4
“What I’m about to say is ludicrously stupid,” Benedict began, “but I ask that you keep an open mind. If you have any questions, I can answer them after.”
Michael nodded for Benedict to continue.
The flood of information the man let loose was overwhelming, but Michael kept quiet until the end.
“About a year ago, I came into possession of an extensive communications and networking corporation. Known as DenCom to most of the public, its advanced technologies division currently supplies the United States with the majority of its newest tech. Flight systems, satellites, even a few aircraft are in the works.
“I got to know the old CEO about a year before taking over the company. He’d heard about me through… okay, I know how stupid this is gonna sound, but he heard about me through my… ‘exploits’ in cryptozoology. I was job-hunting in Florida when he asked me to visit Denver, my old hometown. I accepted his offer, and he paid for a first-class ticket.
“I was taken straight from the airport to a house close by the Rockies. There, I was led to the bed of an old man who told me his name was Herbert Morecraft. He’d heard about the hobbies I had in my youth—ghost-hunting, UFOs, all that kind of stuff. Nothing ever came of it, though, until I was out of high school and I camped out in the Sierra Nevadas to look for Sasquatch. As I’m sure you’ve already assumed, I was young and stupid, so I got lost pretty quickly.
“As far as I was concerned, the trip was a complete failure. I was lost out there for three months with nothing but my coat and survival guide. I panicked, went feral, turned into a mountain man eating berries and catching trout out of streams to survive. Eventually, some hikers found me and took me back to town.
“After I got out of the hospital, I decided I’d had enough excitement for one lifetime. I spent four years in Seattle getting a useless degree in business management, then spent another year looking for work, living out of my car and cheap hotels so I could stay mobile. Near the end of that year was when Morecraft interviewed me.
“He told me two things. One, his doctors told him he was dying and he had less than a year to live, and two, that he’d researched me and was hoping I could take over as the new CEO once he passed away. I was floored. He laughed, then offered me a deal.
“He offered to fund a full expedition for the Sasquatch with me as the team leader. We could spend the next six months going wherever we wanted and doing whatever we wanted, but if we could prove the creature’s existence, then I would have fulfilled my end of the bargain, and he would sign over DenCom to me. He also said that if I did become CEO, he wanted me to pick up where he left off on his own investigations after he was gone. What could I say to that? He was offering me a chance to pursue my—albeit strange—passion. Plus, he offered me a hefty paycheck whether I came back with proof or not, just for my time. So, I accepted his offer, and here I am.”
Michael took the story in. It was obviously rehearsed, but much of it sounded sincere. But what was the point?
He’d never been a believer in the paranormal, apart from the existence of ghosts. In his youth he saw things, most of them probably figments of his imagination. Nonetheless, the experiences had opened the door to research in the phenomena, and he came out a believer. But everything else that fell under the catch-all term of “paranormal” didn’t particularly interest him. Still, his curiosity was piqued.
“So you found one?” Michael asked cautiously.
“Well, I’m CEO, so I must have found something,” Benedict answered with a hint of sarcasm.
“All right, then what did you find? A live one? Footprints? Hair?”
“If I could tell you, I would, but one of the things Morecraft and I agreed on was that none of the discoveries I made using his resources could become public. I mean, couldn’t you just see hillbilly gangs heading up into the woods and killing every last one if they knew where to look?”
Michael opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Benedict continued.
“Before he died, Morecraft said he wanted me to bring in more people to help me in my work. He didn’t name anyone in particular, but in my…” Benedict trailed off, gathering his thoughts. Several tense moments passed before he continued, “In my research, you and your friend Aron both showed up as potential candidates. Don’t ask why because honestly, I don’t quite know myself. I’m simply trusting the judgment of those who advise me.”
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“I want to offer you a deal, Michael. If you agree to help me with my research and expeditions, I will see to it that your store stays open. Not only that, but you will be paid generously to investigate and research a variety of subjects, from paranormal to political to religious. It’s all totally legal and sanctioned by the US government, as long as we do the occasional side work for them, in addition to giving them any valuable finds from our own investigations. I’m not allowed to answer the ‘why’ questions about your projects—or even say if your work is a success in some cases—but I can say you will make a good living and find fulfillment with the work you do. If at any time, that isn’t true, just let me know, and we will fix that. The arrangement would benefit everyone. I really, really think we can make this work.”
As Benedict caught his breath, Michael let the first of several questions out of his head. “You want me to take a second job working for you, and in exchange, you’ll pay me and support my shop?”
“Yep.” Benedict looked relieved, as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“And I’ll have no idea what I’m working on until you tell me?”
“In some cases, yes. Think of it like you’re working alone on one corner of a puzzle. You may not know what it is—and I may not either—but when everyone puts their corners together, we get a picture. If you don’t feel like it’s a good fit…” he trailed off, his breathing still heavy. “If it’s not a good fit, then we can work something out. Plus, like I said, if your own interests are desirable and could provide useful results, I would be more than happy to let you pursue them with our help.”
Michael thought he would have more to ask, but as Benedict caught his breath, only one more question escaped his lips: “How do I know this isn’t a scam?”
Benedict reached into his coat pocket and produced a large packet that Michael was surprised could have been concealed without being noticed. He placed it on the table, taking one long look at it before sliding it across to Michael.
“Everything you’ll need to convince yourself is in there. I think it would be best if you took a day or two to look it over before making your choice. There’s a card with my personal phone number on it, so when the time comes to say yes or no, call me. Everything else should be self-explanatory.” Benedict got up and pushed his chair in. “I may not be reachable for the next twelve hours or so. Where I’m heading, I don’t get great reception. By tomorrow morning, though, I should be able to take calls.”
Benedict extended a hand to Michael, who hesitated for a moment before shaking. Part of him hoped that whatever was inside the packet was bogus and that the whole thing turned out to be a scam. He knew there could be dark things down that path, things he didn’t want to get involved in. And as he looked into Benedict’s eyes for the last time that day, he thought he could see what that kind of research could do to someone.
They ended the handshake, and Benedict headed for the door. “Think it over and give me a call. And for the moment, don’t tell anyone, not even Aron until I can talk to him personally.” He gave a small wave. “I’ll see you in time.”
Benedict left the break room, and shortly after, Michael heard the front door chime, signaling his departure.
Benedict had put on a good show, but he still could have been a brilliant con artist. It could all be a game, an elaborate plot meant to take everything Michael had left, which was already dwindling dangerously close to nothing by the day.
Money was so tight, he was considering talking to his parents again and seeing if he could move back home to Sacramento for a while. It was a prospect he loathed, mostly since it had been over a year since he had spoken with them. They hadn’t approved of his choice to leave Dallas, and the few times they had talked since the move had been tense, to say the least. When it came to his father, who never failed to bring it up, “hostile” would have been a better word. He knew he was a disappointment to them, forgoing relationships and stability in favor of his own desires.
Now, he might have an opportunity to do things right in their eyes, but he couldn’t say he wanted to.
He left the packet on the table and headed for the computer. First, he looked up DenCom and found it was an actual corporation. Not only that, but it was indeed the leader in non-commercial tech for businesses and the US government. He also found out that since the company’s founding in the sixties, no one had ever gotten an interview with either CEO, but he found purported pictures of them on conspiracy sites. Apparently, Morecraft and Benedict’s work had not gone unnoticed by those in tinfoil hats.
He found an article on one site detailing Morecraft’s disappearance and Benedict’s arrival onto the scene. The article included pictures of who they thought were the two CEOs. The older man in the first picture wore thick glasses and a slightly disheveled tan tweed sports jacket. Michael could tell the picture was likely taken without Morecraft’s knowledge, since he wasn’t looking at the camera and a blurry cityscape could be seen behind him. The other picture was obviously of Benedict, who also seemed oblivious to the photographer. His coat was blowing in the wind, and he looked to be on an airport tarmac with two other, much taller men: One was bald, the other sported a short Mohawk.
The article itself was essentially useless. It was a lot of “We know something is going on. We don’t know what, but something!”
He closed the computer, only slightly less cautious about the situation. Benedict was the subject of some crackpot’s mystery article. So what? Couldn’t that crackpot be Benedict himself, just another layer of the man’s scheme? He obviously knew Michael was going to look him up, so could he have written the article?
At least DenCom existed. That was verifiable. In fact, as he thought back to his last trip to Denver for a trade show, he had seen DenCom Tower in person. It was the largest building in the city, standing easily a third taller than the rest.
On top of that, it seemed well-established that the CEO had never been a public figure, and that he was only known by his first name, even within the company. Still, the article implied that the name might have been taken from the recently renamed street that led to DenCom Tower: Benedict Street.
He’d seen enough. He had to open the packet.
Michael headed back to the break room, the packet still lying on the table. He opened it, flipped it over, and let three items fall out. The first was a plain white business card with Benedict’s number written on it. The second was an employee manual that was easily an inch thick, labeled Practice and Procedure for DenCom Private Agents. Michael flipped through it, paying little attention to the text.
The third item was a small envelope labeled “Advance” in rushed handwriting. He gently opened it and nearly fell out of his chair.
Inside was a check made out to him for a million dollars.
Want to read Chapter 5 but can’t wait?
Michael Ridding: A DenCom Thriller is already out on Kindle!
Get it at the link below!
Buy Michael Ridding: A DenCom Thriller on Kindle here!
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INSIGHTS!
Benedict’s backstory went through quite a few changes, but I never messed with the meat of the story. At one time, I drafted this as a narrative from Benedict’s point of view when he first took over DenCom. This was cut because I do plan to go back and tell this story in a future novel and also because a flashback on top of a flashback is not an ideal way to start a book (*cough*)
That’s it for now. See you next week with another blog post!
-S.T. Hoover
What am I reading?
One Hundred Lyrics and a Poem by Neil Tennant
This is the first time in years that I think I’ve bought two copies of the same book. I actually bought one of the limited edition hardbacks that was signed, numbered, and in its own special case (this also marks the only time I can recall paying over $100 for a book for pleasure–it was a wedding present to myself)
I eventually got the standard edition as well because I’m so worried something will happen to the expensive one if I read it or carry it around with me.
In short, Neil takes 100 of his favorite lyrics from The Pet Shop Boys (he and Chris Lowe are the sole members of the band) and gives insight on each of the songs and their meaning or what inspired them. It’s been a fun read so far, and I hope to see more of Neil’s writing in the future.
