Flash 02: Career Changes

"Not completely, but I'm sure it will," I said.

After they left, I went back over her final memories and tried the keystroke combination. I found that her emotional state had significantly changed from what it was before. I used the headset and focused on her final thoughts just before and after the accident.

"Cam, I swear to God, I am going to make this up to you," she thought. "I promise I'll be the best wife ever. I just hope you can forgive me." Her final thoughts after the accident were of me. "Please, Cam, forgive me. I love you. I'm so, so terribly sorry..."

I was brought back to reality by the sound of her doctor's voice.

"Mr. Drake, I'm glad to see you here," Dr. Samuels said. "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to talk with you."

"Sure," I said, standing up. I followed him to his office and sat in a chair in front of his desk. He closed his door and took his seat.

"So, what can I do for you, doc?" I asked. He looked at me, then consulted his charts before speaking.

"I Just wanted to update you on your wife's status. It would help if you spent more time with her, Mr. Drake," he said. "I know you come by every day and spend a few minutes with her, and that's good. But in my opinion, you need to spend even more time with her. Talk to her. Touch her. Let her know you care. That will help a great deal." He saw the hesitation in my face and continued.

"Just out of curiosity, how were things in your marriage when she had her accident?" he asked.

"Not good," I said. I hadn't said anything to him about our marriage simply because I felt it was none of his business. "In fact, I was close to filing for divorce."

"I see," he said. "Well, I'm a doctor, not a marriage counselor. My first priority is getting her back on her feet."

"I understand," I said.

"I don't think so," he said. "Her condition is getting worse. I'm concerned that she may be losing her will to live. You need to set your problems aside and think about her." He pulled a photo out of her folder and set it in front of me. I could see the outline of her brain with part of it showing green.

"This was her brain activity two weeks ago," he said. He put another photo down next to it. There was less green in this one than the previous one. "That was two days ago." I shook my head, not understanding the meaning of the photographs.

"I don't understand," I said. "I've been told there's no change."

"There's no improvement," he said. "There has been some change, however. And it's not good. I'm afraid she's slipping into a persistent vegetative state. She needs more positive interaction. Preferably from you."

"I was told she's healthy and stable," I said.

"Physically, yes," Dr. Samuels said. "Mentally, I'm afraid she's slipping. Tell me, Mr. Drake, have you even told her you love her since she went into her coma?"

I considered what he said, and realized that he was right. Yeah, I had been by every day to see her, but I hardly ever said more than a few words to her. And not once have I ever told her that I love her. Perhaps that's because I'm really not sure how I feel about her right now. If it wasn't for the accident, chances are I would have filed divorce papers against her.

"No, I haven't," I told him. He leaned back in his chair and studied me before speaking again.

"Studies have shown that patients in a coma respond more positively to familiar voices -- family members, close friends, loved ones. In fact, Mr. Drake, hearing those voices several times a day can help speed recovery and exercise parts of the brain responsible for long-term memories. Here's something I'd like you to try," he said.

"Tell her some stories about your life together. Preferably good, happy stories. Your honeymoon, for example. Or maybe a good date you shared or a trip that she really enjoyed. Record those stories on a digital audio recorder. Tell her how much you loved her and how much she meant to you. Have other family members do the same thing. We can let her hear those stories through headphones and loop them so she hears them multiple times a day. When you come by, give her positive feedback. Can you put your feelings aside long enough to do that?"

"I think so," I told him.

"Good," he said. "Do this for her, alright?" I nodded my head.

"Yeah, I will," I said. I left the hospital and went home, stopping on the way to purchase a good digital audio recorder. I was torn. Yes, I wanted her to burn for what she had done, but I also wanted her to recover. Right now, I felt like everything was in limbo. I wolfed down a microwave dinner, washed it down with a cold beer and sat back to watch some television.

I did as the doctor suggested and recorded a few stories recalling our wedding, our honeymoon and some of the more memorable trips we shared. I even called her mother, who had retired to Florida, and got her to email audio recordings of memories when Ginger was a child. I put them all on the digital recorder and found there was about two hours of audio on the unit.

I took the recorder and a set of headphones to the hospital and one of the nurses put it on her head, then set the recorder to play in a continuous loop. Before she started the unit, I got close to Ginger and whispered in her ear.

"Get well soon, Ginger," I said. "Your family misses you." I gave her a kiss, and motioned for the nurse to turn the device on. I watched her for a few minutes and thought I saw a tear forming in a corner of her eye.

"We'll give this six weeks and see how she responds," Dr. Samuels said. "Thank you for doing this."

"You're welcome, doc," I said before leaving.

Smith and Jones came by later that night and put me through my paces. Between them and the workout I was getting at the dojo, I was becoming a new man in more ways than one. My muscles were tightening up, I was getting a lot stronger and I was developing a whole new outlook on life.

Moreover, I was learning to control and fine-tune my abilities. No, I wasn't turning into some kind of "Superman" and bullets didn't bounce off my eyeballs. In that regard, I was just as vulnerable to injury as anyone else, and no, I didn't expect to don a cape and start flying.

A couple weeks later, I was in the office of Georgia Hamilton, The HR manager at the company Ginger worked for, going over some paperwork. By now, she had used up all of her vacation and sick time and only had a few days of comp time left on the books.

The company had agreed to put her on a paid extended leave for medical reasons so she could still draw her paycheck and have medical coverage. There was simply no way I could handle her hospital bills and the normal monthly stuff on my salary alone.

As we talked, I noticed a somewhat older man with graying hair talking to one of the other girls in the office. He looked at me intensely a few times as the girl spoke to him. I recognized him from some of the pictures on the wall -- Jackson H. Peabody IV, the CEO.

I wondered what he was thinking and why he seemed so interested in me. I tried reaching out to his mind, but for some reason, found that I couldn't read anything from him. That was odd, I thought. I looked at him closer and realized that he was completely in focus. I had expected he would display some of the anaglyph characteristics I had seen in many of the other upper-level managers, but he didn't.

He stood and looked at me directly, his brows furrowed. I wondered what he was thinking. We stared at each other for a few moments, then he nodded his head slightly and left the office. I didn't think anything more of the encounter and completed my work with Georgia.

I was just finishing my dinner that night, when I heard the doorbell. I wasn't expecting anyone, and wondered who it could be. I looked through the peephole and saw Peabody. What did he want, I asked myself. I tried again to read his thoughts, but was unable to.

"Mr. Peabody, I presume?" I said after I opened the door.

"Yes," he said with a smile. I noticed a tiny gold speck in one of his eyes and wondered if he had encountered Smith and Jones. "And you must be Ginger Drake's husband."

"Guilty as charged, at least for the time being," I told him. "Please come inside."

"Thank you, Mr. Drake," he said, stepping in my living room.

"Please, have a seat. I'm afraid all I have to offer is water and coffee," I told him.

"Coffee would be perfect, Mr. Drake. Thank you. I take it black, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," I said. "I'll be right back." I went into the kitchen and poured us each a cup of hot coffee, black, and brought the cups back into the living room. I handed him one cup and watched as he took a tentative sip. He nodded his head in approval and set it on one of the coasters I kept on the coffee table.

"So, Mr. Peabody, what can I do for you?"

"First off, you can drop the 'Mr. Peabody' shit," he said, smiling. "My name's Jack."

"Alright Jack," I said. "And you can call me Cameron."

"A pleasure to meet you, Cameron," he said. "Tell me, how is Ginger doing?"

"She's not improving, but we're trying something the doctor hopes will help stimulate her brain," I said.

"I see," he said. "I saw you in the office with Georgia today and just wanted to stop by to let you know her paid extended medical leave has been approved. We'll re-evaluate in six months to see how she's doing."

"Thank you for that," I said. "Look, Jack, excuse me for being direct. I'm just a simple man but I find it hard to believe you came all the way from your Manchester Heights mansion to tell me that, though. You could've had Georgia send me an email."

"That's alright, son. I appreciate candor. And you're right -- I could've had Georgia send you an email. But you're not right about something else. You may be many things, but you're hardly a simple man," he said. "If you can indulge an old man for a few minutes, I'd like to tell you a little story."

"Of course, Jack," I said.

"My great-grandfather started the company back around the turn of the 20^th century. Saw it through the Great Depression and later handed it off to my grandfather. He, in turn, passed it down to my father, who later handed it to me," Jack said. "Unfortunately, there's not a Jackson H. Peabody V to pass it down to. Unless my daughter accepts the reins, I'll be the last of the Peabodys running the company."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.

"In a way, I'm not," he told me. "You see, other than myself and maybe one or two others, everyone in the upper echelon is filthy dirty. That includes the Board of Directors. Unfortunately, I'm in no shape to deal with the situation. Legally, or in any other way.

"You see, my position as CEO is just window dressing. I'm little more than a figurehead. A rich figurehead, but a figurehead nevertheless. And one who is hamstrung by a rather odious contract my father was forced to sign before he retired. And before you ask, yes, I've had the best legal minds in the country go over it with a fine-toothed comb and they all tell me it's legally binding, at least for the next ten years. Or as long as the current board is seated."

"I'm not a lawyer, so I can't help you there," I said.

"I know," he said. "But you can help me clean my company up before I retire. Or die."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Jack," I said. "What makes you think I can do that?" He smiled before speaking.

"This is where my story gets a bit... unbelievable, Cameron. I hope you'll hear me out before you decide I'm a madman," he said.

"Go on, Jack, please," I said. He nodded his head and took a sip of coffee.

"Alright. About eight years ago I was on a hunting expedition with some colleagues. I was walking back to the camp when I was suddenly surrounded by a strange green light. It didn't hurt and only lasted for a few seconds. I thought maybe it was a light from a patrol helicopter, but I didn't hear anything overhead.

"A couple days later, I was shaving and noticed a strange gold speck in my eye. I thought it was odd, but didn't think anything more of it. Then I started hearing things. Weird things. I realized I was hearing other people's thoughts. Being a businessman always on the lookout for an edge, I used that to help my bottom line.

"But I also heard other things. Bad things. Shameful things. From my wife and from members of my own board of directors. Dad warned me about some of the board members being snakes in the grass, but I didn't know just how bad things really were until then. Of course I already knew about the contract my father was forced to sign, but now I knew the whole back story.

"I did what I could to stymie the board, but I always fell short. It seemed they somehow found out what I was doing in advance. Then I eavesdropped on my wife. And that's when I learned the full nature of their duplicity."

"Was she cheating on you?" I asked.

"Was she ever," he said. "With many members of the board, along with some of my upper echelon staff. And she brought my daughter in on it."

"Why not divorce her?" I asked him.

"Turns out she comes from a family more wealthy than mine, mostly high-end lawyers. Her father had me sign an ironclad pre-nuptial before we got married. He made it very clear to me that if I ever tried to divorce his little girl, he would destroy me, my business and anyone associated with me. And believe me, he's powerful enough to make it happen," Jack said.

"Damn," I said.

"You got that right," he said. "Oh, I tried to put a stop to things, but it didn't work. Since then I've had two heart attacks and I've been told in no uncertain terms the third will most certainly be fatal."

"I take it the doctor isn't the one who told you that," I said.

"That's right," he said.

"You're talking murder here, Jack," I said. He nodded his head.

"Yeah," he said.

"I also take it you know about Ginger and her involvement with Chad Wheeler and the board," I said.

"I had a pretty good idea what was going on, yes," he said. "And before you ask, I did remind Wheeler of company policy regarding sexual harassment. He laughed in my face, gave me a quarter and told me to call someone who gives a shit. I know I should have warned you about what was going on, but I simply wasn't able to. They watch my every move. Believe me, I am truly very sorry."

"Yes, you should have. I've had my own suspicions for a while, but I wasn't able to verify anything until shortly before my own encounter with lightning," I said. "So, do you still hear thoughts these days?"

"No, not for some time," he said. "But I still get... impressions from people. Sometimes it's like an image that flashes in my mind. Like the one I got from you earlier today when you were with Georgia. You do know what happened to Chad Wheeler, don't you?" I looked at him and scanned him for recording devices before saying anything. It was a trick Smith and Jones had taught me not long ago. Finding none, I continued.

"Let's just say Wheeler's body will never be found," I said.

"My God," he said. "You killed him?"

"No. Technically, he killed himself. But I've been informed that his DNA will never be found. Tell me, Jack, how have things been since Ginger's accident?"

"Hectic," he said. "It got even worse after Wheeler's disappearance. The whole board is up in arms. They don't know what to make of it."

"Has Wheeler been replaced?"

"Yes, he was replaced a week or so after he was reported missing. The Chairman put in someone who's even worse than Wheeler if you can imagine that."

"I can," I said. "So, where do things stand now?"

"They're still watching me, following me. A couple of them followed me over here, as a matter of fact. No doubt, I'll get asked about it tomorrow or the next day."

"They follow you everywhere?" I asked.

"Pretty much. Hell, I can't go to the can without someone taking notes," he said.

"So, what do you want from me?" I asked.

"I want to offer you a job," he said.

"I already have a job," I said. "And I know nothing about finances or the stock market or whatever it is you do." He chuckled at that.

"No, I want you to help me clean up my company. I have a feeling I'm not going to be around much longer and I want to go to my grave with a clear conscience. Someone will take over my company, Cameron, and I want the slate cleaned before that happens."

"What makes you think I can do what you want?" I asked.

"Let's just say I get a good impression from you, Cameron," he said. "I'll make it worth your while." He pulled two envelopes out of his jacket pocket and handed them to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"The first envelope is a small retainer. A sign-on bonus, if you will. You'll get that on a weekly basis if you decide to take this job. There'll be a nice bonus once the work is complete. The second envelope contains a passbook for an off-shore account. In that account, you'll find there are enough funds to take care of Ginger for the rest of her life if necessary. You can keep that regardless of how the job goes. I feel somewhat responsible for what happened to her. Go ahead, open them up and take a look."

I opened the first envelope and found a check for $9,000.00 -- just a thousand short of the amount that would trigger a bank transaction report. I looked at the amount in the passbook and nearly fell on the floor. The account currently held $100 million.

Ginger's hospital stay was costing about $2,000 a day, and even though our insurance companies paid the vast majority of it, we still had to put out deductibles and out-of-pocket expenses. There was more than enough here to completely wipe out any debt her hospital stay would incur. I looked at him, shocked.

"Don't worry, Cameron. I'm worth over two billion dollars. It's only money, and you can't take it with you when you go. Besides, I owe it to both of you. If you need more, just say the word. I'll also handle any expenses you might incur," he said.

"What do you want done with the bad guys?" I asked.

"I'll leave that up to you," he said.

"I'll need to take my vacation time. I have three weeks on the books," I said. "This isn't something I can do part-time."

"No, it's not," he said. "That's not a problem."

"So, is there a contract you want me to sign or something?" I asked. He smiled as he shook his head.

"No, Cameron, there's not," he said. "My grandfather was a big believer in a man's word being his bond. Let's just shake hands, okay?" He held out his hand and I took it. I felt no spark of energy, which was odd. He smiled as we shook hands.

I scoured his mind and found he had opened it enough to let me know he was serious about this. I got the feeling he was keeping something back, but I understood, as I had done the same with him. After we shook hands, he reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card.

"Call me any time you need to, Cameron," he said. "There's a board meeting coming up in a few days. I'd like you to join me if that's okay."

"Sure," I said. "Just send me the particulars." I wrote down my email address and handed the slip of paper to him. He nodded his head as he slipped it in his pocket.

"Well, I'd better get back. My minders are probably getting a bit nervous."

"Let me walk you to your car, Jack," I said. "It's getting dark and I'd like to take a look at these minders of yours."

"Sure, I'd like that," he said. We left the condo and I walked with him to his Bentley. I saw a small sedan parked across the lot that I hadn't seen before. I made a note of the license plate and saw there were two men in the car.

"Is that them?" I asked. He looked and nodded his head.

"Yeah, that's them," he said. I looked around and an evil idea formed in my mind.

"Okay, I'll take care of them," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure," I said with a wicked smile.

"Alright, if you say so," he said as he got in his car. He fired up his car and backed out, then headed for the entrance to the complex. The sedan started up and backed out as well. I got a good look at the two men inside and even smiled and waved as they went past. Suddenly, the car veered to the right and slammed head on into the concrete base of a light fixture in the grassy area next to my building.