Day at the Office.

“Thirty seventh floor please.” Dante commanded the elevator attendant.

Every time the bell chimed a floor was climbed. Yet, the higher they got the colder it chilled them.

“Do you think the heating is busted?” Dante asked wrapping himself up tighter in his coat.

“It started this morning. Right before my shift. We are having facilities look into it.” The attendant answered.

In between the sheets of decorated metal meet a tiny fraction of an opening remains. Through this crevice a gush of wind surged. Dante had taken his hat off before entering the lift. His neatly pomaded fade haircut descended into chaos.

“What the hell?” Dante struggling to hold his hat on his head.

“I apologize sir, facilities has been made aware. Please remain calm.” The attendant barked orders.

“Thirty seventh floor. White Ship Fruit Company.” The attendant was happy the trip up the tower was coming to an end.

Dante exited the elevator and could hear the sounds of the street from far below. He paced back into the lift. “I need you to stay here. Something doesn’t seem right.”

The attendant nodded yes.

Besides the ambiance of a city waking up, the office was blowing with fresh urban air. With a strong pull Dante ripped the glass doors apart. The window was open in the executive’s suite.

When he entered the room a fluster of paper swirled about the office. Behind the mahogany carved desk, a mess of broken glass distracts from where the window should have been. An arm of a dark leather high back chair lay on the ground.

“Christ!” Dante started collecting the loose papers and ran back to the elevator.

“Someone has died. The window is broken in the executive suite!” Dante panicked.

When they arrived at the lobby the commotion had reached ground floor first. A police barricade was hastily set up in the street. Firemen were rushing around.

In his grip was a frenzied collection of papers. Invoices, memos, sales orders, bribes, the usual run of the mill stuff save for a letter posted from Guatemala.

Dante understood that if this letter got out, the company would fold. He didn’t realize the impact these words could damn someone like Alfredo Nunez. When he saw Mr. Nunez draped under a body bag on that cold city sidewalk. He tucked the message into his breast pocket.

Dante answered the detectives questions and held his composure. He wanted to put the whole thing behind him. At least until he got home that evening. The clicks and clacks of the subway tracts were annoying him. His ride home was a battle of curiosity and fear.

The way which he discarded his every day carry items was no different. Same toss the way he always did. What was different is he reached for a lo ball glass and poured the whiskey strait. When that was done, he placed the envelope on the counter.

He sipped the whiskey three times. First swishing the oak liquid around then slurping it down. It was a lengthy process and burned like hell, but by the time the third gulp was finished the desired result was finished.

Dante set the glass far away from the paper, and opened the envelope. It was addressed to Alfredo Nunez, sent by Commandante Hector Vasquez.

“The rebels have seized the plantations. We can not fulfill our order obligations, unless more men are sent. Get the United States Government. Send troops now.”

Alfredo Nunez, through extortion and bribery, created himself a global monopoly on a new fruit. And so, he was the sole proprietor when it failed too.