Gregg Hurwitz - The Program

A shocked silence.

Tim blew imaginary smoke from the barrel and tossed the gun. It clattered on the stage. Tom Altman's exercise complete.

TD watched him, frozen in a moment of amazed respect. He began to clap, and the Pros erupted in applause.

Shanna collapsed on the floor.

"Brilliant," TD murmured, his voice barely audible over the roar of the audience. "Fucking brilliant."

The Pros stormed the stage, swept Tim up, and jumped with him. The scene resembled the cascading-confetti finale of a political convention. A path parted before TD. He snatched Tim into an embrace, his whisper cutting through the ruckus. "You're ready now, Tom. No more games."

As the celebration lingered, Tim and Leah headed out the Growth Hall's rear exit.

"The gun," she said. "How did you know?"

"I knew."

They passed behind the cafeteria, and Leah again instinctively turned away from her reflection in the walk-in freezer. Tim caught her, turning her toward the side of the freezer. She froze, her head tilted to the ground. He kept his hands on her shoulders, gentle but firm.

For nearly a full minute, they stayed perfectly still, Tim waiting patiently, Leah stubbornly avoiding her reflection.

Finally she lifted her eyes. Tentatively she raised her trembling fingertips, pressed them into her cheek. Tim stepped back, leaving her alone with her mirrored image.

She smiled. She fussed with her hair. She made a snarly face at herself.

A one-note gasp of a laugh seemed to catch her by surprise, a cautious peal of delight.

Honing his clockwise wiping technique, Tim worked beside Leah. Lorraine and Shanna were elbow deep in suds. Chad stacked the plates.

Stanley John burst through the swinging doors and said, "Chad, the Teacher wants to see you. Now."

Chad stopped, plates clutched between his hands. He set them down on the counter and walked from the room.

"What's going on?" Shanna asked.

"Wendy's not getting with The Program," Stanley John said. "TD wants to switch him out, put Janie on her."

Lorraine dried her hands, then cupped Shanna's cheeks. "I never have to worry about you being Off Program. You're the perfect Gro-Par."

Shanna blushed and covered her grin with a soapy hand.

"If you stay on track, you might even get asked to be one of TD's Lilies."

Shanna's grin faded. She bit her cheek and glanced away.

"Speaking of Lilies," Stanley John said quietly to Lorraine, "you'll never guess who showed up in the middle of the night. Nancy Kramer."

Leah stiffened.

Tim recognized the name from TD's file cabinets – the Active Link. She'd been successfully converted to a Dead Link last night.

Shanna and Lorraine stacked the final wet dishes before Tim and Leah and then left. Stanley John followed them out, drawing close to Lorraine, his voice barely audible. "Guess she passed the Darwin test at the tar pits."

Tim and Leah dried in silence for a while, Leah fighting back tears. "You don't have to gloat."

"She's dead, Leah. I don't want you to end up with her."

They worked in silence for a while. Leah finally reached TD's plate, sitting by itself on the counter. She produced two brand-new towels, using them like pot holders so her flesh wouldn't come in contact with it. She paused, staring at the blank white plate, tears running down her cheeks.

"Yes," she said. "I'll go with you."

She spit on the plate, polished it, and continued her work.

Wendy confronted the stack of legal documents before her. "I don't think I'm ready to do this."

She sat beside her husband and Tim on the Growth Hall floor, surrounded by Pros. An orb of light encapsulated the group, a perimeter of darkness hemming them in. Jason Struthers, like Shanna, had already elected to stay on and enjoy Pro status. The devout attention he'd enjoyed since signing on the dotted lines had left him in near rapture.

And then there were three.

The inner core of encircling Pros included all the heavyweights -Lorraine, Winona, Janie, Stanley John, and, of course, TD. A clamp-jawed man in his early thirties, a Program attorney named Sean, sat up front as well, next to a trim, bearded fellow of the same age – the good Dr. Henderson, complete with a yachtsman's physique and John Lennon spectacles. Winona clutched a notary stamp, signature log, and a mini-ink pad for fingerprint confirmation. The voluptuous redhead had parked herself behind Don, touching his hips with the points of her spread knees, stroking his back lazily. She slid a Montblanc up over his shoulder and down the front of his chest.

There was no Enya, no 2001, no kettledrum, just an excruciating silence.

Tim flipped through the carefully prepared documents before him. A general power of attorney. A durable power of attorney. A power of attorney for each of Tom Altman's banks and brokerage firms. Transfer of assets. Deed of gift.

In consideration of goodwill and other good and valuable consideration, receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, I hereby grant and convey the following to TDB Corp…

I, the undersigned, hereby make, constitute, and appoint TDB Corp my true and lawful Attorney for me and in my name, place, and stead and for my use and benefit…

…designate TDB Corp with broad powers to ask, demand, manage, sue for, recover, collect, and receive each and every sum of money, debt, account, legacy, bequest, interest, dividend, annuity, and demand…

There was even a postal form for Tom Altman to forward his mail to The Program's P.O. box, a surefire way to certify that not a single investment statement slipped through the cracks. TD would keep them under his thumb until he'd bilked every cent from every account, leaving them rattling husks like Ernie Tramine and Reggie.

The comprehensiveness of the paperwork was astonishing. In fact, The Program's team knew more about Tom Altman's portfolio than Tim did. He mused on Tannino's masterful ways of building fraudulent paper empires.

Wendy squirmed under the panorama of staring eyes. Beside her, Don broke the standoff, grabbing the pen. Leaning over, he began to sign the forms furiously. The crinkle of turning pages was drowned out by a respectful ripple of applause, a golf clap punctuated by doting exclamations – tentative still, as Don's work was not yet complete.

The redhead squeezed Don excitedly from behind. Wendy watched the well-manicured hands kneading her husband's lateral muscles. Her voice was shaky. "Don? Honey? I think we should talk about this."

Continuing to flip pages, Don kept his head down, focused athletically on the task.

"C'mon, Wen, what's to talk about?" Stanley John said.

"I think…I think we should talk to Josh. He is our CFO."

"Here we care about the future." Sean folded his hands contentedly. "Not the past."

"Why isn't Josh here, too?" Winona said. "When you and your husband chose growth, he chose to lag behind."

Janie said, "You can figure out later if Josh is part of your future. For the time being, why don't you Live in the Now? Let all that other crap go."

TD reclined on elbow-locked arms, taking in everything with a creator's pride.

Don finished, slapped the last form facedown on the floor, and looked up with shiny eyes. "I'm staying on. I'm going forward. I'm not dragging all this with me."

A cry of joy was raised, the rush of euphoria so disorienting that for a moment Tim joined in the thrill. Between hugs and pats, Don signed the notary log Winona presented. Standing still amid the swirls of movement, Wendy looked shaken. Her imploring eyes met Tim's. He forced himself to look away.

TD stood, and everyone quieted, settling back on the floor. Now, magically, only Tim and Wendy remained in the center. Don had been whisked out by the busty redhead, no doubt to collect his due rewards. With a flourish, TD produced the Montblanc and extended it to Wendy. She stared at it a few moments, gulping air, then took it.