recover. “So how did the AFPS presentation go, Markus?” He forced a smile. “Are we on top?” He meant, am I on top, but he was sure that Borst would catch the drift.
The phone rang shrilly on the desk. Borst glared at Kent for a moment and then snatched it up, listening.
“Yes . . . yes put him through.”
Kent sat back and crossed his legs, aware that his heart was pounding. The other man straightened his tie and sat upright, attentive for whoever was about to address him on the phone. He turned from Kent and spoke. “Yes, Mr. Wong . . . Yes, thank you, sir.”
Mr. Wong? Borst was thanking the Mr. Wong?
“I’d be delighted.” He turned and faced Kent purposefully. “Yes, I’m tied up with a luncheon on the East Coast Wednesday, but I could fly to Tokyo on Thursday.” Kent knew that something very awful was happening here. He was now sweating badly, despite the air conditioning.
“I’d be delighted,” Borst said. “Yes, it did take a lot, but I had a good crew on it as well . . . Yes, thank you. Good-bye.”
He dropped the phone in its cradle and stared at Kent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it came out rehearsed. “Come on, Kent. Surely you didn’t expect all of the glory on this, did you? It’s my department.”
Kent swallowed, suddenly fearing the worst. But that would be virtually impossible.
“What did you do?” His voice sounded scratchy.
“Nothing. I’m just implementing the program. That’s all. It is my program.”
Kent began to tremble slightly. “Okay, let’s back up here. In Miami I was set to introduce AFPS to the convention. You remember that, right?” He was sounding condescending, but he could not help himself.
Borst nodded once and frowned.
“But I got called away, right? My wife was dying. You with me here?”
This time Borst did not acknowledge.
“So I asked you to wing it for me. And I’m assuming you did. Now, surely somewhere in there you mentioned my name, right? Gave credit where credit was due?”
Borst had frozen like ice.
Kent scooted forward on his seat, steaming. “Don’t tell me you stole all the credit for AFPS, Markus. Just tell me you didn’t!”
The division supervisor sat with an ashen face. “This is my division, Kent. That means that the work out of here is my responsibility. You work for me.” He went red as he spoke. “Or did you forget that simple fact?”
“You put the paperwork through! This has always been my bonus! We’ve discussed it a thousand times! You left me out?!”
“No. You’re in there. So is Todd, and so is Mary.”
“Todd and Mary?” Kent blurted incredulously. “You put my name in small print along with Todd’s and Mary’s?” And he knew Borst had done exactly that.
He shoved an arm toward the door. “They’re junior programmers, Markus! They write code that I give them to write. AFPS is my code!” He nearly shouted now, boring down on the supervisor with a straining neck.
“I designed it from scratch. Did you tell them that? It was my brainchild! I wrote 80 percent of the functioning code, for Pete’s sake! You yourself wrote a measly 5 percent, most of which I trashed.”
That last comment pushed Borst over the edge. The veins on his neck bulged. “You hold your tongue, mister! This is my department. I was responsible for the design and implementation of AFPS. I will hire and fire who I see fit. And for your information, I have been allotted a twenty-five-thousand-dollar spiff for the design engineer of my choice. I was going to give that to you, Kent. But you are rapidly changing my mind!”
Now something deep in Kent’s mind snapped, and his vision swam. For the first time in his life he felt like killing someone. He breathed deeply twice to stabilize the tremor in his bones. When he spoke, he did so through clenched teeth.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars!” he ground out. “There was a performance spiff on that program, Markus. Ten percent of the savings to the company
The phone rang shrilly on the desk. Borst glared at Kent for a moment and then snatched it up, listening.
“Yes . . . yes put him through.”
Kent sat back and crossed his legs, aware that his heart was pounding. The other man straightened his tie and sat upright, attentive for whoever was about to address him on the phone. He turned from Kent and spoke. “Yes, Mr. Wong . . . Yes, thank you, sir.”
Mr. Wong? Borst was thanking the Mr. Wong?
“I’d be delighted.” He turned and faced Kent purposefully. “Yes, I’m tied up with a luncheon on the East Coast Wednesday, but I could fly to Tokyo on Thursday.” Kent knew that something very awful was happening here. He was now sweating badly, despite the air conditioning.
“I’d be delighted,” Borst said. “Yes, it did take a lot, but I had a good crew on it as well . . . Yes, thank you. Good-bye.”
He dropped the phone in its cradle and stared at Kent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it came out rehearsed. “Come on, Kent. Surely you didn’t expect all of the glory on this, did you? It’s my department.”
Kent swallowed, suddenly fearing the worst. But that would be virtually impossible.
“What did you do?” His voice sounded scratchy.
“Nothing. I’m just implementing the program. That’s all. It is my program.”
Kent began to tremble slightly. “Okay, let’s back up here. In Miami I was set to introduce AFPS to the convention. You remember that, right?” He was sounding condescending, but he could not help himself.
Borst nodded once and frowned.
“But I got called away, right? My wife was dying. You with me here?”
This time Borst did not acknowledge.
“So I asked you to wing it for me. And I’m assuming you did. Now, surely somewhere in there you mentioned my name, right? Gave credit where credit was due?”
Borst had frozen like ice.
Kent scooted forward on his seat, steaming. “Don’t tell me you stole all the credit for AFPS, Markus. Just tell me you didn’t!”
The division supervisor sat with an ashen face. “This is my division, Kent. That means that the work out of here is my responsibility. You work for me.” He went red as he spoke. “Or did you forget that simple fact?”
“You put the paperwork through! This has always been my bonus! We’ve discussed it a thousand times! You left me out?!”
“No. You’re in there. So is Todd, and so is Mary.”
“Todd and Mary?” Kent blurted incredulously. “You put my name in small print along with Todd’s and Mary’s?” And he knew Borst had done exactly that.
He shoved an arm toward the door. “They’re junior programmers, Markus! They write code that I give them to write. AFPS is my code!” He nearly shouted now, boring down on the supervisor with a straining neck.
“I designed it from scratch. Did you tell them that? It was my brainchild! I wrote 80 percent of the functioning code, for Pete’s sake! You yourself wrote a measly 5 percent, most of which I trashed.”
That last comment pushed Borst over the edge. The veins on his neck bulged. “You hold your tongue, mister! This is my department. I was responsible for the design and implementation of AFPS. I will hire and fire who I see fit. And for your information, I have been allotted a twenty-five-thousand-dollar spiff for the design engineer of my choice. I was going to give that to you, Kent. But you are rapidly changing my mind!”
Now something deep in Kent’s mind snapped, and his vision swam. For the first time in his life he felt like killing someone. He breathed deeply twice to stabilize the tremor in his bones. When he spoke, he did so through clenched teeth.
“Twenty-five thousand dollars!” he ground out. “There was a performance spiff on that program, Markus. Ten percent of the savings to the company
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