I wasn't going to give him that opportunity. I decided that I would go back to Thomas-Smithfield, where this highly eventful day had begun. I would seek out Sid and I would denounce him in public, in front of the company’s upper management—if Donnie hadn't already shot him, that was.
I was determined to bring the situation to a head in the next hour. One way or another, the stalemate would end this morning.
Chapter 83
I parked Bethany’s car as close to the building as I could manage. I pocketed the key fob after locking the doors. I had no idea if I would leave Thomas-Smithfield in the same vehicle.
My mind was spinning now: I would have to locate Sid. And once I located Sid, I would call him out, I would tell everyone what he had done.
I didn't know, obviously, how well that would work out for me. But with Ellen unavailable—and the paperwork evidence of the embezzlement scam beyond my reach—I would have to improvise.
I had to assume that Sokolov and Kuznetsov were on their way to Donnie’s apartment—if they hadn't already arrived—with the intention of killing me and dumping my body in a shallow grave somewhere. If my public denunciation of Sid could be convincing enough, perhaps I could sway the situation in my favor, convince the senior management of Thomas-Smithfield to intervene on my behalf, and bring in the proper authorities.
Maybe. I realized that I still had only a vague path to redemption. But at least I was alive and moving around freely. For now.
I was headed toward the main entrance, just as Donnie Brady was walking out.
He was walking out as if nothing particularly dramatic had occurred inside. A few scattered Thomas-Smithfield employees were coming and going through the same doorway with the calm deliberation of a normal workday.
So clearly Donnie hadn't used the gun on Sid. There had been no workplace shooting. Nothing that would make the evening news tonight.
The sight of Donnie altered my plans yet again. I had been so focused on confronting Sid, that I had temporarily forgotten the man who had abducted me at gunpoint earlier today, and turned me over to his kicking, knife-wielding girlfriend.
I was filled with a sudden rage. The full impact of everything that I had endured over the past several weeks came back to me: I had been threatened and beaten up. They had sent someone to frighten my daughter. I was being pushed out of a job that I performed competently and conscientiously. And this morning I had been kidnapped at gunpoint, my murder planned.
I was past any desire to talk, to mince words or be artful.
I ran at Donnie with as much speed and momentum as I could muster.
I didn't feel guilty about blindsiding him; he had done the same to me earlier today. To compensate for his height and weight advantage, I literally leapt at him, my feet leaving the ground just before I struck him.
Donnie turned at the last second before impact, but it wasn't enough time for him to brace himself or counter my force. Donnie went down, and I went down on top of him.
And then I started punching him. My blows landed solidly, and I could tell that he felt them.
It felt good to have an advantage over Donnie, to pummel out my anger on him. I was going on pure adrenalin now. I figured that Donnie would eventually rally: He would throw me off and then he would be the one thrashing me; but I didn't care at that moment.
And then I felt two sets of strong hands grip my arms. I was yanked off Donnie. The tables were turning yet again—against me, this time.
Chapter 84
Thomas-Smithfield, like most medium- to large-sized companies, had an onsite security department. Also like most companies, Thomas-Smithfield contracted out this work to a third-party firm.
The security guards at Thomas-Smithfield weren't technically cops, though they could have easily been mistaken for cops. All of them were uniformed, and wore badges. Some of them carried sidearms. About half of them, from what I’d been told, were ex-policeman who had previously served with local police departments. So from a practical perspective, when you interacted with the Thomas-Smithfield security department, you often felt like you were interacting with the police.
I had seldom had much need to interact with them before that day. But now I found myself being restrained by two of them: A big, beefy pair of uniformed security guards had just lifted me from atop Donnie. They were now holding me, while Donnie and Anne Hull looked on.
Anne Hull. Of course Anne Hull. Coming and going from her first-floor office, she had several times managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; and this was yet another instance of that. She had likely been walking between her office and the main elevators when she’d seen me tackle my coworker. It wouldn't have taken her more than a few minutes to mobilize Thomas-Smithfield’s security guards, as their office was also located on the first floor.
“Hold on to him!” Anne ordered the security guards. (There was nothing to worry about on that score: Either one of the large men would have been quite capable of restraining me by himself.)
She walked over to Donnie, who was just now standing up. “Are you okay?” she asked. “He gave you a pretty nasty pounding.”
Not half of what I wanted to give him, I thought.
“I—I think I’m okay,” Donnie said.
“Make sure you visit the company infirmary after we get this sorted out,” Anne instructed him. “We can take you to the emergency room if he hurt you too badly.”
I was tempted to laugh aloud, but I knew that wouldn't help my case. I did, however, want to redirect Anne’s attention.
“He has a gun!” I shouted. I didn't know, strictly speaking, if this was still true or not. All I knew was that Donnie had left his apartment with his pistol in his coat pocket; I didn't know if the gun would still be there. He might have left it in his Jeep, after reconsidering his original plan to carry it into the Thomas-Smithfield office.
But there was to be no investigation of Donnie’s pockets or car. The security guards who held me openly scoffed. “Yeah, that’s why you tackled him, right?” one of them said.
Anne had no intention of searching Donnie’s pockets, either. “Frank, you just never quit with these wild tales of yours, do you? All I know is that your manager and your coworkers have all complained about you. I know that I just saw you attack one of your coworkers without any provocation whatsoever.”
“Should we expel him from the premises?” one of the security guards asked.
“No,” Anne said emphatically. “He’s committed a criminal act on our premises. I want you to detain him.”
“You can’t do that,” I protested, struggling against the grips that held both of my arms. “You’re not the police.”
“Actually,” Anne said, “they can. We can. If you commit a crime, a private security guard can detain you for a reasonable amount of time until the police arrive, which—I can assure you—the police will be doing shortly. I’ll be calling them as soon as we’re done here.”
“No!” I shouted, desperate now. “You can’t! You’ve got this all wrong!”
I tried once more to struggle free. It was a futile gesture. The two men who held me were more or less Donnie’s size, and of about the same physical strength.
“I’ve got rights!” I said. I was grasping at straws, and I knew it. They—all of them—had backed me into another corner, rigged the game so that any move I chose would be a losing move.
“Check the law, Frank.” She smiled icily. “Of course, I imagine you’re going to have plenty of time to get to know the law better in the days ahead. You’ve just committed a criminal assault in front of a witness.”
I started to speak, but Anne interrupted me. “Save it for the Beechwood Police Department, Frank. I’m going to contact them, and you’ll soon be done with us. It should go without saying, of course, that your employment at Thomas-Smithfield is now terminated.”
Chapter 85
The security guards detained me in a little square office that was located within the larger cluster of
office and cubicle spaces that the security department occupied on the first floor. They didn't handcuff me or attach leg shackles, but I wasn't going anywhere. There were two of them, and one of me. They were both much larger than me, and they had me contained in a small room with a single exit.
I tried to tell them my story, but it was immediately clear that neither one of them wanted to hear what I had to say. They were both hard-edged men in their late thirties. They had the strength of serious ex-athletes, and the bearing of ex-cops. I wasn't going to get anywhere with these two.
One of them left the detainment office for a few minutes. When he returned, he had more bad news for me.
“We’ve taken a few minutes to examine the parking lot security camera footage recorded this morning,” he said. “You arrived here in a vehicle belonging to Bethany Cox.”
The “stolen car” factor was already working against me. I was momentarily taken aback by this revelation, but I shouldn't have been. Every Thomas-Smithfield employee was required to provide the company with the make, model, and license plate number of the vehicle that he or she used for the daily commute to and from work. The company took down this information when each employee parking lot pass was issued.
“Care to tell us why that would be the case?” his partner asked.
“Because Donnie Brady kidnapped me at gunpoint this morning,” I said. “He kidnapped me at the home of Ellen Trevor, whom I have serious reason to believe was the victim of a conspiracy involving Donnie Brady, Sid Harper, and Bethany Cox.”
They both smiled sarcastically. They weren't buying any of it, I could tell. But I was committed now.
“After Donnie Brady kidnapped me, he took me to his apartment, where he was later joined by Sid Harper and Bethany Cox. Then Sid returned to arrange for two Russian gangsters, men named Andrei Sokolov and Boris Kuznetsov, to carry out my murder.”
I paused, just to see if the specificity of my account was breaking down the barriers of their incredulity.
As if on cue, they both grinned, chuckled, and then outright laughed.
“I’ve never heard such a cock-and-bull story in all my life.” one of them said. “I’m waiting for the spaceship and the aliens to make their appearance.”
“Do you have any proof whatsoever?” the other asked.
“Not now. But there’s paperwork that can prove it all.”
I seriously doubted now, however, that I would ever see that paperwork again. If Ellen Trevor hadn't been “eliminated” by the conspirators, then she had surely taken off, cut her losses. Could I blame her, really? Hadn't I considered doing the same thing.
“Do you know where Miss Cox is?” one of the security guards asked me.
“The last time I saw her, she was tied up on the floor of Donnie Brady’s apartment.”
When I told them that, a whole new round of questions began, and I filled them in on the rest of my morning. At least they were listening to me now.
“Donnie came back to Thomas-Smithfield with a gun, presumably to threaten Sid Harper, or possibly even kill him,” I said, concluding the rest of the story.
“Hold on,” one of them instructed me. I’ll be back in a few minutes. He stood to leave.
The other guard remained with me in the room. When his partner returned, he had both Sid and Donnie in tow.
Donnie smirked at me. He could see that he had outmaneuvered me, and I was in no position to assert otherwise. Sid, on the other hand, was affecting the textbook corporate manager stance that came so naturally to him. Before Donnie could say something stupid, Sid addressed me in his disappointed tone.
“What’s the problem here, Frank? According to what I’ve been told, you’re telling some pretty tall tales. Not to mention that you’ve assaulted one of your coworkers. What’s this I hear about guns in the office?” He looked at Donnie. “Are you planning to come after me with a gun, Mr. Brady?”
“Not unless you give me a bad evaluation next time around,” Donnie said with a sly smile.
Sid turned to the guards. “If there is some problem between myself and Donnie Brady that would involve a firearm, I’m certainly not aware of it; and apparently neither is Mr. Brady. But then, I also don’t know anything about Russian mobsters, or anyone kidnapping Mr. Joseph here, either.”
“It’s a pretty outlandish story, Mr. Harper,” said the security guard who had gone and fetched him.
“I’m a little concerned, though,” Sid continued, “regarding the part in which he claims to have tied up Bethany Cox. Ms. Cox left the office earlier this morning due to illness. She and Mr. Brady are in a relationship, so she may have gone to Donnie Brady’s apartment. And as you informed me, Frank now has possession of her car.”
“I think we’re going to need to send someone to the apartment,” the guard speculated.
“Or we could allow Donnie to go,” Sid suggested. “It’s his home, after all.”
“We’ll need to determine that,” the guard replied vaguely. “When the Beechwood PD arrives, perhaps we can get their input.”
“Whatever you think best. Well, Mr. Brady and I will leave you to your work now. Thank you for taking care of this matter.”
As he and Donnie departed, Sid paused and said to me. “Frank, I don’t need to tell you that I’m very disappointed in you. Your career at Thomas-Smithfield is over, of course; but I hope that at some point you get yourself some help, and perhaps get your life back together. I wish you luck.”
And with that Sid Harper and Donnie Brady left me to my fate, which was now effectively sealed.
I could see what Sid had done, and I had to admit: There was a certain dark genius in the feat he had pulled off. Recognizing the crisis that my escape from Donnie’s apartment had created, Sid had pulled his team together. Perhaps Donnie had come back to the office with the intention of doing him harm, but Sid had prevailed on him, likely by reminding him how much was at stake.
It would do no good for me to continue to insist that Donnie Brady was carrying a gun. That matter had clearly been taken care of, as had the rest of it.
I would never again have access to the purchasing department files at Thomas-Smithfield. If Ellen Trevor was gone, then I would have no way of proving any of it.
Someone would eventually retrieve Bethany from Donnie’s apartment. She would claim that I had appeared out of nowhere, attacked her, and stolen her car. And I had no evidence to the contrary.
There would be inconsistencies in her story, to be sure. But there would be even more unprovable elements in mine. The most likely net result for me would be some moderate to serious legal trouble, and an ignominious firing. I would be lucky to land a job as a burger-flipper after this.
Oh, and I would also spend the next two or three years looking over my shoulder, wondering when Sokolov and Kuznetsov would show up, ready to finish the job that Sid had planned for them to do this morning.
Sid had beaten me. My life would be at least temporarily spared. I suppose that was something. But Sid would still have a life, whereas mine would be irreparably damaged and perpetually threatened.
Chapter 86
Not long after that, a representative of the Beechwood Police Department arrived. The ironies continued: It was my old friend, Sgt. Burke.
He collected me from the security guards with a few basic formalities.
“I’m going to have to put handcuffs on you, Mr. Joseph,” he said.
He paused for a moment, to see if I was going to resist, to put up a fight, or maybe even attempt to make a run for it.
There was no more fight left in me, though. I turned around and allowed Sgt. Burke to handcuff me.
“There’s no choice but to take you out through the main entrance,” he said. “But I’ll try to make it as brief as possible. I’ve no desire to drag this out for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. I did appreciate the gesture. The truth, however, was that the trip through the lobby was only the beginning. This was the start of a long, drawn-out ordea
l.
As we began our walk, I had time to reflect on my relatively brief time at Thomas-Smithfield. I had come here when my life was in a downward spiral. Through hard work, perseverance (and yes, the recognition Sid gave me), I had managed to make a new life for myself. Now I was walking out the door for the last time in handcuffs, utterly broken and humiliated.
Sid and Donnie Brady, somewhat to my surprise, were in the main lobby, as was Anne Hull. It was as if they had been waiting for me, but I knew that was only an illusion, a coincidence. From what I could deduce of the situation, Sid and Donnie had just finished giving Anne their summaries of everything that had transpired this morning. She was walking them back to the elevator.
“How are you, Mr. Harper?” Sgt. Burke asked when he saw Sid. I had forgotten that he and Sid were acquainted. The Beechwood Police Association golf outing.
Sid introduced Donnie, and that made Sgt. Burke recall the matter of Bethany Cox. The security guards and Sgt. Burke had practically overlooked that loose end until now. Everything had happened so fast, and they had seemed to assume that my entire story was a concoction. I think that they doubted that I had even seen Bethany Cox this morning, though they knew that I had arrived here in her car.
“Would it be all right if Mr. Brady here went ahead and checked out the situation?” Sid asked. “There’s already been a lot of unnecessary turmoil today, you know?”
Sgt. Burke paused to give the matter some consideration. “It’s a little unorthodox, since we don’t know what’s going on there.”
“I’d be willing to bet that it’s nothing,” Sid said. “And it is Donnie’s home that Frank here invaded.” Sid shot me a disdainful glance. “Or claims to have invaded. If Donnie doesn't feel that he needs police assistance, then why not let him take a look? I don’t mind letting him leave the office, given the highly unusual circumstances today.”
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