The Department of Corrections

June 20th, 2003 3:15pm

The conference room was one of the nicer ones she had been in over the past two years. Most of them had been quite stark and formal, usually occupied by a single individual who informed her that they couldn't "disclose anything at this time" or that they had "no comment". Sometimes threats were also levied, though rarely.

Allie had spent the last four years of her life with a singular mission; to locate the impossible man. This journey had brought her here, to what was undoubtedly her final destination. That was not to say that today was the day she would solve her mystery, merely that her time doing research was over. This conference room would be her last, though a scathing article or packed courtroom might follow. That is, if she was still employed at anything even resembling a newspaper.

Her job at the paper was hanging by a thread. Given her info on the mystery man was so personal and sketchy, there was no way she could make it her official work at the Herald. At first she had jammed her secret research in between fashion articles, and then between obituary write ups when she had gotten demoted. If nothing came of this meeting it looked like she might have to make a choice between continuing to feed her obsession and doing actual work. It was a decision she didn't want to make, and so she made up her mind that this meeting would bear fruit. Massive, juicy, life sustaining fruit.

The room itself was relatively large, with beautiful hard wood floors and Asian-style panels. There were pictures scattered about, showcasing Tibetan monasteries, some of which looked fairly personal and amateurly shot. The table that she was seated at was glass topped, and beneath the sheet of glass was what looked to be one of those pieces of Zen sand art, which looked a lot like ripples in a pond. It all looked fancy and expensive; and well it should, given that it all lay on the top floor of the fabled Winchester building.

The building was not the tallest one in Manhattan, nor was it the fanciest. But like its owner, it was known for its success. Robert Winchester was one of those rags-to-riches stories you rarely encountered outside of the movies. He had been raised in foster homes, later educated via a massive amount of grants and student loans. In less than two years after graduating with his MBA he had formed the Winchester Group, which in under a decade had become one of the top venture capital firms in the country. It had remained such until roughly nineteen ninety four, when Winchester had dropped out of public life, and left his company to be run by underlings. Since then he had become a bit of a recluse, popping in to the occasional board meeting or charity auction. From all the research Allie had done, it did not appear that he had contracted any kind of illness, or had gone the kind of crazy that only rich people were allowed. Rather, he had just decided to take his life private after years of being the public face of his company. It was for this reason that Allie had been shocked when she had been told that Winchester himself would be meeting with her today.

That very meeting had been scheduled to begin nearly an hour ago, and as the minutes wore on, and she began to wonder if perhaps it had all had been a lie or some sort of elaborate joke. That they would just keep her here for hours, with Winchester never having planned on attending in the first place. Just as she was about to give up and head for the exit, the door swung open and Robert Winchester made his grand entrance.

Well, it could have been a grand entrance. But that would have required a distinguished older gentleman, dressed in a fine suit and brandishing an Italian leather briefcase. Instead, she was greeted by a weary looking guy wearing faded jeans and a rather worn looking sweater. She had expected Morgan Freeman at his most refined, and ended up with Billy D. Williams after a weekend bender. He looked fifty at best, which given his listed age of fifty eight, seemed to indicate he was at least taking good care of himself. His hair was short, but didn't look like it had been cut in a month or more, giving it a bit of a ragged feel. His face was freshly shaved, but she could see at least a nick or two, showing he was either out of practice or in a rush. He also seemed fairly thin, which differed from the stockier appearance he had sported in his old press photos. All of these clues, when put together, indicated something... but Allie wasn't sure what it was.