Hour of Reckoning (Donatella Book 2)

by Demetrius Jackson

  Sal cautiously stalked the edge of the wall, stooping below eye level so he could not be seen and chanced a glance around the corner. In an office diagonal from his location he could spy a woman dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and silently crying to herself.

  She gave every impression that she was both consoling herself and strengthening herself at the same time. She took a couple of deep inhalations, looked into the mirror that she held in her hand, and began silently sobbing once again. This chain continued two more times and was only broken by the sound of the main elevator cascading a ding across the empty floor.

  The woman who was on the tail end of her latest sob, dabbed her eyes once again, took a deep breath and put the compact mirror away. She ran her hands through her hair, once, twice, and dabbed her leaking eyes one more time.

  “Mrs. King,” a voice said approaching the office from the elevator. “We are ready to get you downstairs and complete final preparations for your speech.”

  “Thank you,” she responded with a voice much stronger than Sal would have thought she could muster.

  So, this was the lone executive survivor. No wonder she is such a mess. And to think she now has to go and put on a brave face for the cameras. Terrible!

  Sal watched as Veronica King stood from behind her desk, shuffled some papers on her desk, and walked out of the office – following the voice that had come to retrieve her. Once Sal heard the main elevator doors shut, he counted to 10 before making his way to the now vacant office.

  Entering the office of Mrs. Veronica King, Sal began looking around without touching anything. On her mellette L-shaped executive desk there were a few files, awaiting attention, butted perfectly against the top right corner of the desk. Pictures of her family – her husband and herself in one picture, a picture of a baby in a second picture, and a picture of all three with Veronica cradling the baby with tender loving care. Stationary that read from the desk of Veronica King sitting next to an expensive looking pen and pencil set – both within arm’s reach of her seated position. To her right, on the other half of the L-shaped desk, sat twin 26-inch wide screen monitors, a docking station for an Apple laptop, and a non-descript office phone.

  Sal took another quick look over the desk, “Not much here at all.” He stood in the center of the office and did a 360-degree rotation willing his eye to catch something of interest. Sal prepared himself to move on, realizing this gamble had not panned out. And if he was honest with himself, he knew this was a long shot.

  Sal prepared to leave the office when he had another thought. He pulled out the high-back executive chair and sat down. To his left he found what he was looking for, the wastebasket. Nine times out of ten you can find some valuable items within someone’s wastebasket. He pulled the cylinder from underneath the desk, “Pay dirt!”

  Inside the trash receptacle he spotted stationary that had been torn into several pieces. While reaching his hand in to retrieve the paper he heard voices.

  “He said he was part of the team and just going through training,” came the voice of the freckled kid.

  “We are the only two that are working this job,” came from a voice he didn’t recognize. “As you can see, the rugs are still sitting right here along with the jacket.”

  Alarms started sounding within Sal’s mind. Those damn noiseless elevator doors gave me no warning. And aren’t their supposed to be chimes alerting to the direction the elevator is going once it hits your floor.

  “Call security,” he heard a third voice speak closing the distance between them and his location.

  Sal thrust his hand into the wastebasket and pulled out the shredded papers stuffing them in his pocket. A couple fluttered to the ground underneath the desk. Sal stood realizing he didn’t have enough time to secure the fallen pieces and began making his way toward the door.

  “There he is!” he heard bellow from the freckled face young man who had a walkie talkie plastered to his cheek.

  Sal walked out of the office, turned to his right, and took off in a dead sprint.

  “Hey you, STOP!” Sal heard the words trailing as he took off for the stairwell. He could hear the footsteps of all three men followed by, “He’s headed for the north stairwell.”

  Sal burst through the closed doors wasting little time. Once he hit the stairwell, he began descending the flight leading from the fifth floor to the fourth floor. He heard a door open beneath his location, but it sounded as if it was a set of basement doors. He could hear the faint report of the walkie talkie and he knew he would not make it to the first floor before they did. Once he hit the fourth-floor landing, he continued descending to the third floor where he pulled on the door while simultaneously turning the handle. As he stepped through the doorway, he heard the door open above him. At this point, Sal took off in an all-out sprint, slowing briefly to press a button at the elevator bank. Sal hoped this slight diversion would give him the time he needed. He continued his path toward the back half of the floor aiming for the service elevator.

  As he prepared to turn the corner, he heard two things happen at the same time. The double ding of the elevator announcing its arrival and denoting its intention to go down.

  The second thing he heard was the door for the stairwell open, followed by gasping and hurried voices. “He took the elevator down to the first floor,” he heard one voice state between pants. Sal turned the corner, now out of sight of his pursuers and depressed the down button. The service elevator arrived within six seconds and the noiseless doors opened once again. Sal pressed the button marked with a G and in another six seconds he arrived at his destination and headed to the delivery dock. He quickly made his way through the hallway and back to the comforts of the cool December breeze.

  Sal turned the corner past the delivery truck quickening his pace back toward his car. At the edge of the building he was once again spotted by the dog that he encountered earlier. Sal looked at the dog, the dog stared at Sal. Sal then looked at the dog handler and realized he was listening intently to some radio chatter. The pair began to make their way toward the front entrance with the dog reluctantly following along.

  December 12th – 11:00 a.m.

  Veronica King stood just inside the Global Insights Security building awaiting her moment on the podium. The sick feeling deep within the pit of her stomach was turning more rancid and for a moment she didn't think she could do this. However, she realized with absolute certainty, if she didn’t, they would kill her daughter and likely spare her life for her own suffering. She was being forced to play out their game and to what end, for some God damn artwork?

  So many people have already lost their lives because of this desire to gain money and prestige. The horrid look in Bev's eyes as she placed the stoppers underneath the door was something she would never forget.

  However, she would also never forget the look on the face of Stein. From the moment their eyes locked as she walked into the board room, he could sense something was wrong. In that moment she felt power, unyielding power. A power that radiated through her core and manifested a glow to her skin.

  As she and Stein stared each other down she could feel his resolve waver and he was the first to break eye contact in that moment. The moment she was about to sacrifice the life of everyone in that room to save her daughter. The moment she was about to ascend to the top seat in his granddaddy’s company. The moment she would be the one to call the shots. In that moment she felt no remorse. For that racist, sexist, son of a bitch was about to meet his maker at the hands of a strong, intelligent, unforgiving woman.

  He knew at that moment that he had lost. Just how much he had lost he didn't realize until the mist began to fill the room. Until the first person collapsed and he started to feel the effects of whatever spewed from the canister. He lost, and she had won.

  Sitting in her office, Veronica was a mix of emotions. She felt horrible about what she had done. She felt horrible for the sons, daughters, husbands, and wives who had lost someone yesterday.


  But - Veronica King felt free. She felt power. She was free because that cheating husband of hers and that hussy trollop met their end, and she only had to give the word. In that sense she had power. But she also now had the power to run Global Insights Security the way she wanted. There was no more good ole boys club. She made the decisions and deep, just below that sick feeling in her gut, she liked this power. What's done is now done and it was time she made the best out of a bad situation.

  Veronica had been in business long enough to know that the tides do change and the wind does shift. The Syndicate had her in a compromising position and as the old saying goes, if you can't beat them...

  “Mrs. King,” the voice said breaking her train of thought. “We are ready for you.”

  The two walked toward the entrance of GIS headquarters where two police officers were holding the door open for her. As she stepped to the podium, all eyes and cameras trained on her, ready to hang on every word she had to say, she had a thought.

  Are they really ready for me? Are they really ready for the new Veronica King? In a moment of reflection, yesterday’s events and the conversation in her kitchen earlier this morning had taught her a valuable lesson. It's not good enough to be the best at what you do. Sometimes you have to be flat out ruthless.

  “Thank you everyone for your time here today. Before I begin, let us first have a moment of silence for everyone who was tragically taken from us in that heinous, cowardly attack yesterday...”

  Part II

  Orchestration

  Chapter 9

  February 4th – 11:15 a.m.

  P atti Jones traversed the dank, semi-dark corridor toward the double doors at the end of the hallway. Her soundless heels padded the floor with each step as she loosened the medical gloves from her long frail fingers. Her colorless hand pressed against the cold stainless steel, and as she did, she recalled what brought her to this place in life.

  From the age of seven Patricia “Patti” Jones knew she would be a doctor. She started her doctoral career performing complex operations on her Barbie dolls. It started simple with stitches and creating a splint to set a broken bone. Then she graduated to delivering a baby and then on to heart surgery. Of course, this was all fictitious; however, for Patti it was real.

  Patti’s parents hardly spent any time with her, and since she was an only child her make believe world was her reality. It was there that she felt connected to the happenings in the real world, though everything she was experiencing was not real. When she played doctor, she always had her trusty imaginary assistant, Claude, with her to ensure the surgeries and deliveries went as expected. The need and the draw to be a surgeon was all Patti could think about day in and day out.

  At the age of 12 she began reading any book she could get her hands on that dealt with being a practicing surgeon. She read case studies during the day and technical books before bed. When the books were not enough, she would search online for videos that focused on her career aspirations. The more books she read and the more videos she watched, the more she fell in love with becoming a surgeon.

  Once enrolled at the state university, Patti breezed through the perfunctory undergraduate classes that are meant to make students well-rounded and prepare them to enter med school. This; however, is where things took an unexpected turn for Patti.

  On a warm summer day in June, Patti and her medical laboratory partner were tasked with dissecting a human corpse. All of her adolescent hobbies and college training had brought her to this point. Eager to delve into the process, Patti requested that she go first and her partner had no objection to that.

  Patti walked calmly over to the stainless-steel medical tray and began to reach for the scalpel. As she did, something happened to Patti that she would have never imagined – her hand began to shake. She looked down at her right hand in disbelief, willing it and begging it to stop. But the shaking continued in earnest. To make matters worse, she began to feel as if she was short of breath. For whatever reason, her body was failing her at this crucial point in her life.

  Her partner, realizing what was happening, tapped Patti on the shoulder and said she would go first. Dumbfounded, Patti couldn’t find any words to move from her mind through her vocal cords. The best she could do was take a couple of steps backward while her partner picked up the scalpel and began the dissection. By the time class had concluded, every pair in the room had performed admirably on the task, even Patti and her partner. However, her partner had done all the work while she stood by hands still shaking and breath still shallow.

  That evening she went back to her apartment trying to determine what happened to her. In conducting her online research, she determined she was likely suffering from a panic attack. She found it hard to believe but she couldn’t deny she exhibited some of the symptoms. She concluded in her mind that this was a one-time occurrence and that she would persevere the next time.

  However, the next time, and each time after that she felt that same sense of dread as her symptoms began to manifest once again. Patti, a girl who achieved everything she wanted in life up to this point, was devastated. She wasn’t sure where she should turn or what she should do. She tried talking it through with her parents but both of them were completely useless, something she felt all the time while growing up.

  She sought refuge in her academic advisor, Charlie Maxwell, and what he told her was devastating.

  “Patti, academically you are one of the most gifted students to come into our med school. But these,” he searched to find the right words, “Attacks you keep having are greatly inhibiting your chance to proceed through med school as a surgeon. Have you strongly given consideration into a different avenue in medicine that you could take?”

  She hadn’t. Being a surgeon was all she thought about since she was seven years old. There was no Plan B and certainly no Plan C.

  After spending several weeks contemplating her next move, she decided she would transfer into the nursing program. She couldn’t bear the thought of going through medical school with all the classmates that witnessed her fail so miserably. She needed to move into a program where she could start over. Transferring to the nursing program was a blow to her ego but she knew deep in her heart that she was not going to succeed in medical school.

  Nursing school for Patti went pretty much how all of her normal schooling went – she breezed through without any complications. She finished at the top of her class and by all accounts everyone saw her as an absolute success.

  This placated Patti for a while but there was still that burning desire deep through her core to pursue her dream. She began to wonder with the passage of time, would her anxiety, her panic attacks, subside to the point that she could achieve her dream? Not likely, she continued to tell herself but that fire still burned.

  Upon graduation, Patti secured a nursing position at Good Samaritan Hospital in Dayton, Ohio. The work was pleasant enough and she made several friends – family on her shifts. Although she was the youngest nurse on the staff, the other nurses treated her as an equal and none of them became territorial. The city, from what she understood, was once a thriving, prosperous city, was now a shell of itself.

  Many of the Fortune 500 headquarters that resided in the city during the ‘80s and ‘90s had shuttered their doors and moved their headquarters to another state. Communities that had children playing in the streets until the streetlights illuminated the sidewalks were now dilapidated ghost towns that were rife with crime and prostitution. The citizens residing within the city limits seemed to age at double the rate than those who lived outside the city limits.

  Yet given this, Patti, a career overachiever, was satisfied with calling this place home – because Patti had a secret. A dark, lucrative secret.

  Patti walked through the stainless-steel door into a bright white operating room. Within this room stood several nurses in full green scrubs, faces partially obscured by the matching mask. In the middle of the room lay a woman on a birthing tab
le, arms spread perpendicular to her body. The abdomen and upper half of the woman was visible to Patti as she walked through the operating room door. The remainder of the woman’s body was obscured with a makeshift contraption similar to a curtain. Patti gave the woman a reassuring smile as she passed by preparing for what was next to come.

  By this time Patti had brought a dozen children into this world by cesarean delivery and she had no reason to believe this one would be any different. Her team was both practiced and proficient in the choreographed dance about to take place. Patti adjusted her mask into place and was ready to begin.

  The woman was still conscious but had been given a nerve block prior to being wheeled into the operating room and could not feel anything that was happening to her body. All she knew was the time was drawing ever closer for her to meet her baby boy. She didn’t have anyone in the delivery room with her as she had come to the hospital alone. The baby’s father ran out on her when he was told she was pregnant and her family, a strictly catholic group, had disowned her for bringing a baby into this world without being married.

  She was introduced to Patti during one of her well visits at the hospital because she had been a nervous wreck. Patti turned on the charm and within minutes she comforted the woman by helping her understand the changes her body would go through during the pregnancy. She also helped her understand how she should deal with the emotional highs and lows that she would experience.

  As the months flew by this woman began to rely more and more on Patti and her sage wisdom. Patti had been there during the ultrasounds to ensure that the baby was growing as expected. The woman had called on Patti several times at 1 and 2 o’clock in the morning when she was fighting through bouts of morning sickness and in some cases just because she couldn’t sleep. Patti reassured her that she didn’t mind and that the woman could call her anytime she needed. The woman had grown to trust and rely on Patti and this trust and reliance was key for what Patti had in store.