PURITY

“You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. There are no good guys!”

—Derrick Olin

“War is hell, but actual combat is a motherfucker!”

—Colonel David “Hack” Hackworth, USA (Ret.-Dec.)

MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA

Cole Treadway was forty-two years old and for the past two years he had served as chief investigator in the Corporate Security Department of the Colonial Bank Group of Alabama[6]. Prior to coming to Colonial he had spent ten years as a special agent in the Naval Criminal Investigative Service—NCIS—and before that seven years as a naval officer. When he had applied for the job at the bank the head of corporate security was very impressed with everything he saw in Cole Treadway and did everything he could to make sure that the former Navy man became a member of the Colonial team, which he did.

However, today that same head of corporate security was not so happy to have Mr. Treadway on his staff.

Due to recent problems in the banking industry, all financial institutions had begun to take a hard look at themselves in an attempt to make sure their houses were in order before some outside entity did it for them, namely federal banking regulators. And to this end, for about the last year Colonial Bank’s internal auditors had been hard at work looking into all of the divisions in an attempt to discover if there were any unaccounted for funds or any other irregularities within their operations. And for an uncomfortably long period of time the auditors had concentrated on the Corporate Security Department, which greatly annoyed the senior Executive VP in charge. Nevertheless, Marc Guyerson had nothing to hide personally and if there was something wrong in his department then he wanted to know about it. Or at least he had thought he did.

A few days ago the chief auditor brought him proof undeniable that at least seventy-eight thousand dollars had been embezzled from departmental funds in various amounts over the past eight months; and that the skills required to pull off such a feat virtually undetected were held by a scant few. Included in that number was the department’s chief investigator, Cole Treadway. And Treadway was the only suspect that the auditors could not clear. This greatly distressed Guyerson because he had become quite fond of Treadway, really liked the man, but the evidence against him was absolutely convincing.

And as Guyerson began to consider that evidence, other things started coming to his mind. In particular the fact that over the past few months Treadway seemed to be letting his personal appearance slide. His suits were not as neat as they had once been, a couple of times he even came to work unshaven, and on at least one occasion Guyerson could have sworn he smelled alcohol on the man’s breath early in the morning.

It was no secret that Cole Treadway was having marital problems; his wife had moved out a year earlier and had taken their two kids with her. They weren’t divorced yet but the situation appeared to be heading in that direction. Even so, his personal situation did not appear to be affecting his work as far as Guyerson could tell. All tasks assigned to the Investigations Branch were handled promptly and thoroughly and thus far there had been no errors. However, when considered through the prism of hindsight, this was probably due more to the fact that there were several very highly qualified people in that branch besides Treadway, in particular his deputy, a former Birmingham Police detective with twenty years investigative experience.

Guyerson had gone over the evidence provided by the auditors time and time again but could find fault nowhere, and in the end he had to admit what he already knew to be the truth. Cole Treadway had been stealing from the bank, and as much as Marc Guyerson personally liked the man, he had a duty to perform. A very unpleasant, but extremely necessary one.

First there was a quick consultation with the bank group’s CEO and a few other key members of the bank’s executive staff, all of them agreeing on what should be done. What had to be done.

An hour after that meeting I received a telephone call in Birmingham from Marc requesting that I come down to Montgomery to Colonial headquarters the next day—today.

I was glad to get the call because for the past few months work had been slow. That’s how it was in the private (freelance) security business. Sometimes you had more work than you could handle and other times practically none. It was already the third week of May and this was my first job for the month. Luckily I’m good at managing my money—and am a thrifty soul. I know how to make ends meet with a minimum of sacrifice.

Still, when Marc called I was relieved. Colonial was always a good paying client, considering they were the second largest bank group in the state. I’ve done lots of jobs for them over the years and more than once Marc has tried to get me to come onboard full-time, but I always refuse. Maybe I should reconsider that if things don’t pick up on the freelance side. I know of at least one job in corporate security that will be open very soon.

Due to the sensitive nature of the situation with Cole Treadway, Marc decided to bring in outside security to handle it—me. He felt it was best not to ask someone who knew and worked with Treadway to be there while he was being fired. I thought that was best too; and it gave me a paying gig.

So here I was on a bright and beautiful Friday in late May, standing in the corner of Marc’s top floor office watching as Marc and Cole Treadway sat facing each other across the large teak desk in the middle of the room. Marc wearing a charcoal gray suit with red striped tie and heavily starched white shirt, and Treadway in a navy blue suit and light blue shirt, minus tie. He was unshaven and his suit looked like it hadn’t been pressed in a month. Kind of hard to believe this guy was a former naval officer and NCIS agent.

I myself used to be an Air Force officer and spent eight years in OSI—Office of Special Investigations. I guess I was taking Treadway’s appearance and demeanor as a personal affront to my professional sensibilities. While it was true that I wasn’t the most fashionable of individuals, I still took pride in my appearance. My khaki slacks were pressed, as were the dark blue polo and matching blazer that I had on. I was also cleanly shaven, face and head. Treadway probably hadn’t shaved in three or four days, and his thick, prematurely graying hair was unruly, as if he’d simply run his fingers through it instead of a comb this morning.

He sat back in the chair looking at Marc Guyerson through heavily hooded eyes—bloodshot eyes.

This man was a mess. And I don’t really think he had any pride left in him to give a damn about anything.

“I’m sorry to have to do this, Cole,” Marc was saying in that quiet way of his. “But I have no choice, as I’m sure you know. This is a serious matter and you know full well that we could prosecute you if we wanted to. And if we did you would be convicted and go to jail. But we want to avoid that, and all the bad press that would accompany it. I’ve cleared this with the CEO and if you will simply resign, effective immediately, we will let the matter drop. You will receive no severance or benefits package from your contract, and in exchange we will not file charges against you for embezzlement. Do you understand?”

Cole Treadway sat silently staring across at his now former boss, his thick lips pursed. He shifted a little and rubbed his hands on his thighs.

I was watching his hands carefully, alert in the event that he decided to reach for a weapon. When he’d entered the office I had detected a telltale bulge on his right hip under his jacket. According to the file I had read on him earlier this morning, Cole Treadway had been an expert marksman while with NCIS, and had maintained his skills since joining Colonial. Despite his current condition he might yet possess the technical and tactical proficiency required to present a threat. And you really didn’t have to be all that good in a confined space like this office. It probably would have been a good idea to have had him disarmed before coming in, but then that could have caused other problems. Maybe even provoke a violent incident that could be otherwise avoided.

Besides, the possibility of violence, that’s why the irrepressible Derrick Olin had been invited to the dance.

I smiled to myself.

Yeah, me and Superman.

Treadway nodded his head slowly.

“Whatever, Marc,” he mumbled. “Whatever you say. I’ll go clear my things out.”

Marc shook his birdlike head.

“No, Cole,” he said firmly. “That will not be possible. When you leave this office you will be escorted down to your car and you will leave the property, never to return. Your things have been packed up and will be waiting downstairs with the security guards. You no longer have an office here. You know the way this goes. You’ve been on the other side of it many times in the past.”

Treadway continued to stare at the Senior Executive Vice President and Director of Corporate Security, his eyes hard and unblinking. And after a while he glanced over at me for only the second time since entering the office.

“We never met before this,” he said, coughing and then swallowing hard. “But I heard about you. Derrick Olin, used to be OSI, right?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, I hear Marc tried to hire you a couple of times, but you turned him down. Maybe now he’ll offer you my job.”

I didn’t respond, just stared back blankly. There was nothing to be gained by engaging him.

Suddenly he grinned and pushed up, fastening his wrinkled suit jacket. I didn’t flinch, just kept watching him with steady eyes, breathing easily.

“Don’t worry, Marc, I’m not gonna shoot up the place. It ain’t worth it. I’m just tired is all. Thanks, and I’m sorry. That’s it.”

Marc continued to sit and stared up at the other man. After about a minute he nodded sadly but said nothing.

Treadway looked over at me once more.

“Come on then, Olin, let’s go. Walk me out.”

He turned for the door and I glanced at Marc briefly, then followed, keeping enough distance between us so that I had enough time to react should Mr. Treadway decide to renege on his promise to go peacefully.

But in the end he did not.

When we got downstairs he picked up his things at the security desk and I walked him out to the parking lot where he put everything in his trunk and then leaned back against the car, took out a cigarette, and lit it, exhaling smoke as he stared at me.

“I know I fucked up a good thing here, Olin,” he said absently. “A really good thing. And it wasn’t worth it at all, you know. Messed up my marriage for a woman half my age, and then messed up a good job just to try to keep the other woman; and fucked that up too. Christ almighty! What a dumb-fuck I been.”

I stayed with him for a few minutes more until he finished his cigarette. I knew that he was on the edge and might just fall off at any minute. A sensitive human being might have been concerned enough to try to get him some kind of psychological help, maybe even offer to take him some place.

However, for my part I was just hoping that he held it together until he was off of Colonial property.

And he did.

Once Cole Treadway drove out of the parking lot and through the main gate, I turned and went back into the building.