“It wasn’t signed,” Sharon answers quickly.
“It wasn’t signed.” Not a question. Graham’s face looks like it’s made of stone. I’m a little worried about him.
“It wasn’t,” Tommy states. “I swear.”
“Is that true?” He scans the remaining souls sitting at the table. One by one, they nod slowly. “Let me get this straight.” Graham begins to pace slowly. “You all got an anonymous IM that told younotto meet with Alison. Is that what you’re saying?”
Not one word is uttered, but I notice one person in the back nod.
Graham’s voice has gotten softer, but for some reason, it sounds more menacing. “May I see this IM?”
“Of course.” Sharon acts quickly, pulling her phone from somewhere and typing. We watch as she searches her phone. “What the…?” She looks up at Graham. “I swear there was an instant message.”
“Let me look.” Tommy does the same thing and pulls his phone out. The three other people in the room follow suit as they mumble to each other.
“What the fuck is wrong over there?” Graham has clearly lost all patience.
“It’s gone,” Tommy speaks up.
I can’t decide if I should laugh or cry. Okay, neither. I’m just going to watch and learn more about Graham Morgan’s management style. Surly. That’s one word for it. And reactionary. There’s another.
“So.” Graham pulls a chair out from beneath the table and sits. With his hands pressed together like he’s praying, he says, “You decided to take the advice from an IM that you may or may not have received over my request that you help me find out what’s wrong with your department.”
“It was signed,” a young woman in the back chimes in.
“What?” Graham’s head has turned and tilted a little bit. His left brow is arched so high it’s made a home in his hair. It’s not a reassuring expression. I’d be wary if I were that woman. “What did you say?” he asks again.
“It wasn’t signed with a name. It says ‘From your superior.’” She holds her phone out. “I took a screenshot of it yesterday.”
I can’t even. I’d like to ask her why she did that, but I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing: shutting up.
“What’s your name?” Graham asks, taking the phone from her. He looks down at it, then hands it to me.
“Meghan Lincoln.”
“Meghan. Why’d you screenshot this?” I guess I can’t keep my mouth shut.
She shrugs. “Habit.”
I suppose that’s an answer.
Graham leans back in his chair. “Meghan, will you please email me that screenshot?
“Sure thing, boss.”
Graham leans over. “Get a hard copy of it. Let’s add those to this file.” He taps the green folder. Looking back at Meghan, who’s doing something on her phone, he asks, “Can you do that today, Meghan?”
She stops whatever she’s doing and looks up. “Already done.”
“Meghan Lincoln?” Graham asks again.
“Yes.”
“What do you do here? In Marketing?”
“I’m a coordinator.”
In other words, she fetches coffee and makes appointments. Basically the lowest level on the totem pole.
