Chapter 1
The CEO called me into his office, staring at my resignation letter with a look of utter confusion.
"Didn't you just receive a 200,000 dollars bonus? The highest in the entire company. What more could you possibly want?"
I answered, expressionless, "200,000 dollars? There's only 200 dollars in my account."
He frowned, dialed the CFO's number, and hit speakerphone right in front of me.
A fawning voice came through the other end. "Mr. Reed, rest assured. The 199,800 dollars has been transferred to your wife's account. Clean as a whistle, not a trace."
The color drained from the CEO's face instantly.
*****
Michael Reed called me into his office.
My resignation letter lay open on the mahogany desk before him.
He tapped it lightly with one finger, lifting his gaze from the paper to my face, a crease of bewilderment between his brows.
He said, "Ryan, didn't the year-end bonus just go out? Two hundred thousand dollars, the highest in the company.
"What exactly are you dissatisfied with?"
I stood ramrod straight, meeting his eyes.
"Two hundred thousand dollars?"
"There's two hundred dollars in my account."
Michael's brow knotted instantly into a deep furrow.
He picked up his phone and dialed the CFO directly.
The call connected. He hit speaker.
David Warren's signature obsequious voice filled the silent office immediately.
"Mr. Reed, you can rest easy.
"The rest 199,800 dollars has been transferred to your wife's account.
"Guaranteed spotless. The books are perfectly clean."
The air in the office seemed to solidify.
I watched Michael's face shift at visible speed, from confusion to shock, from shock to ashen fury.
Finally, that handsome face took on an eerie, ghastly pallor.
On the other end of the line, David was still prattling on.
"Mr. Reed, your wife really does think of everything.
"She said a young woman like Ms. Summers shouldn't have that much money. It might lead her astray. The company 'holding' a portion for her is really for her own good.
"If you ask me, this was handled quite—"
"Shut. Up." The two words ground out from between Michael's teeth, each syllable coated in ice.
He ended the call. The office fell into a silence like death.
I remained standing, expressionless, as though none of this concerned me.
In truth, I was waiting, waiting for Michael to give me an explanation, or rather waiting for him to give himself one.
His chest heaved violently. He was clearly furious.
A full thirty seconds passed before he raised his eyes. Those pupils, always so sharp, so composed, were now churning with a storm.
He wasn't looking at me. He was looking through me, at something far deeper.
"When did you find out?" he asked, his voice raw.
"When I got the bank notification." My tone was flat.
"Two hundred dollars. I thought it was a system glitch.
"So I pulled up my pay stub.
"It said: year-end bonus, two hundred thousand dollars."
Michael closed his eyes, as if fighting to contain something volcanic.
"So you just resigned? Just like that?" Michael asked.
"Yes."
"Without even asking?" A note of accusation crept into his voice.
"Mr. Reed." I finally spoke, addressing him by his title.
"I've been at this company for five years.
"From intern to project director. I believe I've earned every cent this company has paid me.
"I trusted the system. I trusted you.
"But I do not trust a payroll that can turn two hundred thousand dollars into two hundred dollars.
"That's not a glitch.
"That's an insult."
My words were calm with no accusation, no self-pity, just the statement of a fact.
Michael fell silent.
Of course he knew it wasn't a glitch.
David had spelled it out on the phone: "transferred to your wife's account."
He simply couldn't believe it, or rather refused to believe that wife of his, forever gentle and gracious, cultured and composed in his presence, had done this behind his back.
He couldn't believe she would embezzle an employee's bonus, and not some trivial sum.
This wasn't mere greed. This was shaking the very foundation of his company.
He drew a deep breath and picked up his phone again.
This time, he didn't dial immediately. His finger hovered over the screen, hesitating.
I knew who he was about to call.
He was going to call his wife, Elaine Carter.
I watched him in silence, neither urging nor interrupting.
This was a lid he had to pry open himself.
At last, as though steeling himself for something irreversible, he pressed the call button.
Two tones sounded, and then the line connected.
A soft voice poured through. "Darling, what is it? Missing me already this early?"
It was Elaine's voice.
I lowered my lashes, concealing the ice behind my eyes.
I heard that same voice just days ago on the phone. "Ryan, don't push your luck. Michael pays you a premium to work yourself to the bone for him, not to get greedy. Two hundred dollars is your monthly phone stipend. Know your place."
Michael's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Elaine," he began, his voice taut as piano wire, "there's something I need to ask you."
"Go ahead, darling. What is it?" Elaine's tone carried a smile; she seemed to be in excellent spirits.
"Ryan's year-end bonus. What happened to it?" Michael enunciated every word.
On the other end, there was a beat of silence.
It was barely perceptible.
But both Michael and I heard it.