I looked at the phone in my hand. Just a hunk of black and silver plastic that I'd picked up at a convenience store. It felt heavy in my hand. Heavy and cold. I'd never held a pistol before, but I imagined that the sensation must be similar.
I had been a year coming to this place. Just over 14 months, to be precise. It had been a long, unpleasant year. Part of me knew that deep down, all my troubles didn't justify my intentions. But I was tired - so tired - of being the better man. I had been grinning and bearing it for a year and I'd had enough. I wanted payback.
Life had started going south just after I graduated high school. Dad got diagnosed with cancer. Fortunately, they caught it early, so the prognosis looked good. However, the treatment would involve several rounds of chemotherapy, so he'd have to hire someone to replace him at the restaurant because he wouldn't be able to work. I still had a younger brother and two sisters at home, so I knew money would be tight. As such, I got the University to defer my enrollment and scholarship for a couple years so I could get a job to support my family.
That's how I started at IQC Financial. As just a high school graduate, I wasn't qualified to do much, but this job paid better than most. The company worked with lots of sensitive financial data, so they had a stringent background check and required even the lowliest employee to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Consequently, I made a lot more than I could just flipping burgers.
Still, it was mostly menial labor, even if I did it wearing a tie. Officially I worked in the Copy Room since the company generated a ton of memos and reports. Having a strong guy with a young back to cart all that paper around. In practice, though, I was pretty much anyone's errand boy. If something needed doing, then call Joseph.
Most of the time this wasn't too bad. Watching a massive copier churn out 10,000 pages was pretty boring, so running an errand kept things interesting. Bob Schumacher would send me out for an $8 coffee run with a $20 bill and tell me to keep the change. Rick Jessup once had me retrieve his briefcase from his condo; after I told him I could drive a stick, he tossed me the keys to his Porsche 911. Tom Howard let me have his 7th row midcourt Lakers tickets when I stayed late to make sure his presentation handouts got finished in time for a big client meeting. Pretty much all of the executives were really generous with their appreciation.
Except Daniel Collins. For a guy who made more in a month than my family saw all year, he was a cheap bastard. If he ever sent me out for coffee, he wanted exact change back. That meant if I tipped the barista, it came out of my pocket. He never said thank you for anything. He fully expected me to work after hours and on weekends. The one time I objected that I had class (I was taking some community college courses at night so I had some hours when I went back to University), he told me, "I don't give a fuck about you getting your GED! If you don't stay late, then don't bother showing up tomorrow, Jose."
Oh yeah, he also called me Jose. Yeah, my last name is Ruiz, I do speak Spanish, and I have tan skin and dark hair. But I'm fourth generation American born,I have a scholarship to USC, and my name is Joseph. Joh-sef. Just like in the Bible. But to him, I might as well have been some high school dropout who cut his lawn.
Of course, he looked like some prototype for American executive. Blond, broad-shouldered, big jaw, bright white teeth. 6'2". Big thick chest because he thought how much you could bench press was the true measure of a man. (In the company gym, he always mocked the lighter weights I worked with. I went to the State Finals for long distance running, so my 5'11" frame is all lean and wiry; a bulky build like his would just slow me down.) Family was a bunch of old money types back east. He attended Ivy League schools, got his MBA, and now wore $3000 suits and drove a Mercedes that cost almost as much as the mortgage on my parents' house.
He was a lot nicer to the other executives. He was also Mr. Congeniality wit the female staff. He also knew not to get too dismissive with the IT guys. But to him handful of subordinate guys like me who had no real power, he was pretty much a selfish prick.
A successful prick, too. Though in his mid-30s, he was a rising star. Water cooler gossip said the New York office had him on the short list for a big promotion back east.
And to top it off, there was his wife. Naturally, she was another child of privilege - rich parents, fancy education, and now Mr. Big Shot husband. And of course, she wasn't just pretty; Mrs. Collins was drop dead gorgeous by pretty much any definition. Her chestnut curls had just a hint of red in them as they cascaded halfway down her back. Her angelic face had big, green eyes and pink, full lips. Of moderate height, her legs seemed to stretch on for a slender infinity.
Somewhere in the vicinity of 30, she had a waist as tiny as my little sister. But Mrs. Collins was in no way a teenage girl. She had full womanly hips that flared into a delectable heart-shaped ass. And riding high on her chest were some absolutely incredible breasts. Full, round, and just this side of OMG-huge. For a brief period in high school I'd dated a girl who wore a D-cup, so I thought I knew what "busty" was, but my girlfriend's tits combined couldn't make one of Mrs. Collins' massive orbs.
I got to see her every week or two. They'd been married for a few years now, but she liked to drop to take him out to lunch. Daniel loved the chance to parade around his gorgeous wife in front of everyone. He did the same thing with his cars, golf clubs, watches, etc.
Having to watch this goddess walk away arm-in-arm with this jerk was bad enough. Even worse was having to listen to what they did out of sight. The company gym was a nice perk available to all employees, but unfortunately Daniel liked to use it, too. So when he wasn't bragging about how much he could bench, he often liked to talk about his sex life. He'd slap me on the back, say "Hey Jose, you getting any?", then launch into some lurid description about how tight and wet his wife's pussy was and how she just couldn't enough of his cock.
Particularly awkward about these exchanges was Daniel's fondness for not wearing a towel in the locker room. Claiming he liked to "air dry" he'd wander around buck naked dangling his junk at anyone who'd stop to listen. I found it distinctly uncomfortable to hear him talk about getting head from his wife when his hairy balls were hovering at the edge of my vision.
It didn't take me long to resent pretty much everything about Daniel. Not that my opinion mattered. He was Mr. Big Shot and I was just the a lowly grunt. Daniel could be petty when he got pissed off, so I knew better than to complain to anyone. He'd make my job hell or get me fired for sure if I didn't just take it. The money was too good to give up and aside from Daniel, it was a good place to work.
Still, I wanted to hurt him. Even just a little. For once, I wanted to come out ahead of him. Even if he never realized it was me, just so long as I knew it. That would be enough.
I found a flaw in his armor months later. Working in the Copy Room, I was privy to just about every bit of paper that went through that company. And since I was interested in business, I read a lot of it. And despite what Daniel seemed to think, I wasn't an idiot, so I learned to understand it.
What I found wasn't a major scandal, but more of an embarrassing oversight. Definitely not enough to get him fired, but I bet looking foolish would seriously screw his chances of getting that big promotion to New York City. It'd be easy enough for the evidence to mysteriously appear without it ever being traced back to me....
But upon further reflection, that was almost cutting off my nose to spite my face. The idea of Daniel making even more money seemed unfair, but at least he'd be on the opposite side of the country and gone from my life. Costing him the promotion would mean I'd have to put up with him forever.
Blackmail also seemed unattractive. What would I ask him for? Showing me more respect presumed he even realized he was being disrespectful. I didn't want his money and he was too wealthy to care about any sum I'd ask for.
Then it occurred to me: Daniel wasn't the only one who lost out if someone else got the promotion. I could think of another who might be will to trade something that I'd actually want in exchange for my silence. Something that I knew would hurt Daniel.
I flipped open the disposable cell phone and dialed. "Mrs. Collins? You don't know me, but we need to meet.... "
