“I was watching a show and they say there is a 38 percent chance that Russia or China would nuke us,” another girl starts up, but thank God the elevator stops on floor 32 and lets them all out, leaving me alone. Once the door closes and their voices fade away, I go back to thinking about this meeting. Sighing, I just want it over. I am supposed to be on a required one week vacation that I have every year. They aren’t supposed to be calling me into work.
Once on the 99th floor, the door opens, and I head down the hallway. Compared to the other floors, this one is quite opulent. It’s meant to impress guests, and that it does. The floors are all marble, and there is artwork from all over the world on the walls. Some are on loan, but I am sure Paradigm Alpha owns some. Even the Mona Lisa is here. It might be a copy. It might not be. Paradigm Alpha can afford it, even if they’re renting it.
Once at the end of the hallway, there is a desk with a single person at it. The woman who is there could pass as a model. Nothing but the best for the rich upper management here. Nodding to her, I say, “Hi Nadine, any idea what is going on?” nodding towards the double doors.
“I am sorry, I cannot say, Mr. Grady. Please go right in, I have let them know you are here,” she says in a quiet monotone.
Oh boy, this is bad. Nadine always called me by my first name, Jeff. If she is calling me Mr. Grady, something big is going on. Nodding to her, I say, “Thanks, Nadine,” and I walk towards the door and open it. In the room are four people. My two bosses, Mr. Broady and Mrs. Laman - right now, the two richest people on Earth and off, if you believe they have a moon base. The other two, I don’t recognize. They are both males, large, and wearing suits.
“Mr. Grady, come in,” says Mrs. Laman. “Please sit there,” she says in a commanding voice, brooking no discussion and pointing to the only empty chair across from the four of them. What the heck is going on? Nodding to her, I go sit in the chair she directed me to and wait to see what this is about.
Mr. Broady looks nervous, and the two suits simply stare at me, not showing any emotion. Mrs. Laman continues, “Now, we have some questions for you, Mr. Grady. These two gentlemen here are from the FBI. The answers we get will determine the way this discussion will go. But first, please sign this.” She places a piece of thick paper in front of me. I pick it up and see that it’s an NDA or a non-disclosure agreement. I have signed many of those. Including the one I had to sign for the job I do now, as I am not allowed to tell anyone what I actually do here, even other employees, with the exception of Mr. Broady and Mrs. Laman, who already know what I do.
Reading it over, I see it’s a standard NDA that states I will not talk to anyone about what is being discussed in this meeting, and that the fine if I do would be two million credits and possible jail time. Holy heck! Two million credits? What is going on here! That part isn’t standard. My own contract had a fine of 25,000 credits. Looking up in surprise, I see that the two suits are still staring at me, Mrs. Laman seems impatient, and Mr. Broady keeps wiping his hands on his pants.
“What is going on here?” I ask slowly.
“Please sign, and we can discuss it,” she says, tapping the contract on the table.
“And if I refuse to sign?” I ask, slowly looking at her in the eyes. As soon as I say that, I see a predatory look creep into her eyes.
“Then these two gentlemen here will be taking you in cuffs on charges of espionage against the government of USACan for giving technology secrets to China,” she says, with an enormous smile on her face. I always thought Mrs. Laman was a beautiful woman for her age, which I guessed to be around late forties, but now her face is nothing but ugly with greed.
I look at Mr. Broady, who still has that nervous look, and he simply says, “Just sign it, Jeff. Otherwise, these men will take you away, you will be charged, and the outcome for espionage is the death penalty, as I am sure you are aware.”
“Shut up, William. Let Mr. Grady make his own choice,” she snaps at him.
“Thelma,” he snaps back at her, “I still own this company or a majority of it, so I would be careful who you tell to shut up.” There is the backbone I knew he had! He didn’t get to where he was by being a nice guy.
Mrs. Laman flushes, from embarrassment or anger, I am not sure, but she says, “Sorry William, but this is too important, and you know it.”
“I agree, but I don’t like the method.” What the? The method? What is he talking about?
Turning back to me, she says again, but without a smile, “Sign. It.”
Looking at the two suits, I see one of them take out a pair of handcuffs and place them gently on the table, with no change of expression at all. What the heck is going on? There is no way I did any kind of espionage, especially with the Chinese. So the choice is, sign the paperwork for an NDA when I have no clue what the discussion is
