Termination Man

by Edward Trimnell

  Chip stopped by the accounting department.

  “Are you guys running anything on the network right now? Any programs?” he asked. The accounting department was the logical place for Chip to start. They regularly ran software programs that hogged network resources. This was especially true when the bean counters were working on the month-end closing.

  Penny Hartfield, one of the assistant managers in accounting, gave Chip a puzzled expression. “No,” she said. There was just the slightest trace of indignation in her voice.

  “Well, because the network is slowing down. But I’ve looked at the activity monitor, and I can’t find any processes that would explain it.”

  “Why do you always assume that its something we’re doing?” Penny gave him that smile that was not a smile, a facial expression so often perfected by corporate mid-level managers and ladder climbers.

  A similar smile in return. “Because it usually is.”

  Chip resumed his patrol of the office area. Confounded by the situation and unable to rely to the network activity monitor, he was determined to ferret out the root cause on a person-by-person basis.

  Finally he arrived at my desk, as I knew he would.

  “There aren’t many people left in purchasing,” he said. “So I guess I’m going to have to ask you.”

  I couldn’t tell if this was an attempt at humor or not. After what had happened to Lucy, I sincerely hoped not. But I was mostly concerned about making sure that Chip didn’t take a close look at my computer screen. As he approached, I had opened a window that contained an Excel spreadsheet, a many-lined, many-columned file that was guaranteed to give a headache to anyone who examined it too closely.

  But in the lower right-hand corner of my screen, there was also a little icon that showed the progress of Netbit Sniffer. This telltale icon was the program’s salient flaw—and one that the developers of the software had apparently overlooked. If Chip’s current state of puzzlement could be taken as proof, Netbit Sniffer was indeed invisible to the administrator of the network on which it was running—save the unexplained drain on bandwidth and processing power. However, the program was not invisible on the PC from which the program had been initiated.

  “I’m working in Excel right now,” I said, giving him an innocent shrug. “That shouldn’t be slowing the network down, I wouldn’t think.”

  “Well, it’s theoretically possible that an Excel file could slow down the network—if it was large enough.” Chip was willing to consider any possibility at this point. He leaned forward to examine the spreadsheet on the screen of my workstation.

  I shifted my body a bit to the right, praying that he wouldn’t notice the Netbit Sniffer icon in the lower right-hand corner of the screen.

  “Is that file on the share drive?” he asked.

  “It sure is,” I said.

  This was an unnecessary question. UP&S mandated that its employees keep all essential files on the corporate share drive, organized into folders by department, functional category, and project. The rule predated the TP Automotive takeover. And the rule made sense: The share drive, with its nightly backup routine, prevented data loss in the event that an individual employee’s hard drive crashed.

  “Hmm.” Finally Chip left. I watched him go back to his office. He was probably going to make another attempt to unravel the mystery using his many network diagnostic tools. I beat him, however. A few minutes later, the Netbit Sniffer installation process was complete, and the icon disappeared from my computer screen.

  The only evidence of the program now was a less conspicuous icon that Netbit Sniffer had placed in the My Documents section of my hard drive. I double-clicked this icon and launched the program. Netbit Sniffer gave me a graphical layout of all the PC workstations in the office. I quickly identified Shawn Myers’s computer in the layout and selected it. Netbit Sniffer scanned Shawn’s Lotus Notes account, his hard drive, and all of the data that remained in the history files and cache of his web browser.

  This had been a risky move, but I now had what I needed: The passwords to Shawn’s email accounts. The corporate Lotus Notes was a given; and I was also in luck in regard to Shawn’s private mail: He had indeed accessed his personal email account via the company network, just as I had suspected. In the Netbit Sniffer query results queue, I saw a Yahoo account that contained Shawn’s full name and a string of numbers.

  Shawn’s choice of password chilled me. It was a combination of “Alyssa” and the current month and year.

  Chip emerged from the server room once again and called out to the office area: “Hey folks, the network is functioning normally again. Everything’s okay.”

  “Couldn’t he have sent a mass email?” I heard one person say. “I mean—the guy is our IT manager, after all, and he communicates by standing at the front of the room and shouting.”

  Chapter 65

  Early the next morning, as I was settling into my desk at UP&S, my desk phone rang. Kurt Myers’s gruff voice greeted me.

  “Craig? I need to see you. Meet me in the boardroom.”

  When I arrived at the boardroom, Kurt was alone. No Beth, no Bernie.

  “Have a seat, Craig,” he said, motioning for me to sit. “This morning I received a letter from a group that calls itself ‘Citizens for Corporate Truth.’ The letter was addressed to me personally.”

  Kurt extended a folded, typewritten letter to me. “Here. Take a look.”

  I had heard of Citizens for Corporate Truth. This was one of those self-styled watchdog groups. As their name implied, they had taken it upon themselves to serve as the public conscience of corporate America. There were many such groups out there; they had proliferated in recent years, as the Internet made it easier for like-minded crusaders to rally around particular causes. Most of these groups focused on environmental causes and worker safety related issues—the low-hanging fruit. What exactly did this particular one want with Kurt Myers, Vice President of Strategic Planning?

  I unfolded the letter and began reading. The first paragraph contained a perfunctory greeting and a bit of legalese. They say that no one reads long business letters word-for-word, and to a certain extent, this is true. But I stopped skimming when I came across the name of Tina Shields, and a vague reference to her connection to Shawn Myers.

  “Shortly before her untimely and still unresolved death, Tina Shields was in contact with Citizens for Corporate Truth. Ms. Shields informed us of multiple allegations against a member of the UP&S/TP Automotive management team. Ms. Shields further stated that she believed her life to be in grave danger, due to unspecified threats of retaliation from senior managers at TP Automotive…”

  Citizens for Corporate Truth, as I now recalled, was somewhat unique among the sundry watchdog groups. They specialized in digging up corporate scandals that had a personal edge: an administrative assistant who was ushered out the door after accusing an executive of sexual harassment, a CEO with a penchant for cocaine or high-priced call girls. That sort of thing.

  But the letter in my hand insinuated that someone among TP Automotive’s corporate management team had been involved in murder. This represented a new level of escalation. The final paragraph of the letter demanded answers, with the threat of a media campaign against TP Automotive as an inducement.

  Apparently Tina Shields had decided to wage an all-out war against Shawn and Kurt Myers. Having been denied her own justice in 1997, she must have been waiting all these years for an opportunity to extract vicarious justice through others. No wonder she had appeared in New Hastings almost immediately after the incident between Shawn and Alyssa. Then she had decided to hit Shawn and his father from another front, by enlisting the help of Citizens for Corporate Truth.

  Tina Shields had been a tragic figure in life; I feared that she might remain one in death. A group like Citizens for Corporate Truth would do nothing to alleviate or resolve the situation. I had seen their variants at work before; and I knew that all of their moves would be clumsy and self-ser
ving. They would not compel Kurt and Shawn to make a public confession of their sins. They would, however, heighten the Myers’ vigilance, making them even more suspicious.

  I realized that the task of protecting Donna and Alyssa had just become exponentially more difficult. Now TP Automotive would be looking for betrayal everywhere. And who would be more likely to betray them than an outsider who had recently had a physical confrontation with one from among their ranks?

  I heard the door click open. I glanced up and saw Shawn Myers step into the boardroom. I nodded briefly at him—no more than the minimal standards of professional courtesy required

  “I see,” I said neutrally. As I spoke my next words, I made a point of ignoring Shawn. “But as I’ve already told you, Kurt, this sort of legal problem would really be better handled by Bernie Chapman or another qualified attorney. What does this group—and this letter—have to do with me?”

  Kurt sighed. “I think you might already have some idea regarding the answer to that question.”

  Shawn sat down beside Kurt. I was now alone in a meeting room with a man whom I believed to be a murderer, and a father whom I believed to be in some form of cahoots with his murdering son. Was honesty the best policy in a situation like this?

  I decided that it was not. Let Shawn and Kurt wonder. Let them try to drag the truth out of me.

  “Shawn has told me about the little scuffle the two of you had,” Kurt said.

  I said nothing in response to this revelation. I now had to assume that Kurt already knew the worst about his son—and he had chosen to defend him anyway. I would gain nothing by making a straightforward argument.

  “It’s also come to my attention,” Kurt continued. “That you were approached in the parking lot of UP&S by this same Tina Shields—that you in fact conferred with her for more than ten minutes. Would you care to explain that, Craig?”

  Given Kurt’s accusation, I had to conclude that a security camera had indeed captured my exchange with Tina in the parking lot. I couldn’t deny that a brief meeting had taken place. But I could plausibly deny that I had communicated with her to any significant degree.

  “One night a few weeks ago an unknown woman did approach me in the parking lot,” I said. “She did say that her name was Tina Shields. I refused to talk to her, though.”

  “The security camera footage clearly shows you and Tina talking for about ten minutes, like I said,” Kurt countered. “She handed you a piece of paper, which you stood there and read.”

  “That was a flyer from a women’s organization that she claimed to represent,” I fabricated. The security camera that had captured my exchange with Tina was mounted perhaps twenty feet above the parking lot. The footage would therefore show that Tina had handed me a piece of paper. But the camera’s resolution wouldn't have been sufficient to read it. Or so I hoped.

  “She wasn’t making any sense,” I went on. “And I’ve never had much stomach for those activist types. So I humored her for a few minutes and then sent her away. I didn't know this woman, and I had no idea what she really wanted with me. Perhaps I should have mentioned the incident to Beth, but I didn't see a connection between this woman and any specific issue inside UP&S.”

  “He’s fucking lying,” Shawn said.

  I itched to rise from my seat and pummel Shawn Myers. But I held my temper in check. I wondered: Did the UP&S security system also include sensitive microphones that allowed the company to record conversations in the parking lot? Doubtful. Such technology existed, but it would have been incredibly expensive to implement over a wide, open area like the factory’s parking lot, where noise interference was constant and ubiquitous.

  Kurt ignored Shawn’s outburst, as well as my assertions. When he spoke, I had the feeling that he did not believe me. But Kurt Myers was not his son; he was far too subtle to show his hand and call me a liar.

  “Craig, I’ve done my best to be good to you, to level with you. I don’t mind telling you, right here in the presence of my own flesh and blood, that I’ve thought of you as a son at times.” Kurt paused for effect, turning to look at Shawn, and then at me. “In fact,” he continued. “My hope is that one day the two of you might even learn to see eye-to-eye. To be friends, even. I’ll be retiring within a few years; but Shawn is going to remain on the TP Automotive management team. The two of you are of the same generation. Even if you never learned to be friends, you might become strategic allies. You could help each other. Establish a bond of mutual trust and mutual benefit. That’s what sound business relationships are based upon.”

  Kurt was speaking to me, so that he could not see the shifting expressions on his son’s face. When Kurt suggested a future friendship between the two of us, Shawn smirked and shook his head at me.

  He knows, I thought. He knows that there’s more going on here than what I admitted to. He knows that I’m trying to sink him—trying to sink them both.

  “But if I can’t trust you,” Kurt said. “Then that changes everything. You seem to have struck up a friendship with this Donna Chalmers—the woman who is leveling all sorts of accusations against one of our managers. I remember the day I first asked you for information about her, and the second time, as well. Now I find out that you’ve got something personal going on with her. If I weren’t predisposed to think the best of you, Craig, I would regard that as a betrayal.”

  So they also knew about my relationship with Donna Chalmers. While I hadn’t taken extreme measures to hide my contact with Donna, I had been discreet. How closely were they watching me? Was someone tailing my movements? Perhaps another freelance consultant?

  “You want to cancel our contract?” I asked. “If you feel that there’s been a breach of trust, if you’re no longer comfortable working with me, then say the word, send me a check for prorated time and expenses, and I’ll be gone within the hour.”

  Kurt didn’t call this particular bluff—as I had known that he wouldn’t. This little meeting was part of a game. He knew it and I knew it; and he knew that I knew. Kurt realized that I grasped more than I was letting on. He probably also sensed that I now had my own agenda. He therefore wanted to keep me onsite—where it would be easier for him to monitor my actions. He also likely believed that I would be easier to manipulate if I believed that my relationship with TP Automotive could still be salvaged. The classic carrot-and-stick strategy.

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, Craig, and you’re playing it foolishly to boot. I don’t know exactly what’s going on between you and Donna Chalmers, but I can tell you this: No woman is worth wrecking your future. You need TP Automotive, Craig. And frankly, we need you at this juncture in our development. I need you.

  “I don’t give advice lightly, Craig; and I’m going to give you a piece of advice right now: Find another girlfriend in New Hastings. You’re a good-looking guy. God knows you should have other options. Donna Chalmers will bring you nothing but trouble.”

  Chapter 66

  I did not take Kurt Myers’s “advice.” If anything, over the next week I started spending even more time with Donna Chalmers. It was the beginning of what you might call a normal relationship; but recent events hung constantly over our time together. We talked of little else but TP Automotive, Tina Shields, and Kurt and Shawn Myers. There were many problems and questions, but very little in the way of solutions and answers.

  If only we had the police on our side. I kept turning the situation over in my mind, trying to come up with an angle. The problem, of course, was the troublesome burden of proof. Shawn’s attack on Alyssa had left no physical evidence. We had only Donna’s word against that of Shawn Myers.

  In the wake of the unfortunate Tina Shields’s untimely death, I gave her tales of long-ago rape and murder more thought. Perhaps I had been hasty in dismissing her as either an unreliable flake or a manipulative liar. But there was no way to take back my refusal to trust, now that Tina Shields was dead.

  And finally, I wondered—as Donna did—if Shawn Myers was somehow
exerting influence over Alyssa. Alyssa’s stubborn silence was perhaps our most significant impediment of all. With Shawn’s latest female victim unwilling to speak on her own behalf, the county prosecutor had dropped the case. We could still approach the state police; but Alyssa dug in her heels when we raised the idea.

  I asked Alyssa myself once, while we were both waiting for Donna to finish dressing for dinner. Alyssa and I were sitting alone in the living room. She was a shy girl; but she had opened up to me a little over the recent days.

  Alyssa was studying the screen of her cell phone as if it were the conning display of a nuclear submarine—so typical of teenagers nowadays. I suspected, though, that some of her apparent absorption in the device was feigned. It was a ploy for avoiding conversation with an adult whom she did not know well.

  “Did Shawn Myers threaten you, Alyssa?” I asked. “If he did, you can tell me.”

  After a brief, indecisive pause, she pursed her lips and shook her head. My years in the corporate world had taught me to recognize a lie when I saw one—and this was a definite lie. Amateur liars always wait a few beats before delivering their falsehoods. There was nothing I could do, though. I wasn’t Alyssa’s father—I barely knew the girl, really. And I was realistic enough about my own limitations to realize that I was also no child psychologist.

  “Well, for what it’s worth,” I said. “I believe you, you know—about Shawn assaulting you, that is.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Then she became, once again, intensely interested in the screen of her cell phone.

  I had become gradually aware that TP Automotive was employing outside investigators. There were times when I saw unmistakable signs of surveillance. I would be in the checkout line of a grocery store or a gas station, and a man who had been going out of his way to appear anonymous would turn away from one of my random glances. Gotcha, I would think in one of these moments.