The day started like any other morning. I got a black cup of coffee, put some bread in the toaster, and settled down with a yogurt to listen to the news. However, my morning reverie was shattered by the lucid screaming of the crazy woman downstairs. I hadn't gotten to know her name yet, being rather new to the building. I missed the calm serenity of Toulouse, but the job offer for the intelligence consulting firm had been lucrative. Sometimes I missed my old job doing intelligence for the French Foreign Legion, but the pay in the private sector was just that much better. I was young and dumb, when I knocked on that door. It was a risky move, and I still have the scars to prove it.
I finished my yogurt, and by that time my toast was ready for consumption. At this point, NPR was relaying to me a fascinating story of an American business contracting out security services to Russian Nuclear sites. I was intrigued by this story and turned the radio up to drown out the unusual bustle downstairs. I sat down and began to eat. "... Booz Allen Hamilton has been one of the largest US based defense contracting and private security corporations of our time. They currently operate out of Virginia, but since new legislation passed in 2017, they have..." My morning news was again shattered by the cries from downstairs. "Merde", I thought, "that woman is crazy". At this point, I decided to go and see what was going on. However, as is habit, before I went downstairs, I buckled on my service weapon.
3 minutes later, I was out the door and downstairs. I came down the stairs in a measured manner, however my heart was racing. The woman downstairs had never screeched like that before. I reached the bottom and turned to see that the woman was gone. At that point, I decided that I had enough excitement for the morning. I looked down, realized that I was already ready for work, and decided to just go into work early this morning. I went out the front door, turned, and started up the car park ramp to my car. It was at that point when I saw all of the blue lights. My pulse quickened once more, as thoughts of worst-case scenarios filled my head. However, I was not prepared to be told by a police officer that Mr. Evans was found dead in the parking lot.
I had liked Mr. Evans. He was a quiet, but good man. I all of a sudden had the urge to smoke, even though I had quit years earlier. I asked the police man for one, and he obliged. As I took a long drag, I gathered my thoughts. I realized that at this point, there was nothing I could realistically do to help the police. However, I was determined to find out how this had happened. With that sense of determination still flowing, I climbed into my car and went off to my job at Academi.
