Creative Writing Challenge Task #4: The Interview
Here's the challenge:
Develop a story contrasting the way people spend their money.
Please use your imagination, because this task has no boundaries and you can let your imagination go wild. Think of your task as a mission. Your mission is to inspire thousands of people to take a look around, start thinking more about their spending habits and actually open their eyes for other people's pains.
There are thousands of options again and this is another opportunity for you to show the best of yourself.
The Interview
Note: for full effect, listen to this lovely Kenny G playlist while reading
The Interview
“And now, for a little relaxing saxophone, here’s some Kenny G. to start off your day with a smile…” says a smooth, rich, way too calm voice over the radio, followed by quite possibly the worst elevator music in existence. “There’s no way I can be relaxed at a time like this, buddy,” Jack thinks to himself.
Today was the big day: the final interview in a long series of interviews with the Knowlton Corporation, just about the biggest web developer in the country. And today, he gets to meet with the big man, himself, James Knowlton.
It’s a big position, Assistant Chief Financial Officer, and could easily turn into a promotion to CFO down the road. “But first, I need to make it through this interview,” he thinks, “Can’t get ahead of myself.”
Jack redirects his thoughts to his surroundings. Typical waiting room, with a no-nonsense personal assistant at her desk. She’s pretty hot, but as approachable as a porcupine with indigestion, as he recently discovered when he tried to engage her in small talk.
His eyes shift to the other person in the stark waiting area. Even though there are just 3 people here, this man is barely noticeable. Even the smallish office chair seems to engulf him as if it, too, would prefer to just ignore his presence.
“Wonder what he’s doing here?” Jack ponders. “Is that my competition?” He chuckles to himself and turns the page in the People magazine that he’s been pretending to read for the last 10 minutes.
Miles wipes the sweat from his brow with a neatly folded handkerchief for the third time. He’s careful to not further crease it as he tucks it away in his front shirt pocket. The waiting is the worst. He tries distracting himself with the saxophone music in hopes it would relax him, but his thoughts keep crowding out the sound.
“Why am I putting myself through all of this?” he ponders, looking at his tightly clasped hands in his lap. “Maybe this was a mistake. I could leave. I could get up, and walk right out that door and go back to working for The Firm. No one has to know I was even thinking of leaving, and I’m sure that fellow over there would be happy to take the job.”
Miles disentangles his fingers for a brief moment to wipe the sweat on his pants, and balls his hands into fists. “No, I won’t go back! They don’t ever give me the fun clients, always the ones who dump off an accordion file full of crumpled up receipts, half of which have nothing to do with their business, expecting me to conjure up enough money to afford that Humvee they’re always driving around. I can’t do that anymore. This is my chance to actually get into numbers. I just want to work with numbers. I just want to see the patterns and make it all balance. Finding that department that can spend a little bit less on their office supplies and cut back on employee birthday party cakes so that another department can get out of the red! And I won’t ever get to do that back at The Firm,” Miles thinks with grim determination, “This is my only chance to get out!”
He looks up expectantly as the phone on the desk rings with its unobtrusive electronic tone. The Personal Assistant answers softly, barely audible above the sounds of the saxophone, delicately saxing its cares away.
“Mr. Knowlton will see you now,” says the P.A. a little too pertly. She doesn’t bother to look away from her computer screen, nor does her typing stop as she speaks.
Jack and Miles look at each other, then back at the P.A.
“You mean me?” says Jack, “Or him,” pointing to Miles as if he’s hardly worth lifting a finger.
“Yes,” the P.A. replies, again without a hitch in her typing, “Both. There’s the door.” Her head tilts slightly to her right and her eyes quickly flick to the only other door in the room, as if it should be obvious where they should go.
With another look askance at Miles, Jack shrugs, stands, buttons his suit jacket and tugs at each sleeve at the cuff as he proceeds toward the imposing mahogany door, iPad under one arm.
Miles stands up, as if in alarm, and quickly heads toward the door, afraid that the young man would shut the door in his face if he weren’t right on his heels. As it is, he barely catches the doorknob as Jack proceeds to close the door. Miles doesn’t open the door any further, as if he would disturb the occupants of the room by doing so, but simply squeezes through the now greatly minimized opening, and turning to quietly shut the door. He almost jumps and drops his briefcase when he hears the loud CLICK of the latch closing, deciding to grab the handle in both hands as he turns to face the other two men in the room.
Jack has already proceeded into the room, hand extended as he introduces himself to the man behind the sparse, modern black desk. He stays seated with his fingers steepled before him. The only thing on the desk is a sleek, black laptop. The man does not stand up, nor does he take the proffered hand. He looks at it, then back up at Jack.
An awkward moment passes as Jack, keeping his hand extended but somehow, he seem to shrink back into himself, suddenly unsure of the whole hand-shaking ritual. The man suddenly smiles, but in that way where none of it touches his eyes, that way people smile when they are doing so for reasons other than because they’re happy.
The hand, left hanging in the air as if it has breeched some invisible barrier of personal space, slowly returns to the side of its owner. Jack takes a step back as well, but still stands slightly in front of Miles.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” blurts out Jack, not to be put off by a little quirkiness. Again, Jack’s attempts at niceties are met with a cold gaze of ice blue eyes behind those steepled fingers.
“I’m sure.” The mellifluous baritone voice cuts into the void of complete silence. Miles makes note that there’s no saxophone in here. Nor are there any chairs besides the one occupied by Mr. Knowlton. The office, beside the wall of windows showing a grand view of Manhattan, is completely stark.
Mr. Knowlton swivels slightly in his chair, “You two are the final selections for the position of Assistant CFO for Knowlton Corp. I’m hope you realize what an honor this is.”
“Yes, sir,” they both say almost in unison, but slightly off as if Miles were simply an echo to Jack.
“I’ve watched your first two interviews and read the reports from HR,” Mr. Knowlton wipes across his laptop screen as if perusing said reports, and then leans forward, “but I do so hate how shallow it all is.” He stands up and walks out from behind his desk.
“I mean, how does one really get to know a person? This position carries with it a huge responsibility - it’s my money you’re playing with, after all. I have to know you can be trusted.”
Mr. Knowlton finally completes the circuit of his desk to stand not in front, but off to the side so that he is positioned equidistant from both Jack and Miles.
“And so, for your final interview, I will assign you a task. At the end of one month, you will report back to me and I will assess how you did and decide who gets the job.” He looks at them both, pointedly. And then, more silence.
Miles almost thinks he’s supposed to say something and is about to blurt out something - he doesn’t know what - perhaps a reassurance that he will do his best, but then he is saved from having to figure it out as Mr. Knowlton turns back toward his desk.
“You will each be given access to $1 million. Miss Petree will give you each a login and password to a bank account opened in your names. You have one month in which to do with it whatever you like. Treat it as your own money.” He stares out at the jagged skyline as if searching for some quality there that he may have missed. “You may keep it for yourself…or you may invest it. As accountants, I expect you to keep impeccable records of where money was spent and for what purpose. You will present me with a report and all receipts pertaining to what you’ve done with these funds.”
“And,” he turns to look at them both with a scowl and a stern look - as if they already did something to displease him, “I expect to receive any profits or money left over when this is done.”
Mr. Knowlton turns back to the windows, one arm raised and leaned against the glass, clearly dismissing the two men from his presence as the silence drones on.
Jack and Miles look questioningly at one another.
“One million dollars?!? To do whatever I want with it?” thinks Jack incredulously. He’s never heard of anything like this before. He waits for Mr. Knowlton to expound on the terms a bit, to be more specific, but nothing is forthcoming from the man. Jack thanks Mr. Knowlton for his time as he heads back out into the reception area, his mind already formulating a plan.
Miles stays a moment behind, dumbfounded. “What am I going to do? This is not like any job I’ve had before…why did he give us such a large sum of money? Just for a game?” Unsure of what to do next, Miles follows after Jack, quietly shutting the door behind him - being careful about the loud latch this time - and shuffles over to the P.A.’s desk.
One month later.
“Mr. Knowlton will see you now,” says Miss Petree, the sound of her incessant typing accompanied by the warbling strains of Kenny G.
Jack doesn’t even look at Miles this time. He knows how this will go. He stands, folio and iPad in hand, and confidently strides over to the mahogany door and lets himself in.
Miles scrambles to gather his papers that he was perusing one last time, making sure the numbers were right. They have to balance. They have to make the right pattern. He is a bit too slow in getting to the door, however, and this time Jack manages to actually close the door before Miles arrives. He sighs, looking down at the pile of papers in his arms and thinks, “This is enough. It has to be enough!” and opens the door after the brief pep-talk. Again, he carefully closes the door, hanging onto the knob so the latch closes silently.
He turns to find a familiar scene: Jack in front of him, slightly blocking his view of Mr. Knowlton. But he doesn’t mind being partially hidden from the ice cold scrutiny behind those eyes.
Except he’s looking right at him. It’s as if Jack isn’t even in the room.
“Miles…” the name drawls on, as if Mr. Knowlton is savoring it for the first time. He looks at Miles with those steepled hands - what’s with the steepled hands, anyway? - and gives what might be construed as a smile, but more likely just slight amusement.
Jack swivels around to stare at Miles with surprise, as if he didn’t think he existed. Then he turns back to Mr. Knowlton, wondering why he addressed that guy before him. “Very well,” he thinks, “I can bide my time. Let the loser go first. I know I’ve nailed this one.”
“Miles,” he says again, “you’ve been rather….industrious this month, haven’t you?”
Miles squirms uneasily under the penetrating gaze. “Yes…sir,” he replies softly, and realizes as he looks at the mass of papers in his arms, there there’s really no good way to show his the reports, so he heads to the desk to dump them there.
Mr. Knowlton quickly holds up one hand to stop him. “Don’t…bother, Miles,” as if the thought of paper touching his pristine black desk were an abomination to him.
“I already know what you did this month,” he looks at Jack, “…what you both did this month.”
“You…you spied on us?” asks Jack, his voice having a bit of an edge to it - not quite anger, but fear?
Mr. Knowlton laughs. This is a genuine, full-bodied laugh - the first time he offers a real smile, and yet it seems completely out of place on him. “Of course I did. What, did you think I’d just give you one million dollars and send you on your merry little way?”
“Truth is, I know exactly what each of you did with the money. I don’t need to see you reports or hear from your mouths, because I saw everything on surveillance cameras. I know every transaction on your accounts - every withdrawal, every ACH transfer…everything.” His eyes linger on Jack with that last word.
Miles wonders a bit at why he’s looking at Jack like that, but it’s only a brief thought has he realizes he could be in big trouble here. What if Mr. Knowlton doesn’t like what he did? Will he make him pay it back? There’s no way he could do that! And it looks like this just dawned on Jack, too, from the sudden pallid hue of his face.
“Let me tell you what Miles here, did. Miles,” - “why does he keep saying my name?” - “spent what, all of it?” he looked to Miles as if to verify. Miles stares back stunned, and Mr. Knowlton nods as if Miles acquiesced, “…all of it, on…” he swipes the screen on his laptop.
“Let’s see here…we have $1,000 to a Mrs. Dawson for, what’s this? Car repairs?” Mr. Knowlton’s eyebrows go up questioningly, but his eyes remain glued to the screen as he scrolls further. “And here we have, oh, $20,000 to St. Matthew’s soup kitchen. Hmm….”
Miles glances at Jack who is gaping wide-eyed at him, and he quickly averts his eyes to look at the floor. This isn’t going so well.
Mr. Knowlton scrolls faster and leans back in his chair. Steeples again.
“Of course, Miles, you chose to donate much larger sums to such noble causes like muscular dystrophy, orphanages, and arts foundations.” He says the word “noble” as if it were anything but.
“And how much, exactly, do you have left over? What’s my ROI on this whole little experiment?” Icy blue stare.
“Um, well..sir, you see…” Miles pauses, collecting his thoughts. “This should have worked! I ran the numbers, I made the patterns match…it all balanced!”
He swallowed and tried to speak again,”Nothing, sir.”
Mr. Knowlton leans forward, and mockingly puts a hand to his ear. “What’s that, Miles? Did you say NOTHING?”
Miles looks at the ground again, tried to think of something more to say in his defense, but in the end just nods.
“Yes, sir. Nothing. I gave every last penny away.” Dead silence.
Jack bursts out laughing. It’s kind of a hysterical laughter, a bit too forced, “I can’t believe you wasted one million dollars on freakin’ charity! DUDE! Total fail!” His laughter continues, but quickly dies down when he noticed Mr. Knowlton isn’t joining in.
“Of course he’s not, he just lost a million bucks. I guess I wouldn’t laugh either,” thinks Jack.
“At least I invested all of the million I was given. I even got Mr. Knowlton a 7% profit on his investment!” Jack boasted, “You could have at least put the money into a savings account and let it rot in there and you would have made a better investment!”
Mr. Knowlton looks at Jack as if sizing him up. The silence is then broken by a strange BEEP from apparently nowhere. “Yes?” says Mr. Knowlton. Then the disembodied voice of Miss Petree is heard, as clearly as if she were standing right there, “Mr. Wilson is here.”
“Ah, good, good. Send him in,” says Mr. Knowlton, as he stands to make the circuit around his desk. He stands in front of the desk this time, looking at Jack as he leans back on the desk, arms folded, waiting.
The door opens up and a man dressed in a suit with a badge in hand enters with two police officers in tow.
“Jack Adams?” the man asks, looking back and forth between Miles and Jack. Mr. Knowlton casually gestures with a finger to Jack.
“Mr. Adams, I am Trevor Wilson with the FBI. You are under arrest for bank fraud. Please come with me.” He turns to the officer on his left to proceeds to handcuff Jack while the other reads him his rights.
“Wha? Bank fraud? You have nothing on me! You have no proof!” Jack protests, twisting around trying to tell the officer who is handcuffing him, as if that would make him stop.
“Oh, I think he does,” says Mr. Knowlton, jovially, as he stands and returns to sitting behind his desk.
Miles, shocked and afraid of what is in store for him, dares to look back at Mr. Knowlton.
“Um, sir? Was this whole interview thing a setup to catch that guy?”
Mr. Knowlton looks at Miles, and for the first time, offers a smile that is neither malicious or false.
“No, Miles, but when my team discovered it, we just couldn’t overlook it. Think of it as a bit of entertainment for the day.” Miles isn’t quite convinced.
Mr. Knowlton chuckles and says, “Come now, man, you’ve got the job! I can’t tell you how many numbers guys I’ve had to work with who don’t see real people. It’s all just a game for them. You have that ability, I see, but you’re different: you actually care about the people behind those numbers. That’s the kind of man I want on my team. That is what Knowlton Corp is all about. We serve people.
“So go home, treat yourself to a beer, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
Mr. Knowlton swipes at his laptop, having lost his interest in Miles. Miles smiles a little, but not quite sure what to make of it all still, and turns to go.
“Oh, and uh Miles,” Mr. Knowlton calls just before Miles makes it through the door, “You know, the Feds can arrest a guy for pretty much anything they want. Bank fraud, tax evasion, grand larceny…you name it, they can get just about anyone they want. Welcome to the team.”
The threat hung in the air like a stinkbug on a foggy day. Miles slowly turned and quietly closed the door and entered again into the realm of Kenny G.
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