by Hickory Cole
these entries in that special file where you have been routing these invoices.”
Bob obliges and I make a note regarding the location of the special file folder on the network where he has been routing these invoices as he pulls it up on his computer. There isn’t anything else I can glean from talking to Bob so I offer my gratitude and excuse myself.
I arrive back at my office roughly forty-five minutes after I left for the factory. Debra is away from her desk and the office seems eerily quiet. I pull out my chair and type my password into my computer. For some reason my password is not working. I try it several times to no avail. I pop my head out of my office, and the first few people I make eye contact with immediately divert their attention elsewhere without acknowledging me. Across the office I see a few people gathered in and around Jack’s office. A few of the people are uniformed security guards. My time has finally run out. The small mob in Jack’s office hasn’t noticed me yet so I quietly grab my brief case and make a quick exit down the side hallway to the staircase and all the way to the bottom of the stairwell. Somehow I made it in through security before but I don’t want to bet on having the same luck going out that way. My other option is the fire exit in this stairwell. The alarm will sound as soon as I push it open but perhaps the confusion of a fire alarm will afford me the necessary distraction to make my escape. As I debate my options my choice becomes clear when a pair of police officers make their way into the lobby where a security team greets them. I decide to avoid my welcoming party and push open the fire exit. As the alarms begin to blare I don’t even turn my head, but just head straight into the parking lot for my car. Luckily, my badge still works and the unmanned security gate rises when I wave it across the card reader.
I quickly drive home. My wife, Stephanie, is surprised to see me home so early. Despite feeling compelled to explain that I have been set up for the largest embezzlement scam in history, I gloss over the reason for my early arrival and convince her to pack a few things for an impromptu trip to an old family friend upstate in Sacramento.
Stephanie stares at me with a look I have seen a hundred times before. She has always been able to see right through me. “Paul, there’s something you aren’t telling me.”
“I can’t get into it now Steph. We have to go.”
“That’s bullshit Paul. You can’t barge home in the middle of the day and tell me we need to get out of town. What is going on?”
“You have to trust me on this Steph. Something has suddenly come up and I have to deal with it alone. Everything will all be fine, but you have got to let me take care of this. Please trust me.”
I can see the hesitation in her eyes. She wants to press me but finally turns. I’m not sure I still have the confidence of my wife until I see her emerge from our closet with her overnight case.
By the time we make it to Fresno, my name is all over the news.
“Paul,” Stephanie asks as she stares at the scroll at the bottom of the television screen. “Why are they saying you stole six billion dollars from McGregor?”
“It’s all a big mistake honey. I didn’t do anything wrong. Someone is trying to set me up.”
“For six BILLION dollars? It looks like they are doing a pretty good job so far.”
“Yes, well. This was all discovered yesterday and Jack had me looking into it, to keep everything low key until we could figure out what happened. Then as I started digging into it everything started pointing to me. It’s the damnedest thing. It would be nearly impossible for someone in my position to pull this off.”
Stephanie stares at the television. I’m not sure I would believe me. She stares into my pleading eyes. I so badly want her to believe me, but I’m wavering on whether it’s even fair to ask for such blind faith.
“So what do you do now? Can’t you just turn yourself in and let the truth come out in the investigation?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why is it not that simple, Paul? You didn’t do anything wrong, right?”
“No, but, like I said, all the evidence I could find today pointed to no one else but me.”
“That’s crazy, Paul. You know that sounds crazy, right?”
“Look, I can’t turn myself in. I have to investigate this thing myself. It’s the only way I will be able to clear my name.”
Stephanie looks at me, studying me. I can feel her scrutiny and it stings like a bad sunburn. She isn’t buying what I am selling but she lets me go anyway. I am pretty sure she won’t tell anyone where I am or what I’m trying to do, but she won’t keep protecting me for long, so I remain vague on the details of my plan. In a way I understand, even though losing her trust is another blow. I’m not sure how many more I can survive.
I leave Stephanie, thanking our friend for helping out in our time of desperation, and head back south. I can’t go home. The authorities have surely set up a net to bring me in if I show my face there. Instead I head towards San Bernardino, to the home of my secretary, Debra Pace. She knows I haven’t done anything wrong, she would have to. I couldn’t have pulled any of this off without her noticing something going on.
I drive past her house once and everything seems quiet. I pull back around her block and park a few houses down from hers. When she answers the door I can see a look of shock and fear on her face.
“Debra, I need your help.”
Biting her lip, she lets me in. I can tell they have convinced her of my alleged crimes. Given the enormity of the charges levied against me, I’m a little surprised she didn’t send me away.
“Debra, I know this looks bad, but I didn’t do it. I’ve been set up. They have removed my access to the system. Without it I can’t prove my innocence. Will you please help me?”
She is torn between her years of loyalty to me and the overwhelming amount of news coverage on the largest scam ever executed on US soil, but she leads me to her office where she flips on the computer screen and begins logging in remotely to McGregor’s system.
“No touching the keyboard Paul, understood,” she warns.
“Not a problem. I just need you to look up a few things.” I have Debra pull up the special file where Bob has been routing all the invoices for the missing cyborg units. They are all there. Twenty nine thousand eight hundred and forty three units listed on sixty eight invoices. All have my approval code listed on them.
“See if you still have access to my email…check the deleted items. Search for this invoice number.” I point to one of the invoices from the file that had started my investigation. Debra signs into her email account, then clicks the delegates icon. My account is listed where she would normally see it. She clicks my account and opens my deleted items and runs the search.
“You know,” she says as the search runs on her computer. “Someone could have easily cleared out any emails from here they wouldn’t have wanted you to see.” After a few seconds the search completes. Nothing comes up.
“I figured as much, but I wanted to check, just in case. Can you pull up the service record of one of our cyborg units? His name is Robert Locker. He was deployed as a shift manager at our manufacturing plant.”
“Bob Locker?”
“Yes, why? Do you know him?”
“I know the man Bob Locker, and I know he works for McGregor as a shift manager at our manufacturing plant. But he’s not a cyborg. Why would you think he is a cyborg?”
“How do you know he’s not a cyborg?”
“Because he’s my uncle.”
“That’s impossible. I saw the McGregor trademark in his eye. There has to be a mix up somehow. Can you describe your uncle?”
Debra gives a brief description of her uncle and details the exact cyborg unit I met earlier today, down to the way he parts his hair and the birthmark on the side of his neck. I sit there, stunned as I hear her describe her uncle, a man she has known her entire life, and the cyborg that had no idea he wasn’t a real man. I am rac
king my brain for some explanation. How could this be, and why would someone replace a man with a cyborg replica?
“Debra, has Bob been acting strangely over the past few months?”
“No, not at all. He’s seemed perfectly normal the few times I’ve seen him recently.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary?”
Debra nods defiantly, seeing where I am headed. “What? You think someone has replaced my uncle with a cyborg? That’s just…”
Debra stops midsentence and stares blankly at the computer display. She sits there for a moment not saying a word, then she slowly begins to recount an amusing story her uncle shared at a family gathering. “Uncle Bob was sitting in his easy chair one Saturday afternoon when the police rang his doorbell. Aunt Mary opened the door and listened as the officers apologized for having to break the news of her husband’s death. They had found a badly burnt body, but had traced the serial numbers on an artificial hip, leading them to believe it was Robert Locker. Uncle Bob overheard the commotion and walked into the foyer, introducing himself. The officers insisted on him providing identification before they finally apologized for the mistake and left.”
I sit quietly listening to Debra retell the story. She begins to realize as she recounts her uncle’s story that maybe I am not crazy, that there is something going on below the surface, including the fact that her uncle may not really be her