Heat on my forehead and a smile on my face. I won. Me. I bet Jenkins though he was clever �" and he was, of course, but not clever enough. Not enough for me. And now he’s fired.
Fired like Jen Parker and Harry Smith when I caught them running to the unisex bathroom in the basement four times a day, sinning against strict company policy. Fired like Tom Waloway after I sifted through his emails. Love letters to some competitor. Poor Tom was going to quit soon but I beat him to it - beat some sense into him.
I would have hoped that three deaths might straighten some of these hooligans out. Remind them that those grey cubicles were their life. They were all working for me for a good reason and no one was leaving for any reason. Then it had to be Jenkins. What a good friend he seemed to me. Best man at my wedding, and that expensive painting from some famous artist for a wedding gift - couldn't have gotten that on his salary. Rich parents he said. I was the fool to believe him.
It’s one thing to insult my company with petty selfishness and lust - a forgivable offense. To take from a loving family that sacrifices so much for its employees - despicable. I had no choice but to do this, friend.
The heat is on my back and I walk away from your house �" burning. The back of my jacket is so hot, prickling my skin underneath, threatening to burn me. I begin to run away. Shoes squelching on wet grass from the twelve AM sprinklers, leaving you behind with all of the money you stole, your wife, your children, and you. You’re all fired.
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