by Daniel Hurst
‘God, I can’t wait for this. I’m starving!’ Evan says as he looks around eagerly for any waiter who might be heading in our direction with a tray full of delicious cuisine.
‘You know you could have just had your dinner hours ago instead of waiting for me to finish work.’
‘I know, but that wouldn’t have been much of a celebration, would it?’
I smile while at the same time wishing that he would stop using the word ‘celebration’. If he knew the truth, then he would realise that such a word is not suitable for describing the situation at all. A word like ‘screwed’ would be more apt.
‘Just because I’ve had a pay rise, it doesn’t mean that we can start being frivolous with our money,’ I warn him even though it’s already too late to have prevented him from ordering several expensive dishes and a pricey bottle of wine this evening.
‘I know that, but we have to enjoy ourselves sometimes, don’t we?’ Evan says as he looks around once again for any sign of those expensive dishes. ‘You work hard in your job, and you should reap the rewards of that. Plus, we hardly get to spend time with each other, what with your long hours and your father’s care.’
‘I know, love. You’re right,’ I say as I reach out and take his hand, hoping that giving it a squeeze will stop me bursting into tears at this table and ruining the evening before it’s even got going. ‘I’m just saying that we shouldn’t go too wild with the spending. Things can change, you know?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, wages can be frozen; pay rises can be reneged on. I’ve seen it all happen over the years in my industry. We’re only as good as how many customers we have, and profits can take a sudden nosedive at any time, leaving the employees to bear the costs.’
‘Yes, but that’s unlikely, isn’t it? The bank is doing well, right?’
‘I think so, but I’m saying we should be cautious, especially now we have my dad’s care to pay for.’
I see the expression change on Evan’s face, and it was only a subtle shift, but I caught it. It’s not that he doesn’t love his father-in-law and want what’s best for him. Of course he does. It’s just that I know Evan thinks that William should have been in a better position to pay for much of this care himself, considering the sizeable income he commanded himself during his own working days. Unfortunately, my father made several bad investments in his later years, most likely down to his waning mental faculties, and that meant that he lost a lot of his savings, which is why Evan and I are the ones having to pay so much towards his care now. My husband is not the only one who is aware that the money we are making in our careers could be spent on things to enhance our own lives rather than paying for someone else’s needs, but I can’t change the situation. My dad needs our help, and we are giving it to him.
But at what point am I going to get some help?
Is there anything that can make my situation better, or am I doomed to live a life of fear, frustration, and frugality forever because of Michael’s behaviour and my responsibility to my dad?
A tapas restaurant in the middle of town on a Monday night might seem like a funny place to have an epiphany of sorts, but that is exactly where I am when I come to a realisation of what I need to do.
I need to get rid of Michael, removing him from the company so that he no longer works there and can no longer torment me. But I have to do it in such a way so that it won’t look like I am the one who has done it. If he knows it is me, then he will just release his evidence, and I’ll be screwed. What I need to do is make it look like he has made a mistake, a big one, and one so unfortunate that his boss in head office will not be able to forgive him. Not crippling enough to destroy the overall fortunes of the bank but one certainly big enough to get the attention of his bosses and make them question if Michael is the best person for the high-pressured job after all. If I make it look like a mistake, then Michael himself might not even suspect a thing. He might just think that he did have a lapse in judgement, and it’s just an unfortunate situation.
That’s what I will do. Instead of being angry with him and making threats, I will sink into the background and make him feel like he won again. Then, out of nowhere, his mistake will be discovered, and he will be removed from his position, paving the way for me to take his spot and free myself from his oppressive rule.
I think it can work.
The only question is: how do I do it?
14
MICHAEL
I’m constantly on my guard against Imogen and any plan she might conceive of to bring me down. It would be stupid not to be. That doesn’t mean that I spend my life looking over my shoulder or drowning in a sea of paranoid thoughts. Far from it. But I do give a healthy dose of caution to everything I do in the knowledge that Imogen is waiting for her opportunity to break the stranglehold I have on her and free herself from my controlling behaviour.
That’s the thing with having an enemy.
You always have to be ready for them to attack.
There have been several attacks to speak of in the past from my luckless colleague. I’ve caught Imogen in my office, snooping around and trying to find out where I keep the evidence I hold on her so she could delete it and remove my leverage. I’ve also had a member of the IT team tell me that an unknown user once had a go at cracking the password on both my desktop PC and my laptop but that they were unsuccessful after a dozen attempts, which was obviously Imogen trying to access my devices when I had left them in the office one evening. It might have seemed careless of me to leave my laptop lying around in the office when I wasn’t there, but I assure you it was actually intentional. I wanted to test Imogen and see if she would take the bait and try to guess my password, which she obviously did if the IT technician’s account was anything to go by. But I knew there was no way she could ever crack my password because one, it’s an extremely challenging combination of letters, numbers and symbols, and two, I am always changing it. I know she won’t be able to crack it. But I’m happy for her to have a go if she thinks she can, if only so I can revel in the knowledge that she will be growing more desperate and frustrated with each failed entry.
But since that last attempt, there has been no behaviour from her that leads me to think she might be any nearer to getting what she wants. If she could access my private file and delete the contents within it, then I would have no way of making her life a misery. She would be free to walk away and go and work elsewhere, and I can’t be having that. But even if she were to access my private folder and delete the evidence, she’s a fool if she thinks I haven’t got duplicates. Perhaps that is why she has stopped trying. She knows it’s futile even if she deletes one copy. Or maybe it’s just because she is defeated and resigned to her fate. Whatever it is, I will maintain my guard at all times for if and when she does try to strike again.
Part of me gets excited at the thought of her trying one more time.
Part of me wants her to have another go at beating me.
And it’s that part of me that might not have to wait as long to be satisfied as I thought.
15
Despite the long hours I am known for working for, I have never been in the office before dawn.
Until today.
All the lights in the bank were out as I walked across the car park at the startlingly early time of 05:10, but I had to be here at this time to ensure that I was the only one on the premises. I know the cleaners are due to get here at six, and it won’t be long after that until the early-rising employees in the office start turning up too. But I had to beat all of them to it today if I wanted to stand a chance of getting away with what I am about to do.
Now I am in the office and activating the automatic lights in the stairwell as I climb the steps in the direction of all the desks. I know there are cameras outside the bank, as well as cameras down in the basement where the vault is located, but none in the open-plan office.
I’m not worried about any security guard noticing me arriving here at this
ridiculously early time because they’ll just think I either couldn’t sleep or that I have an urgent deadline to try to adhere to. Michael won’t know that I am at work before the sun has risen, and that’s the main thing.
It’s the thought of my boss sleeping soundly in his bed without a care in the world that makes me even more determined to complete my mission here this morning, as well as the sense of satisfaction that comes with feeling like he is napping while I am ambushing him.
The lights in the open-plan office take a few seconds to turn on as I flick the switch by the door, but they eventually do their job, bathing the rows of empty desks in their harsh light and confirming that I definitely am the first person here today. I’ve turned off these lights plenty of times on my way out of the office after working a long shift on Michael’s orders, but this is my first time turning them on, and I’m glad it’s not something I’m more experienced in. Being up at this time is exhausting, and I know it’s going to make a difficult day of work even more tricky as the fatigue kicks in, and I’ll need even more cups of coffee to fight through it than I usually do. But that exhaustion will be offset greatly by the knowledge that I might be on the verge of breaking out from under Michael’s control if I am successful.
Strolling past the empty desks of my colleagues, I see several empty cups by their keyboards, all remnants of yesterday’s caffeine fixes and just one of the things the cleaners have to tidy up when they arrive here within the hour. But I have to make sure I have done what I need to do before they get here because I won’t be able to do it when they arrive. There’s too many of them, and they will see me doing things, things that might arouse suspicion and cause one or two of them to pass on their concerns to Michael when he arrives around eight. That would be disastrous to achieving my goal, so I hurry as I cross the office floor before arriving at the empty office in front of me.
Michael’s office.
There is a brief moment of panic on my part as I reach for the door handle and realise that Michael might have locked it as he left last night. But thankfully it opens, and I am able to step inside his personal room before hurrying over to his desk and taking the small rucksack off my shoulders.
Opening the zip on my bag, I reach inside and take out the small box that contains the even smaller device that I intend to use to help me escape my current predicament. After a quick glance around the office to ensure that no other early bird has followed me in here, I open the box and take out the tiny camera inside.
I purchased the camera online a couple of days ago after doing my research and narrowing down my search to the best surveillance equipment on the market for somebody who needs that surveillance to stay a secret. This particular camera came up time and time again, and all the reviews were united in their praise for it.
‘Very discreet!’
‘Easy to use!’
‘Perfect for providing added security to your home!’
I like the sound of all of that, especially the discreet and easy parts, although I wasn’t planning on using it in my home, and I had purchased it. It had arrived yesterday, and I had spent an hour in the evening holed away in my study at home setting it up so that the footage it would capture would be transmitted to an app I downloaded onto my phone. I think I’ve done it right, but I won’t be sure until I plant this camera somewhere in Michael’s office and then check my phone to see if it is transmitting.
Looking around my boss’s office, I try to find somewhere that will achieve two objectives. I need this camera to remain hidden, so I can’t put it anywhere so obvious that Michael will see it. And I need it to be set to record in the direction of Michael’s keyboard so that hopefully, I will be able to see the password he enters every time he logs on.
Doing my best to try to visualise where Michael will sit and type in his password several times a day, I step away from the desk and look for somewhere to put the camera. There is a painting hanging on the wall behind his desk, but that would give a great view of Michael’s back but not his password. There is a small bookcase to the left of his desk and that has potential until I fear that it may be too far away from his desk for me to be able to work out what keys he is pressing when he logs in.
Walking back over to the desk, I wonder if there might be something on there that I could hide the camera in. The thought of planting the surveillance device so close to where Michael sits is a nerve-racking one because I know it increases the odds of him noticing it, but I’m not sure where else I can put it. It has to be close to his keyboard for this plan to work.
If he does find the camera, then he will have no problem figuring out that it was me who planted it there, and I dread to think what my punishment would be then. Months of overtime and unrealistic deadlines designed to keep me drowning in work until my next birthday. Extensive and exhausting travel to the other bank branches around Europe designed to keep me away from my husband for as long as possible. Or maybe even some kind of disciplinary action in which my pay is reduced even further. That could be possible because it’s clear HR has very little power when it comes to Michael changing a decision. All those possible punishments are why my hands are shaking as I spot the small potted plant on the edge of Michael’s desk and lower the camera towards its luscious green leaves.
I already know the plant is fake because it certainly looks like it is, but I rub the leaves with my fingers just to make sure. The last thing I want to do is leave my camera in a plant pot that gets watered regularly. But it’s definitely fake, so I place the tiny camera on the edge of one of the plant’s stems and try to figure out if it is facing where I need it to be. The best way to check that is to access the app on my phone and see the footage for myself, so I do just that, working quickly because I know the cleaners could arrive early today and catch me in here acting all shifty.
Opening up the app, I enter my passcode before clicking on the little camera symbol titled ‘Live’. That’s when I see Michael’s desk on my phone screen.
The camera is working, but it’s not quite in the right place, so I take care to position it facing the keyboard so that it does the job I need it to without falling off this stem and dropping to the bottom of the pot.
Another quick check on the app lets me know that the camera is now facing the keyboard and that I should have an unobstructed view of all the keys that Michael presses. But it’s not the keys that are important as much as the order in which he presses them.
With everything set, I can get out of here and wait for my plan to play out.
The next time Michael logs in, I will be watching.
16
MICHAEL
I don’t have any meetings scheduled for this morning, which is why I treated myself to a lie-in before getting into my car and making my way into the office today. It’s already gone nine as I head up the stairs, but I have no one to report to here, so I don’t care. My boss is in New York, which means he can’t see that I’m running a little late, so that’s why I’m not exactly rushing as I pull open the door and enter the open-plan office.
Everybody else is at their desks, but only because they have to be, or else I would want to know why they weren’t. Look at them all, these diligent worker bees with their heads down and their fingers typing away furiously as if their lives depend on it. Maybe they do because all it would take for those worlds to come crashing down would be an email from me to HR questioning their job performance and telling them that it is time to move on. Then how would they pay their mortgages, their credit card bills, and their children’s university fees? It’s that fear that keeps them coming back here day after day, and it’s that fear that means I walk around this place like a God holding the fate of others in his hands.
I say ‘good morning’ to a couple of male colleagues as I pass their desks before glancing towards where Imogen sits to make sure that she is present and accounted for. Sure enough, she is exactly where she should be, and I let my gaze linger on her long enough for her to notice me strolling in late bef
ore entering my office and closing the door.
I drop my briefcase beside my desk and slump down into my seat before running a hand over my tired face and thinking about how good my morning coffee is going to taste when the office junior delivers it to me any moment now. The reason for my tiredness despite the lie-in is because I didn’t get home until the early hours of the morning after spending most of the night at my favourite club, quaffing champagne and paying for the services of expensive women. It’s hardly the best way to prepare for a day in the office, but I’ve been doing it long enough to know my limits and what I can and can’t get away with. There are younger men than me who would struggle to keep to this kind of lifestyle, but it’s never been a problem for me, and I’m hoping it never will be. I don’t plan on slowing down in either my personal or professional life, and that’s good news for the profit margins of both this bank and the gentlemen’s club, while being bad news for Imogen and some of the women I treat perhaps a little harshly when I am in their company as a paying customer.
I’m just about to log on to my PC when I hear my door open, and I look up to see the office junior standing there with his usual dopey grin on his face.
‘Good morning, sir. I have your coffee,’ he tells me with his typical combination of nerves and overeagerness, and I beckon him to come closer before I accept the drink and let him know he is to leave immediately. He does as he is told because doing otherwise would result in him losing his minimum-wage position, and I wait for the door to close behind him before I put the coffee cup to my lips and take a sip.
As I consume some much-needed caffeine, I look again towards Imogen’s desk and notice that she is staring right at me. She looks down quickly at her work when I catch her peeping, but spotting her spying on me is nothing new. I can usually feel her glare burning into me as the day goes on, and I take great delight in knowing that she can see me all day just like I can see her. But I really must get on with some work now because not even the boss can get away with doing nothing forever, so I put down my cup and turn towards my keyboard.