The Russian Crisis

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER SIX

Maxim Blax leaned back into the soft, blonde leather of the couch in his penthouse apartment in the new building in downtown Toronto. The tower was more than 70 storeys high and Blax's penthouse unit was the highest. He looked over the sprawling city, the fourth largest in North America, and yawned. He wouldn't go out this night. He had attended two conferences and three parties in the past week and he was tired. He was also angry. Why was his staff trying to undermine him?

Blax slammed one hand down on the soft cushion of the couch. He leaned forward again and grabbed the heavy glass from the coffee table in front of him. He slugged back the whiskey and swore at the sky outside of his aerie, a sky in which the sun was rapidly sinking toward the horizon. Looking into the late sun gave him a headache so Blax turned away and stared into the amber liquid left in his glass.

His iPhone sounded a piano riff ring tone. He grunted, "Yeah."

"Sir." It was Brownley. Blax had called the man earlier in the day and had left a message to return the call. Now, Blax forgot what he had wanted.

"I'm very sorry to call you so late in the day but Mr. Payne had me drive him to Mr. Phillips' place up north. Boy, that's some place..."

"I don't care about that, Brownley. Why did Payne go there in the middle of the week?"

"Well, Mr. Blax," there was tired exasperation in Brownley's voice. "Mr. Payne thinks Phillips can help us. You know, with the source code problem."

"What! I told everyone to forget that. It couldn't happen. It's just a trick to make me look bad."

"Mr. Payne and the other execs are worried. That code was created under Mr. Phillips so he might have some ideas... I don't think they wanted to bother you further." Brownley took a mediator's role.

Blax was tired of the conversation. If Payne wanted to play games on this non-issue, let him. "I don't give a dog's fart about that bunch; so, what the hell is Phillips going to do? Is he going to come down here to make my life hell?"

Brownley hesitated before responding. "He didn't say whether he's coming. If he does come down, you can ask him yourself." He paused. "Listen, Mr. Blax, I have to be honest. This really makes me nervous. You on one side, Payne and the rest on the other. Me in the middle. Now, Mr. Phillips..."

"Did he look capable? You know, old..."

Brownley was thrown off by the strange question. "Uh, what's that... Yeah, he is older but he's in great shape as far as I could see. Again, I don't like talking about someone like that..."

"You like your job, Mr. Brownley?"

"I wouldn't threaten, Mr. Blax. I can find another good job tomorrow and I've got a contract. I've returned your call. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, yeah. Nothing, now. I have to think about this." Blax sounded distracted.

Blax took a breath. "Okay, I'm going to eat and get some rest. Okay?" His tone had grown cold and abrupt, on the edge of insulting.

Blax re-engaged. "Jesus. Take it easy Brownley. I'm worried, that's all. We've made changes at JPI and I don't need the former CEO looking for ways to take us backward. You gotta admit I've made a lot of steps forward and we'll all be better for it."

"I'm not arguing," said Brownley. "But you have to admit, we've got a big problem if our proprietary code..."

"Stop!" Blax shouted into his iPhone, holding the device away from his face. "Don't say another word! This is not a secure line. If we have a problem, it's people being careless. We don't have a problem. You shouldn't be saying things like this. I won't be treated like this. This company is mine. Do you hear what I'm saying?" The man was ranting.

"As you say, Mr. Blax," the head of security cut in. "This is not a secure line. So, I'll say goodnight. Have a good one sir."

Blax continued his rant for a moment. He halted and listened to his phone. Finding it dead, he threw the device onto the couch and vented in a stream of foul words. It would be a long night alone in his penthouse.