There's Only One Quantum Read Free Page B

looked up from his training manual. It was a woman. She was similar to Ms. Davenport and Ms. Jacoby—similar in that they were female and dressed conservatively. She had blonde hair, worn up, and black, horn-rimmed glasses. She was not nearly as old as either Ms. Jacoby or Ms. Davenport, nor was she unattractive.
    “I’m Ms. Hunter,” she said. “I’m your secretary.”
    She extended her hand, which prompted Coe to stand and grasp it. It was warm.
    “My secretary?”
    “Well, not solely your secretary. I’m assigned to you and two other auditors.”
    “I see.”
    “I report under Ms. Davenport who I trust you have already met?”
    Coe scanned Ms. Hunter for any kind of secret message relating to Davenport. Did she like her? Did she like working for her? Davenport seemed rather unpleasant. He couldn’t help but think no one particularly liked her.
    “Yes, I have,” he said. “She seems to be someone with a good handle on things.”
    Ms. Hunter nodded. “She is knowledgeable and efficient,” she said, robotically.
    “She is a source I plan to use,” he said.
    She smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Coe. I look forward to serving you.”
    She left. Coe returned to his seat and picked up his reading. He listened for stray conversation—fellow auditors, or Ms. Hunter; he heard nothing. It was quiet. The air was lifeless. It felt as though no work was being accomplished.
    His phone rang, disturbing the silence. He hesitated. It didn’t yet feel like his phone. He picked it up to his ear. A voice said, “It’s about time you answer your phone.”
    “I think—”
    “Our man has spent weeks at the drop-off—”
    The voice stopped abruptly.
    “Who is this?” the voice asked.
    “Mr. Coe,” he said. “In Auditing—”
    He heard a click.
    “Hello? Hello? Are you there?”
    The line was dead.
    Coe was disturbed by the call. His first instinct was to dismiss it. Chalk it up to a wrong number. But, then he became concerned that it might be a test. He stood and stepped out of his cubicle. All the surrounding cubicles were vacant. Some had similar dust squares on their desks were once a CRT had set. There were remnants, artifacts, of the former employees who had sat there: a pencil-top troll with orange, bushy hair; a photograph of a child in a baseball cap; a holiday card. Old, abandoned staplers and tape dispensers were left behind.
    He looked for Ms. Hunter. He passed a window, paused to look out. Steam rose up from vents and pipes and chimney stacks. The rooftops glistened with rain. Raindrops beaded on the glass. By all appearances, his corner of the office was a ghost town. He wandered up and down the gray-walled corridors—corporate catacombs of a once-thriving section of commerce. Finally, he decided to call out, “Ms. Hunter...”
    He checked himself to ensure his voice did not sound alarmed. “Ms. Hunter?”
    A voice responded, “Yes, Mr. Coe?”
    He cleared his throat and said, with a nervous laugh, “I can’t seem to locate your desk.”
    “That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll come to you.”
    Within moments, she was standing beside him. She moved with startlingly, silent, efficiency.
    “How can I assist you, Mr. Coe?”
    “I’ve received a call—probably a wrong number and no cause for concern; however, it nonetheless troubles me.”
    “ Troubles you? How so?”
    Coe shifted uneasily. “The caller made it seem as though there was some sort of intrigue going on.”
    “Intrigue?” she said. “Like in a suspense novel?”
    He didn’t know her well enough to gauge whether her response was patronizing. “Intrigue is probably not the correct word here.”
    “If you suspect there is some sort of corruption or underhandedness, you need to report it to Mr. Hanover immediately.”
    “Shouldn’t I report it to Mr. Mitchell?”
    She shook her head adamantly. “Section C of the Employee’s Handbook , titled, “Internal Fraud,” clearly states on page