On Monday morning, Andrew was getting settled into Mr. Stuart's office, when he heard a rap on the door. He turned to see Amanda peeking her head inside.
"Mind if I come in?" she asked with a grin.
"Of course not. What's going on?"
"I just wanted to stop by and wish my boyfriend, oops, I mean my fiance, good luck on the new job. I'm so proud of you, Andrew," Amanda said, stepping forward and giving Andrew a kiss. "I'd better watch myself. Now that you've got your own private office for the week, I might be sneaking back here to visit you too often."
"Hmm," Andrew said thoughtfully. "You know, I never thought I'd be one of those guys who started fooling around with his secretary as soon as he got promoted."
They were about to embrace again when they heard someone clear their throat. Amanda stepped back and Andrew stiffened up as Hector walked into the room.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said humorlessly.
"What do you want?" Andrew asked sternly.
"I just realized I never congratulated you, Andrew," Hector said. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that they chose you instead of me. But I just wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings. I'm sure you'll do a good job. Congratulations."
For a moment Andrew was too bewildered to say anything. Finally he muttered, "Thanks."
Hector just nodded and walked out of the office.
Hector waited until Andrew left the office at lunch time and then sneaked into Mr. Stuart's office. Without turning on the lights, he searched through the desk hoping to find something that would help him sabotage Andrew.
When he opened the top right hand drawer he found a picture of a woman. Mr. Stuart's late wife, he guessed, as he moved the frame aside. Underneath the photograph were yellowed newspaper clippings. One was a copy of the obituary. The other was an article about her death.
Hector's hands shook as he read the article. He hadn't realized that Mrs. Stuart had died in the same fire that killed his own father. But obviously that fact hadn't slipped by Clifford. In this clipping, every time the name of Hector's father was mentioned in the article, it had been circled several times in red ink.
Hector returned everything to the desk and shut the door. He decided that it was time to take his lunch break.
"Hector, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?" Clifford greeted Hector groggily when he saw him walk into the hospital room.
"It was my lunch break, so I thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing."
"That's, uh," Clifford cleared his throat. "nice of you. Thank you, but I'd really rather rest right now. Why don't you go enjoy your lunch?"
"Well, I think I'd really rather have a few words with you," Hector replied mockingly, causing Clifford to sit up in bed. "All these years I've worked at the company I've wondered why you hated me so much. And now I know why."
"I never hated you," Clifford said, but both men knew that was a lie. "I've seen how you act around the office. I've noticed you sneaking around, looking to undermine anyone that might get in your way. You have no ethics and that's why I don't want to see you get ahead in this company."
"No, that's not it. You've had something against me from day one. We all know that I'm the most qualified employee. So there's no reason I should have to undermine anybody to get ahead, except for the fact that you always had it in for me. And now I know it had nothing to do with me. You only hate me because of my father."
"Don't mention that man to me," Clifford hissed. "He's the reason my wife is dead."
Hector was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"I mean if it hadn't been for him, my wife would still be alive today." Clifford slowly turned from angry to reminiscent. "She was a wonderful woman. So kind and generous. Up until the day she died she would have given anything she had to make someone else's life better. So when your father," Clifford spat out the title with disgust. "asked her to help out at a pancake breakfast to raise money for charity, she couldn't refuse."
"And that's where the fire started," Hector replied gravely, recalling his father's death. "But it was just an accident. How can you blame my father and take your grief out on me?"
"Because your father was irresponsible. The firefighters said that kitchen was a disaster waiting to happen and that my wife's life could have been saved if only that cheapskate had put in one little fire alarm."
Hector grew enraged and retorted. "Yeah, well maybe if your wife had some cooking skills, she would have known how to make pancakes without burning the house down!"
"Don't you pin this on her! My wife was a saint. I wish I had the chance to get back at the man who was responsible for her death, but that was taken away from me too. But now here you are. And I would see you, or any son of that murderer, take control of my company over my dead body!" With that last outburst, Clifford started to gasp and choke. "Water. I need water."
Hector stood watching him with a self-satisfied smile. The old man was getting exactly what he deserved. He looked over to the pitcher of water across the room, well out of Clifford's reach, but what caught his attention was the bottle of pills sitting next to it.
With his back to Clifford, who was bent over the opposite side of the bed, trying to catch his breath, Hector broke open a few of the pills, dumped the contents into a glass, and then filled the cup with water. He walked across the room and held the cup to Clifford. Clifford reached for it, but Hector held it just out of his grasp.
"You are so pathetic," he taunted as he dropped the cup onto the bedside table. Clifford grabbed the cup and Hector shook his head. "You haven't beaten me yet," he said and left the hospital room.
"Well, Mrs. May, I must say you're looking in good shape today," Dr. Wilton remarked as he finished the elderly woman's check up.
"I should be. I just had some good news this morning. My daughter is finally getting married."
Dr. Wilton turned to Alma, "Congratulations."
"Not her," Mrs. May laughed. "I don't expect I'll ever find a man to take that one off my hands. I meant my other daughter, Mandy."
"I'm sorry for the mistake," Dr. Wilton replied and then focused on Alma. "But I can't believe this daughter is a hopeless case," he said gently.
Alma blushed slightly. "It's just that I don't get out much. Taking care of mother and the house-"
"Oh, so now you're going to blame me," Mrs. May interrupted. "Your poor, old sick mother, who gave birth to you, raised you, and put you through school."
"That's not what I meant," Alma muttered.
"Well, it looks like we're done here," Dr. Wilton spoke up, trying to change the subject. "I'll write a refill for your prescriptions and just keep doing what you have been . . ."
"Dr. Wilton!" a nurse called out as she hurried into the room. "We need you in room 301 right away. It's an emergency."
When Dr. Wilton arrived in room 301. Clifford was unconscious. He wasn't breathing and he had no pulse.
They did all they could, but nothing would revive him.
"We've lost him."
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