She wanted privacy, so she had arranged to arrive a half hour earlier than her secretary. The sun was still rising. She wasn’t sure when her colleagues would arrive. all signs pointed to her being the first in the building.
In her haste, she had left her access key at home. She needed the security clerk to buzz her up the lift to the thirty-third floor. He was dozing when she requested. He didn’t say much as he escorted her.
When she arrived, the auto lights illuminated the avenues of shared desks as she passed them. This proved she was indeed, alone.
She sat behind the polished walnut desk of her office. The door was closed. Her out-of-office was engaged. Nothing would disturb her. She picked up the receiver and began to dial the number on the back of the matchbox - written in pencil. The nine was smudged. Almost illegible. Almost.
The dial tone rang out. The throbbing of her pulse pounding in her ear canal fighting against the ringtone.
She hung up.
She removed the receiver and dialed again. The phone rang. Her heart raced. The lifting of a receiver microphoned down the line. The voice on the other end was about to enquire on the caller. She hung up. She breathed out. She breathed in. She dialed the number, and the dial tone rang once. The phone was answered immediately.
“What?!” said the voice on the line. The anger was transcendent.
“I’m…” she began. She was afraid. He knew it was her.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said.
“I’m…” she said again. She blacked out. She had forgotten entirely the speech she had rehearsed for hours on end as she lay on her pillow, unable to sleep the night before.
“I don’t want to hear it… I told you last week, the offer has been withdrawn. It is no longer my issue. You had the chance to grab glory by the ears and you let go,” he said. She imagined the receiver being hung up.
“Wait!” she pleaded.
The line was quiet. He hadn’t hung up. She was relieved but still intimidated.
“I want a guarantee, when the deed is done, that nothing can be traced to me. Nothing,”
She was remembering her rehearsal.
“What do we look like, a public relations firm? We do the act, we don’t handle the fallout,” he said. “Look, lady, this is serious business. You strike me as a scorned wife who hasn’t thought this through. Why don’t you think it over with a couple of cocktails with your lady friends? Make a weekend out of it. Get the anger out of your system. I’ll tell you now, you’re messing with forces you know nothing about. Once this thing gets set in motion, there’s no stopping the train,” he warned.
She grew angry. Her fear dissipated. He had no right.
“You listen to me, you thug…” she began. “You don’t have any idea what I’ve been through. I have been beaten and ridiculed and berated and treated like absolute shit by this man! Don’t you dare tell me what you think I sound like? For one, he isn’t my husband, and two…” she couldn’t think of a second point. “Two… I … I just… I know what I am doing!” she yelled.
She was trying to convince herself. She was trying to bend reality to her will by saying out loud her darker desires. She sounded so convincing in the shower – why couldn’t she speak with as much conviction over the phone?
“You want to eliminate this man? So much?” he asked.
“Yes!” she yelled.
She could hear typing down the line.
“I have the code formulated in front of me. Here are his details,” the man said. “Derek Wilson, Apartment 3A, Shellharbour junction. I have his bank account info - including login. His password is bat cat four fifty-nine…. “ he was speaking to himself more so than her. Confirming the data.
“Okay, I have the kill switch all lined up. If you pay the total package - that being eighty-six thousand upfront into my disclosed account, I will hit the ignition on this,” he explained.
She started tapping the desk. Her heart raced again. This was it.
“And… What will happen?” she asked, knowing full well the answer.
“We drain his bank account, his super, his title deeds transfer to the state, we issue a death notice and write an obituary. He will be locked out of his social media accounts, his email will be blocked, his phone will be disconnected, his credit will be eliminated and all accounts and subscriptions under his name will be notified of his death,” the voice confirmed.
“And what will happen to him?” she asked, rhetorically.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” the voice said.
“Okay,” she said, tapping the desk louder.
“I’ll hit this switch when the eighty-six is deposited. We will require another ninety once the nuke has fully traveled through his accounts and profiles and we will give you a wrap report showcasing the extent of his wipe… Just say when…”
She stopped tapping.
She opened her laptop and punched in the details of her bank account. The money for the deed sat in a separate account. She typed the transfer info and made ready her index finger. All that was left was a right click on the mouse. She brought her mind back to the day he first ridiculed her. The day he turned to satan in front of her colleagues. The smiling assassin. Her reputation ruined and the years it took to build up her name and align it with her ambition.
She looked around her office and the views she had of the skyline of Manhattan.
He was responsible for this - she thought briefly.
He turned her into a shark. She wouldn’t have any of this if it wasn’t for him. His disgusting behavior gave her the fight to push hard for the life that she wanted… She had never realized that she harbored such a perspective. It gave her pause. She removed her finger from the mouse. She considered her options. She was going to absolutely destroy this man and his family over a scorn that allowed her to soar the scales of her profession. Did he deserve this? She had never asked herself that question before.
“What’s your answer?” the voice asked.
She clicked her right finger on the mouse and sent the blood money off. As she did, she remembered the smile he gave on the day he betrayed her. She couldn’t think past it. It consumed her thoughts every night. Prevented her from sleeping. That smile needed a counter. She wanted to be that counter. She wanted this act to be her return serve.
“You should have it soon,” she said.
A moment later, the voice reemerged down the line.
“I have it. I’m nuking him,” he said.
She heard the faint clicks of buttons.
“It’s done,” he said.
The line went dead.