J. McKenna: Office Slave

"Come in, Ellen,” Jack Sawyer said, working to keep his voice even. “Did you have a nice vacation?” He stood in front of his pool-table-sized walnut desk, a manila folder tucked under one arm.

Ellen Sanchez, Sawyer Metalworking's attractive, dark-haired financial officer entered her boss's spacious office smiling. “Oh, yes, Jack. The beaches are wonderful in the Bahamas. It was very relaxing.” She paused, noticing Jack did not return her smile, then asked tentatively, “Did everything go all right here while I was gone?"

"Sort of,” he said vaguely. “There's something we need to discuss. Here, have a seat.” He indicated the chair across from him. She eased down onto it, folding her skirt primly in front of her.

Jack glanced at the figure of his employee and admired it anew. Ellen was a beautiful Latino, a rich combination of Incan and Mexican ancestry. Her smooth high cheekbones gave her face a sharper, more exotic look, offset by a cascade of dark hair. She kept herself in good shape, he noticed, which was surprising from someone who made a living sitting at a desk, poring over figures.

"How's Bill?” Jack asked suddenly. “He find a job yet?"

She glanced up, suspicion in her eyes. “Um… No, not yet. He's in a specialized field, you know…” Her voice trailed off. Her eyes darted away, as if she wanted to escape.

Jack sat down across from her, putting the folder deliberately on his lap. “How long has he been out of work, this time?” he pressed, emphasizing the last two words. He knew Bill had been fired from his last two jobs.

Ellen stared at him for a minute, as if she couldn't believe his impertinence. When it was clear he really wanted to know, she licked her puffy red lips and said, “Oh, let's see… About a year now, I guess."

"Must be hard to make ends meet."

Her eyes fluttered and she grew pale. “Oh, not really, we're pretty thrifty, so-"

Jack interrupted her, his voice taking on a harder edge. “It's surprising that someone whose husband hasn't been able to hold a steady job is able to drive a Mercedes and take vacations in the Bahamas."

The remaining blood drained from her face. “It's a very old Mercedes,” she said softly, as if that excused her. She stared at the folder in his lap. The silence stretched on for several seconds before Jack explained his rude behavior. “While you were gone, I had the books audited."

Ellen's mouth dropped open. “But, but-there was no need-"

"No need! Sawyer Metalworking's profits have been eroding for years, yet we have plenty of business! I asked you to explain that and you gave me nonsense about higher taxes and greater costs of materials.” He picked up the folder and tapped it on his leg. “But not once did you tell me that you've been stealing from me!"

"No!” Her denial was automatic.

Jack opened the folder and handed her some sheets of paper. “Don't bother denying it. Here are the dummy companies you set up, copies of some of the checks you wrote to them for ‘services rendered,’ and, finally, a copy of a check to an ‘Alice Edwards’ that you cashed at First Federal Bank. That's your handwriting, is it not?"

Her cheeks flushed with color. “No! No, you're wrong! I don't know who this ‘Alice Edwards’ is, but it isn't me!"

Without a word, Jack slid another item from the folder-a five-by-seven photograph of Ellen, walking out the door from First Federal Bank, dressed casually in shorts and a teeshirt. It was unmistakably her.

"The teller ID'd you from a photo. Please have the decency not to continue your lies."

Ellen reeled and nearly fell off her chair. She grabbed the edge and steadied herself. Jack observed her carefully built wall of denial crumble. She burst into tears. “God, Jack, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do it-I was just so desperate! We were about to lose the house. I only intended to borrow it!"

Her mood suddenly darkened. “That goddamned Bill! I told him to work harder at getting along with people!” Her mood shifted again, back to contrition. “I'm so sorry. I'll pay you back, I promise!"

With that, Jack took out the remaining item from the folder. A single sheet of paper. “This has been going on for more than three years now. Right under my nose. By a woman I trusted. My own CFO.” Each word hammered at her. “You'll see by this document, you've embezzled a total of two hundred, forty seven thousand dollars from me."

She held the paper in shaking hands. “T-that much?"

"That's equivalent to five workers on the factory floor. As you know, we only have about two dozen workers there, covering two shifts. Would you like to go down with me and pick out five of them that I'll have to lay off, thanks to you?"

"No! You can't!” She buried her face into her hands. “Please don't."

Jack waited for a few minutes while she cried. He felt cold. Angry. And to think he used to fantasize about her! Now he only wanted revenge for her betrayal. When her crying diminished, he leaned in again. “I'm going to call the police now, Ellen. Embezzling this amount of money is probably good for five years in prison. I only wish it could be more."

She looked up, eyes red-rimmed, a shocked expression on her face. “But-but, you can't! I'll be ruined! Besides, if I'm in jail, I won't be able to pay you back! I said I'd pay you back and I meant it!"

Jack scoffed. “How? You're certainly not my CFO after today. And I doubt you'll be able to get any kind of accounting job once word gets out about your tendency to steal from those who hire you."

The word made her wince. Clearly, she hadn't thought of herself as a criminal until this moment. Jack knew her story: She was only “borrowing” the money until Bill got another job, or she got a raise, then she'd pay it back, quietly and over time. Sure she would've. He knew that most embezzlers convinced themselves that they would pay it back. Nine times out of ten, they never get around to it-unless they were caught.

"Please don't say anything. I can get another job and pay you back out of that!"

"Do you really think I'd let you loose on another company knowing what I know? And how would you pay me back, by stealing from them?"

"No! No! I wouldn't! I'd work overtime. I'd take a second job. I'll never do anything like this again. Please."

With elaborate slowness, Jack reached over and secured a small calculator from his desktop. He looked over it to Ellen's tear-stained face. “And just how much, approximately, do you think you'd be able to pay me each week?"

"Well, if that bastard husband of mine gets a job…” She stopped, as if she realized that wasn't Jack's problem. “I think I could manage, um, two-three hundred a week.” Her eyes were bright as she contemplated a way out of this mess.

Jack punched in the numbers. “Let's see, two hundred, forty seven thousand, divided by three hundred…” He looked up. You could pay me back in sixteen years. That's assuming I don't charge any interest, which I'd be a fool not to. So, with interest, let's say an even twenty years, shall we?"

Ellen looked blank, her reddish brown eyes opened wide.

"So how old are you now?"

"Th-thirty-two."

"So you expect me to keep quiet and hope that you continue to pay me until you're fifty-two? The statute of limitations runs out in five years-you could just stop paying me then and I'd have no more leverage. I'd be stuck for most of the loss. What kind of a fool do you take me for?” He reached over his desk and turned the phone around to face him. He picked up the receiver.

"Please! What are you doing?"

"Why, I'm calling the police, as I told you I would. I see no way out of this."