A Desire for Revenge

by Sophie Newsome

  Eventually I finish cleaning my knee up and I limp back out into the office. Just as I expected, there's a palpable sense of nervous tension, with everyone standing around and talking in hushed tones about the future direction of the company. I guess there won't be much work done today.

  "You alright?" asks Armstrong, looking over at me. "How's the leg?"

  "Fine," I reply. "Any news?"

  "Well..." He pauses for a moment, and I can immediately see that he's got something to tell me. "It's not all bad news, Amy. We get two months' pay, and -"

  "Bullshit," I reply.

  He shrugs. "It's not the end of the world. There are other jobs. We've got great experience -"

  "We're fired?" I say incredulously.

  "Officially," Armstrong continues, "the company is being re-organized and our jobs are no longer a part of the corporate structure". He pauses for a moment. "In other words, yes, we're fired".

  "All of us?" I ask, looking around at the half a dozen others in the office. "Are we all fired? He can't just fire the whole staff".

  "No, mate," Armstrong says. "Not all of us. Just you and me".

  I stare at him, trying to make sense of the news. Out of all the people in this entire company, we're the only two who have been canned? Our department has been one of the best-performing this year, delivering several big deals. Just last week, we signed up two new clients. It doesn't make any sense to get rid of us. Sure, there's some dead weight in the company, but Armstrong and I are two of the best workers around this place and everyone knows it. There's no way any business would just cut loose two of its best workers. It's completely illogical.

  "I know it's a shock," Armstrong continues, "but you've got to look at the positives".

  "But why us?" I ask, pulling him aside so we can speak without being overheard. "No offense to anyone else, but why did they fire us?"

  "Orders from the top," he says, shrugging.

  "Orders from the... No, Foster wouldn't -" I pause as I suddenly realize what he means. Until today, Foster was the boss, but now there's a new man in charge and it seems he takes no prisoners, even among friends. "Duncan..." I say, feeling my chest tighten. The old Duncan - my Duncan - would go out of his way to help other people. Clearly something has changed in the intervening years. He's become harder and tougher. "Duncan fired me?" I say eventually.

  "I know," Armstrong replies. "It sucks".

  "You don't understand," I tell him. "I know Duncan Blake. We're old friends. There's no way he'd fire me. Maybe Foster's got it wrong. Maybe you and I are the only ones who aren't getting fired!"

  "Or maybe you got screwed over by a friend," Armstrong says. "All's fair in love and war".

  "This isn't love or war, this is -" I stop as I see Foster walking towards his office. "Hang on, I'll fix this," I say to Armstrong, hurrying over to catch Foster. "Mr. Foster!" I call out. "Can I have a word?"

  He turns to me, and I can see from the look on his face that he doesn't want to have this conversation. "Hello Amy," he says. "I imagine you'd like to -"

  "There's been some kind of mistake," I say, trying to keep from sounding like some kind of panicking fool. "There's this crazy rumor going around that Armstrong and I have been fired. That's not possible, right? There's been some kind of mistake".

  He sighs. "I'm afraid there's no mistake. If it's any consolation, Amy, it really wasn't my decision. I argued with the new owners that we should hang on to our people, but they were absolutely insistent that we make these cuts. I can only -"

  "Where is he?" I ask, suddenly feeling my panic resolve to become a kind of firm, focused anger.

  "Who?"

  "Duncan. Mr. Blake. I need to see him".

  He shakes his head. "I really don't think that's appropriate, Amy. You mustn't take this type of decision personally. It's not a reflection on you as an individual, it's more about the company and the direction that the new owners wish to take. Don't think of it as a firing. Think of it as a re-organization that has unfortunately resulted in your job no longer being a part of the corporate structure".

  "Can I see him?" I ask.

  "He's already left," Foster replies. "And even if he hadn't, I don't think -"

  "He's left?" I say, shocked. I half expect to suddenly wake up and find that I've been dreaming. In what kind of world does Duncan show up, fire me, and then leave without even saying hello? The Duncan I know - the old Duncan - would never be so callous. "Did he leave a message for me?" I ask.

  "Amy, this really isn't personal. The new owners didn't fire you and Armstrong personally. They merely cut the positions you occupy".

  "But he knew it was me," I say. "Right? Duncan Blake knew that I was one of the ones being fired".

  "You'll get a new job," Foster replies.

  "He can't do this," I say. My shock is starting to turn to anger. There's no way this is an accident or an oversight. Duncan has done this deliberately. But why? Sure, we haven't seen each other for a decade, and we've barely exchanged an email, but we parted on good terms. We're still friends, or at least we were until today. I've never done anything to make him angry at me. So why has he done this to me? "I need to speak to him," I say. "I need his phone number".

  "I'm afraid that would do no good," Foster says. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm really very busy but I'd be -"

  "Please," I say, interrupting him. "Please please please, Foster. I need to speak to him".

  "I can't give you his number," he replies. "You'd be better off directing your energies towards other activities. You've got two months' redundancy pay and a strong CV. You should channel your energy into finding a new job. I know you're a good worker, Amy. If it was up to me, I'd make sure that there was still a place for you here at the company, but I'm not in charge any more".

  "He's going to regret this," I say.

  "Don't waste your time on revenge," Foster says. "You want my advice? Clear out your desk, go home, send out your CV to as many people as possible, and then call up one or two of your best friends and get drunk". He opens the door to his office and steps inside, before turning back to me. "Look on the jobs websites," he continues. "You'll find something. And please feel free to use me as a reference. I'd be only too happy to recommend you to absolutely anyone. Keep in touch, okay?" With that, he shuts the door, leaving me standing in the hallway like an idiot.

  "Want to get drunk?" Armstrong asks.

  I turn to find that he's wandered up behind me. "Yeah," I say, "but... not right now. I need to think".

  "I'm going to empty out my desk," he says. "I'll be in the Carrington in about half an hour if you change your mind and want to join me for a beer". He turns and heads back across the office.

  Something still doesn't quite make sense here. Maybe it's naive of me, but I feel like I know Duncan and I know he wouldn't do this to me. Then again, he looks so different today. Gone was the vague, awkward smile; instead, he had a piercing stare and a much more confident attitude. Perhaps the old Duncan, the Duncan I used to know, is gone now, replaced by someone new. I guess people change, and it's been almost a decade since I last saw him. Is it possible, though, that he could have become a completely different person?

  "Revenge," I mutter, remembering the word that Foster used. He warned me not to seek revenge for being fired, but that word seems strangely appropriate. It feels like Duncan has taken his revenge on me, but I don't understand what I did to upset him. How can I have pissed him off when we've barely even spoken for ten years?

  "We'll miss you, Amy," says one of my colleagues as she walks past.

  "Yeah, thanks," I say, turning and hurrying through to the elevators. The truth is, I won't really miss anyone here. It was a decent job, but I always saw it as a stepping-stone to something better. I head down to the lobby, but as I start walking towards the exit I feel myself about to start crying. I hurry over to the bathroom door, rushing into a cubicle and immediately bursting into tears. Damn it, this is so stupid. I don't have time to cry. I need to get my
shit together and work out what I'm going to do next, but at the same time I'm in shock over the thought of losing my job. Not just losing it, but losing it in such a fucked-up way. I'm good at what I do. Maybe I'm not the best ever; I'm not some kind of miracle worker, but I'm damned good. It's not fair for this to happen to me. Taking Duncan out of the equation for a moment, it's totally wrong that I'd be fired after working so well for the company for the past couple of years. And then there's the fact that Duncan is behind it all. Why the hell has that asshole done this to me? It's like I've been betrayed by someone I thought was a friend.

  Sniffing back tears, I feel my rage start to solidify into something more useful. I tell myself that I'm not going to waste any more time crying and feeling sorry for myself; no, I'm going to find Duncan and give him a piece of my mind. If he thinks he can just slink in here, fire me, and then hurry away before I have a chance to confront him, he's got another thing coming. I'll track the bastard down and at least make him look me in the eyes as he tells me I'm fired. If the coward's going to do this to me, I'm going to make sure he can't take the easy way out; if our friendship is over, then I'm going to make sure it ends with him knowing how I feel about what he's done.

  Stepping out of the cubicle, I look at myself in the mirror. Damn it, I'm a mess. I grab some toilet paper, wet it, and wipe the runny mascara from my face. It takes a few minutes before I'm looking acceptable, although you can still kind of tell that I've been crying. Taking a deep breath, I stare at my reflection. I'm still young. I can still cut it. I'm only in my early thirties, so I don't see any reason why I can't pick myself up and find a new job. That's not the problem. The problem is that I've been fired in a totally unfair way, by a guy who I thought was my friend but who now seems to think he can do this to me and then run and hide. He's got another thing coming, though, because I'm going to track him down. He can't hide from me. I don't care where he is; I'm going to make him look me in the eye and tell me why he's done this to me.

  Walking quickly out of the bathroom, I head out the front door and into the crisp London air. It's almost lunchtime, and I figure I at least deserve to go and get something to eat. I need to plan my next step carefully, because when I find Duncan I need to be fully prepared; I need to be able to coolly and rationally tell him exactly what I think of his -

  "Miss Langton?" says a voice behind me.

  I turn, shocked to find a well-dressed older gentleman has approached me. He's wearing a gray chauffeur's uniform. "Who's asking?" I say cautiously.

  "Mr. Blake was wondering if you could spare a moment," he continues in clipped, upper class tones. "If you'd be so kind, he's waiting for you in his car".

  I look over and see a large black limousine parked a few feet away. It's huge and kind of intimidating, taking up the space of three or four regular cars. Even in this part of London, which is awash with wealth, the limousine is highly conspicuous. The rear windows are darkened to prevent anyone from seeing inside, but I have no doubt that Duncan's watching me right now... waiting for me.

  Three

  Again my phone rings, and again I ignore it. Slamming the door to the apartment, I take a deep breath and wait until the ringing stops. Finally I'm left in silence. I don't give a damn who's trying to get hold of me; right now, I'm so furious with the world, I feel like I should just be left alone. It's been half an hour since I walked away from Duncan's limousine in the street. On the way home, I kept going over and over what I want to say to him. I know that at some point, I'm going to have to sit down and talk to him face to face, but first I want to work out exactly what I'm going to say. In my current, emotionally raw state, I'd just rage and shout. I need to take some time and come up with something more eloquent, more considered. This showdown is going to happen, but it's going to take place when I'm ready and on my terms. Right now, I'm so full of anger, I know that it would be a mistake to go steaming into a conversation with him.

  After fixing myself a quick lunch, I grab my laptop and decide it's time to do a little digging regarding Mr. Duncan Blake. At first I draw a blank, finding nothing on the usual social media sites. It's almost as if Duncan has carefully erased himself from the internet. Finally, however, I start researching the HK Simonds and Dunleavy Development Fund in Hong Kong, and within minutes I've found a corporate PR page that explains pretty much everything. The company was set up five years ago and grew quickly to become one of Asia's leading venture capitalist firms; they specialize in buying up failing companies, turning them around, and then selling them on for a profit. Most of their work has been in Asia so far, but they're starting to branch out and take advantage of the weakening western economy, which I guess explains how they ended up operating in London and buying up the company. What it doesn't explain, however, is why Duncan chose to take such a personal interest in this particular acquisition, and why I've been fired so brutally.

  Digging around the HK Simonds and Dunleavy Development Fund website a little more, I eventually find a profile for Duncan Drake. It mentions that he arrived in Asia a decade ago, planning to work as a teacher. The details are vague, but he seems to have somehow ended up with a significant amount of money to invest, and apparently he chose wisely. I read the profile through twice, trying to work out where, exactly, that money came from, but there's no information. It's as if all of a sudden, Duncan had a couple of million dollars at his disposal. A little more research reveals that he's now worth an estimated $5.1bn, and that he's one of the most respected entrepreneurs in that part of the world. I find an interview with him from a couple of years ago, in which he talks about his determination to push the company forward at a relentless pace. He also mentions that he used to be far less driven, but that his life changed while he was in Asia. Again, however, there's an infuriating lack of detail. There's nothing here to explain how the Duncan Blake I used to know at college turned into the Duncan Blake who turned up at the Foster & Mortleby office today.

  Eventually, closing the laptop, I figure there's no point hanging around in the apartment all afternoon. All I'll do is sit and stew. My flatmate Louise won't be home until six or seven tonight, and I can't wait that long to vent my frustration at someone. I try to call Laura, but she's not picking up, which means she's probably taking an afternoon nap. Damn it, why can't I be more like Laura? She never seems stressed or worried. She just floats through life as if she's on a cloud, taking things as they come. In some ways, she's similar to how Duncan Blake used to be before his rather sudden and unexplained personality transplant. She's probably not the best person to talk to about all of this, though, so after a moment's hesitation I end up doing something I never thought I'd do: I phone up Armstrong and ask him if he's still up for a drink.

  "Sure," he says, sounding surprised and a little drunk. "I'm still in the Carrington, gonna be here all day".

  "I'll be there soon," I tell him, before hanging up the call. Armstrong's an idiot, and he's annoying, but I feel I can bitch and moan to him freely. Besides, now that we don't work together, I doubt we'll ever see each other again, so I don't have to worry about boring him or ranting too much. The guy's a disposable friend.

  Grabbing my things, I head to the front door. I pause for a moment, double-checking that I feel okay and that I'm not about to burst into tears again. Today has been so crazy and frantic, I've barely had time to stop and let my spinning head start to settle. But no, I feel good. I'm still angry, but I feel like I'm ready to turn that anger into something useful. First things first, though: I'm going to go and get a beer with Armstrong. I'm going to pour out my frustrations, even if Armstrong's too drunk to give a damn. Filled with an unexpected sense of energy, I pull the door open and step out into the -

  "Hi," says Duncan Blake, standing right in front of me.

  I manage to stop just in time to keep from bumping into him. I take a step back, momentarily lost for words. Back in the Foster & Mortleby office, I didn't get close to him, but now I can see how much he's changed and, also, how much he's stayed th
e same. He's still taller than me, and he still has those dark brown eyes that seem able to stare straight into my soul; he still has that curious, half-cocky smile that makes me wonder what he's thinking; and he still wears the same cologne that he occasionally slapped on his neck back at college. Everything else, though, has changed: he seems more confident, and more focused; it's almost as if he's got a new sense of identity; also, he seems to have bulked out a little, as if the skinny frame of yesteryear has been replaced by a more muscular physique, and the lost weight has revealed a more chiseled jawline. In some strange way, he seems to have filled out to become a real man. It's a palpable physical change, and it kind of takes my breath away.

  "I got your address from the company database," he says. "I guess that was a little naughty of me, but I figured... it's my database now, so..."

  "You should be careful doing things like that," I reply. "There are laws, you know. The Data Pr -". I pause, realizing that the last thing I want to do right now is reel off a series of rules and laws. "Why did you fire me?" I ask, deciding to get to the point.

  He takes a deep breath. "Can I come in?" he says. "I'd rather not talk out here on the street".

  "I was just going out," I tell him.

  "Oh," he replies. "Well... Is there a good time to catch you?"

  "Not really," I say. "I'm gonna be rather busy for a while, looking for a new job". Damn it, I want to tell him to get lost, but at the same time I feel like I can't pass up this opportunity to find out what's really happening. "I guess I could go later," I continue, stepping back inside. "You can come in if you want".