AllFreeNovel
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“Hey, I'm not the one who asked you to employ someone that would betray you at the sight of a few thousand dollars,” Roscoe says, his voice a bit louder as if he had just sat up.
“You know how I feel about this. Please help me, man. I need to cut this as soon as possible. I can’t risk it getting worse.”
Roscoe chuckles. “I don't think there's much they can do right now. The app is still down, right?”
“I employed the services of a professional,” I tell Roscoe. “You have to tell me so I can get rid of this piece of shit.”
The fact that the very person who betrayed me in such a horrifying manner could be in the company right now doing God knows what has rage boiling inside of me.
“Not until you agree to take me on as an investor,” Roscoe says, laying his terms out in the open.
I chuckle. “I don't think that is a very good idea. Name something else,” I say, beginning to feel impatient.
“That's it,” Roscoe says, allowing silence to reign. Feelings of frustration clamor up, and I find myself fighting the urge to scream.
“Why do you want this so badly?”
“All4One is a good investment. And whether you believe it or not, when you get it up again, it's going to blow up. I want to be in on that, Mitch.”
“Blow up...” I allow those words to replay in my head. Roscoe believes that I've done something that will succeed big time.
“There'll be contractual forms to sign. You're going to be treated like other investors I might take on. No nepotistic shenanigans.”
“You have yourself a deal,” Roscoe says.
“So, tell me,” I demand
“Sam,” he reveals it simply, but the weight of that reply hits me between the shoulder blades, fair and square.
“What?” I ask in a voice that sounds nothing like mine. I am stunned into complete silence so that the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own harsh breathing.
Sam? As in, my assistant, Sam, who basically followed me everywhere? Whom I'd given control of all my professional business? My entire schedule and whatnot?
“Oh, God,” I mutter, feeling suddenly weak.
“I'm sorry, Mitch,” Roscoe apologizes for the second time today.
“Who planted him? He would never know to be that smart on his own. Who's really behind this?” I ask
“Father.”
For the second time that day, I feel the rug pulled completely out from under me, leaving me gutted and searching for something, anything to anchor myself on. Am I free-falling?
“Mitch. Are you there?” Roscoe questions, but the next words that leave my lips are,
“I'm going to have to call you back, Ros. I have someone I have to see.”
Pocketing my phone and striding to my car in the same breath, I do not allow myself to think about anything because I am certain that I'd fucking commit murder if I did. I pause and turn from the car again. Anyone who sees me will think I've kind of gone crazy from the way I practically jog, taking the stairs to my floor. I do not feel anything except the rage that continues to curl inside me, making me see red.
When I step into my office, Sam looks up. That’s when I really notice the fear in his eyes and how jumpy he is for what it is; something I'd been too in my head to notice this morning. I can tell he knows that I know, because he's out of his seat, walking backward as if to avoid the rage that is coming off of me in waves. There's sheer fear in his eyes, and his hands visibly shake to the point where I'm afraid he will piss in his pants if I take a step closer.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, but the only response I get is an erratic movement of his Adam's apple. I always thought that Sam had a promising career ahead of him. He had never done anything awry or spoken out of turn. He had always delivered my coffee exactly as I liked it, always expertly memorized my schedule, knowing whom to call, and when to fix an appointment. He'd been so competent, and I'd completely handed over the wheels to him, trusting him completely. That was such a stupid thing for me to do.
“I'm sorry.” He swallows forcefully, His Adam’s apple rising and falling. “Mitchell, please,” he says, calling me by my name for the first time.
“What did he promise you? A car? Money?”
“Money,” he confesses.
