Final Grains of Sand

by David Harder

  Nate looked down. “And these with the gold star on the cover represent what?”

  “Those, Mr. Martin, are the clients that needed immediate attention during Mr. Kreider’s absence, and Michelle, along with help from his employees, handled them herself.”

  “You mean to tell me, Michelle was handling Jim’s clients?”

  “She’s a great assistant, Mr. Martin,” said Katherine analytically.

  Nate walked over to the windows and stood contemplating this current situation. Katherine immediately continued sorting the folders. After another twenty minutes of silence, Nate turned and faced the conference table.

  “Tell me, Katherine, have I underestimated Michelle?”

  Katherine smiled. “Perhaps, Mr. Martin, but it’s never too late to start afresh.”

  When four o’clock rolled around, Katherine had finished sorting the folders into their respective piles. Michelle came into the room and set a stack of white, folded tent cards on the table. Names of various sales managers were printed on the cards.

  Nate immediately sorted through the tent cards and was impressed by the quality of employees working for him. “This is excellent work, Katherine and Michelle. Excellent work indeed.”

  Both women smiled and nodded in appreciation. They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Everyone looked up as Katherine walked over and opened Nate’s office door.

  “Oh goodness, you’re early?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came the voice outside the door.

  “Just set the food on the credenza over there.” Katherine extended her hand to the far wall.

  The caterer moved toward the credenza while Nate cleared the top off. He then reached for his wallet and pulled some cash out.

  “Thank you very much.” Nate placed the money into the hand of the young man.

  As the man briskly gathered his totes and headed for the door, he paused briefly. “You’re welcome, sir. Please enjoy your dinner.” With those words, he disappeared.

  During the following four hours, the three individuals sorted and categorized each of Jim’s clients, dividing them into various piles. The working group paused for dinner toward the end of their session. While the two women ate, Nate examined the European accounts with interest. Both Katherine and Michelle noted Nate’s keen attention over those particular folders.

  “Are you looking for something specific, Mr. Martin?” Katherine asked.

  Nate tried to act nonchalant, but it was clear to the two women that Nate was evasive.

  “I think we could easily have others handle Jim’s accounts, except the European ones. Those will need special handling.”

  Michelle thought otherwise but kept her opinions to herself and just nodded in response. Uncharacteristically, Nate abruptly called an end to their meeting.

  “Let’s call it a night, shall we? Again, we’ll start tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. Terrific work, and I appreciate what you two have done here.”

  Nate had not touched his food and seemed anxious to clear the room, so the two women gathered their things and excused themselves from Nate’s office.

  “Have a good evening, Mr. Martin.”

  “Yes, good night, sir.”

  While Nate sat at his desk, pouring over the European account folders, the two women slipped out. Both were puzzled by the abrupt dismissal.

  Between single bites of his dinner, which was getting cold, Nate poured over the European folders with voracity. Suddenly, he stopped his fork midway to his mouth.

  “I’ll be a son-of-a-gun.” But no one was around to hear Nate’s exclamation.

  Nate looked at the clock and saw it was after 10:00 p.m.

  “Rats, Finance will be closed now.”

  Nate grabbed a pen and started making copious notes. It was late, so he reread his notes to ensure he had everything correct. He then jumped on his computer and typed a quick email to the manager of Finance, requesting certain documents. Satisfied with the contents of his message, Nate clicked the send button and smiled.

  “What have you been up to Jim, my boy? Nothing nefarious, I hope?”

  Nate stood. He then grabbed his suit jacket from the coat hanger by the office door. Pausing, Nate scanned the conference table and then shook his head in disbelief. Turning off the lights, Nate headed home for the evening.

  * * *

  Shelly made multiple attempts to reach Staci during the day. When she was ready to head home, she returned the cell phone to Tony and apologized.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Toncetti. I tried maybe twenty times but wasn’t able to get through.”

  “Thanks anyway, Shelly. Have a good evening.”

  “Good night, Mr. Toncetti.”

  Tony was frustrated but put the matter aside. As he was gathering his coat and heading home, his cell phone buzzed. The text message was in all capital letters, indicating the sender was not pleased.

  “STOP CONTACTING ME. I’M CALLING THE COPS IF YOU DON’T STOP BUGGING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  Tony typed his response. He was slow, and he had to read it several times to make sure everything was spelled correctly. Tony hated text messaging because it was impersonal and open to interpretation by the reader. “This is Tony Toncetti, and I’m your father’s lawyer. I have an important matter to discuss with you. Please call me at your earliest convenience.”

  The text response was instantaneous: “he ok?”

  Tony typed quickly. “No! Call me please.”

  An eternity of time slipped by, and Tony was not sure she understood his response. He was about to type another text message when the cell phone rang. Tony recognized Staci’s number.

  “Hello, this is Tony Toncetti. Is this Staci?”

  “No, this is Marcus. Staci is in lab class all day. Who are you, and how do you know my father?”

  “Marcus, I’m sorry, but this call isn’t for you; it’s for Staci.”

  “What’s wrong with her father?”

  “Please, Marcus. It is important I speak with Staci as soon as possible.”

  “She gets home late. If I see her, I’ll give her the message.” His voice was indignant.

  “Tell me. Is this Staci’s cell phone or yours?”

  “Look, old man, you’re awfully nosy.”

  Tony took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m an attorney, representing Staci’s father. He cannot contact Staci, and he has instructed me to call his daughter in an emergency. This is really important, and I need you to get a message to Staci as soon as possible. Can you do that for me?”

  Marcus hesitated. “What’s the big emergency, Mr. Lawyer?”

  Tony saw no other way to do this. He was getting nowhere fast with this kid and had reached an impasse. “Marcus, please do not share the following information with Staci, but her father has passed away. I need to explain things directly to her, and so I need you to have her call me immediately. Can you help me?”

  “No way! Her old man is dead? She’s gonna freak out!”

  Tony immediately regretted his comments. “Marcus, listen to me. Do not share this information with her. Have her call me, and I will break the news to her. I only told you so that you would understand the urgency of my call.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell her.”

  Instantly, the phone line went dead. Tony looked at the screen and saw the call was disconnected. Holding his cell phone in both hands, Tony shook the phone and screamed a long, wordless cry of anguish.

  A security guard rounded the corner and stopped in front of Tony.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Toncetti?”

  Tony quickly regained his composure, shoving the cell phone into his pants pocket. “I’m fine, Bill. Thanks.”

  As Tony walked to the elevator, he chanced a brief look over his shoulder at the security guard. Bill was still standing with feet apart, one hand resting on his nightstick, and a look of concern on his face. The elevator door opened, and Tony stepped in. He then feebly waved to the guard.

  “Good night, Bill.”
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  Once the elevator door closed, Tony let out an exasperated sigh. “Good grief, Tony,” he said, chastising himself.

  * * *

  When the cell phone rang, Tony was fast asleep. His wife was shaking her husband.

  “Tony, it’s your cell phone. It’s two in the morning. Who calls at 2:00 a.m.?”

  Struggling to gain consciousness, Tony fumbled for the phone on the nightstand. The numbers were blurry, so Tony clicked on the light. It was Staci’s phone number. Tony jumped to his feet and headed to the bathroom, closing the door.

  He whispered, “Hello, Staci?”

  The voice on the other end was sobbing. “My daddy is dead?”

  Tony gave out a wordless groan. He should have known Marcus wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. It was his own fault for trusting him.

  “Staci, please accept my deepest condolences. I’m so sorry for your loss. I asked Marcus to have you call me. He wasn’t supposed to tell you. Again, I’m so sorry.”

  Staci continued to sob, trying to talk, but everything she said was garbled. Tony just waited for a break. In the meantime, his wife came into the bathroom and pointed at the toilet. Tony moved aside, allowing her to use the facilities. Staci was finally able to speak, but her sentence was punctuated with sobs between each word.

  “How . . . did . . . Daddy . . . die?”

  Tony realized the conversation would be impossible at this pace, so he switched strategies in hopes of getting her calmed down.

  “Staci, are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Marcus nearby?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yes. I am now.”

  Tony instantly sensed a shift in Staci’s mood.

  “What did Marcus explain to you, Staci?”

  “Just that Daddy died, and you wanted to talk with me.”

  She started to softly cry again, so Tony waited. When the timing was right, Tony continued.

  “It’s unfortunate that Marcus chose to tell you because he agreed to let me explain the situation. Are you doing better?”

  “A little. How did it happen?”

  “Your dad started getting sick about three months ago, but I was unaware of his illness. A hospice called me a few weeks ago, telling me your dad wanted to talk. Two days after my visit, he passed away.”

  “What happens now?”

  “Your father left me instructions, and I’m making arrangements for a service. Will you have a school break for Thanksgiving during November?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Hold on a sec.”

  Tony could hear Staci rummaging through things.

  “Got it. We have a week off for Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s great. Your father’s employer is covering the expenses for travel and lodging, so—”

  “What about his house? Can’t we stay there?”

  “I’m afraid he sold it about three months ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. Can I contact you tomorrow with more details?”

  “Yeah, sure. Send me a text first, so I know it’s you.”

  “Okay, Staci. Try and get some sleep. Again, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. What did you say your name was?”

  “Tony Toncetti, but please call me Tony.”

  “Thanks, Tony.”

  “Good night, Staci.”

  Tony’s wife finished, so she jumped up and wrapped her arms around him and lovingly kissed his neck. Tony smiled and spun around, facing his wife. She felt wonderful.

  “You know, we’re both awake, and the kids are asleep.”

  Tony’s smile reminded his wife of the day they got married.

  “Mr. Toncetti, we are not teenagers, and we both have jobs in the morning.”

  “It is morning already, my love.”

  Tony’s wife pushed her husband away while he tried to kiss her face.

  * * *

  When Tony appeared for work the next morning, Betty noticed he was in a very good mood.

  “Mr. Toncetti, you’re in rare form this morning.”

  Suddenly, Tony became aware of the image he must be portraying. Tony leaned over and whispered, “I got plenty of rest and slept well.”

  Betty smiled.

  “Have a beautiful day, Mr. Toncetti.”

  “Yes, it is, Betty, yes indeed.”

  Amused, Betty watched Tony walk down the hall to his office.

  Tony stopped by his secretary’s desk to give her new instructions.

  “Good morning, Shelly.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Toncetti. You’re in a good mood.”

  Tony ignored her comment. “Do me a favor. Call each of Jim Kreider’s children and please obtain their mailing addresses. They’ll be expecting your phone call. Also, you’ll need to take my cell phone again and contact Staci, but send her a text first, so she knows who is calling. Bring the list to my office when you’re finished. Thanks.”

  Shelly quickly wrote some notes but replied to Tony’s instructions at the same time. “No problem, Mr. Toncetti.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “GOOD AFTERNOON, MR. MARTIN. DID you enjoy your lunch?”

  Nate abruptly halted and flashed a huge smile at Katherine, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious how much he had enjoyed it.

  “It was okay, Katherine, thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with the boys at Charlie’s.”

  Katherine could smell alcohol on Nate’s breath. She deftly reached into her desk and pulled out a box of strong breath mints, then offered them to her boss. Nate leaned over and nonchalantly received the mints, giving Katherine a sheepish grin. Katherine leaned forward, whispering her next statement.

  “CFO Jonathan Pendergrass is waiting in your office, sir.”

  Nate stiffened. “How long?”

  “He arrived about thirty minutes ago. I tried calling your cell, but you didn’t answer.”

  “It’s sitting on my desk.” Nate adjusted his tie and smoothed his hair with flat palms.

  Katherine stood and pointed to the men’s room. “Go. I’ll check on Mr. Pendergrass and let him know you’re here. Take some time to gather yourself together.”

  “Rats! Bad timing,” Nate grumbled.

  He turned toward the men’s room, annoyed that the CFO would show up today of all days. When he returned, Katherine handed Nate two aspirins and a steaming cup of hot coffee.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “You know, Mr. Martin, you’re not thirty years old anymore. Those guys will drink you under the table and then head to the gym after work to sweat it out of their systems.”

  “Thanks for reminding me, Katherine. Shall I remember this conversation at the end of the year—when we write out bonus checks?” Nate was attempting to create humor in a tense situation.

  Katherine never flinched. “I just hope it was worth it, Mr. Martin.”

  Gulping hot coffee, Nate swallowed the aspirins and winced because they were starting to dissolve before he could get them down. Nate made a face and coughed, like a cat ejecting a hairball.

  Katherine smiled and shook her head slightly. “Are you okay?”

  Nate lied. “Never better.”

  Katherine shoved two more mints into Nate’s hand, which he immediately tossed into his open mouth. “Thanks again. You’re a peach.”

  With her arms folded, Katherine’s response was an all-knowing, motherly grin.

  When Nate entered his office, Mr. Pendergrass was sitting at Nate’s desk and reading over the European files. Nate swallowed the mints to push the remaining aspirin taste out of his throat.

  “Jonathan, what brings you down here?” he inquired too cheerfully.

  Mr. Pendergrass was a slight man, unattractive, and gloomy. His reading glasses sat perched on the end of a long, pointed nose. Without any expression, he closed the folder he was reading and sat it purposely on the desk. While remaining seated in Nate’s chair, he then he
ld up a piece of paper with a printed copy of Nate’s email message. “Perhaps you could explain the meaning of this message and why it wasn’t routed to me directly.”

  Nate deliberately moved into Jonathan’s personal space, reached behind the man, and grabbed a crystal, unmarked carafe of scotch and two glasses. After pouring a half glass for himself in one, he offered the empty glass to Jonathan. Mr. Pendergrass held up his fist, forming a narrow band about a finger’s width between his thumb and first finger. Nate splashed a small amount into the glass and handed it to the CFO. Jonathan only allowed the liquid to touch his lips and then sat the glass down. He hated the stupid ritual of sharing a drink with colleagues, as if this act provided a smooth path for confidential disclosure, never to be shared outside the confines of one’s office.

  After draining his glass, Nate set it on the edge of the desk. He then downplayed his reason for the memo. “It’s just an investigation. I’m trying to divide up Jim Kreider’s accounts, and I ran into some questions concerning the ones in Europe. I didn’t want to bother you with tedious information-gathering.”

  “You’re referring to Jim Kreider, the man who recently passed away from cancer?”

  The fact that the Chief Financial Officer was sitting in Nate’s office was worrisome enough, but Nate wasn’t ready to spend time chatting about details of his department with an outsider, especially a bean-counter type like Pendergrass. Jonathan bore holes into Nate’s head, never blinking. It was a technique he had perfected over many years. It made others feel uncomfortable and gave the CFO the upper hand.

  As far as Jonathan was concerned, departmental feuds between the finance and sales/marketing departments were well-founded. Finance was certain Sales and Marketing operated over-inflated budgets consisting of useless travel around the world, luxurious meals, and hidden expenses to cover visits with prostitutes. Sales and Marketing detested the insidious scrutiny, haggling over a penny here and there, by bean-counters, only to require fudging of one’s expense report numbers so that it would include expenses a boss approved, but Finance rejected.

  Nate stood in his contemplative position, staring out the office window, and watched the movement of people and cars below. The game of chess was in full play, and Nate’s military experience gave the man nerves of steel. He would stand firm until Jonathan admitted defeat and retreated from Nate’s domain. Nate kept his back to the unwelcomed visitor.