TheCorporation

by Jesus Gonzalez

  “Half?”

  “Yes. We’ll not only see increased profits within a quicker time period, but my report will show that implementing it will save on costs.”

  Her father’s expression changed from slight disapproval to interest. “Increased profits and we can save money on costs?”

  “Yes.” She held up her briefcase. “I worked on this report all night. It’s in here.”

  “I’d like to see it and hear your presentation on it.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to presenting it to you all day,” Michelle said.

  “Then let’s adjourn to the executive suites,” her father said. He motioned toward the double-glass doors that led out into the main foyer of the basement level and she headed out, her father following her.

  When they reached the elevator lobby Michelle handed the briefcase to Frank Marstein. “I’m going to freshen up in the ladies room to ensure I look presentable. Why don’t you take this up to the conference room and familiarize yourself with it before we meet?”

  “Good idea,” Frank said, taking the briefcase. Like Sam Greenberg and Gary Lawrence, Frank Marstein could pass for a human being on the street. What gave him away was his veneer, the miasma of evil that seemed to envelope him, the dead look in his eyes that one had to pay attention to in order to see that no human spirit lived within the flesh and blood shell that used to be her father. “By the way, you look fine and very professional.”

  Michelle acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “Thank you, but I’d like to make sure. I’ll only be a moment.” Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed toward the Ladies Room.

  She entered the restroom and immediately stopped behind the closed door. She waited, held her breath. A moment later she heard the elevator door open, then close. She glanced at her watch quickly. Two and a half minutes left.

  “Rachel?” Michelle whispered. “You there?”

  “I’m here,” Rachel said. She sounded troubled. “That was Marstein, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it was,” Michelle said. For the first time she wondered if there was anybody inside the bathroom in one of the stalls. “But then again, it wasn’t. It was my father.”

  “Your...father?” Rachel’s voice, at first questioning, became tinged with fear as understanding dawned on her. “Oh man! Oh shit, this is weird. Frank Marstein is now your father?”

  “Yeah,” Michelle whispered, not wanting to understand the connections now. “I don’t know what the real Marstein looks like, but he’s my father now.”

  “We believe Hubert Marstein’s spirit actually possessed the body of his son Frank years ago,” Rachel said quickly. “They merged, became one. There’s speculation that one of Frank’s children was killed in the late sixties. Drug overdose or something. The family swept it up, nobody will talk about it now. Alan uncovered evidence that suggests they use the bodies of those who rise to the level of CEO to be Frank Marstein’s vessel.”

  Michelle understood the concept perfectly and it scared the hell out of her. Marstein was continuing his mission from beyond the grave, possessing the bodies of those high level corporate employees who were most easy to influence. She couldn’t hear anything out in the hall. “I gotta go. If Marstein faked me out and is standing at the elevator lobby, he’s going to start getting suspicious.”

  “If he’s still there make a dash for the steps and get the hell out.”

  Michelle straightened herself up and exited the bathroom.

  The elevator lobby was empty.

  With her purse slung over her shoulder, Michelle passed the bank of elevators and made a dash for the door that led to the stairway. She pushed through and took the stairs up to the first floor two at a time. When she burst through the doorway she made a jig to the right past the security station and exited the side door, ignoring the security guard inside who yelled, “Excuse me! Miss! Excuse me! You have to sign out!”

  She ran towards the executive parking lot, seeing the green Honda Alan told her about. “The car’s here,” she said to Rachel. “What am I going to do?”

  “I can’t get Alan,” Rachel said. She sounded stressed out. “I’ve been trying to jam the signal but I just can’t get through to him!”

  The side door of the building burst open and she heard two voices call to her. “Hey! You! Lady! You didn’t sign out! Come back!”

  Michelle ignored them, slipped out of her heels, and ran between the cars in the parking lot in her stocking feet. She silently chastised herself for not packing a pair of slip-on sneakers. “Security just followed me out.”

  “Fuck!” Rachel said. Her voice changed from worry to grim determination. “Okay, just get the hell off the property. There’s a drainage ditch that runs parallel to the side road that leads to the executive parking lot. It’s bordered by a barb-wired fence. Go through that and run through the field to Highway 1. I’m leaving now to meet you.”

  “What about Alan?” Michelle was running, following Rachel’s directions.

  Behind her, more voices, the sound of running footsteps.

  “Come back! You’re not following procedure!”

  Michelle risked a glance behind her as she ran. She had a good hundred yard lead on them. “They’re chasing me!”

  “Shit! Just go! Hurry!”

  Michelle made it to the drainage ditch and almost tumbled down the concrete slopes to the bottom. She skidded down to the bottom, skinning her knees, and then raced back up the opposite wall. When she reached the top she scrambled on her belly, pushed her purse through and crawled beneath the lower wire. She felt sharp metallic edges rip at the back of her blouse as she crawled underneath the fence. She stood up, checked her pursuer’s progress once more, then started running across the field toward Highway 1, which was a good five hundred yards away.

  She heard a car start back in the executive parking lot behind her. Building Security?

  “Where are you?” Rachel asked.

  “Running through the field,” Michelle panted. Her bare feet slapped the hard, rocky earth as she ran.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “Just keep going. If you have to duck and cover do it, but once you’re able to, get up and get to Highway 1! I’ll be there any minute!”

  “What are you doing?” Michelle asked and then the building exploded behind her.

  It began as a sudden explosive boom. The sound initially propelled her to run faster and then she felt the tremendous heat as it seemed to push her forward. She didn’t even look back to see what happened. Hearing it was enough to tell her that Rachel had sent the signal out to detonate the explosives. And because that single signal would detonate all the devices at once, the explosive boom was massive.

  The ground shook beneath her feet and for a moment Michelle thought she was airborne. She ran faster, feeling something like a warm hand gently push against her back. She risked a glance back and tripped, falling in a sprawl on the ground. She scrambled to her knees just in time to see the fireball burst forth from the center of the building to send another massive explosion through the structure, creating yet another concussive tremor. Debris and concrete rained down all over the parking lot and she ducked as she saw scraps of metal come winging their way down towards the field. They whizzed overhead, striking the ground behind and ahead of her, all around her, and she drew into a tight ball, praying she wouldn’t get hit. The heat of the fireball was intense and already the air was getting thick with smoke. The explosions were so loud, were so reverberating, that she didn’t hear screams emanating from the building. She risked a glance, saw unrecognizable scraps of metal and concrete dotting the field, then looked behind her at the burning structure. A good portion of the building was on fire; the south wing of the structure, which contained Accounting and Marketing, was undergoing a series of small explosions. She wondered if the explosives she planted helped detonate flammable or highly combustible sections of the building.

  She sprang to her feet, purse still slung over her shoulder,
and started running toward Highway 1 while Corporate Financial Headquarters burned behind her.

  Highway 1 looked to be a hundred miles away.

  Her feet hurt as she ran toward the highway, her only purpose now to get away, to reach the highway and meet up with Rachel Drummond before the cops showed up. She didn’t even think about what kind of excuse she was going to give if the authorities picked her up. She simply ran as fast as she could, ignoring the stitch in her side and the nicks and cuts the little rocks along the ground pounded into her feet as she ran. She ignored the heat from the fire behind her, ignored the sounds of the building falling apart as it continued to explode elsewhere, ignored the screams of the dying and wounded, ignored her conscience telling her she’d just participated in a terrorist act that no doubt killed hundreds of people (they weren’t people, they were immersed, taken over by Corporate Financial, they were like my mother and father, they weren’t real!), she ignored it all as she sprinted across the field, jumping over mounds of dirt and scrubs of brush, ignoring the heat and the smoke and the sounds of destruction and then she saw a glimmer of metal on the horizon on Highway 1 and she ran faster, the heat searing in her lungs as she forced herself to keep going, just keep going, and then she was reaching the edge of the field and she saw that the glimmer of metal was a car and the driver had seen her, was driving faster, and as it reached the juncture where she was running it stopped at the edge of the field and Rachel popped out of the driver’s side. Michelle was twenty feet away and then ten and Rachel was shouting at her to get in the car, hurry hurry hurry! and then Michelle dived into the open backseat, not even aware of Rachel slamming the door shut after her, not even aware of Rachel getting in the car and peeling away from the field, making a U-Turn in the road and heading away from the burning mass of confusion behind. All she could think about was getting away, getting far away from Corporate Financial and hoping what she’d done had destroyed the evil.

  “We’re okay,” Rachel said as she drove down the road. “We’re okay. We’re okay...” Michelle didn’t hear her. She was too involved in her own little world. All she could think about was what she’d done, what she’d experienced, and then she broke down and wept in the back seat.

  She let it all out; all the anger and rage and frustration that had been bottled up inside her over the last twelve years. All the emotion she had fretted over, thoughts of her upbringing, her parents, losing Alanis, wanting to see Donald again, hold him in her arms...it all bubbled to the surface and she cried, thankful that she was alive.

  “Hey, we’re okay,” Rachel said. Michelle felt Rachel’s hand touch her knee lightly as she drove and Michelle looked up, not knowing where they were. She was lying sprawled in the backseat. Her purse had tumbled to the floor and rested against the rear driver’s side passenger door. The adrenaline was still running through her, making her feel light-headed. “Don’t worry, we’re okay, we’re getting out of here.”

  Michelle raised herself up and looked out the window. They were on Highway 1, heading toward the main road that would take them to the Interstate. She risked a glance out the back window. Dark black smoke billowed out from where Corporate Financial Headquarters was. She could make out the tell-tale signs of flames licking upward. Because this was the only road that led to Corporate Financial Headquarters they passed no cars and Michelle heard no sirens. Michelle felt her stomach turn to lead as they approached the T Intersection of the road that would take them to the interstate. While this road was rarely traveled as well, should any passing motorist see them making a right hand turn toward the Interstate and see the smoke and fire, they might remember their car. This must have been on Rachel’s mind as well because she said, “Hang on, keep your fingers crossed.”

  Michelle held her breath, not realizing she was doing it as they came to a stop at the intersection. There were no cars coming from either direction. Rachel eased out onto the road and was soon up to the speed limit. Michelle turned around, looking back toward Corporate Financial, watching it burn.

  “We did it,” Rachel said, her tear-filled eyes on the road. “Damn, we fucking did it.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. It looked like she was trying to control her own emotions. Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. Michelle saw that Rachel had beautiful eyes—they were a deep green, reflecting care and emotion and that same fiery passion they’d held a few nights ago when they first met in Chicago. Now those eyes were red from sleep-deprivation and watery from crying. “I’m sorry. I can’t cry now even though I want to. I gotta get us out of here.”

  “We’ll share a box of Kleenex whenever we get to where we’re going,” Michelle said.

  Rachel laughed and Michelle smiled. She was turned away from the flames now. She sat up in the back seat, head resting against the seat, trying to relax as Rachel drove them toward the Interstate. Far off she heard the dim sound of police sirens.

  “Here comes a car,” Rachel said. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel.

  Michelle didn’t care. She was just glad it was over. But was it?

  She caught a glimpse of the passing car. It was a tan Acura being driven by a man.

  Rachel relaxed. “Okay, here we go,” she said as she made a turn down another road. “This should take us to the Interstate faster.”

  They were now descending downhill, away from the hilly, mountainous region into small towns and suburbs. Sirens could now be heard from all around. Michelle closed her eyes, only wanting to put the nightmare behind her.

  “We’re gonna be fine,” Rachel said from the front seat. Michelle opened her eyes. Rachel was calm. She kept the vehicle at a safe speed. “Everything’s going to be fine.” Their eyes met in the rearview mirror again.

  And for the first time in weeks Michelle Dowling began to feel that this was true.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  DESPITE BEING PHYSICALLY exhausted, Michelle Dowling sat on a rumpled sofa in an apartment somewhere in downtown San Francisco, sitting with Rachel Drummond and four other members of the Coalition, their attention riveted to the news.

  It was nine-thirty p.m and the major news story was the explosion that leveled the National Headquarters of Corporate Financial Consulting Group near Calistoga, California.

  Speculation was running rampant on all the news networks that the explosion was caused by a bomb, or a series of bombs. Shell-shocked survivors were interviewed, men and women in rumpled, dusty business attire, their features glazed with shock—something that surprised Michelle. They all said the same thing, how they were working when all of a sudden there was an explosion, or they heard an explosion, or something down the hall exploded. They ran out of the building despite feeling that they should stay and help salvage the company. One man said, “I was at my desk when the building shook and the lights went out. The building kept shaking and something inside me just snapped and I realized what was happening. I realized I had ducked under my desk and I thought that if I stayed there I’d be crushed, so I ran out of the department and was lucky enough that the explosion came from a department a few doors down. I went down the staircase and made it outside as the rest of the building just started going under.” The man was streaked with dirt and blood and appeared visibly upset. For a moment Michelle felt guilty that she had been responsible for causing this man pain but then something John Stanley, one of the Coalition members who was gathered there, said, “Look at his face. Listen to what he’s saying.”

  Michelle paid closer attention to the man, as well as other victims of the bombing. All of the people interviewed by the media said pretty much the same thing; they were in a daze, just blindly going about their everyday duties prior to the blast; they felt a brief desire to stay and help protect company property and their work but then something snapped—it was as if they realized their very lives were at stake. Then they ran out of the building.

  “That’s the key,” John Stanley said as they watched the news coverage. John appeared to be in his late forties, maybe early fiftie
s, had thinning blonde hair, and he wore thin wire-frame glasses. “When we blew up Corporate Financial we severed its hold on people. That’s what happened.”

  The investigation was ongoing and the fire had been put out an hour ago. The estimated death toll was over six hundred so far. The Department of Homeland Security was called in and the Federal Government was investigating possible links to Islamic Terrorism. Still, other sources opined that it looked to be the work of an American Terrorist outfit, one probably holding the same anti-government views as Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh.

  Michelle kept waiting for a news flash to announce that two women were seen fleeing the scene in a battered Honda and were wanted for questioning.

  As the evening wore on those fears slipped further away.

  The apartment she was in was on the tenth floor of an old building near the Mission District. It was owned by an ex University Professor of Philosophy, a golden-skinned white-haired man named Rafael Martinez, who introduced himself to Michelle as one of the founding members of the Coalition when she and Rachel arrived. Talking with Rafael and John and the other members she met there—everything had happened so fast she couldn’t remember the names of the other people—helped calm her down. Only Rachel appeared to lose it in the hour or two after they arrived at the apartment. She retreated to a corner, plopped herself down in an easy chair and wept. A few times Michelle heard Rachel say Alan’s name during her sobs. Michelle felt bad that Alan didn’t make it out of the building, that he was probably dead, lying in the rubble of Corporate Financial. She was too numb emotionally to react. Rachel, on the other hand, couldn’t get over it. The way she was crying gave Michelle the feeling that she was mourning the loss of a great love.

  As much as Michelle wanted to see Donald, as much as she yearned for him, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mother, Connie Dowling.

  She was positive that her real mother had somehow broken through the corporate influence that had taken over her physical self. When Connie had told Michelle to leave the building, to run, to get away, that had been the real Connie Dowling. Michelle had seen the stark terror in her eyes and the love her mother never lost for her; she knew now that her mother had been fighting with Corporate Financial the entire time and somehow Michelle had never known it. The Corporate Financial side had tried to trick her into believing her mother still cared for her whenever it gained control. That’s what tipped Michelle off. When Connie told her to remember her childhood and the good times they’d had, that was the clincher. Michelle had no good memories of childhood and her real mother. The Corporate Financial side was pretending to be emotional and human. But it didn’t know how to do that. It didn’t realize it had sucked all the humanity out of her mother years ago, when Michelle was a baby.