The Consultant (7 page)

“I didn’t give you permission to do that.” He was trying to control his anger.  

“What? Look through your desk? I know it may seem a little intrusive, but I assure you, it’s all part of the process. How can we be expected to render an objective judgment and make viable recommendations if we don’t have access to all the information we require?”  

Craig was trying to remember whether he had any personal items on his desk. “I’m talking to Mr. Matthews about this.”  

The consultant stood. “I understand your trepidation. And go right ahead. But, as I said, it’s standard procedure, and BFG Associates does require access to work product.” He walked around the desk. “And who’s this?” He nodded toward Dylan. “Your daughter?”  

“My son,” Craig said coldly.  

The consultant mussed Dylan’s hair. “Cute girl.”  

“I’m a boy!” Dylan insisted, pulling away.  

Patoff smiled tolerantly. “Of course you are.”  

Craig stepped protectively between the two of them. “Leave my office,” he said.  

“Certainly, certainly.” The consultant walked past them. “I’m glad you came in today, Mr. Horne. Your dedication will not go unnoticed.”  

And then he was gone.  

Craig did not realize he’d been holding his breath until he exhaled.  

“Why did that man think I was a girl?” Dylan asked.  

“He didn’t really.”  

“Then why did he say he did?” 

Craig didn’t know, but it was a red flag if he ever saw one, and he wondered if it was enough to get Patoff dismissed. Where exactly
was
Patoff in BFG’s hierarchy? He was clearly in charge of this project, but was he the president of the firm or merely a consultant? Could he be fired from BFG for inappropriate behavior? If not, could CompWare sever ties with the consulting firm because of the pedophilic overtones of his conversation with Craig and Dylan?  

He was going to look into all of it.  

But right now, he needed to take care of Dylan, and he changed the subject. “Are you still thirsty?” He pointed to the other side of the office. “You can check out the fridge if you want.”  

Dylan immediately ran over and opened the small refrigerator door. “You have Propel!” he said. “Can I have a grape one?”  

“Sure,” Craig said. He smiled as the boy took out a plastic bottle, unscrewed the cap, took a drink and, as he always did, let out a dramatic, “Ahhhh!”  

He’d been planning to set Dylan up with a game on Lupe’s computer while he worked on his own computer in the office. But after the encounter with Patoff, he didn’t want his son out in the open where the consultant could see him, so he decided to switch, and he let Dylan play on his office computer while he stood guard outside at Lupe’s desk and did his work from there. Time passed quickly, and when he looked down at the corner of his screen and saw that it was almost noon, he saved what he’d done and shut everything down. He’d only been planning to work for an hour or so, and he felt guilty that he’d made his son sit there for nearly three.  

But Dylan didn’t seem to mind. The boy was happily engrossed in whatever game he was playing, and when Craig told him to close up shop, it was time to go, Dylan did not even look up from the screen. “Wait ’til I die,” he said. “Or I make it through this level.” 

Wait ’til I die.
 

It was something he said whenever he was playing games and one of his parents asked him to quit, but listening to those words here, at this moment, made Craig focus on their literal meaning, and in a voice that was perhaps too harsh, he said, “Dylan. Turn off the computer now.”  

Startled, Dylan exited his game and turned off the machine, looking up at his dad anxiously. Craig immediately felt guilty, and he went around to the other side of the desk, picking up his son and holding him tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m tired and hungry and I didn’t mean to snap at you.”  

“That’s okay, Daddy.” Dylan patted his shoulder, and the combination of words and gesture was so adult that it made Craig laugh.  

“Come on,” he said, putting the boy down. “Let’s go get something to eat.”  

Holding his son’s hand, Craig led the way down the corridor to the elevators. Scott Cho looked up as they passed by his office, and Craig waved at the department head, who nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to what looked like the same set of printouts he’d been examining earlier.  

The nearest elevator arrived just as Dylan was about to push the call button, and Tyler Lang stepped out. Dylan pushed the button anyway. Several times.  

“Tyler. What are you doing here?” Craig lowered his voice. “Did Scott wrangle you into this, too?”  

“No. I wanted to catch up on something. I had an idea about one of the updates and wanted to try it out.”  

“Hi, Mr. Lang,” Dylan said.  

Tyler smiled. “Hey, Dylan. How are you?”  

“We’re going out to lunch and then we’re going to a movie!” 

“What are you going to see?”  

Dylan frowned. “What
are
we going to see, Daddy?”  

“Whatever you want.”  

There were several children’s movies out in theaters, and Dylan seemed to know all of them. He quickly described the basic premises of each, then proceeded to debate out loud with himself over which one he wanted to see the most.  

Tyler motioned Craig closer. “What do you think of these consultants they’ve hired?” There was worry in his voice…and something else. Nervousness? Guilt? Fear? Craig wasn’t sure, but it seemed completely out of character for his friend, and he wondered what had prompted the query.  

“First impressions?” said Craig. “Not good. That Patoff seems creepy to me, and my interview with him was just plain weird. He prayed to some god named Ralph, ticked off a list of extremely personal information about me, asked a couple of generic questions and that was it. I did not have to sign any confidentiality agreement. Neither did Phil. Why? What do you think of the consultants?”  

Tyler was
definitely
nervous. He looked around as though afraid of being overheard. “I gotta go,” he said.  

“Wait—” Craig began.  

“Goodbye Mr. Lang!” Dylan called out, and Tyler was gone.  

Craig watched him hurry down the hall toward…toward where? The programmers’ offices and work area was on the fifth floor, not the sixth.  

Was he going to see Patoff?  

That made sense. And it would explain the programmer’s worries about the consultant.  

“Come on, Daddy!” Dylan’s constant pushing of the call button had kept the elevator door open, and Craig took one last look down the hall as the two of them stepped inside.  

“Can we eat at McDonald’s?” Dylan asked. “They have good toys this time.”  

“Sure,” Craig said, smiling down at his son.  

Dylan was chatting happily about movies and McDonald’s as they walked out to the nearly empty parking lot and their car, but Craig could not help looking back up at the building. Although his own office window was facing the opposite direction and not visible from here, he wondered if Patoff was behind his desk once again, snooping through his stuff. Was there anything personal on his computer or on his desk that he wouldn’t want anyone else to see? Craig wasn’t sure, but he was going to check everything thoroughly on Monday and make sure there was nothing in his office that could be used against him. He didn’t trust the consultant, and he didn’t like the new rules he was being forced to play by, and until all of this blew over, he was going to make sure he was very, very careful.  

SEVEN  

Lupe was waiting for craig when he arrived Monday morning. “I was about ready to call you,” she said. “There’s a meeting of division heads right now in the third floor conference room.”  

Frowning, he looked at his watch. “What time is it? Am I late?”  

“No. They’re early. Mr. Patoff emailed me that the meeting was to start at eight sharp. I would’ve called you about it before, but I just got here myself five minutes ago.”  

Craig sighed. “Take a message if anyone calls. I’ll be back when I’m back.”  

“Let me know what happens!” she called after him.  

The door to the third floor conference room was closed, which probably meant that the meeting had already started. Slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb anyone, hoping to attract as little attention to his tardiness as possible, Craig pulled open the door.  

There were no other division heads present, only Patoff, Matthews and the four remaining members of senior management. They were all seated at a long table in the front of the room, facing him like judges at a hearing, their expressions seemingly set in stone. The other tables had been removed from the room, and the only chair left was positioned directly in front of the table. Meekly, feeling more self-conscious than he ever had in his life, he walked forward across the uncarpeted floor, his shoes tapping loudly on the hard surface.  

Was he going to be fired? It felt that way, though he could think of no earthly reason for such a decision, and in his mind he began preparing a defense of his position. Casually, as though unconcerned and suspecting nothing, he glanced at each of the faces in front of him, maintaining a pleasant, friendly smile. His gaze kept coming back to the consultant, in the center next to Matthews, and he thought of that farcical “interview” he’d had, readying himself to rip that sham apart and, by extension, the consultant’s entire efforts up to this point.  

“Thank you for coming,” Patoff said as he approached.  

Craig looked into the man’s blank unreadable face and saw an opportunity to embarrass him in front of the company bigwigs. “Are we going to pray to Ralph?” he asked.  

“We have already done so,” the consultant said. “Now on to other business.”  

Craig hazarded a look at Matthews and the other executives, seeing no discomfiture there, only grim purposefulness on their faces.  

“I was told this was a meeting of division heads.” He hated the note of defensiveness in his voice but was powerless to prevent it.  

Patoff answered. “We’re meeting with all of the division heads individually. You’re the first. Have a seat.” He glanced down at a laptop in front of him and tapped a few keys. “As you know, we recently finished the initial interviews with employees in your division. They all went fairly well, with the exception of—”  

Yours
, Craig expected to hear, and he was already planning a rebuttal when, to his surprise, the consultant said, “Tyler Lang.”  

Craig was taken aback. “Tyler?”  

“Yes. As you know, we taped each of the meetings—”  

“No, I did
not
know that.”  

“Well, we did,” Patoff said shortly, “and I’d like you to view Mr. Lang’s here and give us your opinion.” He typed something on his laptop and pointed to the wall on the right side of the room, where a screen had been set up. “Watch.”  

It was the same room where he had been interviewed, the mysterious 713, and from the angle of the shot, it appeared as though the camera had been set up at about eye-level on Tyler’s left side, though the only camera Craig remembered seeing had been stationed in the upper right corner of the room. Patoff and Tyler were both sitting down, and the consultant was reading aloud from his tablet, “Favorite position: doggie style…”  

Patoff smiled. “We’ll pass up the preliminaries.”  

He sped up the recording, the two figures moving in those infinitesimally jerky motions that signified fast-forwarding. A moment later, the interview resumed at normal speed. “What do you think of Mr. Horne?” Patoff was asking.  

“Craig?” Tyler snorted. “He’s totally out of his depth. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. OfficeManager was a bust, and it’s his fault that it didn’t work. We tried to tell him that times had moved on, but he insisted on that clunky interface and those outdated page designs, and the whole thing looked like something from 2005.”  

Craig felt as though he’d been kicked in the stomach.  

“But he was smart enough to tap you to fix those conceptual flaws with updates to the original program,” the consultant offered.  

“Yeah. Right.” Tyler rolled his eyes. “He’s pissed at me ’cause I called it. This is his attempt to get me out of the picture. He’s set me up to fail and is going to blame me when I don’t pull gold out of my ass and save his stupid program.”  

The consultant stopped the recording and the screen went blank. “We all know that, in addition to whatever other remedies CompWare must take, there need to be reductions in staffing if the company wishes to avoid financial collapse. What we have here is an opportunity to get out in front of things with preemptive action even before we do any in-depth analysis. This is a no-brainer. We have here an ungrateful and disgruntled employee who is obviously not giving the company his best and whose negative attitude could prove infectious. One of the easiest and most obvious decisions you will ever make is to fire Tyler Lang.”  

Although Craig felt hurt by what he’d seen and heard on the recording, he refused to show it. All eyes were on him, he knew, and he did not want to give Patoff the satisfaction of an emotional reaction. Besides, irrespective of his personal feelings, he knew that Tyler Lang was one of the best and most creative programmers they had. He could think of five or six employees in his own division that he would let go before Tyler. Although he had no idea why his friend had not brought up reservations about management style or program specifics to his face, and while he was caught completely flat-footed by the hostility Tyler apparently felt for him, he still thought, objectively, that Tyler was an asset to the division and to the company.  

Patoff faced him. “Before I formally recommend to these gentlemen here that Mr. Lang should be terminated, I’m afraid I need your approval as the head of his division.”  

Craig felt a web being spun ever more tightly around him. First the ridiculous “interview.” Now, it was suddenly his decision whether or not to fire Tyler. The consultant seemed to be rigging the game in such a way that he would later be able to point to Craig’s choices and actions as justification for letting him go. This Tyler situation could be used against him either way, and though he had no idea why Patoff would want to set him up like this, why the consultant should have any animosity toward him, he had the sneaking suspicion that he was on the man’s hit list.