The Dead Peasants File

by L. Craig Harris

  “So you created the list?” Christopher said.

  “Yes.” Merrill looked up at him. “I created it, but like I said, I didn't know what it was.” He looked at Travis. “Then Charles brought it back to me and said he didn't like it. He said there was a couple of guys on there that he knew. So he said to run it again. He gave a me a list of people to filter to make sure they didn't get on it. That's when Ron Eastland showed up.” He took a sip from his straw. “I was really curious what the list was so I googled the names on it and saw that they were dying – in order.” He shook his head. “Some were in accidents, one or two had a heart attack, and one guy was murdered in a robbery. Then, I saw that Ron was next, so I tried to warn him.”

  Travis nodded. "Go on."

  “Charles asked me to make another list back in December. This one had two hundred names on it. I think about fifty of them have already died.”

  Christopher leaned in. “We've got to stop this.”

  Merrill pushed up his glasses. "What can we do? The police would probably put us away if we reported something like this. People in this town worship Charles Morgan. He just gave a whole fleet of cars to the police department." He lowered his voice. “And he has a whole army of body guards. Those guys will kill for him.” He glanced at Dillon.

  Dillon stared back at him. “We believe you.”

  "We want to take you back to Springfield,” Christopher said. “We want to report this there, not here. Will you go?"

  Merrill shook his head. “I really don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison.”

  “But you didn't know what the list was for,” Travis said. “You just put in the data.”

  “It doesn't matter. I'm guilty and you know it.”

  Dillon looked at him. “Let me ask you, how long do you think you are going to last once we tell the world what is going on here? If Morgan doesn't get you, the cops will. Your best bet is to go with us and come clean. Maybe you'll just get probation for a while.” He waited. “What do you say?”

  Merrill sat a long moment. Then he nodded his head. “Okay. I'll help you.” He picked up a French fry. “But if we're going to do this, we better get it right.”

  Travis sighed, relieved that Merrill was willing to play ball. “You're doing the right thing.”

  “So, what are you thinking?” Dillon said.

  “Take me back to my office and let me get the new list. I'll make a copy of it and we'll take it to Missouri.”

  Christopher looked around the table. “Agreed?”

  The men got into the car and headed back to the headquarters. Travis was terrified of the idea of going back in there, but he knew he had better stay with Merrill and see this through. He felt his heart race again as the building loomed overhead and Christopher drove up the long driveway. “I'll go in with him,” Travis said. “You guys wait in the car and we'll be down in a few minutes.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Travis pushed Merrill through the double doors. The woman's voice asked Merrill if he was clocking back in from lunch and he said yes. Travis covered his tattoo with his arm. The men went across the lobby to the elevators. A security guard glanced at them as they walked past him. When the elevator doors closed, Merrill pushed three on the panel and they went up to his office.

  Merrill signed in to his computer and began to tap on the keys. Travis stood behind him and watched. A file opened with a list of names. Merrill clicked “file” and “print” then rolled over to a laser printer to gather the sheets. He went over to a file cabinet and pulled out a blank manila folder and put the eight-page list inside it. He went back to his computer and clicked the mouse to shut it down. “That's it,” he said.

  “Good, let's get outta here,” Travis said.

  Merrill didn't speak to any of his co-workers as Travis pushed him out of the room. They went down the hall to the elevator and pushed the down button. An elevator door opened and they started toward it, but a man stepped out of it. Travis's heart jumped in his throat. It was Charles Morgan. Travis jerked the wheelchair to a stop and the manila folder flew off of Merrill's lap and onto the floor. The papers flew out of it and scattered in front of Charles' feet.

  “Whoa, Merrill,” Charles said. “You dropped something.”

  “Oh, yes, thanks,” Merrill said, trying to stoop down to retrieve them.

  “Let me help you,” Charles said, picking up the papers. “Who's your friend?”

  “Oh, Mr. Morgan, this is Travis Reed from Springfield. He worked at the warehouse there for twenty years and just retired. I used to work for him before I came here.”

  Charles stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you, Travis. Welcome to Denver.”

  “Thank you. This is a beautiful office,” Travis said.

  Charles was classically handsome, tall and tanned. His hair was full and cut above his ears, but not a gray strand visible, even though Travis knew him to be in his early sixties. He was in great shape and when he spoke he exuded a presence that demanded attention. He smiled at Travis, “Thank you. We like it here.” He glanced at Merrill. “How long have we been in this building, Merrill, about two years now?”

  “Three, I think.”

  “Yeah, not long.” He put his hand on Travis's shoulder. “So what brings you to Denver? Are you here just to see this guy?”

  “Well, I was in town with some friends, and uh, I wanted to see the headquarters so I asked Merrill to show me around.”

  “Really. Well you should have called me. I'd have given you the real tour. All Merrill sees is computer stuff.” He laughed at his own observation. “So you were a warehouse manager for me for twenty years? You should have come to see me long ago.”

  Travis nodded. “I know, I should've.”

  “Springfield, huh? That's a nice town. Did I meet you out there? I know I went there a few times.”

  “Yes, Sir, you did. You shook my hand when I first went to work for you.” Travis paused. “And I've heard you speak at a couple of conventions.”

  Charles glanced at the folder he had placed back in Merrill's hand. “Well, you're not in a hurry are you? Come see my office.”

  “Sure,” Travis said, trying to suppress the urge to run the opposite direction.

  The three of them got into the elevator and Charles pushed the button to take them to the top floor. When the doors opened, a guard stepped out of the way to let them pass. It was just across the hall to Charles' office. He opened the door and Travis could see that the office was even more impressive than the lobby had been. Opulently decorated, the office was huge, with two walls being all windows. The third wall had open French doors that led to a balcony overlooking the lobby. The waterfall began just feet away and made a soothing sound as it cascaded to the floor eleven stories below. The fourth wall was a media center with multiple screens showing different channels and video feeds. The channels were muted, though, and soothing music played from speakers in the ceiling. Dark, expensive wood adorned the desk and cabinetry. A zebra rug was in the middle of the floor.

  Charles stopped just short of the rug. “Have you seen this, Merrill?”

  “Oh, no Sir. This must be new.”

  “Yes, I just got it this week. I'm not sure I like it, but I think I'll get used to it.” He turned and looked at Travis. “Do you want a soft drink or something? I think I even have some bottled water in there.”

  “Maybe just some water, thanks.”

  Charles walked over to a small refrigerator and opened the door. He pulled out a bottle of water. “You want one, Merrill?”

  “No thanks. I'm fine.”

  Charles handed the water to Travis and walked over and leaned back on the front of his desk with his arms crossed. “So, why are you really here, Mr. Reed?”

  “Sir?”

  “Well, you guys got all nervous and dropped your papers when you saw me. I just thought that was kind of strange.” He looked at Merrill who was clutching the manila folder under his left arm. “What's in the folder, Merrill?” />
  “Oh, this? This is just some database stuff I had with me. No big deal.”

  “Let me see.” He reached out for Merrill to hand him the folder. “No need for secrets around here.”

  Merrill held onto the folder for a couple of seconds, then handed it to Charles. “Oh, of course not.”

  Charles' expression changed as he looked at the list of names. His smile completely evaporated and he looked angry. He looked up at the men. “Merrill, what are you doing with this?”

  “Nothing. I was just moving it. I wasn't showing it to Mr. Reed.”

  Charles shook his head. “You're not a very good liar, Merrill. You were obviously showing this to him.”

  Merrill looked down at the floor.

  Travis knew his face was red but he couldn't help it. “No Sir. I haven't seen what's in that folder.”

  “Well, let me enlighten you.” He laid the folder on his desk and put his finger on it. “It's a list of employees who have died. We need it for insurance purposes.” He stood up. “That's all it is. I don't know why Merrill's carrying it around the building.” He walked behind Merrill and looked at Travis. “You're a manager, not an insurance adjuster, right Travis?”

  “Yes Sir, that's right.”

  Charles walked over and stared out the window. After a few minutes, he looked back at Travis. “Help me out, what do you want with this list of names?”

  “Nothing. I don't want anything with it.”

  Charles stared at him for several seconds. Then he pushed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Come in my office for a minute.” He took his finger off the button. The door opened and an armed body guard came into the room. Charles pointed at Travis. “Check his pockets for me. I think he may have stolen something from my office.”

  The guard grabbed Travis roughly by the arm and stood him to his feet. “Stand up, Sir.” Travis had no choice, the man pulled him to his feet. Then he began running his fingers into his pockets. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and threw it on Charles' desk. Then he reached into Travis's front right pocket and pulled out a couple of coins, his cell phone, and the flash drive. He set the phone on the desk, then he looked at the flash drive and set it beside the phone. “This is all he has.”

  “Just stay in here until I let you go,” Charles said to the guard. Then he picked up the thumb drive and stuck it into a USB slot on his desktop computer. The largest screen on the wall showed what was on his desktop. The Dead Peasants icon appeared on it. Charles double-clicked it and the original file opened, exposing the first list of names, including Ronald Eastland's. Charles studied the list for a moment. “This is interesting. You have two lists of names of employees who have died.” He glanced over at Travis. “Do you have some macabre fetish or something?”

  “Sir, my friend Ron Eastland was on that list. I just thought –”

  “You thought what?” Charles raised his voice. “What did you think, Travis?”

  Travis mustered his courage. “I thought it was interesting that his name went on this list before he died. That's all.”

  Charles looked even more angry. His expression was frightening to Travis. He pulled the thumb drive out of his computer and threw it to the floor, then stood to his feet and stomped on it, smashing it, and grinding it into his wood floor. Then he glared at Merrill. “Who all have you shown this to?”

  Merrill squirmed in his chair. “No one but Mr. Reed. Honest.”

  “Is that right? No one?” He walked around the desk and took the pistol out of the body guard's holster. “You weren't supposed to show this to anyone, now were you Merrill?” He pointed the gun right into Merrill's face. “Let me ask again. Who all have you shown this to?”

  Merrill closed his eyes and tightened his lips. “No. No one.”

  “Stop!” Travis said. “You can't do this.”

  “This is the most successful company in the world,” Charles yelled, glancing at Travis. “I answer to stockholders and two-million employees. What do you want me to stop – making money for all of them?” He pushed the gun closer to Merrill's face and continued to yell. “The whole economy rides on me. I can't let one man bring it all down.” He pointed the gun for a long moment, then threw the gun down at the guard's feet and pushed Merrill's wheelchair through the open balcony door, gathering speed as he went. He slammed the wheelchair into the railing and pushed up on the handles. Merrill screamed and tumbled over the side, clutching at the railing, but falling to the lobby floor below. Charles looked down at his ruined body on the marble floor between the water pool and the inlaid Morgan logo.

  Travis and the guard jumped up and ran out onto the balcony and looked at the scene below. Travis felt as if his heart would explode. He was short of breath and he was seeing stars dancing in front of his eyes. He thought he was about to faint.

  Charles turned and walked back into his office. “There are always casualties in a war, Travis. That's the way it works. How do you think America became great?” He turned and looked at Travis. “It was bloodshed.”

  The guard pushed Travis back into the room and forced him to sit back in the chair where he was before. Then he stood behind him with his gun drawn.

  Charles stood right in front of Travis and leaned down in his face, putting his hands on the arm rests. “Do you know who gave me that rug, Travis?”

  Travis didn't look up.

  “The President. That's why I hate it. He's a fool. There are no Zebras in America, except in zoos or whatever. That's the problem with this country – we're buying everything from overseas.” He sat in the chair next to Travis.

  Travis looked straight ahead. He had never been so terrified.

  Charles leaned toward him and looked right at the side of his face. “Do you know how we got out of the Great Depression, Travis?”

  Travis could smell his breath hot on his face. He kept looking forward.

  “We went to war, didn't we?”

  Travis nodded.

  “War is terrible and a lot of people died.” He sat upright and crossed his legs. “But it sent us into years of prosperity. We built the greatest country the world has ever known.” He raised his voice. “Do you think Roosevelt could have gotten us out of the depression? No! We'd be third world by now. We should honor Hitler's birthday every year because he caused that war.”

  Travis glanced at him. He tried to concentrate on what was being said to him and not on what he had just seen.

  “You don't believe me? You don't think it was the war that built this country?”

  Travis found the courage to speak. He continued to look forward. “Sir, we are not at war.”

  Charles yelled again. “Casualties, Mr. Reed. That's what I'm talking about. There are casualties. Collateral damage. You can't build a country without bloodshed.” He lowered his voice. “People die, Travis. It's part of life.”

  Travis wondered if he was about to be thrown over the railing too.

  Charles raised his index finger. “One person out of five thousand. That's all we're talking about. That's nothing compared to war. That's so small nobody even cares. We lose that to car accidents every day with idiots out there texting and driving.” He stared at Travis for a moment. Then he walked over to the body guard and took his gun from him and aimed it at the back of Travis's head.

  The guard suddenly spoke. “Sir, this man had two men with him when he came into the building.”

  “Is that right,” Charles said. He lowered his gun and walked over to the media wall. Travis glanced over and saw that he was studying the video feeds from the security cameras. One showed people gathered around Merrill's body. Another showed the parking lot. Travis could see Christopher's car near the front.

  Charles walked over to his desk and pushed a button on his intercom. “There are two men in that white car near the front of the building. Go get them and bring them to me.” He looked at Travis. “You and your friends will not bring down my company. I can promise you that.”

  Travis looked at
his cell phone sitting on the desk. He contemplated grabbing it and warning Dillon and Christopher, but Charles saw him staring at it and picked it up and put it in his pocket. He walked back over to the media wall and watched on the screens. In a matter of minutes, an armed guard ushered Dillon and Christopher into the room and stood behind them, his gun drawn and pointed at them.

  “Check their pockets,” Charles said.

  The two guards in the room went through their pockets and threw their wallets, cell phones and keys on the desk. Then they stood behind the men, near the door.

  Charles walked up to Christopher and Dillon, pressed his face close to theirs, and looked them over. He stuck out his hand for Christopher to shake. “Charles Morgan.”

  “I'm Chris Forrest.”

  Charles studied Dillon's bandaged ear for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “What happened?”

  Dillon shook his hand firmly. “I got into a little scrape at your store in Missouri, Sir.”

  “What's your name?”

  “Dillon James McGee.”

  Charles turned and looked at Travis. “Have these guys seen the lists?”

  Travis didn't respond.

  Charles walked over and got right in Dillon's face again. He ran his thumb across Dillon's tattoo. “Have you seen them? Have you seen the lists?”

  Dillon stared back at him but didn't answer.

  Charles turned his attention to Christopher. “And what are you doing in this mess? Do you work for me?”

  “No, Sir, but my wife does.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I'm a pastor in Springfield.”

  “A pastor?” He glanced at his guards. “What is a pastor doing in my office stealing documents from me? Doesn't the Bible say something about that?” He laughed, but no one else did. He walked over toward Travis. “So, Travis, you brought a pastor and a security guard to come steal this file from me.” He put his finger on the manila folder on his desk. “And then what? What were you going to do with this?”