Matt Whyman - The Savages

The mole stood before Titus Savage looking utterly betrayed. Here was the man who had risked everything to provide inside information on the company’s fortunes, and this is how he was being repaid.

‘You’re firing me?’ he asked in disbelief, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘But you promised me a job at the end of all this.’

‘There aren’t any jobs,’ said Titus. ‘I’m breaking up the business and selling off what’s left. It’s worth more to me like that.’

‘Mr Savage. This isn’t what we agreed.’

Titus was sitting behind the Chief Executive’s desk. The office had glass walls. It looked out across an open-plan floor, much of which was in the process of being emptied.

‘So, what are you going to do?’ he asked finally. ‘Complain that I haven’t kept my side of a completely illegal agreement with you?’

The mole had no response. He didn’t want to go to jail, even if Titus went with him.

‘Please,’ he said eventually, his voice small and wavering.

Titus didn’t look up, focusing instead on signing transportation documents.

‘Are you still here?’ he asked eventually. ‘Don’t make me call for security.’

‘Security has gone,’ said the mole. ‘You fired them as well.’

‘Did I?’ Titus set down his pen. Then he rose to his feet, towering over the man across the desk from him. ‘You’ll appreciate that if I have to escort you from the building it will involve less than professional methods.’

‘But you swore to me that I’d be safe,’ said the mole, who took a step backwards. ‘ Please! What do I tell my wife? My children? Everything I’ve done hasn’t left me feeling good about myself, but it’s all been for them!’

Titus continued to glower at him, but said nothing for a moment. It was as if this final plea was something he couldn’t ignore. Finally, with a sigh, he reached for his inside pocket.

‘Are they still good, your kids?’ he asked, having produced a cheque book which he slapped onto the desk. ‘How old are they now?’

‘Eight, twelve and nearly fourteen,’ said the mole, clearly sounding as if his mouth had turned bone dry. ‘Three girls.’

‘Three girls!’ Titus looked up, beaming broadly, which took the mole by surprise. It just seemed completely at odds with the level of wilful cruelty the man could display. ‘You must be proud of them.’

The mole shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

‘I am,’ he said, watching Titus scribble out a cheque. ‘But it’s my responsibility to support them, and give them the best start in life that I can.’

Titus tore off the cheque he’d just completed and handed it to him.

‘You take good care of those little ladies,’ he said, ignoring the man’s sudden intake of breath. ‘Before you know it they’ll be grown up and gone. Now leave the building. You have two minutes. Disappear! ’

With a sum in his hand that comfortably exceeded any redundancy package, the mole did exactly as instructed. Titus watched him hurry towards the lift. Then, leaving the desk, he stood at the door to the office. The floor could support one hundred workers. Right now, just two were at their stations. Both were packing up, shocked into moving in slow motion at such a sudden turn of events. Titus was a ruthless operator. He knew that. It’s how he’d made his name in the City. Not that it brought him much joy at that moment.

‘Is this it?’ he asked himself, looking around at the abandoned office. Everything from the desks to the computers, the phone system and the television clusters would be sold off in due course. In his business, this was a great achievement. Just then, Titus felt as empty as the floor itself.

This wasn’t like creating a work of art or conquering a mountain. Yes, he’d achieved another goal, but what did it bring him except for money? Seeing his father’s mind begin to misfire had prompted him to question what mattered in life. It had come as quite a shock to him, having grown up believing that being at the top of the food chain somehow insured them against death. Titus knew his father wouldn’t live forever, of course, but Oleg’s moments of confusion brought things closer to home now, as had the demise of Lulabelle Hart.

Ever since he’d deposited the body over the cliff edge, Titus had found himself questioning what was really important in life. Time was precious, so it seemed to him just then. At any moment, everything could just be snatched away without warning. He’d taken no pleasure from what had happened to the model. It had been senseless. A terrible waste. In his view, killing could only ever be justified if it served a useful purpose. So long as it was carried out humanely, and the body brought everybody together at the table, Titus could sleep at night, which was something he’d been struggling with since he had zipped up the empty holdall and trudged back to his car. The only occasion when he felt fulfilled and at peace, now he thought about it, was when his family were gathered around him.

Titus remained at the office door for a moment, lost in thought, and then dismissed this quiet crisis with a chuckle. ‘There’s only way to move on,’ he told himself. ‘With a feast.’

It was his mobile that was next to grab his attention. The message came from his eldest daughter, as marked by the special ringtone she had programmed into his phone. Titus collected it from his desk. He stared at the screen for a while, reading it through several times, before deciding with both eyes brimming that it was time to call it a day.

The agency office was a far cry from the interiors they represented. On dropping in after lunch with her husband, Angelica Savage had found it cramped and over-furnished, but Marsha didn’t seem to mind. She was more concerned about the welfare of her client’s children following the tragedy that had occurred soon after the last shoot.

‘We’re working through it as a family,’ Angelica had assured her, before politely enquiring when the next booking might be. In private, things were getting desperate when it came to the interest on her credit card. It was the stress surrounding the death and disposal of the model that had driven her back to the shops. That’s how she had dealt with it, but now she was paying the price. Angelica badly needed the house to keep working for her in order to pay off the instalments. Not that she could admit that under such sensitive circumstances. Instead, by suggesting that Lulabelle wouldn’t wish the agency to be out of pocket for her actions, she had finally persuaded Marsha that it would be better for everyone if they hired out the ground floor sooner rather than later. ‘It’s what Lulabelle would’ve wanted,’ Angelica had finished, lowering her gaze respectfully when Marsha finally opened her bookings diary.

To celebrate, because she had earned it, Angelica returned home with several boutique shopping bags in her grasp. For a short time, a little spending like this would leave her in a shining mood. So, when she opened the front door to find Jack Greenway making his way from the kitchen towards her, she was genuinely pleased to see him.

‘What a nice surprise,’ she said, only to realise that Jack looked like he was about to throw up. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Your son,’ he snapped without stopping. ‘He needs his head testing.’

Angelica stepped aside to let him pass. She watched him grab his coat, just as Sasha rushed after him. Her daughter looked as if she was chasing after an event that had somehow escaped from her control. Angelica noted her leaving a knife behind on the hall table as she followed Jack into the hallway. Judging by her daughter’s air of panic, it looked to her as if Sasha wished she’d never picked it up in the first place. Then she called after him, which was when Angelica realised something more immediate had prompted him to hurry out for air.