Chapter 8

I woke to a rap at my bedroom door.

"Hey, Dad, you've got to take Sarah to school. I'm taking my bike. Going to Kumar's. See ya."

My back was stiff and my head ached. I had crashed right after Lisa left, sprawling across my bed fully clothed. My fist still held Lisa's panties, scooped off the living room floor. Somewhere during the night, I had kicked off my shoes. No, a glance showed them to be lined up neatly, so someone had come in, tugged off my shoes, and thrown a light blanket over my shoulders. I might be a basket case, but the djinni would care for me with loving attention.

A hot shower got my blood flowing, and I found a clean shirt and fresh slacks near the front of the closet. Assad Al-Noori had suggested, no, promised, no, demanded, no, threatened... I couldn't find the right word... that I would have to resign today from the Grand Imperial Salt Mining Enterprise, "for the good of the bank." Much better to do it in person, if it was going to happen.

The Porsche started with nary a murmur of discontent. Two hundred miles of freeway yesterday had agreed with it. It was not designed to commute and make trips to the grocery store. Maybe I would be able use the Porsche for what it was designed. Today, it took Sarah to school, and me to work.

I waved at Esther as I rounded the corner to my cubicle, and started triage on my in-box. Take off for a day, and your in-box gets crammed with the most amazing stuff. I had almost completed my sorting when a tall, elegant woman dressed in a sari appeared at the entrance of my cubicle and handed me a business card.

"Good morning, Herb. You may call me Nariya. You will please follow me."

We ended up in the executive conference room, the one with the granite table and the comfortable chairs. She waved me to a chair, then seated herself and slid a piece of paper towards me.

"Effectively immediately, I am resigning my position as Project Manager.

"In lieu of notice, and to settle all liabilities, with the exception of COBRA, I am accepting a termination award of $______."

The amount was blank.

"Fill it in, Herb. Ask for anything you want. Reasonable, unreasonable, it doesn't matter. When it was explained to the CEO here that for him, the sun no longer rises in the East until we say it does, he was happy to agree to our terms. But if you don't ask for at least our acceptable minimum amount, that is what you will get."

I looked at the page. Assad had followed through on his word. But what went in the blank? One dollar was probably below the acceptable minimum. And twenty million would probably destroy the company. Did I care? What was the line about being responsible for the consequences of my actions? I stared at the page, and no simple solution came to mind.

I turned to Nariya. "What happens to Sanjit?"

"Who is Sanjit?'

"He's shared my load here for the last four years."

"He can choose to stay. He can resign."

"If the company fails when I resign, he would be in a difficult place with Immigration."

Nariya smiled. "You look out for your friends. My husband was young and foolish once."

She turned and unclipped a cell phone from her waistband and punched in a number. The conversation was short, in Hindi or Bengali or Panjabi or Gujarati or some such. I can't recognize the words, but I do recognize the cadence. She hung up, and turned to me.

"An old friend. We help him out, he helps us out. He should be here in a few minutes."

Nariya bustled out of the room. I toyed with the paper, trying to think what number belonged in the blank.

My reverie was interrupted by a familiar voice. It was Rajiv.

"Well, Herb, you have finally come to your senses. Now you see how the bank works.

Problems are identified, problems are solved. Tell me about your friend."

"Sanjit was top of his class at IIT. I worked with him before. I got him in here, and then he ran into problems with Immigration."

"Does he know anything about chemistry?"

"I don't think so. His degree was computer science or EE or mathematics or some such."

"Excuse me a minute." Rajiv walked to the far side of the room and punched numbers into his cell phone and spoke for a moment.

"Would your friend be willing to go back to school?"

"He was working on his Master's when disaster struck."

"I could get him into a program for bioinformatics. He would be working head down for three years."

"He could do that."

"Then you convince him. You've got three minutes."

He nodded to Nariya, who left the room and arrived a moment later with Sanjit in tow. I waved him to a seat.

His face registered confusion. "What is this about?"

"Remember that on Monday I asked you if you wanted to leave when I did?"

"Yes."

I spun the piece of paper across the table to him.

"I'm signing that before you leave this room. There's an offer for you on the table, and it also expires when you leave this room. This would be your last chance to be an impressionable foreigner."

"I am listening, Herb."

"You would have to go back to school, and get a Ph.D. A new field. Some of what you know would be useful, but a Ph.D. in a new field in three years is a lot of hard work."

I looked over at Rajiv. He was grinning, so I was on track.

"You would be paid while you went to school. Once you got out, there would be a full-time position for you. Or you could stay here, and take your chances. I won't be in the next cubicle to offer sympathy. Or advice."

"I still have Immigration to deal with. My lawyer says that I cannot be unemployed."

Rajiv interrupted. "You would be an employee."

Sanjit looked at me. "OK Herb, you have convinced me. Now who do I talk to?"

Rajiv stood and clapped Sanjit on the back. "Come, there should be an empty office someplace where we can talk."

Rajiv turned to me. "Do you remember what they were paying you here? Now multiply by ten and sign your name."

I multiplied by twelve, filled in the blank and signed my name. Nariya smiled and took the page and disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The conference room door clicked again, and Lisa appeared, clutching a sheaf of papers that she dropped onto the table. She was all crisp perfection in one of her business suits, but her makeup was smeared, as if she had been crying.

"Kiss me."

I am usually good at following simple instructions. The kiss started as a tentative greeting, but a shared hunger changed it to something indecent, a kiss not meant to be seen in public.

When we broke the kiss, she turned to me. "This is what you need to sign. All of it."

I leafed through the stack of papers. Application for Account. Limited Partnership Agreement. Limited Partnership Agreement. Limited Partnership Agreement. Partnership Agreement. Partnership Agreement. Partnership Agreement. Partnership Agreement. Limited Trust Agreement. Limited Trust Agreement. Trust Agreement. Trust Agreement. Trust Agreement. Living Trust Agreement. Irrevocable Trust Agreement. Limited Power of Attorney. Power of Attorney. Power of Attorney. Power of Attorney. General Power of Attorney. Absolute Power of Attorney. Limited Power of Appointment. Special Power of Appointment. Power of Appointment. Power of Appointment. General Power of Appointment. Statement of Affiant. Declaration of Foreign Agent. Declaration of Surrender in Lieu of Foreclosure. And on, and on, and on, and on. After the first one, they made no sense. All of them were filled in, and had red and blue and green and yellow Post-It "sign here" and "date here" arrow stickers pointing to the signature and date lines.

I looked at Lisa. "All of it?"

"All of it. This is the start of the rest of your life. And maybe mine. I don't know. I just don't know."

She collapsed into the chair next to mine, and started sobbing into my shoulder. "Please, for me, sign."

She hooked one hand around my neck, and started sobbing into my shoulder. She used her free hand to pick papers off the stack and slide them in front of me. I held her and signed and signed and signed.

Nariya appeared during this signing frenzy and sat across the table from us, collecting the pages as I signed them. When I had cleared the stack, she slid a notary register across the table. "One more. Top line. And your thumb print. And I need your ID."

I picked my license out of my wallet and handed it to her.

"You need to talk. I'll leave you alone."

I heard the conference room door latch behind her.

Lisa looked up from my shoulder. "I don't know what I'm doing. When I got home, Mr. Al-Noori called me, and asked me what I had decided. I couldn't tell him anything, I blathered and blathered and blathered and blathered. He listened to me, then told me that my last act for the bank would be to meet you here and have you sign the bank papers. I'm not fired, but I no longer work for the bank. I don't understand, but I do what Mr. Al-Noori asks.

"I don't know what I'm doing. I have no idea what I'm doing. But I do know what I need to do. After that Hispanic bitch showed up last night, I do need to keep marking my territory. Now do this for me."