If I was so happy, then why on Earth did the idea of Max ending our relationship not reduce me to a pile of tears?
11
Tucker
The tall building was all glass and steel, standing over the sidewalk and busy street like some kind of castle among peasants.
It didn’t make me feel inferior; if anything, it pissed me off.
This was the building where my brother found his demise. This was the building that in some aspects ultimately claimed his life. Yeah, okay, so buildings couldn’t kill people… but the things that went on within walls of buildings certainly could.
The dress shirt and tie around my neck felt like a noose, and I rolled my shoulders back, trying to shrug off the feeling and the thoughts of my brother’s death. I wished I could walk in there and smash some heads and bust some jaws… but I couldn’t.
Yeah, it would be satisfying, but it wouldn’t help me get Max’s killer.
I tilted my head and glanced at the building once more, seeing it in a new light.
Max’s killer was inside.
I stepped up to the wide glass doors leading in from the sidewalk and as I did, it swung open, a doorman appearing in a pressed suit and a smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Patton!”
I wasn’t used to being called Mr. Patton. I was used to just Patton. But he wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to Max.
“Morning,” I said, inclining my chin. “Have a good day.”
“You too!” the doorman called after me as I pressed the button for the elevator to take me to the twelfth floor. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one in the car on the way up, but no one spoke as we all rode up in silence, making several stops along the way.
When we reached my floor, the doors slid open silently and I stepped out in the reception room of the office onto a buffed, light-colored tile floor and cream-painted walls. The reception desk was large and took up a huge amount of floor space, and as I walked, a dark-headed receptionist in a bright-red suit looked up.
She did a double take.
“Mr. Patton!” she said, standing up, her dark hair falling over her shoulders.
“Morning,” I said, gripping my briefcase a little tighter. I hoped she didn’t expect small talk because I planned to make a beeline for my office and shut myself in. I did not want to deal with anyone that I didn’t have to. The less I talked, the easier being Max would be.
The receptionist watched me with this odd look on her face and I started to feel little tingles of warning. Was she not expecting me today? Because if she wasn’t, then that meant she was in on the plot to kill Max.
“Is something wrong?” I asked coolly, glancing around for some sort of name tag or desk plate. I didn’t see one.
“No—I…” she stuttered and I stopped walking toward the hall that I knew led to Max’s office and turned to look at her directly.
“That didn’t sound very confident.”
She fidgeted in her chair. “I just didn’t expect to see you…” Her voice faded away.
“Why?” I asked point blank.
“Because…” She began wetting her lips with her tongue. “They told me you weren’t coming back. They’re cleaning out your office.”
Motherfuckers.
I felt my eyes narrow and anger darken my vision. Those assholes had no clue who they were dealing with. “Are they?” I asked, my tone taking on a dead calm. “I hadn’t realized I’d been fired.”
The girl looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and alarm in her eyes.
“I’ll go find out what’s going on right now.”
She didn’t try to stop me as I strode down the hallway, passing offices and cubicles as I went. Several people called out greetings and I returned them, but as I drew closer to where I knew my office to be, I started getting mixed looks. Looks of surprise. Looks of confusion.
If I had any doubt that someone in this company killed my brother, I sure as hell didn’t anymore.
I wondered what these people had been told when he didn’t show up yesterday, and now someone was in his office, clearing out all his stuff.
The thought made my heart begin to pump furiously. They were probably searching his office, looking for that flash drive.
I had to find it first.
Quickening my steps, I approached the small office that Max occupied. The door was slightly ajar and inside I could hear someone rifling through papers and opening desk drawers.
I laid my palm on the front of the wooden door—the door that still had Max’s name on it—and pushed it open.
The man standing behind my desk looked up in irritation.
The irritation quickly vanished and I was very pleased to see blatant shock ripple through his entire body.
I knew then that this bastard had a hand in murdering my brother.
Red spots that looked suspiciously like blood swam before my eyes, blocking a lot of my vision and making me think of causing him serious pain. I’d never hated someone just on sight until now. Even if he hadn’t given such an obvious look of guilt, I would have hated him.
He looked smarmy. He looked dirty. He looked like a corrupt businessman that cared about no one but himself.
It was going to be an absolute pleasure to make this asshole suffer.
I cocked my head to the side and did a sweeping glance at the box on my desk, the messed-up papers, and the guilty look written across his ugly face. “Did someone forget to tell me I was fired?”
“Maxwell,” the man said, casually pulling his hand out of the drawer he had been searching. He gave a nervous laugh and then glanced at the door—the door which I was blocking. He glanced back at me, plastering a fake smile across his face. The little beads of sweat that gathered at his hairline gave me an immense amount of pleasure.
“Who said you were fired?”
“Well, the receptionist sure seemed surprised to see me. Along with several other employees. Why else would you be going through my desk and boxing up my belongings?”
He cleared his throat. “You certainly are not fired!” He tried to laugh. It sounded more like he was being strangled. “We became worried yesterday when you didn’t come into work. We tried to call, but you weren’t answering. We were very afraid something was wrong.”
“So you automatically come in here to box up my stuff?”
“I just didn’t want anything to happen to your items while we were figuring out where you were.”
What a lying sack of shit. I sincerely wanted to plow my knuckles into his garbage spewing mouth. This son of a bitch thought my brother was dead.