Four - Boss, no, make that Ex-Boss
Ian Blackpoole was a disgrace. He was jobless, wifeless, friendless, practically homeless (he lives in a one-room apartment now, since his wife - ex-wife, actually - had taken half his money and art, and the company had taken the rest as reimbursement for the trouble and embarrassment he had caused them), and now, he was scared witless.
Sitting up in his bed, he looked down at the sticky, crimson mess on his bedsheets and screamed.
The statue of the Second David winked up at him from the foot of the mattress. It was the replica; it had to be the replica.
He ran his hands over his face. A small, yellow paper stuck on his sweaty forehead fluttered down onto the red-soaked cotton sheet.
"Accidents happen. Watch your back."
It was signed, "E.S."
Blackpoole crushed the post-it note in a tight grip and whimpered.
AN: And Eliot didn't even give him an offer he can't refuse.
