Short Story: LAST OUNCE OF POWER
It all evaporated with the rest of the world.
I
William knew enough about it to understand what was happening. These other guys, the younger ones, they had their travel plans and sat-phones and their bunkers. It was just a waiting game for them. Most went early, weeks back. A few stayed on, hoping to squeeze the last few drops out of the market before the collapse. Totally delusional. Finally, it was only a couple of senior execs who came in to work. They were all weathered old men like William, and they sat in their offices and took calls until the phones stopped ringing.
II
Golding came in on his last day and said, ‘That’s that, I think.’ He took a small silver hip flask from his jacket and took a mouthful. He checked his watch. Hummed a little to himself.
‘I think I might call it, too,’ said William.
‘It’s been hell getting back and forth from the Hill,’ Golding said. ‘Janet’s ready to leave. She said she wanted to go yesterday.’
William knew this to be a lie, but he went around the desk and shook Golding’s hand anyway.
III
William stood in the empty restaurant and looked at the table where they made it official, where it was consumated. He was always flirting with Janet, and there were a few drunken moments leading up to the official start, but the restaurant was the tipping point. You don’t eat dinner with another man’s wife and call it something else.
He remembered the cream shirt Janet wore, pleated at the front. Her hair.
He checked his phone. No calls from her, or his wife.
It had all evaporated.
IV
Back in the office, William stood at the window and stared out and felt completely calm. It would be a great way to go. The falling out. The last rush.
‘It’s temping isn’t it?’
It was Bertie from HR. Of course she was still here.
‘We’re all shopping for the same thing,’ he said, knocking a knuckle on the glass.
And they were.
Bertie with her cocaine eyes and come-what-may swagger.
William’s wife with her holiday getaway. Janet in tow. A girls weekend at the end of times.
Golding and whatever lonely suicide he had planned.
All of them were scrambling for the last ounce of power. All now realising they were just sand in the breeze. All of the luck and ruthlessness of their lives was useless. Not even a good story: they routed capital and status around and then something bigger came through and reallocated everything.
Bertie came over and looked out. ‘What’s your excuse?’ she said.
‘I’ve been walking around dead for months before any of this.’
‘Cute,’ she said.
‘Jesus. How about you then Bertie?’
‘No idea,’ she said. ‘Nothing feels real this far above street level.’
END
— IAIN
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