Exit Ticket

I am sitting at my desk turning the envelope I was given over and over in my hands. All it would take would be on flick of my wrist with a letter opener and I would know exactly what is inside. The only problem is, I’m not sure if I want to know what it says. I drop the envelope on my desk and stare at it for a few moments, contemplating what I want to do. Most people I know would have ripped it open by now, but I’m not most people. What is contained inside this off-colored envelope makes me shudder in fear.

“Chad, what are you doing?” Emma asks as she passes by my desk. Emma is my coworker in the next cubicle.

“Thinking.” I shrug picking it up one more time.

“What’s that?” She points to the envelope as she stands in the opening.

“Something I may or may not wish to see.” I answer in a sonorous tone

“Why are you being weird?” She shakes her head.

“One of my clients was weird.” I sigh, “And for what I was able to do for him, he gave me this.”

“Chad, you are freaking me out.” She draws back a step.

“I am all the way freaked out.” I tilt my head as I reach for my letter opener, but then close my desk draw as fear enters my head.

Do you want to know what’s in here? Are you wondering what the hell is so awful that I would need a clear head to contemplate what to do with this. Maybe I should start at the beginning. Good idea.

My name is Chadwick Parsons, and I am a financial consultant at a very prestigious firm. I have been at Riley and Huntington Investors for nine years now. Up until today, I was an eager go-getter with a stack of successful client outcomes. Some of my coworkers may tell you that I know how to bend the rules just enough while navigating beyond the boundaries of the law. I have a guy who is quite familiar with insider trading. Our partnership is what I would call bulletproof. Once the deal is set, it is irrevocable.

“Good day my kind sir.” A bearded gentleman stood before me at ten this morning. He wore a suit from another century that included a top hat that he held in his hands.

“Can I help you?” I looked up from my computer where Seth Holmes had just sent me a list of insider information on my computer.

“My card.” He flicked his wrist and laid a card in front of me.

“You are Tech Dunin?” I squinted at the off-set font. Again lettering from another century.

“Correct.” He smiled as he bowed his head.

“Are you one of my clients?” I raised an eyebrow.

“I am now.” He chuckled.

“Really?”

“I was sent by my boss to find out a few things that he was quite curious about.” He nodded.

“Like what?” I shrugged.

“You see, he is a very powerful man with lofty aspirations.” He straightened up a bit as he spoke, “I come from a place far, far away. My name is known in places you would not wish to visit.”

“Is that so? Have a seat and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you so much.” He nodded as he sat down in the chair next to my desk. “I understand you know secret information about the market.”

“Who told you that?” I tilted my head back.

“My boss was quite insistent that I come to you for advice.” He pursed his lips and leaned on a cane he had.

“Your boss knows who to come to.” I smiled devilishly.

“I dare say this is my first excursion into this world.” He swung his head 180 degrees to get a sweeping image of our busy financial nerve center.

Upon saying this, I looked over at him seated in the chair next to my desk. Perhaps it was his smile or just the way he spoke in a hushed voice that began to haunt me a bit. When he said that this was his first excursion into this world, I knew Tech was a bit off his rocker, but his mannerisms seemed ordinary. It was the way he spoke, his voice never rising about a harsh whisper or the glint in his dark eyes that told me I was not dealing with an ordinary client.

“So, what are you looking for Mr. Dunin?” I asked leaning toward him.

“My boss insists that we buy as much real estate as possible.” He pulled a thick billfold out of his coat pocket. “I have a substantial amount of capital.”

I had never seen so much money in such a confined space. All of that money now lay on my desk.

“Where did you get all this?” My eyes were opened wide as I ran my hand through the stack.

“Let’s just say, I have connections.” His evil smile returned to his face. “Will I need more?”

“For what?”

“Well at one time Peter Minuit bought Manhattan for about twenty Guilders and a handful of trinkets from the people living here at the time.” He shrugged, “I imagine it would be quite a bit more now.”

“I don’t know if we can handle this.” I felt as if I had the wind knocked out of me. “Who are you?”

“Seems as if we have already made introductions.” He shook his head in frustration. “Have we reached an impasse?”

“No, what I mean is who sent you?” I picked up a stack of thousand-dollar bills and let them fall out of my hand onto my desk, “Seems as if your boss is financially well endowed.”

“I don’t think you understand.” He tapped his cane on my desk. “We wish to buy Manhattan.”

“For what purpose?”

“I was made aware that you people value land.” He blink his eyes a few times.

“Yaessss, but why would you want to own it?” I shook my head. Nothing he said was making any sense to me.

“I was told that you were the man I needed to talk to in order to proceed with this transaction.” He was flustered. “Perhaps I should speak to someone else?”

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I told him as I dashed down the aisle to Alli Shommer, my boss’ office. I knocked on her door.

“Yes Chad, what do you need?” She did not look up at me from her laptop screen.

“I’ve got a client out there.” I pointed through the window, “His name is Tech Dunin, and he wants to buy Manhattan.”

“Did you tell him it’s quite expensive?” She did not even crack a smile, but she did fold her hands under her chin.

“He’s got a ton of money.” I explained.

“So, I don’t see what the problem is.” She shook her head.

“You can’t buy Manhattan.” I held my arms out.

“Chad, I cannot tell you how much revenue this would generate for Riley and Huntington. Lately our profit margin has been a bit meager. We could use a good shot in the arm.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, but what if this guy is with some criminal organization?”

“Who do you think help build this town?” She nodded as she continued to type on her laptop. “Don’t be so naïve, Chad. Money is what greases the palms of the powerful.”

“What if he’s in cohorts with the enemy. The bad guys.”

“Seriously? The man looks like my grandfather.” She chuckles as she glances out her window and sees Mr. Dunin sitting at my desk, “He looks harmless.”

“Looks aren’t everything.” I shook my head.

“Oh darling, you have never had to go to a manicurist, have you? Appearances are important, let me tell you.” She held her hand up to have a look for herself. “So, if you are the financial advisor I think you are, go out there and have him sign on the bottom line.”

With no other options left to me, I walked out of her office and went to sell my client Manhattan. When I got back to my desk, Mr. Dunin was on his cellphone, a very red cellphone. I sat down on my desk, but the stacks of money Mr. Dunin had put on my desk was gone. He put his cellphone back in his coat pocket and looked at me with eyes that seemed to burn through my soul.

“I’ve conversed with my boss; Mr. Parsons and he now feels that buying that much real estate at once might make people suspicious.” He lifted his chin, “So, we are thinking about other avenues.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there seems to be quite a nice house he fancies.” Mr. Dunin shrugged. “I have written down the address here.”

He put a slip of paper down on the corner of my desk. I picked up and in very neat handwriting was “1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“The White House?” I could not believe my eyes.

“Yes, we need to know what it would take to purchase that home.” He was serious. What I thought was a joke was nothing of the kind.

“It’s not for sale.” I could feel the perspiration begin to drip down my forehead.

“Nonsense. Not for sale. It seems everything in this blessed country has a price tag attached to it.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“This is an exception.” I shook my head.

“I am really quite surprised by your ‘can’t-do’ attitude.” He threw his arms up in the air.

“Is something wrong?” Alli rushed out of her office to see what all the commotion was about.

“I have come to your fine establishment to do business, but Mr. Parsons does not wish to do so.” He pointed at me.

“Chad, what is going on?” She whispered in my ear.

“He wants to buy the White House.” I whispered back.

“Alright, what price have you set?” She asked.

“It’s not for sale.” I shook my head.

“Everything is for sale, Chad.” She whispered in my ear as she smiled at Mr. Dunin. “Call them and ask.”

“Call who?”

“Whoever is in charge of it.” She gritted her teeth.

“The president?”

“No, he’s only there as a tenant.” She shook her head.

I just sat there with a stupid look on my face.

“I will have Chad check into that for you.” She laughed as she waltzed back to her office.

“That would very civil of you.” He smiled.

“Ahhh.” I sat there not sure of what to do next. Running a few inquires on Google, I found the phone number for the White House switchboard. I was shocked when someone picked up after I dialed the phone number as Mr. Dunin twiddled his thumbs as he sat in the chair.

“Hello.” Someone answered.

“Yes, my name is Chad Parsons, and I work at Riley and Huntington Financial Services.” I cleared my throat.

“What can I do for your Mr. Parsons?” A woman’s voice asked cheerfully.

“Yes, I was wondering if the White House is for sale. Is it on the market?”

“I beg your pardon.” She said in a not so friendly voice.

“I have a client who wanted to inquire if he could buy the White House.” I wiped the sweat dripping off my brow with my hand.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parsons, but I’m afraid the White House is not for sale.” Her voice was flat as if she was looking for someone to help her deal with the nut on the other end of the line.

“I shall tell him. Thank you.” I went to hang up the phone.

“I just want to tell you that we have your cell number and if you call back, I will have to notify the authorities.” Her voice was at the outer edge of her range as like someone who was on the verge of freaking out.

“I understand.” I pressed the red button on my cell phone. I turned to Mr. Dunin, “They are not selling the property.”

“You told them I had the funds.” He shook his head in despair.

“There are things money won’t buy. That was one of them, I’m afraid.” I nodded.

“That is not what I was told.” He appeared to be upset by the outcome.

“I have a question. Why are you in the market for real estate?”

“My boss needs an office.” He sighed.

“An office? For what?”

“He wants to out source his recruiting operations.” Mr. Dunin shrugged.

“Recruitment?”

“Yes, we have been through a dry patch recently.” He folded his hands between his knees. “We need to vamp up our membership.”

“What is his business?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not? Is it illegal or what?”

“Not in the strictest sense.” He held up his index finger.

“You’re not into kidnapping people are you?”

“I plead the fifth.” He smiled that evil smile yet again. He exhaled and put his hands on his knees, “In case you musty know, I work for Mephistopheles.”

“Mepha-who?”

“Mephistopheles. The devil if you may.” He turned his head away from me.

“Are you shitting me?” I blurted out.

“I shit you not.” He put his hand up and shook his head.

“You talking Satan?”

“Mephistopheles is in charge of recruitment and Satan sent him an email about our flagging membership.” He put his hand to his forehead.

“Satan has email?”

“Of course. It’s not always reliable, but…” He said with a note of regret. “It’s all we got.”

“Hey, I’ve got a haunted house on Long Island. Two story Dutch Colonial. Former owners, the Lunz’s left home after strange voices told them to leave.” I read the Google entry.

“Sounds delightful.” His mood had suddenly changed.

“It is listed as a tourist attraction, but I’m sure with what you have, you can swing the deal.” I nodded.

“This is wonderful.” He rubbed his hand together. “I’m sure my boss will be delighted as well. I was not so sure we could find a place, but you have made it all possible.”

“No hold on, you have to talk with the current title holders. I’m not sure who that is.” I warned him.

“It’s okay. I have ways to persuade whomever.” He actually winked.

I had a bad feeling that someone at Amityville was about to encounter Mr. Dunin. I hoped for a reasonable transaction. Something along the lines of an equitable real estate deal. Something that would not be on the front page of the Times. And if it did, hopefully my name would not be included in the article.

“Well, I guess I will be on my way.” Mr. Dunin stood up. With one final devilish smile, he vanished right in front of my eyes.

“Hey, where did your client go?” Allie came meandering down the aisle toward my desk.

“Oh, he had to disappear in a hurry.” I shrugged. She put a finger to her red glossy lips and rolled her eyes.

So, a week later, I get an envelope in my mail box. I open the manilla envelope, there is a handwritten note which read:

Dear Chadwick Parsons,

I was successful in my venture to that house you recommended. Mephistopheles was impressed by the ambiance and décor. At first they were reluctant to sell, but when we showed them the money, we signed a bill of sale. We have added a few of our own touches to give the place some of our homey touches.

I have included a sealed envelope which is my way of thanking you for all that you did for me while I was there. The enclosed note contains the date, time to the exact second of your demise. It is for you from me.

Sincerely yours,

Mr. Tech Dunin

Now you know what I hold in my hands. I do not know a single person who has the knowledge of the exact date and time of his or her death. As clearly stated in the rules, this information is not available to us mortals. I’ve read this rule somewhere in my life.

Should I open it and end my natural curiosity on this subject? It would be like plucking the apple off the Tree of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden. Once I have tasted the forbidden fruit, then what? I felt an empty hole in my chest.

What would you do?

Again I hold it up to the sunlight bursting through the windows of my cubicle, but the envelope is opaque, and I can’t see what is inside.

“Why don’t you open it?” Emma suggest as she has been watching me fumble with it for last ten minutes.

“I am struggling with this.” I admit.

“Open it. I would.” She smiles.

The moral dilemma is crushing me.

What if the date on the note is tomorrow?

What if the time comes while I am at work? There is nothing worse than dying in the office. There are a thousand voices in my head arguing about what I should do. Open it or discarding it. Whatever choice I make, I will be always be haunted by the mysterious Mr. Tech Dunin. As I think about my encounter with him, I realize there is just one solution.

My dilemma is solved once and for all, when I feed the unopened envelope into shredder. I watch as it with satisfaction, the hole in my chest disappears as I watch the envelope vanish.