It was early on that following Monday morning, that Victria was summoned to the board room. She passed by Aaron, the suite's secretary, staring at her somberly and dressed in a stark black suit behind his low semicircular desk. She too was dressed in her most severe and conservative black suit, her hair down, her make up negligible. Victria could hardly contain her shaking as she knocked, and then gripped the door knob. She'd rationalized her way back to her usual state of mind, but she still couldn't help but imagine that two or three large, well dressed, goons were waiting just inside the door to escort her right back out of the building.
She heard nothing but her own heart beat pounding inside her head, her turning of the knob and the swoosh of the bottom of the door against the carpet. Once inside, she saw Cheevers at his end of the long, gleaming black granite conference table; his fingers interlaced under his chin. There was no one else. The other, remaining, members of the board were elsewhere, certainly not by choice, but elsewhere; fearful, mourning, or perhaps gloating or laughing. Cheevers said nothing, did not move, as she stepped closer to the table. Victria took the time to read, evaluate, her CEO's expression. He was worried, that was for sure. Though his eyes were shaded with thick white brows, there was something unfamiliar to his gaze, unfamiliar at least to her, not ever having before been allowed so much silence on his part.
He's tired. There's no mistaking that either. Holy shit, she thought, his face is whiter than his hair. Hold on; that's because he's wearing black today. I don't know. I've seen him in black before. Then it struck her: his waiting in an empty room, the rest of the board not present, knowing who knew what about her, about Simon's discovery and his ultimate demise, the horrible fate of Ricchio, Rancourt and Duffy too, the remaining board members given the task of determining exactly how the company's responsibilities and power should be redistributed. It was then, that Victria abruptly stopped shaking.
"It is a sad day, I know, Mr. Cheevers." Victria finally intoned; breaking the silence in as mournful a tone as she could muster while she slid into Simon's former seat.
Cheevers raised his eye brows as he trained his blood shot, yellow tinged blue eyes on the insolent woman seated in his dead co-pilot's chair. She had provoked his ire. But, what of it? Now it's your turn chief. Give me what you've got. Victria's stare was respectful, but unwavering as she watched Cheevers' fluffy white brows slowly settle back down to shade his eyes again, his forehead lined with age sagged furrows.
"We have; due to the untimeliness of death, four vacancies on the board at this time." He said; clearing his throat, his voice harsh with weariness, "In order to have a quorum, we'll have to appoint at least three new directors. The board is discussing the merit and pragmatism of moving certain juniors up to the higher tier, prior to our advertising out of house."
In the ensuing silence, Victria could hear Coleman's slow, raspy, inhalations. There was a smell in the room, beyond her subtlely applied perfume; something acrid, human, base and animal, something that always smelled better coming from others.
"I am in agreement with the board," the certainly well to do, but very very old man continued, "That, once you've presented your budget proposal and it meets the collective bottom line, then you will be granted senior status and you will thereby have earned yourself a very, very coveted seat of influence on the board."
Again, silence. Victria closed her eyes, and then lowered her head in gratitude and feigned deference.
"Your proposal will be ready for review by the board this Thursday?" asked Cheevers.
Victria met Cheevers gaze again.
"It will sir; yes."
"Very good then." Said Cheevers; sighing as he slowly sat back in his chair, "Now, it is also my wish that you accompany me at each of our colleagues' funeral services. Does that sit well with you Victria?"
Proposal my ass, she thought. You know I know how to save you money. The real test is seeing how I do with Rancourt's, Ricchio's and Duffy's widows and families. Or; maybe you want to keep me close, study me, get a better sense of the most powerful woman you've ever known, you know, just in case she's got some Voodoo doll of you hidden somewhere. Well then; I suppose I don't blame you.
"I would be honored; sir."
Cheevers slowly nodded. Victria rose from her seat, and then walked confidently to the door.
"Ms. Charpentier?" said Aaron as Victria closed the door behind her, "There's a man, in your office, to see you; a Detective Mangiafico?"
Victria glared at the suite's secretary; a handsome enough young man, thin, slightly gaunt faced, effeminate, as gay as they come. You dumb prick, she thought. Will all of these fucking chairs around here, you just let him go right into my office? Stupid bitch. Victria rolled her eyes at Aaron before stepping away from the board room door. And this ridiculous cop, he's a prick too; making me wrestle with my conscience. Fucker, I'm not used to this.
As she made her way back to her office, Victria took mental inventory. It was already legal to monitor all staff e-mail, watch every key stroke and record every last click they made on both the Inter and Intranet. There really wasn't a need to install a camera system in each office, so Victria deduced that they were installed prior to the company's purchasing of the building. But, shortly after Simon's death, Victria had found the camera in her office. It was small, digital, one inch by one and a half inches, set in the corner of her window's molding, hidden by its matching color. Noticing it for the first time, she realized that it was new, and had to have been installed just before she'd moved into the space.
What about whether she'd been recorded looking at Melody on the tablet? It would be a truth, and nothing Mangiafico could use against her. Could the board? Would the board, who remained of it, and Cheevers; would they witch hunter her out of the building for being lesbian and watching her lover performing various acts from behind her desk? As soon as she'd gotten in that morning, Victria had regarded the tiny digital camera, took her tablet out, and then adjusted her posture and rolled her chair into her customary viewing position. Then, looking over her shoulder, Victria realized that the back of her chair was facing the camera. She checked her desktop's screen for any compromising reflection, and there was none. Of course I was seen playing with the dolls, she thought, because when I had them out, I pushed my seat back and turned it toward the right, allowing the camera vantage. Dumb ass.
Victria wondered if she'd been perceived as a security risk by virtue of her femininity. It was all so much bull shit. They could not question her general performance, since they watched her computer as closely as they watched everyone else's. She never betrayed client trust. She hadn't shared trade secrets. But still; why the camera? Why a new camera, just for her? Unless, she thought, it wasn't installed for the sake of spying on me. It was installed, just as electronic correspondence and web browsing monitoring software was installed, for the sake of the company avoiding liability. They were watching for the potential of discrimination or harassment; the possibility of Simon's sexually harassing her. It certainly would have been the case, if the man had a reputation, had discussed certain topics at the hitherto exclusively male executive suite water cooler, the company would have been held liable for any breach of conduct on his part. Because if there hadn't been surveillance, and Simon tried to pull some crap in Victria's office, Cheevers and the board would still have to defend themselves and answer for Simon's iniquity.
So, he'd pulled his shit somewhere else; gained her confidence, set his trap, led her chasing her fear like a desperately starved lamb and violated her with the brazen sleaze of his arrogance. But, Simon had paid, and he had paid dearly. Malicious intent, thought Victria. Hadn't that been what he'd described her doll play as? No. It was he that had motive. It was he that had opportunity and it was his own probable cause, not hers. Simon led himself to his own slaughter and, no matter what any video surveillance revealed, Victria had nothing to do with it. So then, to what did she owe Detective Mangiafico's presence in her office?
Victria entered the room to find the detective seated in one of the two chairs behind the low coffee table across from her desk.
"Detective Mangiafico." She said, extending her hand, not smiling.
"Ms. Charpentier." Said the detective, standing, taking her hand, smiling warmly.
Mangiafico was a thin man with a long face, high forehead and a mouth like a fish. His hair was gray, curly and cut short, on the Caucasian side of nappy. He was dressed in an old brown suit, threadbare brown tie, a beige overcoat and he was wearing a scarf, brightly colored, possibly a gift from some cute little granddaughter.
