“And the others?” He couldn’t resist. “Do the others still have jobs?”
Ms. Ritter smiled; he preferred the serious expression. “Who is and isn’t staying isn’t your concern, David. We’re going to have to ask you to clean out your desk and leave.”
“That quickly?” He tried to remember his terms of hire and whether he was owed two weeks or more explanation. He supposed it made sense for a company with this many secrets to force people out quickly, without a chance to take anything with them that they might offer to a competitor.
“You’ll be paid for two weeks, and one additional week for the year you’ve been with us, but today will be your last day of employment. Your e-mail address is being suspended as we speak, so no need to send any company-wide good-byes.”
“Wait—am I being fired or let go?” He turned to Nina. “Will you give me a reference?”
Ms. Ritter spoke first. “As a policy, we don’t give references, but if anyone calls us we’ll verify your dates of employment.”
“But nothing else? Not even that I was in good standing when I left, or that I wasn’t fired?” He dared them to say it.
“Nothing else.”
“I don’t understand. My performance reviews have been stellar. You could move me to another team. Unless there’s something else?”
Ms. Ritter sighed. “David, someone carrying your ID card was caught trespassing in the building.”
That had not been what he expected her to say. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Wait—you mean that break-in on the news a few months ago? Why wouldn’t you tell me then? Or fire me then, if you thought I had anything to do with it? I didn’t.”
“I believe you, David,” said Nina. “But security policies are zero tolerance.”
“Zero tolerance on things I didn’t do, that happened months ago? With no chance to defend myself?”
“This is the best I could do. You’re being let go on good terms, despite this, because I said you’ve done great work for us. Sign the papers.”
He didn’t cry. He opened his mouth to thank them, then shut it again. What was he thanking them for? An uncomfortable fame, Dr. Morton’s medical intrusion, an unjust separation, an accusation with no chance to defend himself? He signed the papers they put in front of him, which basically said he wouldn’t use any information he had gained here in any other position, and he wouldn’t talk to the media about parting ways with the company.
One clause brought him pause. “It says here if I initial and accept the three weeks’ pay I’m not entitled to see my personnel files. Does that include whatever medical reports Dr. Morton has downstairs? Is that personnel, or something else?”
Nina and the HR woman exchanged looks, then Ms. Ritter spoke. “That isn’t technically part of your personnel file. You can put in a written request to see the contents.”
“Have you seen the contents? Any of you?”
“No,” Nina said. The others shook their heads.
He signed. It was only after the security officer followed him from the room that he realized he’d asked the wrong question. He should have asked whether they knew the contents of his medical file, not whether they’d seen it.
People on television always left work with a box, but he didn’t keep much personal stuff at his desk: a mug his moms had given him, with a dragon tail for a handle; his headphones; a few snacks he’d stashed in a drawer. The guard leaned against the wall and watched him. David made his motions slow and deliberate, so the guard saw he was putting candy in his mug, not, say, USB drives.
When he finished, he leaned over the shared wall with Tash’s cubicle. “Hey, it’s been fun working with you.”
“You, too, David.” They had the grace to look surprised, though they had to have noticed the guard.
In the meeting, HR had said not to talk to the media, but hadn’t said he couldn’t talk to Tash. He lowered his voice anyway, so the guard couldn’t hear. “I was going through a lousy time. I still am. I’m having problems with my Pilot and now I’m getting let go and I don’t know why but it might have something to do with that? Anyway, go team. Carry on.”
Tash looked like they had a thousand questions. “Shit, David. Good luck?”
David pulled a watermelon-flavored lollipop from his mug and held it out to them. They took it and nodded at him.
The guard followed him to his car. He held his mug out in a silent toast, then put it in the passenger seat. He wanted to sit for a minute, but the guy kept staring at him and clearly wasn’t going to stop until he left. He drove off the property and three blocks more, then pulled into a residential cul-de-sac and turned off the car.
The ID thing had to be bullshit; if they’d really thought he was connected with that, they’d have fired him back then. Nobody could have noticed the e-mail he’d grabbed; he was sure of it. Too much prying into other departments? If they’d found out about that, they would have said so, he was pretty sure, and besides, everything he’d searched for could have been explained as answers to questions people had asked him at trainings and recruitment sessions. As far as they knew, he hadn’t turned his Pilot off. He hadn’t disparaged it in public. He had passed the medical assessment with Dr. Morton, or so he’d been told. Nobody could possibly know he’d taken that one printed e-mail or that he’d had his Pilot turned off. He had no idea what he’d done wrong.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
JULIE
Julie had a theory. She believed that one should never for a moment let into her head that she was as happy as she could possibly be. Every time she had ever allowed that thought to nuzzle
