Your Days Are Numbered
What’s the date today? Write it down, remove all dashes and slashes, and write a post that mentions that number.
I wasn’t at all surprised at finding the envelope under my dorm door.
Everything was on their terms. The announcement. Time. Meeting place. All prearranged so that there was no time to any of my own security- like a sophomore work-study student had a team– to assess and intervene.
I was OK with that. Actually, I wasn’t. But there was not a blasted thing I could do about it.
They had what I wanted: the proof of misallocated funds and faulty work orders.
If I wanted it, I would have to play by their rules.
The stakes were too high. I had to play.
The note was typed on the school’s stationery stuffed inside a standard envelope. I was sure that there would be no prints. But this did seem to indicate that I was working with an insider on the campus.
You Are Invited
Room 118 @ Paulsen’s
YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED
I heard an internal laugh at the irony.
We were meeting because I had discovered inconsistencies in the drawings of the school’s new parking deck: if the deck were to be completed as planned, all seven stories would fall at a whim. Any minor tremor would flatten the entire structure.
*** *** *** ***
I was in shock the day I read the plans. After one comment, the lead engineer removed the rolled layout of the parking deck and quickly gave me the guided tour of the excavated parking facilities.
The next day, when we began our calculations for the work site, the plans were not the same. Even the timed-date stamps were different.
I said nothing- that day…but I had been privately inquiring around the construction site for the past week.
*** *** *** ***
Tonight, finally, someone had agreed to talk to me.
The meeting was to be held in the offices of the School of Engineering Building.
Having been awakened by my cell that I had an envelope under my door at 2:45, I had about five minutes to arrive at Paulsen’s on time.
I donned a pair of sweat and a windbreaker and left.
Paulsen’s front doors were ajar when I entered. I could see a light in the room down the hall and to the right. If I remembered correctly, that was a meeting/classroom for the Dean of Engineering.
His office rooms were unlit. the door to the classroom was open.
Peering in the classroom, there were only the rows of chairs and a lectern in front of an enormous white board.
I heard a moan to my right. It came from the Office of the Dean.
Flicking on the switch to the right of the door, I found Dean Hastings lying prone on the floor. As I knelt to see if I could assist him, I found a note laying beside of him: YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED
This note had been typed on standard school stationery as well.
Beside the note… a pistol.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Your Days are Numbered.”