Taking Stock (7 page)

A few minutes later,
Eric
a padded down the hall barefoot in sweatpants and an old Northeastern T-shirt. She saw the back of Gregg’s head over the couch, pointed and mouthed, “What’s he doing here
?
”

Melanie stepped closer and whispered, “I saw him downtown and invited him. Simon’s history, why not
?
”

“It’s been one day. I don’t need a fix up,”
Eric
a whispered louder.

“It’s not a fix up. He’s been under your nose five years. If I was going to fix you up I’d bring home someone new for you to trample.”

“Ouch. Simon really got to you.”

“It’s not Simon I’m worried about.” She looked down her nose at
Eric
a, but she didn’t seem to understand who Melanie was trying to help. “Let’s eat. I want to get some lasagna before I get kicked out.”

Eric
a smirked. That wasn’t going to happen.

The whispers grew loud enough for Gregg to hear, but he wisely faced the windows.
Eric
a snarled, spun back toward her room, probably considering changing her sweat pants for something more appropriate, but she turned again and crossed the kitchen toward Gregg. This wasn’t a date for
Eric
a. She hadn’t known he was coming and she wouldn’t validate Melanie’s meddling by dressing up.

Melanie watched him turn and meet
Eric
a’s eyes.

Her protest was lost on him.

Eric
a stopped a foot from the couch. “What brings you here
?
”

“I heard the food was good,” he said.

“It’s ready,” Melanie chimed from the kitchen, heading off
Eric
a’s sarcastic retort. She watched Gregg as she delivered the salad to the table. He was entranced by
Eric
a. Less than five minutes out of the shower, no make-up, wearing sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt, she looked amazing. Eleven years younger, Melanie wished she could look as good.

Gregg chose the middle seat, so he’d be next to
Eric
a whichever end she chose. He asked about the project.
Eric
a rambled on about her work the previous sixty hours and how Brad had taken away another member of her project team. The technical gibberish was meaningless to Melanie, but she watched how easily they talked. Putting the two of them together couldn’t have been more natural.

Gregg spent his weekends on the family farm from May to October. They needed all the help they could get, so he rarely visited the office on a weekend except during the winter. He shared a few country stories and had
Eric
a enthralled, but when he asked about her family, the conversation came to a dead stop and nothing he said could revive it.

“Not much to say. It’s just me and my mom,” was all she said.

She offered nothing more in spite of his prompting.

He asked about things they did together when she was young; games, sports, movies, anything to spark a conversation or give him an idea for a date. She deftly reflected the conversation back at him, learning about his family, his work, his politics, all the while revealing nothing of herself. Listening to this, Melanie realized
Eric
a routinely did the same with her. Melanie idolized her father and adored her mother. They had talked for hours about Melanie’s family, but not five minutes about
Eric
a’s.

After dinner
Eric
a claimed the sole armchair in the living room before Melanie could think to occupy it herself.
Eric
a relaxed with the increased distance between them, but Gregg’s mood sunk so low Melanie didn’t dare leave them alone. She added her own stories to brighten the mood, but the awkward dance toward the door had begun.

An hour later,
Eric
a escorted him out from three feet away. Gregg was dying to close in, but she sent no clear sign what she’d do if he did. He had to face her at work in the morning and his anguish was clear. He wanted to try again, but facing the embarrassment every time he saw her at work was too much. Melanie wished she could walk over and shove them together.

They faced each other for a pregnant moment.

Neither moved toward the other and he left with his head low.

Melanie followed him into the hall and shut the door.

“Thanks for trying, Mel. It’s just not there.” He slumped against the rail looking shattered, not sure where to go or what to do.

Melanie felt responsible. “Don’t give up. She has feelings under there, honest. She’ll come to her senses if I have to smack them into her.”

She watched him trudge downstairs. Even if she did come around, he’d probably end up dejected after a few weeks. They always did. 

He sat on the cold concrete for an hour after she left, watching the building from the park in case she decided to return. Only the front doors were open on weekends, so if she’d gone for dinner and come back, she’d have passed right in front of him. She didn’t. She was probably sleeping after working forty hours in the last three days. It was Sunday after all.

No one was there to see him casually cross the street and slip through the lobby. The guard sympathized with the late hours as they usually did. The elevator carried him up to twenty-two and he strode around the entire floor, poking his head in every cubicle and office before setting to work. He was positively alone when he slipped inside
Eric
a’s office and flicked on the light. Stacks of documents covered every square inch of her desk, credenza, and filing cabinets, not surprising given the tremendous load he’d assigned. Still, the clutter diminished her achievements somewhat. He valued order. Organization meant clear-headedness and discipline.

The computers on the desk were running as usual. A tap on the nearest keyboard brought a password box up on the screen. He entered her password, surprised, or maybe a bit disappointed that she’d stopped changing it so often. No matter, the little program his partner supplied allowed him to impersonate her anytime he wished. In the beginning she changed it every month or so. Her paranoia made him wonder if she knew about his incursions into her virtual territory. It seemed she had only been following protocol. The information assets under her stewardship warranted extraordinary measures of protection, but now the pressure had overshadowed her professionalism. Fatigue overtook good judgment. To her credit, she was worn down to the point of exhaustion and still hadn’t made a blunder big enough to justify getting rid of her. He routinely covered mistakes for the other developers, but he’d give
Eric
a no such leeway. He’d take any chance to move her out, but she gave him no justification, a wonder in this chaos.

The bug list was on top of the pile to the left of her laptop. He browsed down the page, checking her scribbles to find problem after problem she’d certified as resolved and ready for production. On the computer, he tapped his way into the programs she’d fixed then stopped and studied. Toying with her was an art. She needed to believe these new problems were her mistakes. Tired as she was and with the load she carried, the assumption would be natural. He wouldn’t make errors so obvious as to tip her off, or so severe that she’d restore from backup and make her changes again. He spent nearly an hour changing several files, adding the wrong numbers together to get information that looked good, but wasn’t accurate. How he’d enjoy pointing these problems out later, or even better, seeing her reaction when the system went live and the users began screaming all at once. He’d relish that moment.

Finished, he returned the computer to the exact state he found it in and rose to leave. As he straightened a pile he’d ruffled with his elbow, he noticed a form marked-up with highlights and red pen. It was a phone bill; the same one Gregg had thrust upon him. That one died in the shredder. He took this new copy and a few pages of account history beneath it and steamed out.

Sarah Burke handed her paperwork to the human resources coordinator with a flourish and watched her circle the three younger recruits as they struggled with the stack of forms. She was eager for her new beginning; eager to forget the married partners knocking on her hotel room door; eager to work in the same place every day with people she could leave each night; eager for the normal life she would build here in
Boston
. Never again would she search for ways to pump up her billable hours. Never again would she cover for an inept sponsor because he signed the check for a consulting gig. This new life would be different. This job was about finding the truth. She relished the opportunity to proclaim it to all who would listen.

Herman Richards appeared at the conference room door, barked a single word, “Sarah,” and stood tensed and ready as if he expected her to snap to attention, salute, and run toward him. She rushed out as quickly as she could without risking a fall in front of her new coworkers. Herman had been intense in the interview room, but she never imagined this was his day-to-day persona. He gave the host a curt nod, and led Sarah down the hall without acknowledging the three young men at the table.

Matching his long strides in two-inch heels was a challenge. If not for the short elevator ride and the pauses when he stopped to hold the doors open, she might have lost sight of him. She was winded when Herman disappeared into a small office behind the elevators. The room abounded with cherry-finished furniture that was new employee, first day clean. This office was hers. The bookcases, desktop, and even a small round table with two chairs looked new and shiny-smooth, ready for her to dig in. There was no window and the elevator would vibrate up and down all day, but this was her first walled office. The confidential nature of her work was the reason she had solid walls, but that didn’t steal the pride she felt for her new surroundings. Coming to this small office would be a pleasure.

Herman motioned her to sit. He stood across the desk, his bald head and intense eyes even more menacing from three feet above.

“I know this is your first internal audit position,” he said, “so I’m going to make the rules painfully clear. This is not a democracy and it’s not the Wild West. We have unfettered access throughout the firm, but we do not intrude whenever it suits our fancy. Is that understood
?
”

Sarah could only nod.

“We have a plan.” He picked up a thick blue binder from the table and thrust it at her. “Read this today and tonight. Follow it and you’ll be successful. Stray from it and I’ll be explaining to the audit committee why
I
failed to execute. I’ve never had that conversation and I don’t expect to.”

Sarah opened the binder and flipped for the table of contents.

“Stan Nye is your partner. He’ll come by and show you around. Get comfortable. Tomorrow we’ll get you into the flow.”

Herman stepped back toward the door and hesitated there. “One more thing: nothing goes to the audit committee unless it goes through me – and  I mean nothing. If you have a discussion with any member that goes beyond the weather and whatever you do outside this building, your ass will hit the pavement faster than you can say take me back to PFCC. Understand
?
”

“Completely.”

Herman left her with the binder and a roomful of empty furniture.

Halfway through the table of contents, she stopped and stared at the page. Herman was not at all what she expected. She had yearned for the comfort of working in the same place each day. She assumed she’d still have the latitude to do things her way. As a consulting manager, she was turned loose for months at a time with a few goals and an introduction to her customer contact. Maybe working for a company meant they cared more about what you actually did, rather than focus on the fees. She hoped Herman’s speech was first-day posturing and that he’d lighten up when he got to know her, but deep down she felt a bit rattled. She opened the binder and read to crowd the worry from her thoughts. The crisp pages described an investigation of human resources and accounts payable practices in excruciatingly mundane detail.