tiled floor toward Mrs. Davis’ office. I peer through the cracks in the blinds that hang on the inside of the windows and see the lights are on. I rap on the door with my free knuckle.
“Come in,” Mrs. Davis calls.
I open the door and pop my head in.
“Oh, Tessa, hello, dear,” Mrs. Davis says.
She smiles at me from behind her reading glasses, which have slid down her nose. She reminds me of my old English teacher, with her gray hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and her face patterned with deep wrinkles. She has always been a caring, mothering woman from the moment I arrived here, which puts me at ease to bring anything up with her that I feel out of place.
“Hi, Mrs. Davis, I wondered if I could ask you something. I know it’s a bit late, and you’re probably ready to go home, but could you take a look at this for me?” I hold the printed file up. “I’m stumped.”
Mrs. Davis motions me inside. “No problem at all, honey, let me take a look.”
I walk in and close the door behind me before placing the file in front of her. I open it to the appropriate section and point to the offending figures. “You see, here is where I’m having trouble. I received this in an email a little over half an hour ago, and I’ve been wracking my brain to decipher it, but it always comes out to that number.”
“Hmm.” Mrs. Davis pushes her glasses closer to her eyes as she lifts the file to get a better look. She hums a little under her breath as I watch her eyes move back and forth over the sheet, taking in all the numbers.
“If this is correct, I think I’ve stumbled upon something shady.”
“What do you mean, dear?” Mrs. Davis looks at me over the thick rims of her glasses.
“Well, you see here where it talks about health and wellness accounts?” I touch the section on the page.
“Yes.” Mrs. Davis’s eyes follow my finger.
“If this is accurate, it means the money they say they transferred in the health and wellness accounts isn’t being used for the purpose of health care. They’re not even allowing employees access to the money, and it is being funneled elsewhere. From the looks of it, in the last six months, it is to the tune of a quarter of a million dollars. Which means–”
“Yes, I’m well aware of what that means,” Mrs. Davis cuts me off abruptly.
As if she is afraid of something. I assume it’s because if this were to get out, we would have the feds breathing down our necks, which is the last thing any company of our status wants.
After a long and thoughtful pause, Mrs. Davis removes her glasses altogether and chews on them. “Tessa, I need you to be completely honest with me.”
“Yes, Mrs. Davis,” I reply.
“Have you talked to anyone else about this?” Mrs. Davis turns to look at me.
“No one at all, you’re the first person,” I reply.
Mrs. Davis breathes a heavy sigh, slumping back in her chair. She takes another look at the file. “How did you come to have this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it says this file is for the third floor. Why do you have it?” Mrs. Davis queried.
I shrug. “The only reason I opened
it was because it showed up in my Inbox.”
“Okay, well, I wouldn’t worry about it. This is something they’ll deal with on the third floor. We’re probably taking it out of context.”
“I hope so,” I add.
“As I said, I wouldn’t worry anymore about it.”
It’s probably best I go home and forget about this, at least, until tomorrow. I turn to leave, bidding Mrs. Davis good night.
Mrs. Davis stops me. “Oh, and Tessa.”
“Yes, Mrs. Davis?” I glance over my shoulder.
“Due to the fact this is a fluke, I wouldn’t go around mentioning it to anyone else, alright? It’ll only lead to gossip and a ruckus. Our competition could take advantage of this information.” She pauses a moment. “It would lead to the loss of your job, and we don’t want that to happen, do we?”
My brow furrows at the threat in her voice.
“You have a promising career ahead of you, and sometimes sacrifices need to be made in order to further said career. I’m sure you understand.”
Rage floods me, heating my entire body. Something shady is going on, and she wants me to brush it under the carpet. Not only does it go against my morals, but I can’t overlook the truth of the numbers—no matter what.
I’ll keep it to myself for now. The evidence needs to be taken above her head, which means I need to take it to Bryson Stafford. I’ve hated the man ever since I started here, even though I’ve never met him in person.
He did my telephone interview before I started and was a complete and utter asshole. The problem is, I don’t have the guts to take this to Abraham Stafford. He’s very intimidating, and to be honest, I’m not sure he’s been about much lately due to health issues.
“I understand perfectly,” I say through gritted teeth. “Good night.” I shut the door to her office.
I have a feeling I’ve made it past the honeymoon period of my job. Something tells me it’s all about to take a turn for the worse. I’m about to find out the dirty secrets this corporation holds. I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with it.
Especially if it requires me to make compromises and allowances for things that would go against everything I stand for.
Is everything in life going to turn out like this?
First, my relationship with Ted and now my job, it feels like everything I touch turns to shit.
3
Bryson
The sunlight is fading below the towering buildings rising across the Wynton skyline. I gaze out of the floor to ceiling office windows that stretch the entire wall over the city streets below, dreading going out there. I turn back to my large office and grab my suit jacket, shrugging it on before pressing the intercom to my secretary, who is working late. “Anne, can you make sure Tom has the car ready for me, please?”
“Of course, sir, right away.”
I tap my foot, waiting for her to tell me Tom is ready. I glance once more at the towering monuments of steel and glass surrounding me that penetrate the thick cover of clouds in the ever-darkening sky. They shimmer in the light of the moon and street lights, as distant sirens wail their ominous calls of death and destruction.
“Sir, he’s ready for you.”
I tear my eyes from the buildings around me and head for the door. “Thanks, Anne. Don’t work too late,” I say, passing her desk.
“Of course not, Bryson. See you tomorrow.”
I give her a nod and head for the elevator. The door slides open, and I step inside, pressing the ground floor button. The lavish and grand entrance to our building is empty as I step out of the elevator. It makes me swell with pride every time I walk through here. Our family’s name displayed in lettering above the entrance desk. It is ours, or more importantly, mine. I’m the eldest son set to inherit and become CEO.
The satisfying squeak of my leather loafers against the marble floor fills the air as I make my way to the revolving glass door and out into the fresh spring air. I stay back toward the doors waiting for Tom to arrive, as businessmen rush by yelling into their cell phones, while other people laugh and chatter together. Mothers drag their screaming and laughing children down the street.
This is the worst part of the day. For a moment, with the hustle and bustle surrounding me, and the smoggy claustrophobic atmosphere flooding the air. I can’t wait to get off the street even though I’m less than eager to attend the meeting with my father.
What is the meeting about?
It’s likely my days as a carefree partying bachelor are over. My father has called me and my brother, Theo, to his house. There is only one reason he would call a meeting so suddenly. I’m certain that he will announce who will take over his role as CEO. If he goes with tradition and hands over to the eldest, me, it will mean I need to clean up my act.
It would be worth it, though. There’s no way in hell I’m letting my father hand the company over to my little brother, Theo. Something tells me it won’t be plain sailing. I’ve never exactly been my father’s favorite. Theo is serious and driven about the business, whereas I spent a lot of time partying.
The screech of tires coming to a stop at the curb breaks my stream of thought.
My limo pulls up in front of me, and Tom jumps out. “Good evening, sir. Another long hard day at work?” Tom opens the door for me.
“Yes, it’s been tough.” I run a hand through my hair and pass the heavy briefcase into Tom’s outstretched hand. “I’ve had to lug around this briefcase and pretend like I was interested in spending fifty hours on this new deal for Mr. Gates. I’m meeting with him at eight in the morning tomorrow. So, I’ll need an early pickup.”
He nods. “Of course, sir. No problem.”
I slide into the black leather seat of the limo. Tom slams the heavy door shut with a forceful thud.
He gets into the front, and the privacy screen comes down. “Am I right in thinking you’re headed to your father’s this evening, or do you need to swing by your home first?”
“Yeah, straight over to my father’s house. Thank you, Tom.” I respond, sighing, and settling down into the seat even further. I rub my tired eyelids with two fingers.
We pull away from the curb and join the herd of vehicles on the bustling evening roads. It promises to be a frustrating ride to my father’s house on the other side of the city. And after the meeting, it will be an even worse ride home. Sudden anxiety floods my gut. Impatience to get this damn meeting over and done with grips me.
“Hey, Tom.”
Tom glances in the rearview mirror at me. “Sir?”
“Would you mind taking a different route to the house? Go Broadway to South Street and then down. I think there will be less traffic that way tonight. It might make it a little easier.” I rub my forehead to relieve the anxiety gripping me.
“Yes, Mr. Bryson. I know the way well. Thanks for the tip.” Tom replies, making a quick sharp U-turn and flipping the volume to Moby’s “Natural Blues.” It seems to play louder as the shiny black limo powers down the block.
With one finger, I unbutton the top of my wrinkled Oxford shirt, feeling far too restricted and hot. I press my hands against the cool glass of the window to still the heat flooding my veins.
It doesn’t help that my mind is a mess. Swap spreads, convexities, durations, and crack spreads explode in my head in a dancing chorus of confusion. They feel as if they trickle out of my sweaty fingers onto the glass of the window. This happens whenever I feel under pressure. I’m like a kid in college who has to cram everything in before a big test I need to ace the next day, or worse, in this case, considering I’ll be at my father’s house within half an hour.
I’m not as good at this financial stuff as my brother and never have been. It puts me at a disadvantage, but I know I can run a company, and that’s all that matters. I need to make my father see I’m the right person to take over.
Theo is smart as hell, but he is quiet and reserved. He isn’t self-assured like me. I would learn in time to get better with numbers or let Theo take c
are of the numbers while I took charge of the running of the company. A CEO doesn’t have to worry about the day-to-day workings.
My father doesn’t agree. He has always been hell-bent on making sure that he is a leader rather than a boss. He’s never satisfied with making everyone else do the grunt work and managing the business to ensure it runs smoothly. I’m sure that I could make The Stafford Financial Group bigger and better than it is today. He has to give me a chance.
My father must have done something right, though. Neither my family nor anyone at the company suffered any major losses when the market crashed. Many other companies were much less fortunate. Some companies not only had to downsize their staff, but some of them either had to outsource their labor to other countries or shut down altogether. As we drive along, I do my best to distract myself, watching people as we pass by.
It doesn’t seem to take long to arrive at my father’s house. Perhaps it’s because I’d been so caught up in my own thoughts. We pass through the iron gate and up the long drive of my father’s mansion, which opens to the grand frontage of the looming building. My anxiety to please my father hits me with fresh vigor.
As soon as the vehicle comes to a stop, I hesitate with my hand on the handle for a moment. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous. I’m never nervous. Tom makes it to the door to open it for me before I open it myself. He smiles at me, holding my briefcase out for me to take.
I step out of the limo and take it. “Thanks, Tom.”
“Is this good night, sir? Or would you like me to wait and give you a ride home?” Tom asks.
I consider his offer a moment and then check my watch. It’s late and unfair to ask him to wait for me. I could call a cab pretty easily, but I really want Tom to be here when I get out. Someone I can trust to speak to after this dreaded meeting.
I clear my throat. “Tom, I’m sorry to ask this of you, but can you wait for me here, if that is okay? I know you’ve had a long day, but I’m not sure what I’m about to face in there.” I nod toward the house. “I don’t expect it to take too long.”