Mary Conley checked her makeup in the tiny mirror of her compact. Her ruby-red lipstick was perfect, thick mascara and smoky eye shadow, light blush across her high cheekbones all checked out fine. After applying a light dusting of powder across her nose, she snapped the compact closed and slipped it back into her purse. She hoped she looked all right, dressed in a dark green pantsuit over a white blouse. She had never been summoned to the office of her husband's boss. When she'd gotten the call from Mr. Beck's secretary this morning, she'd been alarmed, thinking something had happened to her husband. But everything was fine, the secretary had assured her, Mr. Beck just needed to speak to her about a matter of some importance. Other than that, the secretary would give her no clue as to what he might want with Mary.
Fluffing her dark-red curls nervously, she looked up at the numbers as the elevator slowly climbed its way to the top floor. When the doors slid open, she stepped out into a richly decorated reception area. A pretty blonde who looked about 19 sat at a desk polishing her fingernails. She looked up coolly as Mary approached the desk.
"I'm Mary Conley," she said, and at the girl's look of indifference, added, "Mr. Beck wanted to see me?"
The blonde picked up the phone and pushed a button. "Mr. Conley's wife is here," she announced, then hung up and pointed at the door to Mary's right. "They're waiting for you," she said in a bored tone. "You can go in."
"Thank you," Mary smiled, adding in her mind, "little bitch." She moved to the door and opened it, stepping into a wood-paneled office that was large enough to host a revival meeting. There was thick shag carpeting on the floor, a pair of leather sofas and coffee table in one corner, and three men, one of whom was her husband, seated around the largest oak desk she'd ever seen. The man seated behind the desk rose to greet her.
"I'm Roderick Beck," he introduced himself with a disarming smile, reaching out to shake her hand. She recognized him of course, having seen him a number of times at company functions, although they had never spoken. Around 50, he was quite handsome, with a full head of slicked-back black hair over a deeply tanned face with steely gray eyes and a hawk-like profile. He was about six feet tall, with the lean frame of a powerfully built man who had not let his muscles turn to flab as he aged. He had the air of supreme self-confidence of a man who had single-handedly built an empire. She could feel the strength in his grasp as she shook the proffered hand. She couldn't help but find him attractive, even a bit intoxicating.
"This is Harvey Feinberg, head of our legal department," he indicated the sour-faced, balding man sitting in a chair to the side of the desk who nodded, but offered no other greeting. "And you know your husband, of course," he said with a smile.
"Yes, of course," Mary answered with a nervous laugh. "Hello, dear." Walter mumbled a hello, his eyes refusing to meet hers.
"Please, have a seat," Beck pulled her attention back. He guided her to the leather armchair beside the one Walter sat in before the great desk. "Would you like some coffee? Maybe tea or a soft-drink?"
"Coffee, please," Mary answered.
Beck settled behind his desk, pushing a button on the phone. "Amber, coffee for Mrs. Conley," he barked. Mary could tell he was a man used to giving orders. A moment later, the sullen blonde from the desk out front entered. She moved to a bar at the side of the room and poured the coffee, then brought the cup and saucer to Mary.
"Thank you," Mary smiled sweetly, eliciting an icy glare.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" Amber asked, turning toward the big man.
Beck waved her away with a negligent gesture. Mary could barely contain a chuckle at the little bitch's treatment. When the door closed behind her, Beck turned his attention back to Mary. "Now, Mrs. Conley..."
"Mary. Please," she interrupted him, giving a bit of a flirtatious smile.
"Mary," Beck amended. "As to why I asked you here." He shot a look at Walter. "I suppose Walt here has told you of his recent...predicament?"
"Predicament? No," Mary answered curiously, looking over at Walter, who was studiously examining the hairs on the back of his hand. She knew something had been bothering him for some time. He'd been drinking more and more, spending more time away from home. Any time she had inquired, he'd been elusive and vague, claiming pressures at work.
Beck regarded Walter for a moment with a raised eyebrow, then growled, "Feinberg?"
The little lawyer cleared his throat to get Mary's attention, then read from a file he held. "Over a fifteen month period, beginning in April of last year and lasting until three weeks ago, Walter Conley embezzled $320,760 from Beck Industries Incorporated," he intoned in a reedy, nasal voice.
Mary blinked at the little man, not comprehending. "Embezzled..." she turned to her husband, who avoided her eyes, then to Mr. Beck, who watched her closely with his hawk-like gaze. "There must be some mistake," she said weakly.
"No mistake," Feinberg interjected, holding up another piece of paper. "He's already signed his confession." He passed the confession to Mary, who held it in shaking fingers and tried to read. After a moment, she glanced at a still-despondent Walter, then passed it back.
"What if he gave back the money?"
"No good," Feinberg assured her. "As it says here in the confession, Mr. Conley used the money to cover gambling debts."
Gambling debts? Mary looked incredulously at her husband who hung his head in shame. She knew he played poker and bet on sports, but $320,000? Finally, she turned her helpless gaze back to Beck.
Beck sat forward in his chair, his steely eyes studying her face. Finally he spoke. "I built this company with my own two hands," he rumbled. His voice rose as he continued. "I put in hundred hour weeks, gave up on having a family, fought off take-overs and ruthless competitors. I put my own blood and sweat into it for the last thirty years!" He was nearly shouting, red in the face with anger as Mary quailed before him. He took a deep breath, settling back as he calmed himself. "That's why," he continued in a more subdued tone, "I take it personally when one of my people steals from me."
With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she asked in a small voice, "What are you going to do?"
