The Miser | Teen Ink

The Miser

February 11, 2014
By GracieMay SILVER, Brownsville, Oregon
GracieMay SILVER, Brownsville, Oregon
9 articles 0 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.
Graham Greene

I focused the camera onto the man sitting at the computer “that’s him Ashlee,” I said tapping the screen.
“That’s the miser? He looks thirty five,” she said trying to get a better look.
“Yep that’s him, Corey Masterson former FBI agent, he’s your target.”
She scratched her head thoughtfully “what is he stealing?” she questioned more to herself then me.
“We don’t have a clue, that’s why we hired you, you’re going to sneak into his house and figure out what he’s been up to.”
“How do I do that?”
“We would of course provide the supplies, we’ll give you the details tonight, meet us here at nine,” I said walking over to the door and opening it for her.
She walked out thoughtfully “fine but I want double; I don’t know what I’m walking into here.”
“Deal we’ll discuss the details tonight,” She nodded then walked out. I wondered what she was thinking about, but I did know what she was walking into and it was close to death.
*** Ashlee***
I sauntered down the hall five minutes till six. I could feel the intensity of the compound as I walked into the office, all eyes transfixed on their soon-to-be spy. I sat down at the head of the table fixing my eyes on Brady, the one who had showed me the miser.
“I’m here, so start talking,” I said gruffly reaching into my jacket to pull out my notebook and pencil.
“You can get paid double Ashlee,” he said leaning back in his chair looking satisfied. I nodded knowing now that this was serious work.
“What about the supplies? Where is it?” I asked looking around the room.
“Miss Cohen the supplies are in the sterilization room with the rest of your former equipment,” he said leaning forward pointing to the door leading into the hall. I gave a swift nod and scribbled down my notes.
“When will I get my equipment Mr. Bronson?” I asked quickly glancing up from my notes, looking at the head of the company, Mr. Bronson.
“Tomorrow eight o’clock sharp.”
“Will breakfast be served sir?”
He gave me a serious look “No Miss Cohen, breakfast will not be served,” He then got up and left not bothering to adjourn the meeting.
I looked up from my notes astonished “Mr. Bronson when will we discuss the plans?”
“Tomorrow Miss Cohen, you are trying my patience with your humor today,” he said giving me a surly look and slamming the door behind him.
“Who spit in his cornflakes this morning?” I asked not believing he had slammed the door in my face.
“Obviously you, and he has sausage for breakfast,” said Brady trying to contain his laughter. I glared at Brady and got up.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, bye Brady,” I said walking out of the room.
“Wait Ashlee!” he called after me, I ignored his calls and kept walking, I have never worked with a man who calls me by my first name and the head of the company who slams doors in people’s faces. I was disgusted by his calls and tuned them out, they were obviously desperate, but wasn't trying to show it. I switched on the light of my small dinky apartment and yawned, I had dirty work ahead of me and I wasn’t excited for this mission, I was terrified.

I walked into the conference room at eight o’clock sharp and I could smell desperation lingering in the air from the night before.

“Ashlee, have a seat please,” said Mr. Bronson pointing to a seat across from him, a close distance away. I sat down trying to act nonchalant but the question flew out of my mouth before I could process the words.

“Where are my supplies, Mr. Bronson?” I said accusingly, shooting him daggers.

“Anxious today aren't we?” he said giving me a sly smile.

“I’d like to call it desperate,” I said trying not to lose my head.

“We are most certainly not desperate, Miss Cohen.” He said nervously looking at the sterilization room.

“Then answer me Mr. Branson, where are my supplies!?” I said getting up and knocking over my chair.

“Miss Cohen if you cannot control your anger, then you cannot work in my facility,” he said threatening me with his eyes.

“Oh please Mr. Branson, your way too desperate to fire me,’ I said mocking him as he sat down defeated.

“The supplies are in the back room, they we’re sanitized last night Miss Cohen, we have something very important to discuss, and it’s not about the supplies.” He said opening the door to the sanitation room.

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