horrified, soft voice.
He went to his USB flash drives E through H one after another, clicking on folders labeled XD-3000 , each result showing file empty . He brought up the website for the Library of Congress and logged into his account.
“You got to be here,” he muttered, navigating to his uploaded XD files.
His files were missing.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, grabbing his phone to make a call.
He waited for Scott to answer, putting the phone on speaker .
“Scott? How are we doing on the XDs?” asked Siddoway, suppressing his stressed voice.
“Good I guess,” Scott answered. “Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve just run into some problems with my back-up files and will be going home for the day,” stated Siddoway. “I need you to look after things until I get back.”
“You got it, boss,” Scott replied in a helpful tone.
Siddoway ended the call then hurried out of his office.
***
Siddoway drove his convertible Mercedes into his driveway abruptly then slammed on the brakes. He rushed into his house, a fine, three bedroom, Mediterranean-style house with wrap-around stucco and Spanish tile roofing. The front yard was well-manicured desert scape; well trimmed bushes, a few palm trees and lava rock instead of grass.
He barged through his front door and hurried to the file cabinet in his master bedroom walk-in closet. He rifled through various folders until he reached one labeled Copyright documents.
“No, no, no!” he mumbled, nervous, unable to find his documents.
The folder was empty.
“Dammit! Shit!” he shouted, knocking some toiletries off the top of his dresser.
He breathed heavily, resting his hands on the dresser, trying to think. Someone had been in his house, cleaned out his copyright documents and wiped out all files on his computer hardware at home and at work. He had been screwed over big time and had the two thousand XD rifles at the facility, making him look like a bigger fraud.
“Mueller!” he screamed.
***
Three days later, Siddoway sat in a chair in front of a board panel headed up by Sam Wickenburg and a few others in the Red Phoenix administration. He recognized a female on the board who was from the district attorney’s office. She was obviously there to scout out the findings of the scandal to see if felony charges of theft and copyright infringement would have to be screened.
Siddoway tapped his fingers on the side of his upper thigh, nervous. He knew all he had was his drawings with dates on them, along with Scott Warnick, his trusted assistant, to vouch for him. He glanced at his watch, wondering why in the hell Scott was running late.
Mueller walked in the room with Vincent, Seymour and two of Mueller’s attorneys, David Penrow and Thomas Kates. They took their seats on the opposite side of the room. They were all dressed in fine suits, posing as gentlemen as usual.
“Do you have everybody here, Alex?” asked Wickenburg.
“Just waiting on my assistant, Scott Warnick,” he answered, glancing at his watch again.
“Your attorney?” asked Wickenburg.
“Don’t need one,” Siddoway replied.
“I see,” Wickenburg stated.
“We are ready to begin, Mr. Wickenburg,” Penrow said in a pleasant voice.
Scott hurried into the room, panting like he’d just run a mile, carrying a briefcase, and sat next to Siddoway.
“Sorry I’m late,” Scott whispered, resting the briefcase on his lap.
“It’s okay,” Siddoway responded.
“So, we’re here to dispute the matter of identical weaponry between Dr. Alex Siddoway and Mueller Weapons Incorporated,” stated Wickenburg, paging through some documents. “This is the time for both sides to present adequate and sufficient evidence for the foundation of this design of the X-D Three-Thousand. Mr. Mueller, would your side like to go first?” asked Wickenburg.
“We
He went to his USB flash drives E through H one after another, clicking on folders labeled XD-3000 , each result showing file empty . He brought up the website for the Library of Congress and logged into his account.
“You got to be here,” he muttered, navigating to his uploaded XD files.
His files were missing.
“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, grabbing his phone to make a call.
He waited for Scott to answer, putting the phone on speaker .
“Scott? How are we doing on the XDs?” asked Siddoway, suppressing his stressed voice.
“Good I guess,” Scott answered. “Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve just run into some problems with my back-up files and will be going home for the day,” stated Siddoway. “I need you to look after things until I get back.”
“You got it, boss,” Scott replied in a helpful tone.
Siddoway ended the call then hurried out of his office.
***
Siddoway drove his convertible Mercedes into his driveway abruptly then slammed on the brakes. He rushed into his house, a fine, three bedroom, Mediterranean-style house with wrap-around stucco and Spanish tile roofing. The front yard was well-manicured desert scape; well trimmed bushes, a few palm trees and lava rock instead of grass.
He barged through his front door and hurried to the file cabinet in his master bedroom walk-in closet. He rifled through various folders until he reached one labeled Copyright documents.
“No, no, no!” he mumbled, nervous, unable to find his documents.
The folder was empty.
“Dammit! Shit!” he shouted, knocking some toiletries off the top of his dresser.
He breathed heavily, resting his hands on the dresser, trying to think. Someone had been in his house, cleaned out his copyright documents and wiped out all files on his computer hardware at home and at work. He had been screwed over big time and had the two thousand XD rifles at the facility, making him look like a bigger fraud.
“Mueller!” he screamed.
***
Three days later, Siddoway sat in a chair in front of a board panel headed up by Sam Wickenburg and a few others in the Red Phoenix administration. He recognized a female on the board who was from the district attorney’s office. She was obviously there to scout out the findings of the scandal to see if felony charges of theft and copyright infringement would have to be screened.
Siddoway tapped his fingers on the side of his upper thigh, nervous. He knew all he had was his drawings with dates on them, along with Scott Warnick, his trusted assistant, to vouch for him. He glanced at his watch, wondering why in the hell Scott was running late.
Mueller walked in the room with Vincent, Seymour and two of Mueller’s attorneys, David Penrow and Thomas Kates. They took their seats on the opposite side of the room. They were all dressed in fine suits, posing as gentlemen as usual.
“Do you have everybody here, Alex?” asked Wickenburg.
“Just waiting on my assistant, Scott Warnick,” he answered, glancing at his watch again.
“Your attorney?” asked Wickenburg.
“Don’t need one,” Siddoway replied.
“I see,” Wickenburg stated.
“We are ready to begin, Mr. Wickenburg,” Penrow said in a pleasant voice.
Scott hurried into the room, panting like he’d just run a mile, carrying a briefcase, and sat next to Siddoway.
“Sorry I’m late,” Scott whispered, resting the briefcase on his lap.
“It’s okay,” Siddoway responded.
“So, we’re here to dispute the matter of identical weaponry between Dr. Alex Siddoway and Mueller Weapons Incorporated,” stated Wickenburg, paging through some documents. “This is the time for both sides to present adequate and sufficient evidence for the foundation of this design of the X-D Three-Thousand. Mr. Mueller, would your side like to go first?” asked Wickenburg.
“We
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