TheCorporation

by Jesus Gonzalez

  “I’m not like that and you know it!”

  “I know that,” Alan said. “And you know that. But they don’t know that, even after all the background checks and psychological profiles they’ve done on you.”

  “Background checks? Psychological profiles?”

  “It’s done on every candidate who applies for a position with Corporate Financial. You aren’t even aware of it. They probe into your financial records, do criminal record checks, perform light surveillance. What they witnessed was a more or less single woman in a committed relationship who is dedicated to her work. You fooled them well.”

  Michelle didn’t know what to say. She usually pulled out all the stops whenever she interviewed for a position, and she always kept her private life very well hidden. Her personal life wasn’t her employer’s business. Personal references were always limited to former co-workers, never personal friends or family members. “So they snooped on me. What did they find out?”

  “The same thing I told you when I revealed my undercover nature to you yesterday,” Alan said. “I got a look at the file they compiled on you.”

  Michelle didn’t know whether to be furious or afraid; she let the matter drop and plunged ahead. “Fine. So now you and they know every detail of my personal life. What else do you want to know? How many times I’ve smoked pot or how many extra-marital affairs I’ve had?”

  Alan ignored the question and remained focused. “The important part to remember is they think you fit their bill. You have an immense talent at playing the role of the obsessed corporate worker. You make other white-collar professionals who are obsessed with their work and nothing else feel vindicated in their obsessiveness, that they can trust you, you’re like them. They take you into their confidence. When you perform your duties to their expectations, they’re happy. When you perform your duties and behave like them you earn their respect. This has happened with the higher echelon of Corporate Financial, who have come to regard you as one of them. They want you to become one of them, and for that you must go to California to undergo immersion.”

  “But that’s what I don’t understand,” Michelle said. She moved away from the desk, away from the laptop and began pacing the room. “You obviously fooled them! Why do they want me?”

  Alan’s voice was low, serious. “How long has it been since you’ve seen or heard from your parents, Michelle?”

  Michelle froze; she felt her skin bristle. “Does this have anything to do with my parents?”

  “In a way, yes,” Alan said. Michelle detected hesitancy in his voice.

  “They want me because my parents...” The words were hard to come by; Michelle tried to formulate her thoughts but her emotions were overriding. She took a deep breath to compose her thoughts. “It’s my parent’s, isn’t it? My parents are...immersed...is that what you call it?”

  “That’s right,” Alan said.

  “What does...this mean? Immersion?”

  “It means you become one with the company,” Alan said. It sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. “You become part of it, they become part of you. It’s like...you become an extension of the company, a perfect worker bee who exists solely to live and work for the company and sustain its life force. Like I said, not every consultant becomes immersed, and not every employee of Corporate Financial’s client companies become immersed. Those that don’t become...well, they become slaves.”

  “Slaves,” Michelle whispered.

  “Yes, Michelle. Slaves.”

  “But surely there’s some people who don’t put up with that kind of bullshit. People quit their jobs all the time due to over-demanding bosses and exploitive labor practices.”

  “Yes they do. But that’s all going to come to an end soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s pending legislation in the House and Senate that will tip the scales very heavily in the favor large corporations over their employees. Much of this legislation has been passed little by little over the last ten years—repealing overtime pay for non-clerical and non white-collar office workers a few years ago was one of them. There’ve been others over the years that appear less obvious, but one of the bills currently before Congress will be even more sweeping. It will guarantee that if an employee voluntarily leaves his place of employment or is fired for any kind of disciplinary action including failure to perform his or her duties to the satisfaction of the company, other companies can bar them from employment. Of course this would be at the other employer’s discretion.”

  Michelle was adding this all up in her head and found the implications horrifying. “But that would be...”

  “Illegal? Not really. Our government is being influenced by them, so they’re changing the laws to benefit them. Horrifying? A form of blacklisting? Sure. It would also essentially force people to remain in their positions, otherwise they’d have no source of income. Of course, lots of people are self-employed or work at small companies away from Corporate Financial’s influence. They won’t be affected...at least not yet. But the people who work at companies that will be affected? Should they leave or be fired they would be unable to find a job at another firm because by the time this legislation goes into effect, every company in the United States, large and small, will be controlled by Corporate Financial Consultants and will be not only using their methods, but will themselves be immersed.”

  The dread Michelle was feeling now had never felt so heavy. It felt like the weight of the world was crashing down on her, smothering her. Part of her wanted to just end it all now, pack up her stuff, call Donald, tell him she was leaving Chicago, driving back to Pennsylvania and getting her stuff and fleeing somewhere, anywhere, away from the madness of the twenty-first century with all its global-speak and emphasis on twenty-four seven. But another part of her insisted that this was her fight, that it had been her fight since she was a child and was forced to grow up in a loveless home while her parents worked and slaved away at jobs that brought stability and a roof over their heads but nothing else—no love, no emotional security, no sense of warmth or human kindness. It was her fight now because she had been thrust into this environment at an early age, right after high school, and had been forced to endure the icy tone of her mother’s voice when she learned she was pregnant with Alanis, had lived through hearing her mother tell her to get rid of her unborn daughter lest it ruin her career with the company. It was her fight because she had seen the light shortly after losing Alanis that the great monolithic machines of corporations, those entities that were human-powered, had lost something. It was no longer a goal to make money and turn a profit. It was no longer enough to simply do well in business and serve your customers and community. It was no longer enough to strive to be the best you can be in your chosen industry. Now companies had to encompass all, had to control all, including the very people that had created them and worked at making them what they were.

  She thought about what Alan and Rachel told her last night, about Hubert Marstein’s supposed occult interests and she shuddered. She imagined Frank Marstein carrying out his father’s will somewhere in some isolated mansion, praying to some dark god in order to gain even more riches, more control. As a strict Agnostic, Michelle didn’t believe in a literal devil or even in God for that matter. But she always had a firm belief in the spiritual life and had always felt that it was neither benign or malignant. It could either do harm or good, depending on the will of the person who believed. Certain people had negative vibes and positive ones; she’d met enough people over the years from all walks of life who exhibited both. If Frank Marstein had poured enough of his negative energy into some kind of force that was strong enough, and had surrounded himself with people with similar dark agendas, wouldn’t that feed off one another and grow in time? And by utilizing whatever training methods—immersion or whatever it was Alan Perkins called it—couldn’t that be like some form of mind control? Brain-washing even?

  “Michelle?” It was Alan. “Are you okay
?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Michelle said, the answer becoming clear to her now. She gripped the cell phone tightly in her hand and sat down on the unmade bed. “It’s just...thinking about it, everything you told me is so...overwhelming.”

  “But you understand,” Alan said. “Right?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Then you know what must be done? Why Corporate Financial wants you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know why the Coalition sees you as so important,” Alan continued, his voice measured and even. “None of us have been granted this opportunity. None of us have been able to penetrate Corporate Financial Headquarters. You see why time is of the essence?”

  The implications were too obvious. There was no other way. Michelle saw that now. “If they do take me to company headquarters tomorrow, I’ll be prepared.”

  “You know what it is we’re going to want you to do?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “And what’s your idea?”

  “You want me to destroy them somehow.”

  “Not just them,” Alan said. “But a specific area in the building. Specific people.”

  “How will—”

  “Not over the phone. Tonight, at three. We have a hastily assembled plan. We’ll talk about it then.”

  “Okay.” Despite all she’d learned and the task that had been laid out for her, Michelle Dowling felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. It felt like everything she had been through in life with its many triumphs and failures had led her to this place, for this particular purpose. She was awakening to the fact that she had been semi-conscious for the past decade to what was really going on in the business world, that Corporate Financial was secretly taking over the lives and souls of the human race, turning them into a relentless hive of worker drones to sustain its own malevolent life force, a life force that had been born from the dark biddings of a ruthless, overzealous businessman over eighty years ago who believed that if he tapped into the demonic forces of his faith, they would grant him incredible power.

  Had that power gone out of control? Or was this what Hubert and Frank Marstein had in mind all along? The enslavement of the human race to do their bidding.

  “Three o’clock?” Alan asked. For the first time, Michelle detected a sense of hope in his voice.

  “I’ll be there,” Michelle said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MATT WAGNER HAD just arrived at his desk one minute prior to eight a.m. to start the day as an administrative assistant for McSweeny’s Advertising in mid-town Manhattan when his supervisor descended on him. “You’re late.”

  Matt checked his watch. “I am?”

  Doug Bradley frowned at Matt. As usual, he was dressed in a drab gray suit. His bald pate gleamed beneath the fluorescents. “What time did you wake up, Mr. Wagner?”

  Matt looked at Doug, confused, wondering what this was all about. He always arrived five to ten minutes early to work. He wasn’t due to start until eight a.m., and the only reason he was one minute shy of being on time today was because he’d had to drop his daughter off at school—Deena normally did that on her morning commute. “Six-thirty as usual. Why?”

  “Then you should’ve been here at six-thirty sharp.”

  Matt searched Doug Bradley’s face for the tell-tale sign of mirth but saw none. Doug had been acting weird lately anyway. He’d always been somewhat of a hard-ass, but Matt had always gotten along with him. Whatever administrative task Doug asked him to do Matt did it; that was in his job description. After all, he was an Administrative Assistant. And while Doug was normally an all-business-all-the time type of guy, he had been known to drop his guard and joke around with the rest of the office staff from time to time. He hadn’t done that lately in...well, in months. Matt decided to parry back. “Yeah, and maybe I should just move in here,” he said, grinning. “I’ll just sleep under my desk every night.”

  Doug smiled in approval. “That’s what I want to hear! Make sure you gather whatever toiletries you need on your lunch break, though.”

  “Sure. I’ll just charge it to my expense account.”

  Doug frowned again. “This is no joking matter, Matthew.”

  Matthew. Whenever Doug called him by his full name, Matt knew he was serious. Doug still had that serious, bland look on his face. There was no sign his boss was joking. He was deadly serious. “You’re kidding, right? You want me to start sleeping here?”

  “Everybody else did.” Doug indicated the rest of the department with a wave of his hand and Matt looked over at Monica’s cubical next to his. She was sitting at her desk, staring raptly at her computer screen. Matt caught the faintest hint of a rolled up sleeping bag and a pillow tucked beneath her desk against a filing cabinet.

  Matt turned back to Doug. “April Fool’s Day was three weeks ago, Doug.”

  “This isn’t a joke,” Doug said in that same tone. “In order for McSweeny’s to be competitive we need our employees to remain at the office ready to work when they’re needed. That includes during the time that used to be referred to as ‘off the clock’.”

  Matt stared at Doug, trying to read the man’s face. This had to be a joke. Doug could be a real pain in the ass, but this was going too far.

  “Had you not departed forty minutes early on Friday, you would have gotten the same message the rest of the staff received,” Doug Bradley said. “You would have known that starting today, McSweeny’s new initiative was rolling forth and that all employees were required to assemble at their stations Sunday afternoon in order to prepare for it. We are a twenty-four seven shop, Mr. Wagner. That means we need all available resources all the time. That means you.”

  “I worked through my lunch last Friday and had a meeting in the second floor conference room at three,” Matt said, his mind tracing back to last Friday. “I told you I was leaving for home right after the meeting.”

  “Needless to say,” Doug Bradley continued, ignoring Matt. “I trust this won’t happen again. Procure what toiletries you need for the evening, perhaps secure a bedroll and pillow if you need to, and remain at your desk come five o’clock.” After delivering this order, Doug Bradley turned and walked back to his office. Matt watched his retreating back with a sense of dumbfoundment.

  He turned to Monica’s cube. The computer graphic designer was working on something, her attention riveted on her work. He confirmed that, yes, she did have a sleeping bag and pillow under her desk, then he strode down a row of cubicles and began checking to see what the hell was going on.

  One of the marketing administrators, Clara Reed, was preening herself in a little compact mirror at her desk. She caught his gaze in the mirror. Matt saw a small cot folded up beneath her desk. “What’s that cot doing under your desk?” he asked.

  Clara frowned and turned to him. “Personal things unrelated to work belong under our desks. Don’t you know that?”

  “Yes, I know that, but what the hell is a goddamn cot doing at the office!” Matt couldn’t help it. He was growing angrier the more this bullshit was played out.

  “It’s more comfortable sleeping on a cot than on the floor,” Clara said. For the first time it hit Matt; she sounded just like Doug Bradley—flat, emotionless, drab. It was like she was rehearsing lines from a script and she didn’t care about the emotional impact of her delivery.

  “You slept here last night?”

  “Yes.” She cocked her head at him. “Why weren’t you here?”

  And with that Matt Wagner tore down the aisle of cubicles, trying desperately to find one co-worker who hadn’t succumbed to whatever bullshit joke this was, but as he threaded his way through his department and the Art Department and finally to Accounting, he saw that everybody had a cot or a rollaway bed or a sleeping bag tucked beneath their desk. Some people were still preening in mirrors; one Account Executive was still getting dressed in his cubicle. Heart racing madly, Matt Wagner tore back down toward his work station past co-workers who were busy working,
some with their cots still laid out and nightgowns lying on the floor, a few even still asleep. And as Matt dove into his chair and scooped out his cell phone to call Deena, the phone on his desk rang and Doug Bradley approached him from behind and asked him to type up some important documents in a tone of voice that suggested everything was normal, everything was right, and Matt Wagner began to go crazy.

  FROM THE Wall Street Journal, Monday, April 25, 2008

  ...Corporate Financial’s CEO Frank Marstein outlined the new project “Reign” as an exciting initiative that will benefit all of their clients and secure the future for business leaders worldwide. The first step, which is being undertaken today throughout the company and all their client companies, is only the first of several initiatives designed to make companies work more cohesively in the years to come. “Employee turnout and participation is expected to be high,” Marstein said in a prepared statement Saturday from Corporate Financial Headquarters in Calistoga, CA. “Management will be available for support and I anticipate Phase Two beginning at the end of the week.”

  Phase Two, according to Marstein, will be a new marketing campaign designed to obtain business from companies that aren’t already Corporate Financial clients. “By Phase Four we expect the low prices we are offering in this marketing campaign to attract new business, most of it small businesses and independent proprietors, which will be beneficial to us and to them. Companies can save forty percent of their operating costs by working with Corporate Financial Consultants, and this translates to higher earnings and profits for all of us.”

  Free State Insurance, one of Corporate Financial Consultant’s largest clients, is one of the companies expected to participate in the initiative despite losing most of its executive and management staff in a tragic incident last Friday when Victor Adams— (continued page 12).

  LYNN MCMURPHY WAS sitting in her favorite chair at home reading a romance novel when there was a knock on her front door.