And now it was time to carry out that plan.
He’d left Sarah a note on the family computer early that morning, detailing everything he was going to do and why. And he told her he was sorry, but he just had to do this. He just had to kill as many of the sons of bitches who killed their son as he could. Had to destroy as many of the callous corporate fucks who didn’t care they were affecting the lives of hundreds of people so they could buy another yacht or vacation home in the Florida Keys.
He grasped the polished gold doorknob of the boardroom and stepped inside.
Seated around the large, black cherry wood conference table were a dozen men in power suits. Most were over fifty, distinguished looking, bearing an air of wealth and power and prestige. A few were close to his age, mid-thirties, and there were a few guys that looked to be in their forties as well. He recognized all of them from when he used to work in the IT department. In fact, he used to venture up to the executive suite to hook up new PCs or troubleshoot system performances. He knew the layout of the area well, like the back of his hand. A coffee pot burbled on a counter off to his left and James Whitmore, CEO of Free State, was standing up, offering a smile. “Mr. Dubrow! So pleased to meet you. Why don’t you get yourself a cup of coffee and we’ll begin. We’re very eager to hear how ValueTech might be able to assist in Free State’s financial goals.”
“I think I’d rather start now,” Victor said. He stopped at the head of the table, the clasps of the briefcase facing him as he flipped them back, opening the lid. He pulled out both Glocks, one in each hand, aimed them at the men closest to him and pulled the triggers, striking them dead and center. Blood sprayed; one well-placed shot blew out a hole in the back of one man’s skull the size of a softball. Victor’s moves were so sudden, so ferocious in its violence, that the rest of the men were too stunned to react which was perfect for Victor as he began randomly picking them off.
It only took less than a minute. When he was finished all twelve of the power-suited men that had assembled in the conference room to hear how the fictional ValueTech company could further improve their bottom line and their stock options and year-end bonuses at the expense of the livelihood of their employees were dead or very close to dying. Both magazines ran out quickly and he reached for the Smith and Wesson in the holster near his back and the Kimber in his shoulder holster and finished the job.
He didn’t pause to savor the moment. He put the Kimber and the Smith and Wesson back in their holsters, slapped fresh magazines into the spent Glocks and stuffed them down the front of his pants, picked up the Tec 9 and slapped the first of the ten magazines into the action. He turned his attention to the entrance of the executive suite where he could hear Gayle making a frantic phone call to the police. The smell of gunpowder overpowered the smell of blood and excrement in the conference room. “It only took me less than thirty seconds to mow down thirty six million dollars worth of brains. But what the hell? One tenth of one of these motherfucker’s salaries could have saved my son, so fuck them. Time to die, motherfuckers.”
Then, leaving the open and now empty briefcase on the conference room table, he headed down the hallway for more payback.
MICHAEL BRENNAN TOOK the call from his doctor in his supervisor’s office at ten minutes past eleven on Friday morning.
He’d been dreading the call all week and had been quietly performing his duties in the plant mindlessly. He hadn’t said anything to his team leader or any of his co-workers about the testicular cancer thing, not because he was embarrassed, but because voicing it aloud would make it more real to him. He was still drifting through a mindless fog of denial, made worse by his medical insurance’s refusal to cover treatment. He had gone in to his HR department Wednesday to ask them about his medical coverage. The HR Director, a nice lady named Carrie Horn who always had a smile for everybody at the company, explained to him that all matters concerning medical care made by Red Rose were final, and that the patient would be responsible for all out-of-pocket visits. Michael asked her to explain that, and she told him that if there was something Red Rose would not cover, such as plastic surgery for vanity sake, or orthodontic care, or Lasik surgery, those fees were to be paid by the patient. “Red Rose will only pay for medical procedures that they deem are medically necessary,” she explained, repeating what Dr. Beck told him last week.
He asked her about fighting Red Rose’s decision and she informed him that he was free to do that; Red Rose did have an appeals process. She gave him the information on that, and he asked her about the possibility of switching his health insurance. Carrie explained that the company chose Red Rose for their competitive prices and was the only health insurance option available at the moment. Of course, he was free to opt out of coverage and seek medical insurance on his own, but the costs would be prohibitive. Michael shook his head, saying no, that was fine, he just wanted to know what his options were.
Carrie must have read the troubled look on his face because she asked him if he was okay. He lied, told her everything was fine, even smiled at her and she smiled back. He went back into the plant. Thirty minutes later he was called in to his supervisor’s office to take the call from his Doctor’s office.
“We’re going to go ahead with the surgery,” Dr. Beck said. “Can you be at Lancaster General by three p.m.?”
“Red Rose approved it?” Michael asked, his hopes rising.
“Not exactly,” Dr. Beck said. Michael thought his doctor still sounded upset with the hoops his medical insurance company was making him jump through. “But we want to get treatment started regardless of your insurance company’s decision. I’ve spoken with the people at the Lancaster Urological Group and the hospital, and they’re willing to work out financial arrangements with you that will give you very low monthly payments. Basically I’ve already set up financing for you. They’re willing to do it. Then when Red Rose approves the surgery, we’ll get them to cut a check to the parties involved and anything you’ve paid in will be reimbursed to you.”
“You think that’ll work?” Michael said. For the first time since this mess started, he felt comfortable working with a medical professional. He felt he could trust Dr. Beck.
“Yes,” Dr. Beck answered. “It’s all taken care of. I’ve filled out all the forms for you; I’ll just need you to sign your name to several documents, maybe fill a few things out I was unable to, and we’re set.”
“Okay,” Michael said, feeling all the tension that had been building up over the last few days ease off his back. “I’ll be there.”
“Good! And Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“Everything will be fine. You’re in good hands with Dr. Schellenger.”
Michael smiled. “Thanks doc.”
“Three o’clock,” Dr. Beck reminded him.