"You're going to what?" he blurted out, astonished.
"You heard me, you clown," I told him.
"And you think I am going to let you just go ahead and do it, you must me mad!" he railed at me.
"You try and stop me," I said, "you are the one that will end up in the clink," I said. "I have the hammer, you don't, you are the fool here not me."
"She has nothing to do with this, you can't involve her," he told me.
"But you are so fucking clever aren't you!" I said heatedly.
He looked like he was about to beat me to death.
"Okay," I said, "I'll go to the authorities, then take it upstairs, and you carry the can, how about that, big head!"
"It was an accident, it wasn't supposed to happen, you know that."
"Yes I did, but you went ahead despite the warnings I have given you. I have all the evidence, you don't. And now you are going to pay the price. Its either my way or yours, you choose."
"She's my wife, you can't!" he told me.
"You don't know what I can do until we find out," I said, "You need to tell her how it is, loss of job for sure, and jail, or my offer."
I could see the hatred in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and I could almost smell the fear. "Tell you what Timmy boy," I said, I knew he hasted that too. "You make the proposal to her, see what she has to say. Then we'll talk. I'm not at work tomorrow, but you can call me. I'm sure she will not want to see you jailed for a year or two, and anyway who knows if she'll wait for you?"
This man, I never liked him, he was an ass hole, is an ass hole. Big headed, he's been there, done it, seen it, got the T shirt. He's an "I've been everywhere man," pain in the fucking ass, and now I had him right in my grip. He had pointed out to me that if he wanted to he could drain money from the company accounts, keep it, and put it back when he wanted and no one would know.
He showed me, I told him he was asking for trouble, lose his job, go to jail, the whole shebang, I had warned him fiercely. But being the man he was, he had to do it, and he did, several times. I got fed up to the back teeth of it. "I'm telling you Tim, you do it once more and I'm grassing you up!" He laughed in my face. Then that night several of us went to the pub, someone was leaving so we had a farewell drink.
What turned the course of events was Mr Big heads wife, she turned up to drive him home. I was almost knocked off my feet. She was an absolute stunner, how the hell he had got her to marry him will remain a wonder to me for the rest of my life. She was tall, about 5ft 8" lithesome, willowy, yet voluptuous, high breasted, long legged, she moved like she was a light breeze. Everyone in the bar stopped to look at her. And to top it off, she had a face that would stop traffic. It was a mixture of Julia Stiles and younger Michelle Phiefer with soft, glossy long blond shaggy hair.
I was in awe, and then he started, he showed her off, made her look like a trophy wife, his thing, little woman, stays at home etc etc. In my eyes he belittled her, and I was sure I could see it in hers. I made a real point of introducing myself, I offered her a seat, and bought her a mineral water, made sure she was alright. In short I made sure she knew I was being nice.
He tried to upend it by telling her I was just another minion in the office, the others berated him, saying I was a jewel, I appreciated that support from them, he didn't. I ended up chatting with her on and off. I was captivated, I looked into those deep blue headlights and got a huge erection. I'm sure Melissa, Tim's wife, got the message, I couldn't hide it, even a friend poked me in the ribs and laughed.
The night ended and I really did make sure she remembered me, I told her if she ever needed a friend, 'for anything' I added, 'anything at all, call me,' I told her. I spent that night jacking off, or it seemed like it. The next day, Timmy boy took the piss, how I was infatuated etc etc. I brushed him and it aside, but he was right, so right, I was.
Then the plan that I hadn't planned fell into place, he said to me, "Hey Mark, take a look at this," I went to his desk, and there on the screen was a transfer to him, only on paper, of ten thousand big ones. I told him I didn't want to know. I wanted nothing to do with it. Then that was when the idea came to me of how to screw him.
I knew his password, and later during lunch time, I went into his machine, checked what he had done. I saw he had returned the transfer, and I re made it. I repeated exactly what he had done, then pinged the result to my PC detailing it with his cyber fingerprints all over it. It included, his own bank details, his e mail address, his passwords, and the time the deed was done.
I sent the money back, but now I had the path of him moving money. Over the next two weeks, every time he played, I repeated it all, and I built a portfolio of him fiddling. There was no way to trace it to me, even though it was now on my machine. I also constructed a works diary from the date of the first transaction, stating I was building evidence before I went to the management.
"Tim," I said near the end of the day, "we need to talk at knocking off time," I told him.
And do you know what he said?
"I can't," he said, "my Mrs told me she needed a good fuck as soon as I get home. Don't you wish you were me Mark Hmmm?" he laughed, then said, "Oh but of course you do, your tongue has been hanging out for the last three weeks!"
That was the exact moment I decided on my plan of action, it burst into my head in a flash of awful inspiration.
"You need to stay, and watch and learn," I told him venomously. He hung about, then we were alone. I flipped my PC at him, I showed him all the evidence, and knowing that no matter what he said or did now, he would not be able to erase it from his machine. I had already backed up mine, I had fitted a new hard drive. And everything, as they say, in my garden was rosy.
It took ten minutes for him to grasp the gravity of his situation, another ten minutes of him threatening me, and another ten minutes of him pleading with me not to shop him, then several more minutes asking me what I wanted. That was when I hit him with the proverbial hammer.
"A weekend," I told him, "Friday night until Monday morning."
"A weekend?" he muttered, "what the hell are you talking about, a weekend!"
"A full one Timmy boy, no arguments, no negotiation, no interruptions," I said.
"Fucking hell Mark, what are you on about?"
"Today is Tuesday, it will be this Friday end of!"
"I know what fucking day it is Mark!"
