I heard the door to my office creak open.
"Nice of you to knock," I said without looking up.
"I always do."
She doesn't—and I don't mind, really. Daphne Carter, director of operations for our group. Nice lady. Vaguely reminds me of a sterner version of Tina Fey. She can really scare the shit out of people when she wants to. Day and night, the two sides of her.
"Don't you look nice today," I murmured, finally turning my eyes on her.
"Oh, you... I'm too old for that, hon," she said, smiling.
"You're only 40, and you look 30," I said.
"Pff... don't even tell me. Anyways—we have a situation," she said.
She came over and sat sideways on my desk, in her usual way, leaning towards me as if to share a particularly juicy piece of gossip. We traffic in those—though they tend to be of a more serious sort.
Her hair was brushed into a feathery bell that day , and she was wearing her "battle dress," the one she uses for media appearances—a severe black pants suit with a white blouse. There was a twinkle in her eye.
She leaned around to look at my computer monitor, just as I closed Facebook. It was a running joke.
"Well, well," she said, putting a pen in her teeth, shaking her head and making "tsk" sounds. I laughed.
"What now? Are people still picketing our caffeinated beer plant?"
"Oh, no. The cops cleared that up a couple hours ago. No, now we've got a chemical spill in Sicily."
"The hydrogen fuel-cell division?"
"No, the fashion studio—YES, the hydrogen-fuel cell division!" she said, snickering.
"Hah, is the cleanup crew on it yet?"
"Yeah, already on-site."
"So what's the problem?"
"Jack is pissed about this one. Might be some bad press. We've been trying to improve containment at those plants for ages. We need to talk to a lot of people."
"Here we go again," I sighed.
Well, you could see it coming. The genius who founded this outfit, Manfred Jamison IV, was, and is, a bit unhinged. He just had to call it Madhouse Corporation. Nobody knows why.
The company's profitable, all right. Manny has a great nose for ideas—buying up great patents and turning them into product lines. We sell all kinds of great stuff from self-sorting filing cabinets to male birth control pills to artificial intelligence software for commercial jets to meat-seeking missiles for hunting terrorists.
But amid the flow of great products, something is always going wrong. Accidents, recalls, lawsuits, bad publicity, explosions and other problems, mostly undeserved, seem to fall upon us in spades.
That's where we come in—a crack team of lawyers, accountants, auditors, lobbyists, private detectives and spin doctors, all empowered to do anything necessary within the law to defuse the endless series of crises falling upon the company. We're the Rapid Response Division, or RRD, and we report directly to Jack.
We're damage control. Finance forgets to report something—we make them clean it up. HR's pink slips cause a wrongful termination lawsuit—we get it dismissed. Marketing's newest ad creates a scandal—we turn it into an Internet meme. Bad publicity is still publicity, right?
"I need some help from Section Eight."
My section of RRD. Nicknamed for the old army regulation that kicked people out for being crazy, basically.
In addition to finding crazy people and kicking them out, we liaise between all the parts of the company that don't talk to each other. Basically we're the grease that keeps the gears running. Sometimes we have to knock heads and twist arms.
"Oh? I thought you just stopped by to say hi."
"That too! But the bottom line is, heads are going to roll for this one, so we want to find out who screwed up and make sure we get the right guy."
"Right, right." Last thing we needed was a wrongful termination suit.
"I'm going to talk to the VP of EMEA tomorrow—that I can do, at least."
"That should help. Rob's a good guy. He'll get you whatever he can," I replied.
"Definitely. I bet he's sweating blood right now. So yeah, Jack wants a report from me first thing Monday. I think almost everyone is gone for the night." It was Thursday night. It's almost unheard of for a modern company, but at Madhouse, the rule is that once you've gone home, you're done for the day, except in dire emergencies. And around here, things are crazy enough that a chemical spill does not qualify as a dire emergency.
"I guess I'll have to see what I can do tomorrow afternoon then."
"Pepper's still in."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Go talk to her—we need the numbers she has, anyway."
"Sure thing."
Daph leaned in a little closer, whispering even though there wasn't anyone to overhear us.
"She hasn't really been herself lately."
"Pepper? Why?"
"I don't know. She always pretends she's all right and I don't want to bother her if she doesn't want to talk about it. But something's wrong."
"Hmm..."
"I don't think she's up to anything bad—it's not like her to do that, and we'd know if that was it."
"Of course."
"Check up on her though. I was talking to her just yesterday."
"And?"
"I don't know, she's been looking a bit pale lately."
"Lately?" Pepper's always been a fair-skinned lady.
"More so than usual I mean. Like, off pale."
"Oh no. I'll go see how she's doing."
She turned to leave, stopping at the door.
"Well, see you tomorrow—I'll probably be gone when you get back. Shame we don't get to having lunch together like we used to, the three of us."
"I know, right? I can't catch up with all the girl gossip meeting up just once a month. Hey, take care, try not to eat too many people on your way out." I meant her intimidating style—she really can be tough sometimes. Must have been a bouncer in a previous life.
"Yeah, yeah. See you later," she said with a wink.
I leaned back in my chair. It was 7, the end of my usual workday, which began around 11, but I needed a breather before going upstairs. Pepper Miley and I went back a long way. Catching up with her was something I really wanted to do.
I have to explain how we all got here. It's been a crazy few years, with no time to stop and think.
My first job out of school was at Deloitte, and I made a lot of great contacts there. Daph and Pepper were my best friends over there; Daph was my boss and taught me a lot of the things I know and Pepper was the other half of my two-person team. I used to go out for lunch every day with the two of them. The three of us were really tight friends and when Daph quit to join Madhouse's RRD, she scored both Pepper and me jobs in the accounting department there.
It was a small company then, and quite the jump up the corporate ladder for both of us. Pepper scored big and got the controller's job. I was the head of internal audit, just below her. She became my boss for a couple years until I was promoted into RRD. We had a really great time in accounting and my biggest regret about moving departments was not being able to see her on a daily basis.
So after a few explosive years of growth, all three of us were roughly at the same level in the organizational chain, but dealing with far more responsibility than ever before. Our stock options were off the charts and we were all sitting pretty financially, despite the recession. But our friendships had faded, if not in intensity at least in frequency.
Daph has always had a bit of a friendly crush on me. I play along, sort of. She's happily married though. Say what you will, I don't believe in messing with stuff like that. Nothing but trouble. Besides, I liked her husband—I sometimes went fishing with the two of them on weekends and he was a really great guy to hang out with.
That sort of thing is common here—there's is quite the "esprit de corps" at RRD. I work with a lot of wonderful ladies. In fact, I'm one of only about a dozen men in the group—the rest are all women. They really pamper us. Several of the guys are married to women elsewhere in the company. It's pretty common around here. People and their families bond over all the tough times the company is dealing with and everyone feels like they're in it together. We're like a town under siege—all in it together.
I stood up. "What are friends for?" I wondered. I should've checked on her weeks ago.
I took the elevator up to Accounting on the 30th floor. There weren't many people left. I headed to Pepper's office suite. The outer room where her assistants worked was empty, so I just knocked on the inner door.
She opened the door just a crack, peeking out. She looked as pale as Daph had told me, and her eyes seemed to be stuck open wide in anxiety. When she saw it was me she blinked, and then her face broke into a wan but genuine smile.
"Hey..." she said softly.
"Hey Pepper," I said, not wanting to comment on her appearance. "Sorry to show up randomly—hope it's not a bad time for you."
"No, I was hoping you'd come."
She opened the door all the way to let me in and closed it behind her.
Her large office was spotless. A few tall bookshelves with books and binders lined half the wall on the right, while the wall behind me was decorated with landscape paintings. Her desk was opposite the door with a couple chairs in front of it, and a large, comfortable looking couch sat along the east wall, with a rolling coffee table in front of it. A series of glass vases filled with flowers added color to the room, and the massive corner windows opened out to a beautiful view of the city below. Right now though, I only had eyes for her.
Pepper was nearly three years older than me at 27. She was of French ancestry on one side of her family, English and Irish on the other. It showed in the regal yet sprightly lines of her face and body—she had the look not of a bombshell but of a lady, tall, thin and poised, without a hint of excess fat anywhere on her.
Despite her unhealthy pallor, she was as natty as ever in her appearance. She had her fashionable little glasses on—black plastic frames, with that funny little gap on the sides behind the lenses. They complemented her well-defined jaw and cheekbones, giving a sharp clarity to her lean, round face. Her elegant coif of dirty blonde hair was tucked into a tight French twist and her pointy black heels made her sway a little.
She had on a soft gray wool skirt suit in a windowpane pattern that nicely flattered her long legs and her tight, slender frame. A string of pearls peeked out from a thin white blouse with its collar neatly laid over her lapels. She was nearly as tall as me, with a narrow neck. Her lips were thin, with a smile to die for.
"It's good to see you again," she said, walking behind her desk and bending over her computer to do something.
"Yeah, I haven't been up here in a while. We need to do lunch more often."
"You need something for the spill?" She knew what we did up in RRD, of course.
"Yeah, Daph needs to give Jack a rundown day after tomorrow."
"Of course... I've got a few things for you," she said, gesturing at the printer. It was warming up already. She stood up straight again and turned to face me.
"A lot?"
