Fun-filled fiction

14 | FEBRUARY 2022 Short Fiction

What would YOU do if Homeland Security came calling?

Contributed by Creative Writing Club

Raymond stood against the wall of his cubicle, eyes unfocused, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

He could barely listen to his boss, explaining his termination – however nicely he tried to explain just why the firm had fired him, it didn’t change the fact that Raymond Holloway, up-and-coming lawyer at Billsbury Law, would be out of a job.

The job he intended to make his career. When he was finished, he forlornly packed up his belongings and left the building. It was not, he decided, a great day at work today.

He backed his car into his garage slowly, like he did every evening after work. Raymond had never been a night owl – especially with the long hours that lawyers regularly had to deal with – and with this newfound freedom, he found it hard to fill the hours.

Sighing quietly, he flopped down on his couch and began to watch TV, knocking over a stack of papers in the process.

The TV didn’t take his mind off things. Raymond had his mortgage, his student loans to pay off, and without a job this would only get harder to manage. This occupied him so that the show he was watching became essentially white noise, which he supposed was the original intent for television, anyways.

A distraction, so that people could occupy their time without much stress. Raymond wished he could occupy his time right now.

Luckily, his phone rang, bringing him back to earth. He picked up the phone and answered curtly, “Raymond Holloway.”

A female voice answered back, in the slightly manufactured tone that signalled the call as an automatic message. “Hello Raymond. I’m sorry to inform you, but due to certain purchases on your account the United States Department of Homeland Security has frozen your assets. If you are interested in appealing this freeze, please contact us at 202-282-8000. Thank you for your time.”

Raymond was stunned.

Homeland Security thought he had done something wrong? He had never done anything that could get him in trouble – this all had to be a misunderstanding, he decided. Still, Raymond decided to check his accounts.

Everything looked normal up until two days ago. A withdrawal was made at 3:37 pm for $75,000 despite the fact that, to Raymond’s knowledge, no such withdrawal had occurred. Even more concerning was the government’s interest in this: if someone merely stole his information and withdrew money, the Department of Homeland Security wouldn’t be knocking on Raymond’s door about “certain purchases.” Something was very wrong, but Raymond couldn’t quite figure out what had gone wrong.

He decided he had to call Homeland Security himself.

Picking up his phone, he soon found out that he could not, in fact, call Homeland Security – his phone no longer had cell service. Raymond looked for his phone book desperately – maybe he could go somewhere, talk to someone who could help him fix whatever situation he had gotten himself in – when there was a knock on the door.

Raymond knew that whoever was on the other side of the door was probably not a friendly neighbor checking in on him – it was likely someone from Homeland Security, or someone connected to whoever had committed the fraud in his name.

So as he approached the door, he readied himself for whatever might come next.

A short man in a faded beige overcoat and hat stood at his doorstep. He held a worn briefcase in his left hand, but Raymond didn’t notice that so much as he noticed that, in his right hand, he held a pistol aimed directly at Raymond’s stomach.

The man said brusquely, “You’re Raymond, right?”

Raymond swallowed and nodded in agreement, to which the man replied, “Perfect. I’m sure you’ve discovered by now that the government’s been snooping around in your business, correct?”

Raymond nodded again. His suspicions were right – there was a guy in a suit at his door, and he was here to talk about, well, about whatever was going on with his finances.

The man stuck out his hand.

Raymond shook it, hesitantly.

“You can call me Todd,” said Todd. “I’m sure you must have a lot of questions. I can answer them all, but it is important that you come with me first. Let’s just say, you’re in a lot of trouble.”

Todd gestured towards an unassuming gray sedan parked on the street and said, “Get in.” He had a gun.

Raymond didn’t argue.

The car door slammed, and Todd started talking. “So let me guess. Today you were laid off, you got a nice little phone call from the government about some missing money from the bank, and now here I am.” Raymond nodded yes, and responded, “Mr. Todd, what’s going on? Who’s – who’s impersonating me?” Todd said sharply, while starting the car, “Don’t call me Mr. Todd!” then more relaxedly replied, “This may come as a surprise, but you were fired because of that withdrawal.”

Raymond stared at Todd, confused Todd continued, saying bluntly, “Your employers aren’t who they say they are. For the past six months or so, I’ve been tracking them – their money disappears, just gone from the books. Their entire company is a front, and I assume you’ve been fired because you got too close to discovering their operation.”

The sedan fell quiet, save for the rumble of the engine. Raymond was astonished. A front?

He thought he had been hired for his ability! After today’s events, he didn’t have much trouble believing this, but that didn’t dull the shock of learning that his livelihood was a lie for so long.

The fact that he didn’t catch onto this lie in the first place certainly didn’t help.

Todd finally continued, ignoring Raymond’s inner turmoil, “Now, I’m not entirely sure what they’re a front for. I’ve tracked their money to several companies, who neither seem to be collecting the money nor using it to run their businesses. The money just vanishes. And this problem is where you’re going to help me, Raymond Earl Holloway. You’ve worked at Billsbury Law for what, eighteen months now?” Raymond slowly nodded, unsure of what Todd was going to ask him for. “Well, Raymond, I have a plan for you.”

Half an hour later, the gray sedan pulled into the parking lot of Billsbury Law. Raymond got out of the car, with Todd’s (empty) briefcase in his hand. He nodded to the security guard at the door, who didn’t seem to notice his unusual presence, and walked into the building.

Raymond walked to the elevator, selecting his floor. The elevator started upwards and he leaned against the wall, setting the briefcase on the floor.

The elevator stopped, opened its doors, and Raymond got out, picking up the briefcase. He navigated to his boss’s office, knowing it would be empty – his boss, at least the boss he knew, would be long home by now.

Still, Raymond could barely contain his urge to drop everything and run as he approached the office.

He opened the door to find an office in disarray. Papers lay strewn across the desk, whose drawers lay dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

Noticeably, however, there was a note taped to the window – unusual, since Raymond’s boss kept his notes online. Raymond walked o ver, carefully avoiding the papers thrown on the ground, and opened the note.

“To Lester Billsbury, owner and CEO of Billsbury Law,”

“Lester, old friend, I’m afraid we must part ways. Sorry about the mess, it’s nothing personal. When you see this, however, I’m pleased to report it will be the least of your troubles.”

“Yours,

Larsen Byrd.”

Todd had told Raymond which documents were of importance, but a cursory search of the room revealed that they had been taken – along with several other forms and even personal effects of his boss. Therefore, Raymond took the note and left the office, making sure not to be seen.

He exited through the back door and walked in search of Todd’s sedan.

He searched and searched, until it dawned upon him that the car wasn’t in the parking lot anymore – he had been left there.

For what?

Raymond wasn’t sure of this. He didn’t know who Larsen Byrd was, or why he was willing to trash Mr. Billsbury’s office. For that matter, he didn’t know if Todd was simply setting him up. But for what?

Raymond decided that these questions were meaningless. All that mattered in the moment was his survival – he had clearly gotten mixed up in something bigger than him, something that could end up killing him if he wasn’t careful.

Holding Todd’s briefcase close to his chest, Raymond walked swiftly out of the parking lot and onto the street, going nowhere – just going fast.

He knew his next move could be his last. H

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The stories on this page were written by members of the Creative Writing Club. If you’re interested in joining the club, it meets twice a week at 2 p.m. on Mondays and Fridays in Room 110. For more information, talk to any member of the club or speak to the club’s adviser, Christina Lewis.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The Hawkeye is working cooperatively with the Creative Writing Club this year to bring student literacy works to the forefront. Ultimately, the goal is to eventually produce a literacy magazine as part of the student media at Mountlake Terrace High School. If you’re interested in contributing to this effort, please contact members of the Creative Writing Club or its adviser, Christina Lewis.