Taking Stock by C J West Page B

are kind of important in the mutual fund business,” Brad said.
    “Hysterical. You and those guys in investment management and their six-figure software packages are going to spend us out of existence.”
    “Not likely.”
    “If my brother were CEO, I wouldn’t worry either. The rest of us are a bit closer to the layoff line.”
    Brad replaced the last of the weights and led Ray toward the locker room. “We haven’t had a layoff in sixty-two years and we’re not going to start. Don’t go around scaring people. It’s not healthy.”
    Ray trailed silently along the cinderblock hall. He said nothing even after they entered the rows of lockers, likely out of fear that someone might overhear. Brad’s relationship with Marty sheltered him from the scrutiny Ray feared. He performed well, but he did things his way, unencumbered by policies he didn’t like or didn’t care to enforce. Ray had no such luxury; he had to play by the rules.
    Ray retrieved a business card from his locker and headed back to work.
    Brad headed for the sauna.
    Forty minutes later Brad reclined in his overstuffed leather chair facing the harbor. He disregarded an inbox full of messages and a slew of project status reports he’d been neglecting. Instead he watched a series of jets land two minutes apart. Staring out the window he imagined the country farmhouse he’d tear down and the life he’d build when this was finished. The time was coming soon and sadly, Brad would be making the trip alone.
    The phone rang. Brad instinctively punched the button. “Brad Foster.”
    The metallic voice squawked a single word, “Speaker.”
    Brad hopped from his chair, breezed across the room and closed the door. Returning to his desk, he hesitated for a breath before picking up the phone. When the receiver touched his ear, the voice blared.
    “Where have you been ?   Marty can’t fire you, but you could at least pretend to care about your job.”
    “That’s none of your damn business,” Brad retorted.
    “Careful, Tough Guy. Everything about you is my business. I own you. You screw up, you expose this thing before I’m ready and the world will crash down around you in a heartbeat. The package is always ready.”
    The shiny briefcase left inside his apartment had changed his life. The shock that someone could slip inside and leave without a trace was disquieting, but that was nothing compared to what the case held. The contents still had Brad terrified two years later. The recordings were made when Brad was just beginning to trust his new friend. Brad took a few hot stock tips. He sold Worldcom short and made a killing then did the same with Tyco. He was on top of the world until he listened to himself being told these companies were in trouble with the SEC by a voice he didn’t recognize. The tapes were dubbed, but sounded so authentic Brad couldn’t tell what he’d said and what had been clipped together. From then on he listened to unabashed demands and did what he was told. For three years the commands from his demonic partner had become increasingly forceful and the burning in his stomach had become decidedly more intense.
    “That’s better. Now, how did we do last night ? ”
    “The market’s been quiet. I’m waiting for a swing.”
    “What ? You need to run this thing every night. And you need to turn it up. Get on it,” the voice said.
    “If the market’s flat it’s not worth the time.” Brad was thinking risk.
    “This thing needs to be grabbing anything it can. This isn’t the time to be shy. Speaking of time - how’s our friend ? Plenty stressed I hope.”
    “My maneuver on Sunday cost her a day. She’s frantic. I can’t believe she hasn’t gone screaming to HR.”
    “Keep her distracted. Tired angry women don’t make good decisions. That’ll be important when you get back.”
    “Nothing to do but wait. I don’t see how she’s going to make it, but if she does, she won’t have an ounce of energy left.”
    What would