1 Manic Monday by Robert Michael Page A

father?”
    Clarence looked quite pleased that she had asked that
question.  He smiled and splayed his fingers out across the dark leather
of the briefcase on his lap.  She did not know what to think.  She
had never seen him smile before.  His small, square teeth and short pink
tongue were exposed when he did, which might explain why he refrained.
    “Why, Ms. Giselle, it was your esteemed employer, Sinegem.”
    She furrowed her brow and extinguished the cigarette on the
seat beside her.  She could smell the burnt leather.
    “What?  How?  Why?  Father is on the board of
six of their acquisitions.”
    “Many questions.   Good ones,
all of them,” Clarence said, tugging his right shirt sleeve out past his jacket
sleeve.  “It seems you are missing the best question of all. 
Who?  We know the what:  three murders were performed in his house
and staged to appear that Mr. Nicholaisen was to
blame.  We know the how:  someone hired the most expensive and sophisticated
terrorist and assassination group in the world to murder two of his guards and
to plant a body and a weapon to appear as though Eilif was the murderer. 
Of course, in the course of the investigation, many of Eilif’s white collar crimes came to light and therefore his sentence was an open and
shut case.  We even know the why.” 
    She had never heard him talk so much since she had known
him.  Stunned, she had allowed him to continue.  He tugged on his
other sleeve.  Clarence was quite fastidious.  She suspected that he
even oiled and waxed his bald pate.
    “Why, then?”   She asked
impatiently.
    “Mr. Nicholaisen has been buying
more shares of stock than some of the other stock holders are
comfortable.  Of course, Eilif could not accomplish this without using
other revenue streams.  Revenue that comes from some of his more, shall we say, illicit profit centers.  We simply
have some who have become weary of Eilif’s propensity
for gain.”
    She chuckled.
    “They should have embarrassed you and sent you to jail,
then.  You are the master of Eilif’s coin.”
    Clarence nodded.  His smile was thin, hiding his
Chiclet teeth.  He was quite proud of his prowess for increasing her
father’s fortunes.
    “This is true, actually.  I regret that very few are
aware of my role in this.  But, that is not the point.  We knew all
the answers but the who .  Until
yesterday.”
    “Good.  I can kill him, then,” Giselle said.  The
venom in her voice was genuine. 
    “Them,” Clarence corrected.
    “More than one?   Who?”
    “It seems that Eilif has angered someone who has a large
following.  Someone who has much more power than he deserves.”
    “You are speaking in riddles, Clarence.”
    “Some would say that Eilif’s enemy
would be untouchable.”
    “I thought you said there was more than one.”
    Clarence stopped smiling and turned the briefcase
around.  The clasps snapped open. He turned the briefcase around.  A
single folder sat inside.  She took it, impatient and irritated at
Clarence’s attempts to be an enigma.
    She opened it and rifled through its contents.  She saw
numbers, and columns, names and corporations.  Without studying them
closely, she saw nothing that connected these with the who . 
Confused, she looked at Clarence and shrugged.
    “What am I seeing here, Clarence?  Stop
being diffident.”
    Clarence cleared his throat again.  He was always
clearing his throat or sighing.  Giselle was sick of his pompous nature.
    “Clearly, the files you are glancing at are the companies
and individuals who have invested in our enemy.”
    “Our enemy?’
    “Your father’s enemy.   His comrade, fellow investor at Sinegem and hundreds of Sinegem’s investitures, and his great nemesis, the
mysterious client of Galbraith Alliance.”
    “So, these individuals, these companies invested in this
enemy?  So this is where you get the ‘them’ comment.”
    “Yes. Just.”
    “How are these people to