Silver Shadows: Midlife Elementals, #4

Silver Shadows

Copyright © 2021 by Kate Moseman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First Edition

ISBN 978-1-957320-00-7 (ebook)

ISBN 978-1-957320-01-4 (paperback)

Published by:

Fortunella Press

Nobody is a villain in their own story.

—George R.R. Martin

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

1

Retirement would either thrill me or kill me; I wasn’t sure which when I stepped into the elevator that morning. The red digital numbers ticked higher and higher until the elevator reached my floor: the secretarial hub of Elozent Industries, high above Biscayne Bay and the rest of downtown Miami. Not that our floor was particularly glamorous, but you certainly couldn’t beat the view.

The bell dinged, and the elevator doors opened to a roaring sound like a monster grinding palm trees in its teeth. For a moment, I was too startled to move.

The doors slid shut while I hesitated.

I lunged for the button and the doors retreated.

I stepped out.

Thousands of narrow strips of paper littered the floor between overflowing trash bags. A fine and no doubt unhealthy haze of particles hung in the air. And against the wall, where there had been nothing before, a dozen paper shredders ran at full tilt.

My coworkers tottered across the floor with reams of paper and crammed the sheets into the waiting machines. Strands of hair fell from usually neat updos as they scurried about.

One of them staggered past with a stack of paper that threatened to tip. I intercepted her and relieved her of half the stack of paper, then dropped it on a nearby table with a thud. I gestured to the chaos. What’s going on?

The secretary—another new one, I didn’t know her name yet—blew the hair out of her eyes and readjusted her grip on the remaining papers. She shot a look upward, as if it could penetrate to the floors above. Management. They told us to drop everything and shred.

I pulled a sheet of paper from the pile. Numbers cascaded in meaningless columns. Why would they—

She grabbed the paper from my hand and slapped it on the stack. Don’t know. Don’t care. If we finish on time, we all get a prize.

What prize?

A fifty dollar gift card each! She hefted the paper heap and scurried away.

Fifty dollars each? Not bad.

But why the rush?

I made my way over to my desk and sat down. I traded out my New Balance sneakers for work-appropriate heels and picked up the phone.

Time to get to the bottom of this.

I dialed my direct boss. Technically speaking, all of us in the pool could be called on to work for any of the Elozent executives, but I’d been Mauricio’s girl Friday—no, a secretary; no, an executive assistant—long enough for the job title to change several times over. I arranged travel, made copies, scheduled appointments, fielded calls. I got done what the higher-ups didn’t feel like doing for themselves. Seniority gave me some immunity to some of the more mindless tasks—like shredding paper—but at the end of the day, I was just another secretary in a pool that was getting younger by the day.

My boss picked up. Mauricio.

Mauricio, hey. It’s Lenore. What’s the deal down here? It looks like a paper factory exploded.

I know, right? The sound of papers shuffling carried over the line. The big bosses are having some kind of fit.

Do you still want me to make your travel arrangements for the Chicago meeting?

Yeah, go ahead. You know how these things go. Everyone freaks out for a couple of days, then it blows over. He sighed. They gave us free tickets to the company-sponsored Halloween gala at the Hibiscus Museum next week. Now I can’t go ’cause I’ll be in Chicago.

Bummer, I said, half-listening as I held the phone between my shoulder and my ear and made a note. By the way, I’m not shredding paper or cleaning up any of this mess. They can keep the fifty dollar gift card. I’m not contracting a fatal paper cut the week before I retire. And speaking of parties, don’t even think about throwing me a party, okay? I don’t want a cake, or balloons, or flowers, or a plaque, or—

I think you want all those things and you just won’t admit it.

You know what? You can kiss my—

He laughed. I think what I’ll miss most about you is your sweet, diplomatic nature.

You know you love me, I said.

I’ll be lost without you.

Sure you will. You’ll miss my sympathetic ear and my incredible ability to make impossible things happen. Now get back to work before I put you on shredding duty, too.

Yes, ma’am.

I nearly dropped the phone in the cradle, but reversed it at the last second and held it to my ear. Mauricio?

Yes?

A rolling cart full of paper rattled past. Keep me posted, okay? In case anything changes.

You got it.

I hung up and leaned back. I had to admit, I’d miss the excitement just a little. It was one of the reasons I’d stayed at Elozent so long—a big corporation hummed with its own energy, and even though I was just a cog in the machine, I still enjoyed the buzz. And access to the best view in Miami, from an observation deck just off the executive floor.

I should know. I’d snuck up there often enough to have every landmark memorized.

Still, retirement had its charms. I’d sunk my little nest egg into a snug condo downtown, and I’d put some money away in company stock. My Elozent pension, plus Social Security, would cover the rest.

I pulled up my browser. Chicago . . . I arranged Mauricio’s itinerary on autopilot. Flight, hotel, car. Wash, rinse, repeat.

When the itinerary papers spat out of the nearby printer, I had to leap up and throw myself bodily over the machine before some overeager gift card seeker shredded the printout. I collected the papers and headed for the elevator.

It whisked me skyward and delivered me to the decidedly more upscale executive floor: glass as far as the eye could see, all the way across to the massive windows overlooking downtown Miami and Biscayne Bay. My heels sank a little further into the plush carpet as I crossed the floor.

Mauricio was high enough on the Elozent food chain to merit an office on the executive floor, but not quite high enough to score a window office. He was a good twenty years younger than me, about the same age as my son. I rapped on the office door and opened it without waiting for permission. Here you go. I laid the papers on his desk.

Mauricio didn’t take his eyes off the computer screen. He rubbed his hands over his shaved head. Thanks, he said.

Well, I didn’t expect a ticker tape parade, but you could actually look up when you speak to me.

Mauricio’s lips quirked. He continued to stare at the screen. Come here for a second, will you?

I came around the desk and peered at the screen. He had his employee investment account up, similar to the retirement account I’d just been looking at.

Notice anything? He clicked around.

No.

Exactly.

So?

So, I can’t get my account to do anything.

Must be a glitch.

Have you been on yours?

Last I checked, it was working.

Did you try to do anything?

No, I haven’t broken my piggy bank yet, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you want me to call I.T.?

He frowned at the screen. Could you?

You got it. I patted his shoulder and moved back to the other side of the desk before turning around. Want anything else while I’m up here?

Cafecito, please. And one for you, if you like.

Executive-level perks, like freshly brewed Cuban coffees, were not to be missed. I stopped by the bar and ordered two.

The uniformed barista prepared them to go and slid them across the polished zinc bar top.

I knocked back my own