Excerpt
Random Excerpt from Chapter 8 after Dave loses his job to cheaper labor.

He’d always considered himself as patriotic as anyone, maybe more
so than most. Didn’t he have a miniature American flag flying from the
top of his monitor? And a flag lapel pin that he wore at least once a
week? A flag bumper sticker on the Behemoth? Why did his coworkers
act as if there were something wrong with disagreeing with
laws that you believed were bad? Wasn’t it better to do your own thinking
than to let the government tell you how you ought to feel, the way
they did in those countries ruled by dictators?
Dave straightened his shoulders. Yeah, you had to walk the path
you believed was right, even if it was a lonely and unpopular walk.
He’d show them. Right now, he didn’t quite know who “they” were or
how he was going to show them, but people were going to know one
day that Dave Griffin had stood up for what was right.
He knew something big was going down when Ken’s boss’s boss,
Art Mahaffey, paid a visit to his cubicle in the middle of the afternoon.
Rex, murmuring apologies for unintentionally causing him grief by taking his job and promising to be on time in the morning, had just left to
attend a meeting for new hires in one of the other company buildings.
No doubt Mahaffey was well aware that Rex was not around to serve as
a witness.
Dave stood, and they shook hands. His skills of perception had
definitely sharpened since Friday’s announcement about the mass firing.
He’d have to rank Mahaffey a nine out of ten on the “looks like
he’s going to rip some poor slob a new one” scale. Besides, Art Mahaffey
was too high up to pay social calls to regular programmers like
Dave. Alarm signals raced to his fight or flight center and his body received
a jolt of adrenaline that made his leg muscles cramp up.
“Let’s take a break and step into my office for a few minutes, Dave,
if you don’t mind.”
Of course he minded. He’d rather take the stairs down all twentyfive
floors to the lobby than go with Mahaffey to get chewed out.
“Sure,” he croaked. Amazing how he could still manage to speak
even though his mouth was as dry as rotted leather and the muscles
across his shoulders were locked into a hard bar.
He marched down the hall after Mahaffey. His arms and legs were
so stiff they swung forward like sticks, threatening to bang into anyone
who got too close. He searched his mind, trying to come up with a
reason for the summons to the big corner office at the end of the hall.
Had Rex complained about his knowledge transfer skills? Maybe
Beth’s father or Denton Harris had interfered. If they had, he wouldn’t
take the job if it meant a co-worker were replaced. Otherwise--well,
he supposed it was okay to keep his job if another spot were added.
No, if they’d decided they wanted to keep him, they wouldn’t have
sent Mahaffey.
Mahaffey pushed open his door and motioned Dave in ahead of
him. A woman--short, big-haired, middle-aged--sat in a chair next to
the desk. The cloying scent of her gardenia perfume had settled on
every surface, and Dave tried not to breathe. Ken sat next to her, picking
non-existent debris off his jacket, his fingers wriggling like fat
earthworms against the dark plaid. He didn’t look up.
Mahaffey performed the introduction. The woman was Sandra
Brewster from personnel.
Dave sat where directed, in a cushioned chair by the door. Mahaffey
perched on the edge of his desk and cleared his throat. It sounded
like he had a wad of mucus the size of a golf ball stuck somewhere behind
his tonsils.
“The reason we’ve called you in, Dave, is that we’ve had a report
that you’ve been, ah, calling government officials, things like that.”
Mahaffey said, “calling government officials,” like he might say
“peeing in the lobby fountain at lunch time.” He pursed his lips and
walked his fingertips back and forth across the front of piece three of
his three-piece suit.
“Yes, I called some people,” Dave admitted, acid washing up his
throat. “This is your business because?”
Jesus, what a nightmare. How did they know about the calls? Did
the government rat on you to your employer if they didn’t like what
you said? Had the U.S. Department of Labor called John Victor Harris
and said Dave Griffin needed his ass kicked?
“Well, Dave, here at Markham-Hook Conglomerate we don’t like
trouble and we don’t like troublemakers. Wouldn’t you say that’s a reasonable
way to do business?”
“Well, yes, Art, I feel the same way.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Really glad.” Mahaffey nodded about fifty
times, his head bobbing mechanically. “You see, with all the transitions
we’re undergoing, we like things to run smoothly. You understand that,
don’t you?”
He was using a telemarketing technique, asking obvious questions to
get the potential buyer to keep saying yes. Well, Mr. Griffin, every home
needs energy efficient windows so all the expensive air-conditioning isn’t
sucked out into the environment. Wouldn’t you agree that’s a true statement?
Like every American, you want your home to look good and be
energy efficient, agreed? Now may I set you up for an appointment with
our most persistent and annoying salesman, Mr. Griffin?
“I understand you don’t want people raising a fuss about losing
their jobs and making the company look bad.” Dave chose his words
carefully.
Mahaffey slid back on his desk and steepled his fingers, before tapping
them gently against his chin. “Dave, this is a done deal. Trying to
stir up opposition, especially here in the very halls of the Pyramid
Building, could prove extremely costly to you.”
Someone at the elevator when he came back from lunch had told on
him. He didn’t think it was Norah. She was the type who minded her
own business. It was probably the pinch-faced guy standing behind her
wearing an expression that made you think someone was twisting his
nipples. He was an assistant team lead from the forty-first floor and
maybe he thought that made him an executive. Dave supposed he’d
never know. He should have kept his mouth shut, instead of rattling off
like an overexcited fifteen-year-old talking about a bully in gym class,
but how was he to anticipate that Markham-Hook Conglomerate would
react as if he’d committed high treason? Especially here, in the very
halls of the Pyramid Building.
“I didn’t look at it as stirring up opposition.” He resisted the urge to
bite his nails by shoving his hands under his thighs.
“That’s good, Dave. I’m glad to hear that you didn’t have negative
intentions.” Mahaffey slid off the desk and turned to Ken and to Sandra
Brewster from personnel, and they were quick to nod their agreement.
Oh, happy day. Dave Griffin did not have negative intentions. Okay,
bad ten minutes in the principal’s office. He’d be sure to stop stirring up
opposition, especially since his co-workers were too wimpy to join in,
and at least one of them was a narc. He stood, and Mahaffey held up a
hand. Mahaffey was not wearing a you-are-dismissed expression.
“Just one more thing.” He picked up a paper from his desk. “We
need you to sign something before you leave my office.”
“Sign what?” Dave glanced at his watch. If he didn’t get back to his
desk and put in some work on his project, he’d be late getting out of
here and he’d get caught in traffic, all of which would make him late
for his meeting with Beth. “You want me to sign that I understand my
right to remain silent and anything I say can and will be used against
me, is that it?”
Twin red circles appeared high on Mahaffey’s cheeks. “It’s just
a promise to keep your views on company policy to yourself while
on company property and on company time. And a loyalty oath for
our files.”
“A loyalty oath?” His voice cracked.
He took the paper from Mahaffey and studied it, bringing it a couple
of inches nearer his eyes to decipher the fine print. He’d never seen
anything like this. He was sure it had been especially crafted for him,
probably by a company lawyer with a dozen degrees in corporate law.
If he signed, it meant that he agreed to refrain from complaining
about company policy, he would accept the terms of his severance
without disclosing them to anyone, and he would refrain from discussing
Markham-Hook Conglomerate employment policy with
government officials or the media. Forever. There was a lot more about
how he recognized that no employer was perfect, but in the interests of
smooth business operation and the common good, he would not encourage
anti-corporate, anti-business, anti-government viewpoints.
They couldn’t be serious. They couldn’t really expect him to sign
away his rights to freedom of speech and freedom of opinion or any
other freedoms guaranteed to him by the U.S. Constitution.
Dave looked up to see Sandra Brewster waving a silver and gold
Markham-Hook Conglomerate pen at him. He’d like to tell them what
they could do with their loyalty oath, but he was too close to exploding.
“No,” he said softly. He ripped the paper in two. He turned from
side to side hunting a trash can and when he didn’t find one, he crumpled
the paper and stuffed it in his pocket. No one was going to be able
to accuse Dave Griffin of littering.
Ken winced and screwed up his face so that he looked like a baboon
that just bit into a rotten orange. Mahaffey shrugged. Dave realized
with a jolt that Mahaffey had known all along he wouldn’t sign. They
wanted to get rid of him for causing trouble, and he’d just given them
the excuse they needed. But this wasn’t a communist country--he could
express whatever opinions he wanted.
“I’d like that back, please.” Mahaffey pointed to Dave’s pocket.
Dave dragged out what was left of the loyalty oath and handed it
over. He could see why they wouldn’t want him keeping it. He might
give it to a reporter who’d write up a story that embarrassed Markham-
Hook when word got out that they tried to force an employee to sign
away his constitutional rights.
Sandra Brewster quietly left the room. Dave moved half a step to
follow her out the door, and Mahaffey told him to wait. A roaring
sound filled his ears, and he felt wobbly enough to have to collapse
back into the chair.
“I’m sorry, Dave. Your position with the company is terminated as
of this moment. Wait here until the security officers arrive to collect all
company property from you and escort you out of the building.”
“Why the extreme measures to keep me quiet?”
“We’re not trying to keep anyone quiet.” Mahaffey looked at Ken
Archer in feigned surprise. “But these days an employer can’t be too
careful with disgruntled employees. Surely you know that.”
“Disgruntled?” Was disgruntled a Markham-Hook euphemism for
angry, betrayed, and disbelieving? “Are you afraid I’ll bring in an Uzi
and shoot the place up or something?”
Mahaffey darted his eyes from side to side. “Of course not. We
didn’t think anything of the kind.”
“If I was going to do something like that and I’d signed your stupid
agreement, I still could have come in tomorrow and made Swiss cheese
out of this building. But then I guess you could add that to the list of
charges when they hauled me to jail. ‘Last, but not least, Mr. Griffin is
charged with violating an oath of loyalty.’ What’s the prison term on
that anyway? Think the cops would offer me a plea bargain if I signed
an oath and promised to behave?”
“I think you’ve said quite enough. Security’s here. Let’s go.”
They did everything but handcuff him. Mahaffey led the way back
to his cubicle, marching in front of him with his back held stiff. Two
burly security guards flanked him on either side and Ken followed a
few paces behind, his head bowed. In addition to his shoes swishing
against the carpet, Dave could hear Ken sighing deeply every few seconds,
sounding like an air mattress being gradually deflated.
As they passed the cubicles of his co-workers, all activity stopped.
Stares from eyes widened by disbelief burned into him. Dave thrust out
his jaw. Mahaffey could have waited till the rest of the team left before
they paraded him down the hall like a captured spy. But then that
would have cost Markham-Hook the deterrent value inherent in letting
the other inmates see what happened to a rebellious employee. Now
none of them would dare to even sneeze without company permission.
He had to turn in his security badge and his key card. Then they let
him collect his personal property and dump it into a cardboard box one
of the guards scavenged from the recycle bin in the break room. He
gathered his briefcase, his computer magazines and books, his pencils
and pens, his Dollywood pencil sharpener, and framed pictures of his
grandmother and his parents. When the box was full, he picked up his
miniature American flag and taped it upright to the front of the box so
it was still flying proudly when he left the building with his escort. The
guards didn’t try to prevent him from using a hunk of company tape.
Probably, when they thought about it later, they’d slap their heads and
feel stupid that they hadn’t ripped the tape out of his thieving hands.
Dave could muster only one positive feeling as he drove the Behemoth
out of the parking garage for the last time--he was glad he
wouldn’t have to train his own replacement. It hadn’t felt right from the
beginning and it had felt even less right when he actually tried it.