Fic: How to Survive a Recession 4/5

[piecesof_reeses]

Of course, the general shittiness of the morning only means that the rest of the day is a fucking textbook case for Murphy’s Law.


Now, Brendon doesn’t like to judge people before he’s really gotten to know them, but something about Greenwald just rubs him wrong. And now the smug CEO is here, in their branch, for no apparent reason other than sheer sadism. Brendon can count the number of times he’s even seen Greenwald on one hand, and it’s always just been a glance in between meetings with Pete. But today, the guy seems intent on poking his nose into everyone’s business.


He’d arrived just after lunch break ended, practically rubbing his hands together and gleefully announcing that he was “here to see the miraculous changes their wonderful efficiency consultants have implemented.” He had used those words, too, “miraculous” and “wonderful.” It was enough to make even Carden look a little queasy.


Right now, he’s all up in Victoria’s face. He’s started patting her on the shoulder, and Brendon can tell by the stupid expression on his face that he’s stumbling through some prepared, meaningless words of “good work” and “keep it up.”


Brendon’s happy for Victoria when Greenwald finally turns away to focus his attention on someone else—she looks a little like one of those hunted refugees you see on TV—but when Greenwald’s gaze fastens onto him, Brendon blanches.


“Hey!” Greenwald says as he comes closer. It’s all too awkward, and smacks of the typical trying-to-be-cool gestures all bosses make. Which doesn’t even make sense, since Greenwald can’t be too much older than Brendon.


“Hi, Mr. Greenwald,” Brendon says back cheerfully. He quickly rearranges his face into a smile.


“Ben, right?”


Brendon chews on the inside of his cheek and decides not to correct him. He’s not entirely sure if he wants Greenwald knowing his name.


“So, Ben, how’s work been treating you?” Greenwald asks. “Pete riding you all hard?” He winks conspiratorially.


“Um. It’s been alright,” Brendon says.


“Great, great. Always a trooper, Ben, I know you,” Greenwald says, and Brendon tries not to wince. “And how about those efficiency consultants, eh? Don’t know where this company would be without them.”


“Sure,” Brendon says. And then, because he can’t help himself, “Were they highly recommended, then? Because they seem, um, a little…odd.”


“Oh, very highly recommended,” Greenwald says. “Did you know that they graduated from Columbia? I was on the waiting list for that college, you know, all those years ago,” he adds quickly.


“Oh. Well, as long as they’re from a good college,” Brendon says drolly.


“That’s what I always say, Ben,” Greenwald says sincerely.


Brendon just stands there. Awkwardly. He doesn’t think he really needs to say anything, because it seems like Greenwald is perfectly fine with carrying on a conversation by himself.


Until Ryan comes up behind him, that is, and starts talking to him about nothing in particular.


“Ryan Ross!” Greenwald says, with what looks like genuine enthusiasm.


“Alex Greenwald,” Ryan returns in his usual monotone.


“God, how are you?” Greenwald says. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”


“You haven’t,” Ryan says mildly. “And, you know. I’ve been working here. I’ve been working here for the past three years.”


“…Right,” Greenwald says after a slight pause, as if trying to gauge if there was any accusation in Ryan’s tone. Brendon almost tells him not to bother, because it’s almost impossible to read Ryan’s monotones unless you’ve known him for quite some time.


Ryan shrugs a thin shoulder.


“You know what we should do?” Greenwald says suddenly. “We need to go out! For drinks, or something, for old times’ sake. Remember all those late nights back in UNLV?”


“And the hangovers that followed?” Ryan says, but his lips are quirking upwards, and now Brendon knows he’s just trying to be difficult, because Ryan won’t pass up any chance for a night out on town and the prospect of a good time.


“Oh, come on,” Greenwald says. “Don’t pussy out on me now, Ross.”


“Sure, I guess,” Ryan says. Then he grins. “You’re paying though, Mr. Bigshot CEO.”


Brendon isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees some kind of weird flicker in Greenwald’s expression before he quickly grins back and playfully slugs Ryan on the arm.


“How does tonight work for you?” Greenwald asks.


“I’m busy,” Ryan says simply. “But the day after tomorrow’s fine.”


“Fantastic.” Greenwald beams in a really disconcertingly bright manner at Ryan.


Then Spencer walks past, dispelling the moment, and Brendon quickly grabs the corner of his sleeve before he gets too far away.


“How are things going, dude?” Brendon asks casually. Asking friends how their day is going is normal, right? Well, whatever. Brendon’s tired of overthinking this shit.


Spencer shrugs a little, and smiles. “They’re okay. Same as usual.”


“Spencer, right?” Greenwald cuts in. Then, bluntly, “The receptionist?”


Spencer nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s me. It’s great to see you, Mr. Greenwald.”


“Yeah, yeah, likewise,” Greenwald says, waving the question away. “Work been going good for you? Pete treating you well?”


“Sure, work’s going well,” Spencer says. “I’ve been, um, putting some extra hours in, because the finances seem to be really disorganized for some reason.”


“You don’t say,” Greenwald says, looking concerned.


“Yeah, um, I’ve actually been digging through some past records to try to make everything line up again,” Spencer says. “It’s all right, though. I mean, I don’t mind it.”


Greenwald’s frowning, though. “I didn’t realize you had the security clearance for that kind of stuff. I mean.” Greenwald pauses uncomfortably. “You’re the receptionist.”


Spencer’s jaw tightens a little bit, but Brendon doesn’t think anyone who wasn’t studying him closely would have noticed. “Security clearance? Well, Pete trusts me,” he says, jutting his chin out almost imperceptibly.


Greenwald seems to realize that he’s been kind of rude, and quickly backtracks. “Of course, of course. And I have complete faith in you as well, Spencer, but I just don’t feel like disorganized finances are something you should be handling. Every last dollar is so important, especially in this economy, and we can’t afford to make any financial mistakes. Tell you what,” he says, clapping Spencer on the shoulder, “I’ll refer you to the company accountant, and you can tell him what’s going on, and he’ll have it fixed in a jiffy, all right?”


Spencer blinks. “Sure. I mean, it’s no problem, but…okay.”


“Great.” Greenwald taps his finger on his leg rapidly, suddenly restless, and turns away. “I’ll see you all later!” he calls out, and then he walks in the direction of the Design hall without looking back.


“So,” Brendon says in the silence that follows, “you used to know him, Ryan?”


“Oh, yeah.” Ryan furrows his brow. “We were pretty close, actually. But, I don’t know. I guess we kind of lost touch after college, and that was that. It’ll be good to catch up, definitely.”


“Hm,” Spencer says noncommittally, and Brendon shoots him a sympathetic look.


Ryan smiles, though, and says, “Yeah, Spencer, he’s always been kind of an ass.”


“I didn’t say anything,” Spencer protests.


“You didn’t need to,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes.


“I never liked him,” Brendon says, and then colors when Ryan smirks at him and Spencer smiles.


“You want some coffee, Spencer?” Brendon asks suddenly. “I can go out for a coffee run.”


“That sounds good,” Spencer says. “Thanks.”


“Yeah, no problem,” Brendon says cheerfully. “It’s a hard life, being your caffeine dealer, but I’ll make it through.”


“You sure?” Spencer asks, smirking. “You don’t need anything? Shoulder massage, maybe?” he teases, and Brendon has to step away, because it feels like Spencer’s flirting, and Brendon—Brendon really doesn’t know how to deal with that.


So he doesn’t.


“Bye, guys,” he says. “Ryan, you want your usual?”


“Yeah,” Ryan says without inflection, but Brendon can still hear the You Loser layered under the careful mask of monotone, and he resents that, okay? He resents that.


* * *


There’s a huge line at Starbucks, and by the time Brendon gets back, it’s more than half an hour later. He quickly walks over to Spencer’s desk to give him his caramel macchiato, having already dropped off Ryan’s drink in his unoccupied cubicle.


Ryan not being in his cubicle isn’t all that unusual, but as Brendon approaches Spencer’s desk, he can see that Spencer’s not there, either, which is a little weirder because Spencer is absolutely anal about taking breaks during work hours. Which is to say—he doesn’t do it.


But sometimes, even Spencer Smith has to give into the call of nature, so Brendon reasons that Spencer’s probably in the men’s. It’s not until that he gets closer, though, that he realizes that the desk is occupied by some unfamiliar young kid who’s typing away rapidly at the keyboard.


Brendon frowns. “Hey,” he says, walking up.


The kid doesn’t respond.


“Dude,” Brendon says louder. “What are you doing? This is Spencer Smith’s desk, man. The receptionist. Are you lost?”


Finally, the kid looks up slowly, sighing. “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he drawls. “I’m just doing a periodic check for viruses and other miscellaneous shit. Apparently this computer hasn’t been checked recently.”


“Oh,” Brendon says, blinking. “Um, okay. Do you know where Spencer is, then? I gotta give him this.” He holds up the coffee.


The kid smirks. “He your boyfriend, or something?”


“What?” Brendon asks, too fast. He scowls. “No. And wow, it’s none of your business.”


“Whatever,” the kid replies, losing interest. “I think he went that way.” He points vaguely in the direction of the Marketing wing.


“Thanks,” Brendon mutters insincerely, before walking off.


Ryan and Spencer are clustered around Jon’s desk in the corner, just out of sight from where Brendon had come in.


“Hey, guys,” Brendon says, and he hands Spencer his macchiato.


“Where’s mine?” Ryan says. “Just because I don’t have pretty blue eyes doesn’t mean you can skip getting me coffee, you know.”


Brendon aims a kick at Ryan’s shin. “It’s in your cubicle, loser.”


“Is that kid done with the check?” Spencer asks, frowning. “He’s been on there a while.”


“Not yet,” Brendon says. “I’m sure it’ll be soon, though. I talked to him a bit, and he said that this was just a periodic check for viruses and shit. Apparently your computer hadn’t been scanned recently? I don’t know.”


Spencer furrows his brow. “I could have sworn it was checked just a month ago, along with everyone else’s.”


Brendon shrugs at him. “You know how it is, dude. Everything’s so disorganized. They probably did scan it, and just forgot to record it.”


Jon nods. “Did I ever tell you guys, I had to go to orientation three times because they kept forgetting to write my name down?”


“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs. “You guys are right. I’ll go back and see if he’s done yet,” he says.


“I’ll come with you,” Brendon quickly volunteers. “I’ve got nothing to do here, anyway.”


Jon smiles at him and Ryan smirks. Brendon pretends not to notice either of them.


“So,” Brendon says as they start walking. “How’s that extra shot of espresso working out for you?”


“Pretty good, actually,” Spencer admits. “I can actually keep my eyes open after five now, which is definitely a milestone.”


“Better watch out,” Brendon advises. “Soon you’ll be just like the Way brothers.”


Spencer levels a look at him. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m ninety percent sure that half their blood content is pure caffeine.”


“And the other half is nicotine, right?” Brendon says cheerfully, and grins when Spencer rolls his eyes and smiles.


The kid’s disappeared by the time they reach his desk, and Spencer heaves an audible breath before sitting down.


“Thank god he’s gone,” Spencer says, wrinkling his nose. “He’s probably messed up everything on here. My folders are organized with an actual system, not just thrown haphazardly together.”


“Your organization skills are very sexy,” Brendon agrees, smiling fondly, before he realizes what he just said and freezes. Way too soon to be making sex jokes. Or, really, saying anything with the word “sex” in it.


But Spencer doesn’t seem to notice, smirking and tossing off a casual “You know it.”


Then he frowns suddenly, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard.


Brendon raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”


“I don’t…” Spencer trails off and types something in again. And again. And again.


“What is it?” Brendon asks.


“I can’t get in,” Spencer says. “I think my security clearance has been reset.”


“Incompetence,” Brendon says, sighing dramatically and nudging Spencer’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go whine to Pete about it. I’m sure he can get you cleared again in five seconds.”


“Yeah,” Spencer says, face clearing.


They walk down to Pete’s office in a companionable silence, Brendon making sure to stay beside Spencer so he doesn’t have the temptation of staring at Spencer’s hips.


When they get there, though, Pete’s shaking his head, looking regretful.


“Sorry, man,” he says.


“What?” Spencer says, hand coming up to tug at his collar in a nervous gesture.


“We can’t have you looking through the financial records anymore,” Pete explains. “Something about the efficiency consultants and information security? I don’t know, it’s stupid and has to do with protocol, which means that I stopped listening after the first minute.” He offers them a grin, a bright one, but Brendon can’t help but think that it looks strangely fake and uncomfortable.


“Oh,” Spencer says after a few moments. “Well. Okay, then. I mean, you looked into what I said about the disorganization of the records, right? Someone should probably clean that up.”


“I’m on it,” Pete says. “Don’t worry about anything, man.”


“Okay,” Spencer says again, sounding stilted. “Right.”


“Bye,” Pete says, and he waves.


“Bye,” Brendon answers automatically. He turns to look at Spencer as they walk back, slowly. “That was weird, yeah?” he says.


“I don’t know,” Spencer says, biting his lip. “I mean, I am just the receptionist.”


And after that, Brendon just has to put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, just for a little bit. Which is a totally normal, friends-type of thing to do. It is. Really.


* * *


It’s 9:15 AM on Tuesday morning, and Spencer’s not at his desk. He’s not in the closed break room, either, or in Ryan’s cubicle (which is empty of even Ryan), or by Jon and Joe’s corner, or in the men’s room.


Brendon knows, because he checked. Twice. And it’s getting a little weird, because while it’s normal for Ryan to be a little late in the mornings, Spencer is always excruciatingly punctual. Sometimes he’s even early. But it’s now 9:20 AM, and there’s no sign of Spencer, and so, yeah, okay, sure, maybe Brendon’s freaking out a little bit.


Because he has good reason to be, seriously. Spencer wouldn’t be late to work even if lay-offs weren’t going on. Which means that there’s a damn good cause for Spencer to not be here right now. He might be sick, Brendon thinks rationally. (Or lying dead in a ditch after a hit-and-run, the not-so-rational part of his mind pipes up).


The front doors open behind Brendon, and he quickly turns around, raising the caramel macchiato to greet Spencer, but—


It’s not Spencer.


“Ryan?” Brendon gapes. This is bad. This is really bad, if Ryan is at work before Spencer.


“Hey,” Ryan says, looking tired.


“Do you—“ Brendon begins, but then Ryan holds up a hand.


“I know what you’re going to say,” Ryan says, and Brendon waits for it, but Ryan never makes the requisite telepathy joke, just sits down heavily in his chair, which is when Brendon really starts freaking out.


“What’s wrong?” Brendon asks immediately, trying not to jump to conclusions.


“Spencer got fired,” Ryan says flatly, staring at the ground. “Got a call this morning about it.”


“Wait,” Brendon says slowly. “Fired? You mean…Not laid-off, but fired?”


“That’s what I said,” Ryan says.


“Why?”


Ryan swallows, shakes his head. “I don’t know.”


“They must have told him something,” Brendon insists, waving a wild hand in the air.


“They told him there was inappropriate material found on his computer yesterday,” Ryan says in a monotone. “During the check.”


“Inappropriate material?” Brendon repeats. “No way. Spencer would never have anything inappropriate on his computer.”


“You’re right, he wouldn’t,” Ryan says. “But…” He closes his eyes and touches his fingers to his left temple, gently.


“What?” Brendon asks, worried. “Are you okay?”


“Remember those times when I changed Spencer’s desktop?” Ryan says quietly.


Brendon sucks in a breath. Shit. All those technicolor collages of sweaty bodies and erect dicks—Jesus Christ.


“Damn,” Brendon says for lack of anything better to add.


Ryan clenches his jaw. “Yeah.”


“But wait,” Brendon says, suddenly thinking of something. “That can’t be it.”


“What do you mean?” Ryan asks. He’s frowning, but Brendon can tell he’s relieved, desperate to clutch onto anything saying that he’s not the reason his best friend got fired.


“Gabe,” Brendon explains succinctly. It’s really all he has to say. Gabe is pretty much a porn connoisseur, with pictures and gifs and videos of all kinds of sex saved daringly onto his work computer. Not to mention that time he used the wrong flashdrive for an interdepartmental meeting. But yeah, no. If anyone was going to get fired for porn on their computers, it would have been Gabe.


Ryan relaxes for a moment, but then frowns again. “Maybe it’s a new crackdown. They haven’t checked Gabe’s computer since before William and Carden came. Maybe that’s why.”


“Maybe,” Brendon says doubtfully.


“I mean, what else could it be?” Ryan says.


* * *


“What else could it be?” Cash repeats incredulously. It’s lunchtime now, and the news of Spencer’s firing has been around the building at least twice.


“Well, yeah,” Brendon says. “What else could it be if it wasn’t the porn backdrops?”


“Haven’t you heard what everyone’s been saying?” Cash says.


“What have they been saying?” Brendon asks suspiciously.


Cash sighs, and checks behind himself before leaning in. “They’ve been saying some bad shit, dude.”


“Like what?”


“Okay. You didn’t hear this from me, but I heard from Ian who heard from Ray who heard from Frank who heard from Ryland who heard from Katie who heard from one of the interns upstairs that, well, there was some evidence of, uh, criminal wrongdoing on Spencer’s computer.”


“What?” Brendon yelps, and okay, maybe that came out a little more shrill than he intended. “What?” he says again in a slightly calmer tone.


Cash shrugs. “Something to do with fudging the financial records.”


“Oh my god,” Brendon says. “The E word?”


“The E word,” Cash confirms.


* * *


“Embezzlement?” Ryan almost yells. Brendon quickly shushes him, looking around furtively.


“That’s what Cash said,” Brendon says.


“That’s complete—“ Ryan’s mouth works silently for a moment. “That’s bullshit. Blasphemy. Who in their right minds would believe that crap?”


“Apparently, half the building,” Brendon says grimly.


“Fuck,” Ryan swears.


“It’s okay,” Brendon tries to say reassuringly. “I mean, it can’t be anything too big. And I doubt they have any hard evidence, probably just a hunch, otherwise they would have arrested Spencer instead of firing him.”


“That doesn’t matter,” Ryan says dismissively. “It doesn’t matter if they have hard evidence or not. Rumors like this travel like wildfire, Brendon. This kind of word spreads through all the major business circles. Spencer’s never finding another receptionist job again, at least not a well-paying one.”


“It can’t be that bad,” Brendon says desperately.


“You want to bet?”


“But—but he’s innocent! That’s got to count for something,” Brendon says, pulling agitatedly at his hair.


“The company’s got to have some scapegoat.” Ryan’s lips are pressed in a thin line.


“But Spencer isn’t it,” Brendon says loudly, as if the extra volume will make his statement truer.


At his words, Ryan suddenly sits up straighter, face smoothing out. “You’re right.”


“Of course I’m right! Spencer isn’t the embezzler.”


“He isn’t,” Ryan agrees. “So we’re going to have to give the company another one.”


“Um. What?” Brendon says.


“We’re just going to have to find out who did this ourselves,” Ryan says.


Brendon blinks. “Us?” he says weakly, feeling a few steps behind the conversation.


“Who else is going to do it?” Ryan says, and Brendon has to concede the point. Still. They’re talking about finding the culprit to an embezzlement here, not some lost puppy.


“Look, this is what we’ll do,” Ryan says bossily. “I’m taking drinks with Alex tomorrow, yeah, and I’ll try to pump him for information. See what exactly we’re working with in terms of the embezzlement, here.”


“And make sure that we’re actually on the right track,” Brendon adds, and then grimaces when Ryan raises an eyebrow at him. “Dude, we don’t even know for sure that there is stealing involved. Just that everyone seems to think there is, and that the company’s income isn’t adding up. That’s all we know, Ryan. If there actually isn’t any embezzler, we can’t frame some innocent person for disorganized records.”


Ryan’s gaze slides away from him, and Brendon grits his teeth.


“I’m serious. We’re not bringing some poor idiot into this mess. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”


“I wouldn’t do anything stupid,” Ryan huffs, which really is hilarious, because Brendon’s been in mortal danger maybe three times in his life, and they’re all because of Ryan. Ryan is not so great with the impulse control, especially when it involves his friends.


* * *


Pete bursts into the Marketing room for the second time that week, but this time, he doesn’t look as angry. Instead, he looks almost…triumphant.


“Where’s Carden?” he demands.


“Not here,” Jon says, rolling away from his computer. “Why do you need him?”


The triumphant smirk on his face grows. “I just need to, uh, do something.”


“And that something you need to do wouldn’t be something stupid, would it?” Joe asks, looking worried. (Joe had wandered back into the building that afternoon, apparently under the guise of “finding his red stapler,” but he’s really just been hanging out.)


“I don’t do stupid things,” Pete says, waving Joe off but not directly answering the question, Brendon notices. “Now, where the fuck is that jackass?”


“You called?” Carden says smoothly, walking in.


“Yeah, I did,” Pete says, turning around and favoring him with a toothy smile.


Carden’s own smile falters in the face of Pete’s weird cheerfulness, and when Pete brandishes some crumpled up papers in his hand at him, he practically turns white.


“Yeah, that’s right,” Pete says, walking closer and smiling even wider. “I got you, motherfucker.”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carden says, but his smile has by now completely disappeared in favor of a determinedly straight mouth.


“Really?” Pete says. “You don’t? Well, okay, that’s fine. Let me just tell you a little story, then, to help jog your memory.”


A muscle in Carden’s jaw works.


“I always thought you guys were kind of off,” Pete continues. “Just a little weird, you know? I figured it was just your profession; I mean, no one actually sets off to be a fucking efficiency consultant without being a little touched in the head, right? But some of your methods are definitely not normal, and that’s what got me thinking.” “Got you thinking?” Carden says. “That’s what our methods designed to do. And anyway, I’d think you would be thanking us on bended knee for somehow getting your brain to work.”


And that’s when Brendon knows that Pete has definitely got Carden cornered, because Carden’s losing his cool.


Pete doesn’t react to Carden’s slur, though, just keeps smiling. “Yeah, so I decided to check your credentials. You faxed them to Greenwald, yeah? And then he photocopied them for me. And I kept thinking to myself, wow, that Xerox machine seriously needs to be cleaned, because there are a ton of weird dark spots on your college diplomas.”


“All the machines here are seriously outdated and in need of a good clean,” Carden says, talking a little too quickly. “I really don’t see how that’s relevant at all.”


“You don’t? Really?” Pete says. “Because I placed a few calls to Columbia University this morning, you might be interested in knowing. And, well, the good people there told me some really weird things, Carden. Really strange stuff they were spouting.”


Carden has gone completely silent, not even trying to refute parts of Pete’s story anymore. He just stands there, staring straight ahead at a spot over Pete’s left shoulder.


“They told me,” Pete says, speaking slower and more clearly, “that they had no graduates by the names of Michael Carden and William Beckett. They did have records of one William Beckett studying there, though, but he dropped out his sophomore year. Michael Carden, on the other hand, never went to Columbia at all.”


Carden’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.


“So, Carden,” Pete says conversationally, “got anything to say for yourself?”


Carden’s silent.


“You know, I think I like you better now that I know you’re a con man, and not an efficiency consultant. Because I have got to say, dude, you are one shitty efficiency consultant.”


“Wait,” Joe says, frowning. “You guys are frauds?”


“Um, yeah,” Carden draws out, mouth curling into a slight sneer.


“So is that why William was mumbling all the time?” Joe asks. “Because it always really bothered me, that all he did was slur his words until you couldn’t even tell what he was saying anymore. I thought maybe it was just all the pot I was smoking, but even after I went cold turkey, I kept hearing it. It was like one of those freaky dreams, you know, where everyone around you is speaking in weird, muffled voices and you have no idea what’s going on. Or like that teacher on Peanuts.”


Pete blinks. Then he says, “That is actually a really fitting analogy, dude.”


“Oh, yeah,” Joe says, and they exchange an air high-five across the room.


“So?” Jon addresses Carden.


“Bill talks fine,” Carden snaps, running a tense hand through his hair. “It’s not his fault if he gets a little nervous when talking in front of groups.”


“That’s nice,” Pete says. “But, you know, I’m going to phone the police now, and we’ll see what they have to say about this gigantic fucking mess.”


Carden stares at Pete for one long moment, jaw set, before bolting. He sprints out the front door and into the parking lot so quickly that Brendon barely has time to blink before the tires of his Toyota are screeching on the asphalt on his way out, and he’s gone. Forever, Brendon hopes. He’s had quite enough of those dark soulless eyes following him around all the time.


Pete rolls his eyes and heads to his office to call the police, but Ryan quickly grabs his arm and hauls him after Pete, speedwalking to catch up.


What? Brendon mouths at Ryan, but Ryan seems to have forgotten he isn’t Spencer, because he just moves his eyebrows at him in a very complicated pattern, and Spencer’s the only one who can understand Ryan’s (apparently very eloquent) eyebrows. Brendon mouths What? again, but Ryan’s stopped looking at him.


“Pete?” Ryan says, tapping his shoulder.


“What?” Pete turns around. “Ryan? What is it?”


“Brendon and I were wondering,” Ryan begins, “how you were going to get back all the money that Carden and Beckett stole from the company.”


And Brendon gets it now. He doesn’t know why he didn’t make the connection earlier, but that definitely makes sense, Carden and Beckett being the ones who stole the money that Spencer’s currently being framed for. It’s actually kind of ingenious, disguising yourself as an efficiency consultant and thus gaining access to practically everything, including the financial records. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief.


But Pete just blinks. “Stole? I mean, we’re definitely going to get a refund of what we paid for their stupid services.”


Ryan blinks back at him. “What about the money they actually stole?”


“Dude, what are you talking about?” Pete asks.


Ryan’s frowning now, and he’s biting his bottom lip worriedly. “What are you talking about? Spencer’s been saying stuff about how things in the company billing weren’t adding up.And everyone in the office seems ot think that someone’s embezzling from the company. So…”


Pete smiles bemusedly. “No one’s embezzling money from the company, Ryan, so you guys can relax. Why would you even—whatever. Don’t worry about it, okay? Our finances have always been kind of disorganized.”


“Um. Okay,” Ryan says slowly. “But then why was Spencer fired?”


“For inappropriate material,” Pete says breezily. “Um, I don’t really know the specifics; the order didn’t come from me.”


“Then who did it come from?” Brendon asks, stepping up.


“That’s really none of your business. Just someone up top,” Pete says, starting to frown. “I know I run a pretty loose ship around here, but we still have to keep some boundaries.”


“Okay,” Brendon says, reluctantly.


“Yeah. And, look,” Pete says, lowering his voice, “can you guys do me a favor? Just tell everyone who seems to be convinced there’s been an embezzlement that nothing is going on. The last thing I need right now is twenty odd suspicious employees trying to hack into our security system to see our financial records for themselves.”


Brendon frowns, narrowing his eyes. He looks toward Ryan to see his reaction—Pete basically just told them to go forth and stamp out everyone’s suspicions—but Ryan’s already nodding.


“Sure,” Ryan says after a brief pause.


“Cool beans,” Pete says, all smiles again. “Now let me just go phone the police and tell Greenwald the news. Fuck, he’s going to be pissed,” Pete says gleefully.


Ryan and Brendon exchange a glance after Pete disappears into his office, closing the door behind him.


“Well,” Brendon says, breaking the silence. “That was weird.”


“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Can’t believe Pete didn’t know about the embezzlement.”


“Me neither,” Brendon says, meaningfully, and starts walking away from Pete’s office. He doesn’t think he wants to have this conversation with Pete three feet away.


“What do you mean?” Ryan asks, narrowing his eyes.


“Look,” Brendon says when they’re in a corner a respectable distance away, “do you really think there could be embezzlement going on without Pete knowing?”


“So maybe it’s not happening. Maybe the whole office was jumping to conclusions,” Ryan says, but he looks uncertain.


“Not happening?” Brendon asks, incredulous. “Did you even hear Pete just now? He specifically asked you to tell other people not to worry about an embezzlement. Specifically asked you to say that. Does that not seem weird to you?”


“He just wants to keep everyone calm and, you know, organized!” Ryan defends. “It’s definitely understandable, especially after what happened with Carden and Beckett.”


Brendon’s shaking his head. “I still think it’s really fucking weird, dude.”


“Okay, fine,” Ryan says. “But maybe he just didn’t want us accidentally warning the culprit that they were onto him!” he continues desperately.


Brendon shrugs a shoulder, looking at Ryan.


“Look, it wasn’t Pete, okay?” Ryan says angrily. “Pete wouldn’t do something like that. I’m positive.”


“You’re not positive,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve always fucking hero-worshipped him; you probably wouldn’t even hate him if he ended up being some kind of cannibal who ate babies for breakfast.”


“He’s not a cannibal,” Ryan hisses. “And also, I do not hero-worship him. I just respect him, okay? And I trust him. There’s a fucking difference between that and blind adoration.”


“Whatever,” Brendon says, suddenly tired. “I like him, too; you know that. He’s a great guy. But I still think he’s a possibility, Ryan. You can’t just rule him out because of how you feel.”


“There are other way more suspicious candidates!” Ryan insists.


“Like who?” Brendon asks. “Who else has the necessary security clearance to do all of this? I mean, if Pete didn’t do it, then who else?”


“Anyone!” Ryan says, throwing up his hands. “Look, maybe Pete hasn’t realized anyone’s been embezzling because he hasn’t been looking for it, because he doesn’t think there’s an embezzlement going on.”


“Pete is not that thick, Ryan,” Brendon sighs.


“It’s possible, okay? And we haven’t even thought about any of the branch managers. They all have security clearance. Even Alex is a suspect at this point! Whatever. I’m going drinking with Alex tomorrow night, and I’m going to get more information, and then we can start pointing fingers. All right?” Ryan says, crossing his arms.


“Fine,” Brendon says, and then, in a lower voice, “Speak of the devil,” as Greenwald comes striding in through the front doors and breezes past them.


They look at each other, and then follow him, as Pete comes out of his office and tags along, too.


“I can’t believe this happened,” Greenwald is fuming to Pete, waving his hands around as he walks quickly. “I’m gonna get those motherfuckers; make sure they never scam anyone else again. I should have seen this coming. They always seemed a little weird to me; I told you that, Pete.”


“Sure,” Pete says noncommittally, and then raises his eyebrows at Greenwald’s back when he turns the corner.


“Call a meeting,” Greenwald says, and then proceeds to go through all the different departments, calling out at full volume that there’s a meeting in five minutes.


When everyone’s assembled, Greenwald walks to the front of the room and begins pacing.


“Guys, I am so sorry,” he begins. “There has been a gigantic breach of trust today, and I don’t know how to begin fixing that. But I will reverse every single one of those frauds’ dictates; every single one of them. Everyone who’s been laid-off—you guys are rehired. We are going to erase every last mark those slimy con men left on this great company, don’t worry.”


People are starting to clap, and Brendon joins in, sharing a relieved smile with Ryan. Jon’s on the other side of them, grinning too and clapping madly.


Greenwald quickly wraps up the meeting, dismissing them all and then walking rapidly out of the building.


As they walk back to their cubicles, Jon comes over, frowning.


“Hey, guys,” he says, looking at them worriedly. “Where have you been? You disappeared for, like, hours,” he says with a sad lisp.


“JWalk,” Brendon says, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder, “we have got a lot to tell you.”


* * *


Jon listens quietly to everything they say, and it takes quite a while, but at the end, he’s silent.


“What?” Ryan says, a touch defensively.


Jon makes a scrunchy face, and Ryan’s frown deepens.


“What, dude?” he demands.


“I just. I don’t know,” Jon says, biting his lip. “I mean, seriously, guys, you aren’t even positive if any embezzling is actually going on.”


“We think it’s really likely,” Ryan says seriously.


“Yeah. Like, Spencer’s been talking about how disorganized the finances are for a while now,” Brendon adds. “And everyone else in the office thinks it’s going on.”


“I know,” Jon says. “But I also…” He sighs, and trails off.


“What?” Brendon says.


“It’s really convenient, isn’t it?” Jon says slowly. “I think…I think maybe you guys are grasping onto this because it means there’s a reason the company’s going down.”


He pauses and looks at them, and then continues when they don’t say anything. “I mean, if someone’s embezzling money, that means that Island Electronics isn’t actually doing as badly as it seems to be. It means that if we solve this, we could get back on our feet, and the company might even survive the recession.”


“I guess,” Jon says awkwardly after another, longer pause, “it’s just something that would be nice to believe in, you know? To believe that there is a bad guy. There is someone to blame, instead of it just being a gigantic economic fuck-up that’s out of our control.”


Ryan’s silent, and Brendon chews on his thumbnail. He hadn’t even thought about it like that, but Jon’s making sense. Jon always makes sense. It would be nice, wouldn’t it, if they could catch the embezzler and get money back, maybe even enough money to really help the company.


He hadn’t realized, but ever since they’ve been talking about embezzlement and crime and a culprit, Brendon’s lost that roiling feeling of inevitability. He’d felt frightened, yeah, and worried, and kind of pissed, but also, he felt empowered. Like he could do something to help.


Ryan’s opening his mouth, though, and he says, with a firm set to his mouth, “I still think there might be something going on.”


“There might be,” Jon says agreeably. “How about this: we wait until tomorrow evening, when you take drinks with Greenwald, and we see whether he suspects that there is an embezzlement going on or not, and try to pry some more information about the financial records out of him. Then we can decide what to do next.”


“Yeah,” Brendon says, nodding and feeling a little better. “That sounds good.”


“Okay,” Ryan says. “Until tomorrow, then.”


* * *


The second Brendon even steps foot into the building the next morning, Pete’s herding them all back into the conference room for yet another meeting.


His face is set, and he has a determined, resolute sort of expression on. Brendon quickly files in behind him, exchanging a quick nod with Ryan and Jon.


There’s Patrick in the corner, along with Joe and Andy, and Victoria’s leaning on the wall nearby. Frank and Gerard are standing, heads bent together, at the other end of the room.


Then Pete starts talking, and Brendon focuses on that, focuses on Pete’s worn face and his slow, halting words.


“So. I’m sure you’ve all heard the news,” he begins, and there’s a murmur of assent. “Right. Um. You’ve all been rehired; the efficiency consultants’ decisions—or, well, I suppose they weren’t really efficiency consultants—but, yeah, their decisions have been reversed completely. The thing is, um…”


Pete clears his throat awkwardly, and licks his lips. “I think a lot of you have already come to this conclusion, actually,” he says. “The company’s not recovering, guys. In fact, it’s actually doing worse. It’s going down, really quickly, I think.”


Pete stops, then, and stares at the ground for a moment before continuing. “I don’t,” he says, and then laughs slightly, a huff of air. “I’m not actually supposed to tell you guys any of this; some bullshit about employee panic and resulting chaos, but…you guys deserve to know. Things aren’t going to get better, unless some kind of miracle happens. So. This is your cue to start searching for other work. I’m going to keep you all on the payroll for as long as I can, but that’s not going to be too much longer.”


The room has gone completely silent, people focusing all their attention on Pete, eyes clinging to him, faces turned to him, as though still waiting for him to fix this. Fix all of it.


But Pete just spread his hands helplessly, mouth in a thin, straight line. “That’s all I can do.” And then, quickly and without inflection, “I’m sorry.”


Something about Pete’s lack of inflection nags at Brendon. He’s been manager here for as long as Brendon can remember, so shouldn’t he be a little more emotional about all of this? But then again, Pete’s always been kind of reserved when it comes to showing his true emotions in public. Brendon sighs and gnaws at the corner of his lip. He doesn’t know what to think anymore.


There’s another moment of complete silence before a clatter of noise, people getting up and talking all at once and leaning on each other, unselfconscious in their vulnerability because it’s over, now. It’s all over. No more competition, no more survey, no more fucking jobs. They’re all in the same boat, now, and it’s like the past few days have been completely erased.


Ryan’s the first out of all of them to worm his way out of the conference room, and he’s already standing by Brendon’s cubicle, tapping his foot, when Brendon manages to squeeze his way out of the crowd.


Before Brendon can even open his mouth to say anything, Ryan cuts in.


“We have to do something about this. This is insane,” he says flatly.


Brendon’s stomach drops at the confirmation, even though at the same time something in his ribcage loosens, relaxes. He feels relieved, somehow, even though they’re all pretty much still fucked unless they find a way to solve this mess.


But he looks at Ryan’s determined face and thinks about Spencer and looks around the room at all the other people who have been totally and unapologetically fucked over, and he feels a little, if not better, calmer. More purposeful.


“So,” Brendon says, rocking back on his heels. “What now?”


“What now?” Ryan repeats. “Right now, we have to sit around in our cubicles and pretend to work for the rest of the day even though it doesn’t really matter what we do since, according to Pete, the company’s fucked. We do what everyone else is going to be doing.”


Brendon rolls his eyes. “And after?”


Ryan smirks. “And after, we’ll just follow the plan. Don’t even worry about it. I’ll go see Alex tonight, we’ll have drinks, and I’ll pry some information out of him. I mean, at the very least, I can just talk his ear off about Spencer and how awesome he is. Can’t hurt, right?”


“I suppose,” Brendon says warily. “But if you keep talking about Spencer while you guys are out, won’t he get…I dunno. Jealous?”


“Jealous?” Ryan stares at him. “We aren’t going out for drinks like that, Brendon. Jesus. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean everyone else on the planet is hot for cock, okay?”


* * *


“Okay,” Ryan says, talking a little too quickly, “maybe we are going out for drinks like that.”


“What?” Brendon says, bemused.


“Me and Alex, idiot; keep up, will you?”


Brendon frowns into his cellphone; Ryan’s voice coming in tinny through the small speaker sounds even more judgmental than regular Ryan.


“Okay,” Ryan breathes, “whatever. Look, he just keeps touching me, okay? He tried to put his arm around me, right, and that is not normal behavior between two straight males, right?”


“Maybe he’s just really touchy-feely,” Brendon offers, trying not to laugh.


“Shut up, Brendon, oh my god, he’s coming back from the bathroom. Shit. Shit.”


“Dude,” Brendon says, getting a little alarmed, “you don’t have to do this, you know. It’s okay. I mean, we’ll find out some other way. You can get out of there if you’re feeling, like, I don’t know. Uncomfortable.”


“No. No, this is fine,” Ryan says quickly. “I care about Spencer, okay? We’ve been best friends for, for fucking decades, shit. I can put my ass on the line for him.”


“Literally?” Brendon says.


“Of course. It can’t be that hard, can it?” Ryan says, and then, immediately afterward, “Oh, god, I am just full of unintentional puns today; bad choice of words.”


“Right. Have fun, dude,” Brendon says cheerfully. “And use lube!”


Ryan hangs up on him.


* * *


The thing is—the thing is, Brendon has plenty of good reasons for this. Plenty. Millions, even. As many reasons as there are stars in the Milky Way. As there are people in China. As there are shitty guitar players standing on street corners and staring after Brendon reproachfully when he hurries past without giving money, which, seriously, that really annoys him; he just wants to snatch that guitar away from the loser and show him how to play some real fucking music.


But, no. Brendon digresses. Like he was saying, there are plenty of reasons for him to be standing outside Spencer’s apartment door with a plateful of brownies.


Because, really. Spencer’s been laid-off. He needs someone to be there for him, a friend who’ll comfort him and give him sorry-you’re-fired-but-hey-at-least-baked-goods-are-still-delicious brownies. And also, Brendon has ulterior motives, too, like asking Spencer just how much money the “disorganized finances” were missing. Brendon is cool and calculated. Like Bond. James Bond.


The door suddenly opens, and Brendon squawks, hopping backward, and barely managing to save the plate of brownies from dropping to a very untimely death.


“Brendon?” Spencer says, staring.


“Uh, hey, Spencer,” Brendon says. He flashes a quick, bright smile.


“Dude, what are you doing here?” he asks, but he’s smiling, so Brendon grins a little wider.


“To comfort you in your time of loss,” he quips. “Job termination is hard, dude.”


“I didn’t even know you knew where I lived,” Spencer says as he stands back and lets Brendon walk in, closing the door behind him.


Brendon just smiles brightly and pretends not to hear the comment. Ryan’s good for some things, okay, and besides, leaving your cell phone at someone’s house is totally permission for them to flip through your contacts.


Spencer’s Han Solo and Yoda action figures are placed on his window sill, and Brendon grins at them before turning back to Spencer.


“So,” he says, awkwardly. “I, um. I brought you brownies,” he offers.


Spencer blinks. “Thank you,” he says carefully.


“They’re lay-off brownies,” Brendon explains breezily. “To help lessen the sting of rejection.”


“I thought that was for break-ups,” Spencer says, not looking convinced.


“Oh, dude.” Brendon shakes his head sadly. “That’s ice cream.”


“Of course. My mistake,” Spencer allows generously.


“It’s okay,” Brendon says. “Um. You want a brownie?” he asks.


“Sure,” Spencer says, and they munch on them quietly for the next few seconds, Brendon stealing one for his own.


“I, um,” Brendon says, and then stops. “Has Ryan talked to you at all?”


“No,” Spencer draws out. “Not today, at least. Why?”


“Did you hear about what happened with the efficiency consultants?” Brendon asks.


“No,” Spencer says, frowning.


“Long story short, they turned out to be a scam,” Brendon says around a mouthful of brownie.


“A scam?” Spencer says, eyes widening.


“Yep. It’s kind of cool, almost. Like a movie, or something.”


“A pretty shitty movie,” Spencer says, and Brendon has to agree with that. “Dude, is that why William just mumbled all the damn time? Drove me crazy trying to figure out what he was saying.”


“Yeah,” Brendon says, licking a crumb off his upper lip.


“I felt insensitive bringing it up, so I didn’t say anything, but I thought he had a speech impediment, or something.” Spencer continues.


“Or that he just felt uncomfortable talking around large groups of people,” Brendon adds.


“Or that he had a really weird accent that only surfaced when talking about his job,” Spencer says.


“Or that he was mentally slow,” Brendon says.


“Yeah, that. Mostly that,” Spencer says. “I just didn’t want to be the first one to say it.”


“Right,” Brendon says. “My directness is refreshing, I’ll have you know.”


“Yeah, it is,” Spencer says, smiling slightly.


Brendon opens his mouth to defend himself before realizing that Spencer’s agreeing, and then he closes it again, stupidly. Spencer’s watching him awfully closely, and Brendon’s cheeks warm. He reaches up to brush some hair off his face, self-consciously.


“I think he might have actually been mentally slow,” Brendon says quickly, filling in the awkward moment. “Did you know that I actually caught him in the supply closet with Gabe? He would have gotten in so much trouble if it were anyone but me.”


“Gabe, huh,”Spencer says. “You know, I’m not surprised, actually.”


“Well, I was,” Brendon says grumpily. “Anyway. I’m not done telling you what happened yet. Stop distracting me.”


“Okay,” Spencer says, but then he smirks, which, really, is totally fucking distracting.


Brendon perseveres, though, without giving Spencer’s mouth a second look, because he is going to succeed at this whole “friend” business, dammit.


“Anyway,” Brendon begins again, “Greenwald was so mad he reversed all of William and Carden’s mandates. Everyone who was laid-off because of them were, um. They were rehired. But, I mean, not for long. The company’s going down; Pete even admitted it. No one’s expecting to have their jobs for much longer, so everyone’s looking for new work like you are.”


“Damn,” Spencer says.


“Yeah. But, um. That’s not all. People are talking, Spence.”


Spencer blinks. “What are they saying?”


Brendon bites his lips and studies the floor very intently. “You know how you were fired for having inappropriate material on your computer?”


“Well, yeah.” Spencer shifts on his feet. “I figured it was because of all the gay porn Ryan downloaded.”


“That’s what we thought, too,” Brendon says quickly. “But, well. People think it’s because of something else.”


“What?” Spencer asks impatiently. “What is it?”


“They think that someone up top thinks you’ve been, um, stealing money from the company.”


“What?” Spencer says, stiffening.


“Things haven’t been adding up, have they? When you’ve been looking through the records?” Brendon says, watching Spencer closely. “It seems like large amounts of money are missing, right?”


Spencer’s silent for a long moment, and then he’s sighing and dropping onto the couch.


“Yeah,” he says after a few more seconds. “But I mean, the company’s always been terrible at keeping track of finances. It’s not anything new. I didn’t really pay too much attention to it until the past few months, when it seems like the gap between reported income and actual income got…particularly big.”


“How big are we talking?”


“Maybe about fifty grand a month,” Spencer says, rubbing a hand over his beard. “In total? I would guess maybe—if someone really was stealing all that money, and it wasn’t just incompetence—then…I don’t know. Something in the millions, I think.”


“Millions?” Brendon repeats, eyes wide.


Spencer shrugs, uncomfortably. “Maybe. Low millions. And it’s just an estimate. It’s not like I can check now.”


“And you didn’t think anything suspicious was going on?” Brendon says in disbelief.


“I thought there might have been, which is why I was poking around in the first place. But I wanted to make sure, first,” Spencer says, frowning.


“Okay,” Brendon says, placatingly. “But now things are getting a little messy, because people seem pretty convinced you were embezzling.”


“Shit,” Spencer says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What am I—what the hell am I going to do? The kind of news, even if it’s just a rumor—it spreads everywhere. It follows people for the rest of their fucking careers.”


“It’s fine,” Brendon says immediately, fighting the urge to step closer to Spencer. “It’s just temporary. Ryan and I have got it under control; don’t worry. Ryan’s out for drinks with Greenwald right now, actually.”


“I remember,” Spencer says. “But what do you mean by ‘under control’?”


Part 5