Mucho, mucho thanks to Miyabi and Crazy, because, one, this story's been on the shelf, and hence, poked at for months, and two, for being /nice/ about telling me I screwed something up, be it major story transitions, or am over using commas/italics...which I do. hee.
Glass Towers and Steel Bars Ch. I
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If I had to live my life over...I'd dare to make more mistakes next time.
Nadine Stair
I have often depended on the blindness of strangers.
Adrienne E. Gusoff
Don't say yes until I've finished talking.
Darryl F. Zanuck
Paul waited just inside the revolving doors marking the edge between the lobby and the outside world, each turn of the door letting a little gust of hot air into the cooled interior. He was holding the folder that was everything the company had on his new boss, and it wasn't much, for all that the man's entire family seemed to be entrenched throughout the company. How can they possibly have so little information if he has over twenty sisters who have husbands working for him? The sheer inefficiency of it made him cringe. Perhaps because there were so many different people with different opinions, it caused the information blockage. They couldn't even tell him how old he was. Paul had gotten ages ranging from twelve, which he dearly hoped wasn't true, to thirty, which wasn't possible, since, supposedly, he was the youngest, and the youngest daughter wasn't that old.
The bottom line was, he knew as well then that it was a stressful situation he'd pulled himself into. Well, been invited into.
Right, then, in the lobby, he wasn't sure if he really should have ignored the phone, just assumed what he really had thought, and decided to watch his old series marathon. He'd wanted to ignore it, knowing that his mother was still ranting on about how Sarah hadn't invited her when her last baby was born, and how Jer was still refusing to talk to her about it, and that his father was still being obtuse. It went on and on. But he'd also known that if he didn't answer it the first time, not only would she fill up the entire message space on his voice mail, she'd keep calling until he did pick up. So, heaving a sigh of discontent, he'd hit the receiver for both voice and visual, and knew immediately that it wasn't his mother, because the screen stayed black, unrevealing of whomever might be on the other side.
"Hello?" His voice had automatically come out in his work voice, pleasant, light and very carefully measured out into the right amount of courtesy, with a questioning lilt at the end of it. The blank screen had put him on guard, and his professional persona, though useful, sometimes brought him nearly to the edge all on its own.
There was a distinct pause before any return came over the line. "Is this Paul Richardson?" Since he didn't have any visual, Paul concentrated on the voice. It was a tenor, the tone even.
"This is he. How may I help you?" More professionalism. It made him want to gag.
"Well, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a job."
"I'm sorry, but I've already found a position."
"That's okay." There goes what little formalism was there. "The offer is quite generous. You might be interested in looking at it, at the very least."
How was that okay? And it would have to be pretty generous to top what I've got already. Right then, Paul was the office manager of a large construction company, overseeing more than ten secretaries and clerks. He was well paid, and very capable of the work. But still…it surely wouldn't hurt to just listen to the offer, would it?
The man on the line waited through the long hesitation, staying absolutely silent. "What exactly is the offer, uh...excuse me, I don't believe I caught your name—or who the offer was from."
There was a light laugh. "I didn't tell it to you, Mr. Richardson. But I represent Mr. Winner, of Winner Enterprises, Incorporated. Here's the offer: in a few weeks, the new CEO and chairman of the board is going to be taking over, after a vacancy in the seat of nearly two years. Mr. Winner needs a personal assistant, one who has no previous ties to the company, and therefore no other loyalties within its corporate structure. You have been put forth for consideration."
Well, that was stunning. Paul groped backwards for the chair that sat by the phone. "Excuse me?"
If there'd been a visual connection, the man on the line would have been wearing a frown, to match his voice. "You are under consideration for a new opening. As a personal assistant to Mr. Winner, who will be taking over his father's position in a few weeks." There was a note of difference, as if whoever was doing this call were questioning Paul's intelligence, and, subsequently, his suitability. Paul definitely wanted to hear more—even if he was sure that he was certainly not suitable for the job.
"I apologize. I understood the first time, it's just that…" he trailed off, then picked the right words. "Well, it seems reasonable that Mr. Winner would want someone with a lot more experience."
Another little laugh. "No, Mr. Richardson, Mr. Winner thinks that your resume has demonstrated enough experience, and that your qualifications are quite sufficient for what the job requires." As another silence stretched out, the voice came back. "Is there anything in particular that makes you reluctant to take this position, other than your current employment?"
"Actually, there is a large question. Though Mr. Winner..." and who is he? The famous, but never seen, heir to the Winner family? Surely it must be. "...may be very sure that I could handle the job, I can't be sure. I would rather not take the—rather large—chance that my abilities will be insufficient."
"Ah, I see." Yet another break as the line went silent. "I'm not sure what assurance I can offer you, but please, believe me when I say that Mr. Winner would be willing, should that circumstance arise, to place you in another position within the company, comparable to the position you currently hold at CCI."
"Can I get that in writing?" That brought a laugh, the tenor going slightly higher in its mirth.
"You're not very trusting, are you, Mr. Richardson?"
There was a pause as Paul tried to think of a delicate way to cover over his slight gaff. "I've found that unless you get it in writing, large corporations have a tendency to take advantage of any opening given to them."
"And you wonder if you have the best qualifications for the job." There was amusement and a touch of sarcasm to the voice. Paul didn't quite get it, but let the matter drop. "Yes, anything about this offer you require to be made out in writing will be done so, to your satisfaction."
Well, that was basically the last thing. There was no real reason to prefer CCI to WEI. Paul was sure that WEI stood a better chance of not going under, and the bennies would probably be at a higher standard. The pay would be higher, that didn't even need to be stated aloud. So that wasn't an issue. Relocation was also obvious without needing to be voiced.
"All right. I am interested enough in this offer to accept an invitation for an interview."
A laugh from the darkened screen. "That was it, Mr. Richardson. If you want the job, it's yours."
This whole thing was nearly ridiculous. Who did things like that? There was a very carefully followed procedure to the job market, an orchestrated dance that was either long, drawn out and ridiculous, or beyond that. He remembered having to go through a three hour interview for a job that was low-level management in a shopping mall.
"Well, then, if that's the case, perhaps a trial period would be a good idea?"
"Okay. How does one month sound? If, at the end of one month, you feel compelled to tender your regrets, you can leave or have yourself transferred to any other position that fits your qualifications. I can assure you that there are always openings. Should you feel capable of the duties entailed, at the end of one month you'll accept the job on a permanent basis."
He still had reservations, but those appeared to be terms he could agree with, so he gave a nod, not having forgotten that although his interviewer might be invisible to him, he still had the visuals on.
"Good." The voice was almost as good as the visual, he was thinking, because there was a definite note of satisfaction wormed in there. "Your first duty is to find out whatever you can about Quatre Winner from any of the employees or stock holders at the headquarters." A laugh. "After you've made all the arrangements you need to make for yourself. After that, and once you feel that you have gathered all you can, if you would put a call into this number," and it appeared on the screen," and leave a message to that effect? The next business day, Mr. Winner will come down to meet you, with the information you'll gather, and both of you will go on from there. Is that acceptable?" There were raised eyebrows in the last question, clearly visible in Paul's mind as he stared at the once again blank screen.
"Yes. I take it that I will meet Mr. Winner then?"
"Yes. That should be soon enough." Here, the voice sounded a little pensive, but with it still carried the edge of assurance it had throughout the call. "I'll have the appropriate clearances and the correct identification made up and sent to you immediately. Should you encounter any problems, call that number, and ask to speak to Rashid. He'll inform Mr. Winner and the difficulties will be taken care of."
He was very precise in his instructions. There was nothing Paul had to think of but the arrangements he was now, rather suddenly, in need of. "Okay. Well then, I have a lot of things to do suddenly, so if you would excuse me, I'll go on to those."
"That's great. Thank you—may I call you Paul?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I think it'll be best if we're on a first name basis. I'll be seeing you, Paul." And the line went dead, leaving Paul to go over the last sentences several times until he was glad he was already sitting. That had been his new employer—Mr. Winner. Well.
Things had snowballed since then, until Paul reached where he now was, waiting just inside the glass walls of the lobby at WEI's corporate headquarters, where the very air smelled of wealth, of expensive perfumes and raw silk suits. I'm going to need a new wardrobe if I keep this job. His stray thought, although filled with amusement, did almost nothing to still his nerves, inflamed over all the very wealthy, very self-assured people he'd had to interrogate.
So far none of it had proved very difficult at all, but then, the job hadn't really even begun.
He was musing over the future, wondering what might be in store for him, besides the rather odd assignment he'd already been given, and missed the two young men who entered through the revolving door, both of them silent but filled with confidence, not daunted by the size or power that surrounded them in the lobby. One even had a large smile on his face.
"Paul?" It brought his head into focus at the youths in front of him, more on the blond one that stood slightly before the other, who had brown hair. The blond stuck a hand out. "I'm Quatre." Paul automatically reached out to shake the extended hand, noticing that the grip was sure, with calluses Paul wouldn't have expected on someone with as much wealth as this young man. The blue-green eyes smiled as much as the lips. They began to sparkle as they dropped down to the folder still held in Paul's left hand. "Shall we find an office and go over that?" He'd already started looking around the lobby, his eyes scanning the people's faces around him, but turned back on an afterthought. "Among other things."
Paul gave a short nod. "Certainly. I actually have an office set up for temporary purposes."
The smile broadened. "Excellent. Then shall we?" Quatre tilted his head towards the elevators.
Paul gave a nod, and led the way. They were lucky that the elevators were fast; it saved them the true wait of going up twenty floors—only about a third of the way up the building. They stepped out of the metal box, and made their way to the empty office Paul had chanced across the first day he'd entered the building. After the door was closed behind the three men, Quatre turned to Paul, waving at the other young man with him. "I didn't introduce you. This is Duo Maxwell." The brown-haired, and braided, youth turned from where he'd been walking along the walls, and nodded to him. Quatre watched as he went all the way around, turning to Paul only after Duo gave him a nod as he came to stand beside him. He gave a bright smile to his PA. "So, what's in that file?"
Paul crossed to the table, motioning to the several chairs. "If you'll have a seat, Mr. Winner."
He did sit, but raised a hand to ward off Paul's words. "Please, please, please do not call me that. I keep expecting my father to be there."
Duo gave a snort of laughter as he too sat down. "It's better than Master Quatre." Quatre grimaced, but chose to ignore him, instead reaching for the now opened folder. He very quickly scanned it with Duo looking over his shoulder, the castors on the bottom of the office chair allowing both of them to get close enough together to not strain their necks. Occasionally, they'd both laugh. Paul could understand the sentiment, but he still felt some disgust over how little there really was to that folder.
It didn't take them long to go through the small folder, and when they were done, Quatre closed it and threw it down on the table top. "Well, that's interesting." He shot a look at Paul while Duo just sat back, arms crossed over his chest. "It looks like we need to have more family get-togethers, if none of my brother-in-laws know more than that." He nodded at the file. "Thank you for gathering that. It would have been difficult to do so otherwise, and it will make a good reference in the future."
He let out a long sigh. "Now on to real business." He shot Paul a steely look. "Those same people are not going to be happy with the changes I am preparing to make. For the past few weeks I've been going over the general accounts and other run-of-the-mill things, familiarizing myself with the different aspects of this corporation, as well as the underlying structures." He shook his head, his eyes moving as if seeing something else and not the expanse of table he was now focused on. "There are many things I'm going to ferret out—that have happened in the past two years—that neither I nor my father would approve of."
He paused, and his hands, folded on the table, showed white knuckles. "Unfortunately at the time my father died, it was impossible for me to assume the role I must now take." It got another snort from Duo where he was—"sprawled" was the word that came to Paul's mind—in his chair.
"Yeah, you were otherwise indisposed, Q. That's the blatant truth." Quatre shot him a look, as if what he'd said could have been attached to another statement. But the look was only a second, before the newly made businessman turned back to Paul.
"One important thing that I'm afraid I have less time to overcome than I could wish: although I might understand the business, I still have a rather large gap of knowledge involving procedure and such things—times and places where going through the 'correct' channels would be more time consuming with less results then using 'accepted' methods, though they may be rather less than totally official." As Paul began to interject that he didn't know things like that, since he too was completely new to the company, Quatre's raised hand, flattened and palm out, forestalled any protest. "I understand that you would no more know that at this juncture in time, but you," a finger pointing, "will be in a much better position to find those things out than I," here a finger pointed at his own chest, "at any time."
Paul understood that, so all he felt he needed to do was nod—which he did.
"Next on the agenda—both of us need to learn the forms of the company. I have no idea how people come up with this much paperwork, but unfortunately, being in our positions, we need to know as much of it as we possibly can." He gave Paul a wry look, the sarcasm darkening his eyes until they looked nearly black. "I'd rather not have a quibble with someone, and not have the 'correct' paperwork to back me up, because we're going to have enough on our plates in that arena." He frowned off into space over Paul's shoulder, apparently having another thought. "In fact, I'm going to call in one of my lawyers, to give us an idea of what paperwork is absolutely necessary, from a legal point of view, so we can at least cover our...selves, should anything untoward end up happening."
That was rather good news, because the deeper they went into even this first meeting, the more Paul was beginning to think that this changeover was going to end up being something that was going to shock the hell out of the company. Not necessarily a bad thing, because, after all, a changing of management always did carry new agendas, though, of course, the bottom line was still the same.
Blue eyes, now piercing, shot to look at him. "Did you get all of that down? Yes? Good."
While Paul made more notes on his pad, working on a way to get to do the things they had to do. Quatre seemed to be half waiting for him, and half planning things of his own, though no paper made itself evident. And while each was engaged in their own worlds of paper trails and corporate enterprising, Duo Maxwell was looking around the room, and, when the silence became too thick, apparently, he had no qualms about breaking it with a whistled tune. Paul just glanced at him, trying to place him once more with his own knowledge of the ladder, and then dismissed it as being unimportant at right that second. Quatre ignored it completely, though he was the one to bring more work into the room, and breaking the silence with it.
"Okay. To start off, we need to get this room some computers. Duo," and he turned to look beside him, "we need some pretty powerful stuff, and it needs to be appropriate. See what you can supply us with, from the normal supply routes within the company, and get us something to work with." The braided head nodded, and he sprang to his feet, sticking out a hand to Paul.
"It was nice meeting you, Paul. Looking forward to working with you."
Paul shook his hand, but stuck his neck out, just a little. "What exactly are you going to be doing?"
The boy grinned. "I'm your gofer."
Quatre, from where he was seated, snorted. "And security. He's going to be consulting with us, and WEI security for a little while, probably about three weeks, giving us a secure area to work, and checking general building security, because I just don't have the time, and neither do you."
Paul nodded, even if he seemed a bit young for it. Who knows, with the Winners' probably amazing connections. "Okay."
Duo grinned at him one last time before heading out to find some computers, leaving them to start planning exactly how they were going to do their paper trail investigations.
At the end of the second day they'd been working together, they had a complete computer set up, covering one entire wall of the room. The systems were password protected within an inch of their digital lives, but they had a rather astonishing ability to cut through any security in the company, from the executive level of the shareholders' computers, down to the individual offices out in the field. They could search through all of it, if it had any access to the networking of the corporate computers. Paul wasn't sure how they'd done it, but he knew that it had been mostly Duo, while Quatre leaned over his shoulder and told him what he needed, late into the night yesterday. They'd both been as "perky" as the first time he'd met them, but he could almost see signs of fatigue in their faces, just the barest trace, perhaps around their eyes. He mentioned it to them, and they both laughed, Duo coming back with an answer of, "Oh, it's just been too long since we've really had to work," and they'd gone on.
First thing that morning had been finding enough secretaries and clerks to cover the amount of paperwork they were going to be generating within the next few days. They'd run through the different reports they could order up from accounting, payroll and even straight from the different districts, and realized that they had no hope of overcoming the mountain by themselves. And since, for all intents and purposes, they were doing an audit of the entire company, they couldn't rely upon anyone already within the company—somewhat the same situation that Quatre'd had with Paul's employment. They couldn't have loyalty issues, but they had to be competent. It was going to require finesse, and massive recruitment, to come up with enough highly skilled, or even intelligent people, to cover it within the time limit they really had.
What they didn't know was how many it was feasibly going to take, to do a fine comb through the company's paper pile. They wanted to go ahead and assume not too many, say, maybe, ten, all told, but how could they really be sure...they hadn't even started pulling the paperwork. And they wanted people to hand it off to immediately, so they didn't really get buried.
"The good news is that I've already done a 'tour' of everything." He grinned at Paul. "You'd find that it's only this building that doesn't know me by sight. I've been around the ground offices for years, I was just never allowed around here, until after my father died. In fact, during the war, for a short time, I even did some damage control from a branch office on L2." Another grin. "So all I have to really do is get things under control here, and then I can 'relax', and take a tour of operations on all levels, from here to the sites themselves.
"But that's enough of that...right now is a prime time to start planning for expansion." Quatre's blue eyes glittered with ambition in the sharp overhead lighting. "We have many things that we could acquire, and use to our advantage." He smiled, somewhat ruefully. "Not to anyone's detriment, but merely to our own gain." Now his eyes were full of all the altruistic things one could associate with the blond young man. His voice was both hard and contained that near-longing for good, showing his true tendencies. "There's no reason why both ideals can't be accomplished. It's merely more difficult to see the best way to that outcome."
He was speaking again with that edge of experience, as if he were teaching Paul all the secrets of his trade, if only Paul could follow along. He did it often, all the while looking at Paul eagerly, his eyes shining like the greatest obsessed fanatic—or a most beloved leader.
The blond waved a hand around, indicating, perhaps, all the paperwork spread over the desk. "For instance, this, right here, and the audits we're going to be doing." He shrugged. "I already know that there's too much time being wasted on paperwork. To do even the most simple of things, there's too much paperwork to fill out, and it makes it difficult to get everything flowing smoothly."
They both let it rest there for the moment, and went back to the various papers they were trying to sort through. They'd given up on any type of sorting method than just putting it into a pile by department, because they had no coherent pattern yet. They figured that when they had more paperwork come in, they'd be more able to distinguish the true importance of each piece of colored paper. Or see if they could streamline them a bit.
Duo's interruption was both hated and wished for as they waded through the leftover paperwork, trying to decide where to put things that lacked labels or identification.
"Here's hoping you like chicken, 'cause that's all I got." He put a fast food bag down in front of them all, right next to a tray of drinks, slowly emptying his hands.
Paul stretched away from the table, yawning. "Chicken's fine, thanks."
"Yes, thank you, Duo." But Quatre would have continued working if not for Duo still being there, and almost taking the papers Quatre was leaning over. "Hey!"
"Come on, man, you have to eat." He sounded like a distressed roommate, his voice that implacable mix of laughter and concern.
The businessman appeared a little frazzled while he looked up at Duo. "I will. I just...need to get more done, that's all. I'll eat."
His friend just smiled at him. "How 'bout while it's still warm?" They held a staring contest, and when Duo won, Paul thought that perhaps Quatre wasn't excessively happy with him. But the second Quatre took one bite out of his sandwich, the food began to just disappear, as if he were a starving man. And considering how Paul himself felt—he just might be.
Duo laughed. "You know as well as I do that mental work takes more outta'ya than physical, so don't pretend otherwise." He sat down to eat his own lunch/dinner, and grinned at Paul. "Don't let him slide it past you, either. If you have to, send out for food, and make sure he eats it." A fry from Quatre's meal hit him in the side of the head.
"I'm not a baby, thank you. I do know how to take care of myself." He made a face.
Their camaraderie made Paul feel left out of the joke, and slightly uncomfortable, but he knew that really, it was better for him to feel left out, and not do anything about it, than to attempt a social, and professional gaff, and join in. So instead, he took the workaholic's way out, and continued to work through his lunch, listening with half a mind to their conversation, but not making any move to join in. The fine line of a personal assistant, perhaps. Or just loneliness in general.
