Employer

Three

Mr. Braeburn could not remember a time when he was happier to see his own bed.
"Oh, you lovely walnut angel." he muttered as he fell on the mattress, his entire body one huge ache. The visit with the mayor had gone pretty well, the mayor making a much better showing at golf than he and subsequently being very jolly. Mr. Braeburn had hopes that the mayor might become an ally when zoning permits became difficult, and the mayor had hopes that Mr. Braeburn could boost him socially to a place where governor might be within reach. And campaigning was much more feasible when one had wealthy allies.
What a day. Mr. Braeburn had hardly even shut his eyes before the alarm clock rang, waking him up at 6 the next morning.
He rubbed his eyes and groaned. Every muscle in his body hurt. He had a purple bruise on his arm and a reddish one on his ribs.
"Good morning, Duncan Óg Braeburn." he said to the mirror on the other side of the room.
"Shut up, idiot. It's not going to be a good day, so don't patronize me." said the reflection Duncan Óg.
Mr. Braeburn heaved himself out of bed and hobbled into the bathroom where his friend Advil lived.
"I need to ride more so that I don't get the Boomlay next time. Ouch. It's a good thing today is a lot of paperwork."
After his morning devotions, Mr. Braeburn sat down in his office and began to overview the profit margins for his businesses. Even when the profit margins were already in simple percents, it took a few days. There were shops in nearly every city in the country, and in airports all over the world, not to mention many foreign cities and tourist destinations. Best get it done as quickly as possible. Most shops simply had a software that was in the register and the manager's work account, which reported profits and expenses directly to Mr. Braeburn. It made it much easier to sift through everything, and kept most managers from getting sticky fingers.
Sighing, Mr. Braeburn opened the file folder.
Maine, US
Location 1
Profit margin of 50%
Expenses
Supplies 20%
Payroll 60%
Other 20%
And so on. Location 1 was a good location, a high profit margin and straightforward expenses. The heading "other" included taxes, permitting, and grounds maintenance. 20% of the margin meant that the costs of keeping the building were low and the manager was more than competent. 10% was the lowest he had ever had, whereas 30% out of a 50% margin was as high as he had had without uncovering some subtle skimming method.
The day progressed boringly. Mr. Braeburn's only company was his musical mix which played in the background, and the clicking of his keys. Every hour or so he would see a shop or two that didn't have good percentages, and he would highlight them and save them in another folder. He stopped for lunch and a short walk, thinking rather wistfully that the HTD club was doing mounted archery at full gallop today.
Something fun and relatively painless. He was sorry to be missing it. He pondered the possibility of hiring a secretary to do this kind of work, but dismissed it. Too many heads between him and his shops made for less quality in the experience.

When the clock hit eight, Mr. Braeburn got up and walked out of his office, put on a coat and left the apartment. If he wanted to eat a dinner which didn't involve working, this was about as late as he could make it.
He walked to a grill nearby which served a nice burger with salad, and after ordering, sank into a chair and turned on his phone, which had been off all day. One hundred and seventy missed calls. One hundred and forty three voicemails. Four hundred and eighty six texts. Over a thousand emails. Wow. What could have happened?
Nearly all the emails were from papers, blogs or charities and so on, asking about a recently fired person. Odd. Why would anyone care about an employee being fired?
Then he checked his texts.
And turned red with rage.
That little smear of dog dung.
"You think you're going to use me to get a free meal ticket for life? Oh, no you don't! You just mad me mad. And when I'm on a good mad? I'm irrational."
With that, Mr. Braeburn opened his emails and wrote a single letter to everyone.
"A few days ago, we fired an employee for not showing up to work multiple times and for providing bad customer service. Upon being terminated, he attempted to use his protected status as 'gay' to force this company to reconsider our decision and to give him a raise. We declined and will continue to decline, as our quality standard does not provide jobs for those who will not uphold it."
He pressed send.
Then he called his publicity agent and said the same thing.
Appetite ruined, Mr. Braeburn paid for his food and walked home, replying to text after text.
"Stupid snowflakes! I'd like to see them let anyone take the butter for their bread and not be upset! Nasty noisy rainbows can just go right back in the closet! Nobody cares except for people with an axe to grind on the social wheel. I'll teach that little looser a lesson. I won't have it, not even one tiny bit will I have it!"

Mr. Braeburn went to sleep with his mind still whirring and his temper still riled.