Page 108 of Take It Offline
Reese would be so proud of me.
Manish has us meet him in the blue room, which is a secure meeting space that is,surprise, surprise,painted blue.
The creativity here is off the charts.
“So, who’s the dude?” he asks.
I tell him.
“Oh, you mean the screamer?”
Hold up. Brows raised, I lean in. “Karl’s the screamer? Karl Roberts. Our boss. That Karl?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, gleeful as a golden retriever at the beach.
Emma’s gaze ping-pongs between us. “What are you talking about?”
Manish fills her in while he types. His fingers move so fast my thumbs ache in solidarity. “Two years ago, at the Christmas party, I was red-cupping the security desk while everyone partied?—”
“Manning it solo,” I explain to Emma.
“I didn’t expect anything interesting, but around ten p.m., there’s a notification that someone’s trying to enter the underground garage. Now, usually, it’s twenty-four-hour entry if you have an after-hours pass, but we turn it off during the Christmas party.”
“Because of the zero-tolerance policy,” she finishes.
He nods without looking away from the screen. “So I go down there to tell whoever it is to get a cab, and he starts screaming in my face. ‘Don’t you know who I am? I’m going to get you fired. You’re going to be living off breadcrumbs when I’m done with you.’”
“How do you know it was Roberts?” I ask.
“It’s protocol to take the pass before we kick them off site. He had to retake his drug and alcohol screening and attend mandatory compliance training to get it back.”
Jesus. “He’s an even bigger asshole than I thought.”
Manish chuckles. “Right? So what do you need?”
I hoped we’d find enough in the logs to back up our claim that Roberts has been tampering with the procedure.
Butthis?
Emma’s eyes are wide and unblinking. I’m not even sure she’s breathing. “I miss the person I was thirty seconds ago,” she says, her voice rough.
That’s… yeah. Me too.
All I can think isthank fuck I hate using chat.
“I’ll say this,” Manish says, zipping the files up. The plan is to report it through the usual channels as a random check so that it can’t be traced back to us. “He’s been careful. The language he uses is enough to be suggestive without pinging any of our radars.”
There are a dozen, maybe more, messages flagged on-screen. Comments to or about coworkers that don’t just cross the line; they slingshot themselves over it.
But the ones about Emma are the worst.
If this doesn’t get him, I’m done.
Before we leave, I check one last name. “Landon Kent?” Manish asks with a sardonic chuckle. “Yeah, I know the little shit. Walks around like he’s god’s gift to IT. He threw a tantrum last year when the redundancies happened and they wanted to move him out of automation and into the SharePoint support team. Brought out the waterworks and everything.”
“Someone missed nap time,” I say.
Manish breaks into a smile like he already knows what I’m going to ask him. “I bet management is dying for a reason to boot him. After a stunt like that? It wouldn’t take much.”
