Jerry Irwin watched from his floor-to-ceiling window as his worthless human resources director scurried to his dirty Honda. It wasn’t even five o’clock and there was Warner sneaking out of work. Not that it mattered, Irwin thought, Warner was essentially useless and had been hired mainly because Irwin knew he’d be too stupid and inexperienced to ask any questions or to follow-up when he was fed a line of bullshit. Besides, by this time next week, Patriotech would be shuttered, he’d be long gone, and his hapless employees would be someone else’s problem.
He swiveled his chair back to his desk and returned to the long-hand calculations he’d been working out on a legal pad. He knew he was counting unhatched chicks, but he couldn’t resist running endless variations on how much he would profit from the sale of the RAGS technology. Even with the 40% split with his partner and even assuming even a very conservative winning bid, Irwin knew he’d been hard pressed to spend his share of the take in his lifetime.
Behind him, on the return of his immaculate L-shaped desk, his computer screen displayed a pop-up alert notifying him that Warner had access flagged files. But Irwin was lost in thought, trying to settle on which of the islands on his short list would become his new home.
By the time he turned his attention back to his monitor and saw the notification, Warner was long gone with copies of files related to Calvaruso and his replacement.
First, Irwin pounded his fist on his desk until his knuckles bled. Next, he retrieved the prepaid phone from his desk drawer to tell his partner about the breach and his plan to remedy it. After explaining the situation, he hung up and returned the phone to the drawer.
Then, he took out a second prepaid phone—even his partner didn’t have the number to this one—and called the private security firm he’d placed on retainer when the project had gotten underway.
At the time he’d hired them, he wasn’t sure what purpose the suit-wearing gang of thugs might serve. Now, he knew.