“Slaves,” Michelle whispered.
“Yes, Michelle. Slaves.”
“But surely there’s some people who don’t put up with that kind of bullshit. People quit their jobs all the time due to over-demanding bosses and exploitive labor practices.”
“Yes they do. But that’s all going to come to an end soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s pending legislation in the House and Senate that will tip the scales very heavily in the favor large corporations over their employees. Much of this legislation has been passed little by little over the last ten years—repealing overtime pay for non-clerical and non white-collar office workers a few years ago was one of them. There’ve been others over the years that appear less obvious, but one of the bills currently before Congress will be even more sweeping. It will guarantee that if an employee voluntarily leaves his place of employment or is fired for any kind of disciplinary action including failure to perform his or her duties to the satisfaction of the company, other companies can bar them from employment. Of course this would be at the other employer’s discretion.”
Michelle was adding this all up in her head and found the implications horrifying. “But that would be…”
“Illegal? Not really. Our government is being influenced by them, so they’re changing the laws to benefit them. Horrifying? A form of blacklisting? Sure. It would also essentially force people to remain in their positions, otherwise they’d have no source of income. Of course, lots of people are self-employed or work at small companies away from Corporate Financial’s influence. They won’t be affected… at least not yet. But the people who work at companies that will be affected? Should they leave or be fired they would be unable to find a job at another firm because by the time this legislation goes into effect, every company in the United States, large and small, will be controlled by Corporate Financial Consultants and will be not only using their methods, but will themselves be immersed.”
The dread Michelle was feeling now had never felt so heavy. It felt like the weight of the world was crashing down on her, smothering her. Part of her wanted to just end it all now, pack up her stuff, call Donald, tell him she was leaving Chicago, driving back to Pennsylvania and getting her stuff and fleeing somewhere, anywhere, away from the madness of the twenty-first century with all its global-speak and emphasis on twenty-four seven. But another part of her insisted that this was her fight, that it had been her fight since she was a child and was forced to grow up in a loveless home while her parents worked and slaved away at jobs that brought stability and a roof over their heads but nothing else—no love, no emotional security, no sense of warmth or human kindness. It was her fight now because she had been thrust into this environment at an early age, right after high school, and had been forced to endure the icy tone of her mother’s voice when she learned she was pregnant with Alanis, had lived through hearing her mother tell her to get rid of her unborn daughter lest it ruin her career with the company. It was her fight because she had seen the light shortly after losing Alanis that the great monolithic machines of corporations, those entities that were human-powered, had lost something. It was no longer a goal to make money and turn a profit. It was no longer enough to simply do well in business and serve your customers and community. It was no longer enough to strive to be the best you can be in your chosen industry. Now companies had to encompass all, had to control all, including the very people that had created them and worked at making them what they were.
She thought about what Alan and Rachel told her last night, about Hubert Marstein’s supposed occult interests and she shuddered. She imagined Frank Marstein carrying out his father’s will somewhere in some isolated mansion, praying to some dark god in order to gain even more riches, more control. As a strict Agnostic, Michelle didn’t believe in a literal devil or even in God for that matter. But she always had a firm belief in the spiritual life and had always felt that it was neither benign or malignant. It could either do harm or good, depending on the will of the person who believed. Certain people had negative vibes and positive ones; she’d met enough people over the years from all walks of life who exhibited both. If Frank Marstein had poured enough of his negative energy into some kind of force that was strong enough, and had surrounded himself with people with similar dark agendas, wouldn’t that feed off one another and grow in time? And by utilizing whatever training methods—immersion or whatever it was Alan Perkins called it—couldn’t that be like some form of mind control? Brain-washing even?
“Michelle?” It was Alan. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Michelle said, the answer becoming clear to her now. She gripped the cell phone tightly in her hand and sat down on the unmade bed. “It’s just… thinking about it, everything you told me is so… overwhelming.”
“But you understand,” Alan said. “Right?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Then you know what must be done? Why Corporate Financial wants you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know why the Coalition sees you as so important,” Alan continued, his voice measured and even. “None of us have been granted this opportunity. None of us have been able to penetrate Corporate Financial Headquarters. You see why time is of the essence?”
The implications were too obvious. There was no other way. Michelle saw that now. “If they do take me to company headquarters tomorrow, I’ll be prepared.”
“You know what it is we’re going to want you to do?”
“I have an idea.”
“And what’s your idea?”
“You want me to destroy them somehow.”
“Not just them,” Alan said. “But a specific area in the building. Specific people.”
“How will—”
“Not over the phone. Tonight, at three. We have a hastily assembled plan. We’ll talk about it then.”
“Okay.” Despite all she’d learned and the task that had been laid out for her, Michelle Dowling felt a strange sense of calm wash over her. It felt like everything she had been through in life with its many triumphs and failures had led her to this place, for this particular purpose. She was awakening to the fact that she had been semi-conscious for the past decade to what was really going on in the business world, that Corporate Financial was secretly taking over the lives and souls of the human race, turning them into a relentless hive of worker drones to sustain its own malevolent life force, a life force that had been born from the dark biddings of a ruthless, overzealous businessman over eighty years ago who believed that if he tapped into the demonic forces of his faith, they would grant him incredible power.
Had that power gone out of control? Or was this what Hubert and Frank Marstein had in mind all along? The enslavement of the human race to do their bidding.
“Three o’clock?” Alan asked. For the first time, Michelle detected a sense of hope in his voice.
“I’ll be there,” Michelle said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MATT WAGNER HAD just arrived at his desk one minute prior to eight a.m. to start the day as an administrative assistant for McSweeny’s Advertising in mid-town Manhattan when his supervisor descended on him. “You’re late.”
Matt checked his watch. “I am?”
Doug Bradley frowned at Matt. As usual, he was dressed in a drab gray suit. His bald pate gleamed beneath the fluorescents. “What time did you wake up, Mr. Wagner?”
Matt looked at Doug, confused, wondering what this was all about. He always arrived five to ten minutes early to work. He wasn’t due to start until eight a.m., and the only reason he was one minute shy of being on time today was because he’d had to drop his daughter off at school—Deena normally did that on her morning commute. “Six-thirty as usual. Why?”