Pieces of Revenge

Chapter 4

        Monday can't come fast enough. I wake up before my alarm, the excitement of the day making me antsy.
        Finally.
        Finally things are falling into place.
       I get up, take a shower, once again putting on the pretty clothes I'm definitely not used to wearing. The blouse seems to suffocate my skin, while the skirt feels so unnatural I want to rip it off and put on my combat pants. But I can't. I have a part to play.
        When I arrive at the office, Logan is waiting for me outside. He's dressed in a dark suit, his broad shoulders filling it nicely. I'm not supposed to notice things like that, and I'm mad at myself for a moment, before I meet his eyes and smile. It's time to put on my pretty rich heiress face.
        "Ms. Shaw, you look lovely today," his voice is smooth and deep, sending goosebumps up my arm. I shake his hand briefly, greeting him in response. There is something behind his look that makes me think he wants to say something else, but instead, he turns, leading me into the skyscraper.
        The building is huge, a beautiful glass structure rising up from the ground. I glance up as we walk through the front doors, the top of the building lost in oblivion. The frame is white, accenting the sky reflecting in the windows.  It stands tall and proud, the architecture screaming of progress and development. My calculating mind takes it all in.
         Height of the room: 37 feet.
         Width of the lobby: 250 feet.
         Number of people walking around: 99 men, 33 women.
        I look at the structure, at the arrogance of something beautiful, and marvel at how well it suits those working in it. The lobby is spacious, walls covered in artwork which costs more than a third world country. I try not to cringe at the uselessness of owning something like that and follow Logan as he takes me through security.
        "Do you have many security issues here?" I ask as the man in front of me checks my purse and person. The sweep of a metal detector over my clothing leaves me irritated, but I mask it with concern. It would be easier to appear helpless if I wasn't aware of the fact that I could snap the big guy’s body in two with no problem. He may be muscle but I'm quick. I have to put a stop to these thoughts before they give me away. I'm here for research, not combat. Not yet.
        "Not recently," Logan replies, as he leads me toward the lifts. "They had some protests in the early days, and quite a few bomb threats. They had to hire tight security, especially because the renovations for upstairs offices brought on a lot of foot traffic. Plus, it allowed for a lot of open spaces, letting people have access to rooms they wouldn't typically have access to. It's not really a problem now days, but it's better to be safe than sorry." As he talks, the expression on his face is guarded. Yet, when he glances at me, I feel like he's trying to say something without communicating through words. Again. I file away his words for future examination and smile, delivering yet another lie.
        "Well, it's good to know I'm safe here."
        We step into the lift with four other people who I've already committed to memory. They greet Logan, and smile a polite hello to me. Even though they're all dressed alike, I know which one is watching me. He doesn't look like your typical security guard, but I notice the slight tension in his broad shoulders. Apparently, they don't trust me as much as they'd like me to believe, and I find the thought quite flattering.
        We stop on the third floor first. I ask why we skipped the second floor and Logan explains that the floor is one huge guest room for meetings. I mentally remind myself to take a look around when I come back. I'm not surprised when I see that the third floor is filled with typical activities, anything you may see in an office on a movie or a show. The walls are bare, the cubicles are small, people are everywhere. The scene is so predictable I almost laugh aloud.
        "There is a vast variety of departments in Kallos," Logan says as we walk through the corridor. "The research finances take care of ordering supplies and lab expenses, and is probably our largest department. The Human Resources department comes in as a close second. Research and Development involve much of the actual hands on experiments and have a few floors dedicated specifically to them. Also, there is a floor dedicated to the marketing department. It is very important to Mr. Foster to have a presentable front for the public." I glance at Logan at that last statement, wondering why he put it like that, but he's not looking at me.
        The next five floors are identical to the one we’ve just left. Logan explains that most of the paperwork and networking is done by the people we've met below. They're the basis for all the information that flows through the company. I'm sad for a moment as I think about the people I see. Their faces are a section in my memory, filed away under innocents. Most of them have no idea what Kallos Enterprises really stands for. I'm not naive to think that all of them don't know, but there are enough innocent people working here to fuel my rage. How many of them would stay if they knew the experiments Foster conducts behind closed doors?
        When we arrive at the next floor, the doors open into an almost sterile room. Everything is so white, I have the urge to squint my eyes at the brightness.
        "This is one of our lab facilities. Mr. Foster likes to keep all departments under the same roof. He thinks it helps with team morale." The way he says that makes me stop. He is saying more with his words than just the meanings. I cannot ignore that any longer. Tentatively, I lower my voice and ask.
        "What do you think?"
        "I think that he likes to keep a close eye on things." Logan doesn't look at me as he speaks, moving through the hallway. I walk beside him as I contemplate his meaning. It seems that since the moment I met Logan he's been saying things that hold double meanings. What boggles my mind is the fact that every time he speaks it's as if they are words that I'm already supposed to know, knowledge I'm supposed to have, as if he's trying to pry open a box I own, but haven't unwrapped yet.
        "This floor, and the next couple, is dedicated to plant research. Scientist here grow every possible species using the most organic ways."
        "Can we go inside?" I ask when we seem to continue down the hall without a pause.
        "We're not allowed. They like to keep the area as clean as possible, so no visitors." I try not to smirk at the warnings. When I come back, I'll be sure to take a look behind those closed doors. Before we can take another step, Logan's phone rings. After a few words he hangs up and turns to me.
        "Mr. Foster is ready to see you now."
        He really needs to knock it off with the weird voice inflections. I keep second guessing everything he says. We reach the twelfth floor and step out into a lobby that looks more like a hotel suite than an office. One of the men who's been following us around on the first few floors meets us by the doors.  I glance briefly at Logan, seeing his jaw twitch before he masks it. He doesn't like this man. I'm more than okay with that.
        "Ms. Shaw," Foster greets me with a kiss to the hand, and I try not to punch him in the face while he's at it. It's hard to be nice to this man. "How did you enjoy your tour?"
        "It was rather brief." I think I hear Logan chuckle behind me, the small sound making me want to hear it again. Foster glares in Logan's direction, before looking down at me.
        "I apologize for that, but I wanted to see you myself while I had the chance. You skipped out of the party rather early." The leer on his face is unmistakable, which makes me want to puke.
        "I was tired."
        "I see. Would you like a drink?" He gestures to the bar on his right hand, with a smile. This conversation is making me edgy, it sounds like something we're reading off a script. I don't know what game Foster is playing, but I'm determined to win. I decline his offer of a drink and take a seat on the couch. I'm smart enough not to eat or drink anything this company offers. My eyes drift once more to the man who's been following us and Foster catches my look.
        "This is Pierce," he says pointing to the bodyguard positioned next to Logan by the door. "He oversees security, and anything else I need." I smile in his direction, putting the name to the face I already dislike. I still myself for whatever may come next, but Foster takes me by surprise.
        "I wanted to ask you about your parents," he says pouring himself a drink. I notice he doesn't offer the other two anything, but that thought is minuscule as I try not to gasp at his question. My eyes fly to Logan's involuntarily, as if seeking some kind of solidarity, and I notice his jaw twitch one more time. The fact that the question bothers him gives me a weird kind of reassurance. I steady my voice before replying.
        "What about my parents?"
        "You mentioned you have history of cancer in your family. Did your parents fall prey to the curse?" My whole body screams in rage at his loaded question. The way he asks makes me think that he knows my parents aren't dead because of cancer. It feels like he's playing with me. He's trying to get a response, some kind of affirmation that I'm something other than a rich girl. He obviously did his homework, before I even stepped into that gala. He knew I was coming. All of these thoughts run through my mind, but I don't let it show. I take a deep breath, the pain I feel at my parents loss something I don't have to pretend at.
        Deep, calming breath.
        "Yes, unfortunately, my mother could not be saved."
        "What about your father?"
        "I don't have a father."
        There is satisfaction in his face, a sick kind of content at my words. Who would be happy to find out someone's parents are gone?  I don't understand what he's doing, my mind is trying to work out some kind of a game plan, but I can't predict his reasoning.
        "I'm sorry to hear that." He doesn't sound sorry at all.
        For the next few minutes we talk, saying nothing of importance at all. His arrogance is another factor to add to the list of things that annoy me about him. Everything he says is loaded with how full of himself he is. Our small talk is the biggest challenge of my self-control. I want to leap off the couch and rip his face off, but I don't.
        Foster's phone rings and he stands to bid me goodbye. Reaching for my hand, he brings it to his lips once more and I try not to cringe as they make contact with my skin. Logan and I walk out a moment later, and as we step into the lift my mind runs over everything that just happened in that office. I realize with alarm that technically nothing happened. Yet, somehow I feel as if I've lost some upper hand. Maybe he really does know who I am, or maybe he's just a sick tyrant who likes to play games with people. Either way, I'm going to figure out what his plan is, I'm going to fight him, and I'm going to make him pay for what he's done. Foster might think he's a mastermind, but I'm going to beat him at his own game.
                                                                        * * *
        That night, I walk into the rear portion of the building, heading for the door I noticed on my tour. It's hidden by a wall of cabinets, but I know there's a door behind the facade. I've studied every nook and cranny of this place, making sure I that have a way in and a way out. My encounter with Foster is still nagging on my mind. I want to know what he's thinking, I need to figure out his next move. The way he studied me when I was here felt as if he was prepping me for one of his experiments.  I wanted to laugh in his face, shouting the truth at him. If he only knew who I really am, the girl he's been searching for all this time, the one who slipped through his fingers.
        I sneak into the staircase, thankful that buildings must have a stairwell available in case of emergencies. Light on my feet, I'm at the fourth floor in about a minute. The convenience of the paranoia of this place is almost amusing. The company keeps electronic and hardcover copies of their documents, which makes it easier for me to make the necessary copies.  While I can get most of this information with extensive hacking, there are some things that are only kept in paper form. The blueprints of the main warehouses are what I'm after. I can find the basis of structures online, but these prints will serve me well.
        Foster isn't stupid. He's not about to mark all of his secrets for the public to see. But there are people who work for him who aren't as cautious as he is. There are notes in various places on the paper, hints to what’s hidden below the surface. A few phone calls with this information and this little piece of corporate paradise will be experiencing quite a few problems. My main plan isn't just a "few problems", but it sure gets the ball rolling.
        It doesn't take long to snap all the necessary pictures. Then, I slip into the closest cubicle, my hands pulling out the compact I'm carrying.
        This place is about to experience a bug infestation.
        I grin at my dumb joke, and reach for the tiny chips. There is no way I could've prepared all of these myself, but I had a little bit of help. I smile once more as I think of the unlikely source that all this tech wisdom comes from, and place the chips into their designated spots. The best thing about my memory is that I never have to carry instructions. These microchips were created for the simple purpose of transmitting data. I don't even have to find the main computer. Any computer with the access to the internet works. With these puppies in, we'll be able to monitor any activity within the corporation.
        I move through the building quietly, watching and listening for any movement. I know where every guard is at this exact moment, because I memorized their schedule and movement. The cameras have been set on a continuous loop. I'm not worried. I'm good at this, stealth is my specialty. I make a few stops, making sure I cover all my bases. The lab is the only place I can't get into without raising an alarm and that doesn't sit well with me. My imagination is running away with what I'd find if I could get in. Three headed cows? Five legged snakes? Crabs the size of an elephant? I read the reports on what goes on behind those walls, I just haven't seen the end results. While most think organic plant growth and cancer research is the forefront of Kallos Enterprises, I know their secret.
        When it's time for me to leave I have to squash the urge to torch the whole place from top to bottom. But I know that will leave me with nothing but the satisfaction of watching a building burn. Foster and his group of minions would rebuild somewhere else. What I need to do is get a little deeper under the skin of this world, and then slowly poison every little part of its body. I leave unnoticed, with a smile on my face.
        When I merge with other foot traffic, no one spares me a second glance. I'm invisible once more, just a girl out for a walk in a crowded city. My mind replays the events of the day, sorting them into categories, storing particulars into pockets for farther examination. This part of the way my brain works has always fascinated even me. I don't know how I do it, it's an automatic response to the way I process information. My dad used to call me his walking computer. I could spit out data with the best of them. Kyle would make fun of me on purpose, then he made bets with his friends whether or not I could remember something particular. That boy made lots of money off me, but he'd always take me out for ice cream to celebrate afterwards. We were a year a part and we were close.
        The sudden ache of loss runs through me as I think of my brother. He would've been eighteen now, graduating high school and starting his life. He was always the one with all the dreams. Even as a five-year-old, I remember him talking about going into space, or saving the world like Captain America. He was fearless. He was a dreamer. He was my hero.
        Usually, I keep thoughts of him, like the rest of my family, away from my memories, tucked into the farthest corners of my mind. Lately, since coming to this city, I've been thinking of him often. He would've loved exploring these old buildings with me. He also would've figured out what Foster was hiding in a heartbeat. Kyle was like that. His intuition far surpassed my memory.
        I miss him. I miss him like crazy.
     I stop at a cafe for a bite to eat and then continue to make my way toward the hotel room. Tomorrow is the day I will take a stand. Tomorrow Foster will find out what I'm capable of. I feel satisfaction, I feel success, I feel powerful. Finally, I will push the dominoes into motion, the effect rippling through Foster's perfect little world. With a smile I stride into my hotel and up to my room.
It's time to play.